by Terri Thayer
I nodded, then I remembered something. "Hey, did you take your brownies home?"
Vangie smiled. "Ate them," Vangie said.
I looked at her askance.
"I couldn't leave them lying around," she said. "There were only two. Small, and very mild."
"Do we need to talk about this?" I said.
"Under control, boss, always," she said. She disappeared from the doorway, humming "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" Smart ass.
I checked my phone to see if Buster had called back. Nothing. The laundry or the Giants game must be enthralling.
I could hear more police cars arrive in the parking lot. I could hear Vangie out front, dropping coins into the metal cash box. I could hear Ina talking about rotary cutters.
But I could hear only murmurings from the kitchen. Until it was Tim Shore's turn.
I felt the office shudder as he closed the kitchen door with a bang. I jumped out of my chair and leaned into the wall to hear him, his deep voice carrying easily.
"Officer, I want to know why you continue to hold us." He was unhappy.
I crept closer.
Zorn's voice rumbled. "I'm investigating a death, sir. I understand this is not how you expected to spend your night, but I can't really help that. Just answer a few questions, and you can be on your way.
The first question Zorn asked was why he'd arrived late. Shore's excuse was traffic, the one thing no one could dispute in Silicon Valley. He gave Zorn excruciating details of his drive over the hill from Santa Cruz. He'd left before four, but there was a fender bender at the summit, which slowed him down. He hated to be late and so was concentrating on nabbing the last spot in the parking lot and getting in to class. He'd been so distracted, he hadn't noticed anything in the alley.
A class he thought should continue tonight.
He pleaded with Zorn. "I paid my money, and I want to learn how to quilt."
I looked him up in the database on Vangie's computer while he talked. One of the joys of computerizing the store's files was that I had records of all the transactions going back several years.
I looked in the customer screens. Tim Shore, there he was. I moved over to his sales history. The class was his first purchase.
Zorn was slowly explaining to him the fine points of an investigation. I remembered I'd promised him a list of students. I clicked back to the class, and viewed the other names enrolled. Most of the beginning quilters were new to the store. Our future customers. Sure enough, I didn't recognize most of the names. I generated the report with names, addresses, and phone numbers.
A note on the class list caught my eye. Alice Quick was enrolled, but she hadn't paid. Damn. That was against store policy. Either you paid in advance, or you weren't put in the class. It just made sense. I couldn't have someone filling up a spot that a paying customer might have taken.
My stomach roiled. This was one of those new rules I'd established. In years past, classes hadn't filled up. My mother was okay with low enrollment, holding sessions with as few as two students. She'd never considered that she might be losing money. I'd done an analysis and found that the break-even point was six students. Unless I had more than six paid students in my classes, I wasn't making money.
One of my staff had signed up Alice without paying. Against the rules. I looked to see whose initials were on the sale. KP. Kym Pellicano. It figured.
I went out to where Vangie was closing the drawer. She'd counted the cash and was putting the credit card slips in order. "Do we have any open tabs?" I asked. With this computer system, we could keep an open sale and add to it until the customer was finished or until the end of the class. Maybe Alice had paid tonight.
Vangie looked at the cash register screen and shook her head.
I said, "There's an unpaid student in the class."
Vangie raised her thick eyebrows. "Who signed her up?"
"One guess"
Vangie made a disgusted sound. I let her stew for a moment. I knew she would do what needed to be done.
"Would you please go collect from her?" I asked.
Vangie frowned. "I hate having to ask for money after the student is already in the class. It's embarrassing. Most of the time the customer forgets they haven't paid and then I feel like a bill collector."
"I hear you. I'll go with you."
She paused on her way to the classroom, and hesitated. Her brown eyes clouded and she cracked a knuckle. "Did you see the body?" she said quietly.
"Yeah."
A heaviness filled the air between us.
"Anyone we know?"
I shook my head. "Just a random guy."
"Okay." Vangie turned and walked away, her shoulders looking lighter than they had a moment ago. She liked to pretend she was a tough street kid, but underneath she believed in unicorns. Or maybe Puff the Magic Dragon.
I followed her back down the hall. The kitchen door was closed. I couldn't hear Shore, so Zorn must have a different student in there-maybe the granny whose lipstick was pumpkin orange.
We entered the classroom, which was quieter than I'd expected. Once inside, I could see why. Officer Wong was standing in the corner watching the group, killing any conversation. Most of the students had already packed their gear. They were seated quietly at the tables, tote bags refilled, sewing machines covered, tools put away. Tim Shore had hauled out his backpack and was stuffing his fabric into it with angry movements.
Ina was trying her best to amuse the customers, telling tales about the peccadilloes of famous quilters she'd taken classes from, but most were paying her no attention.
"I can't tell you her name, she's too famous," she was saying. "She brought her Shitza-poo-poo everywhere, even putting him in a basket on the podium while she gave her lecture. He barked through the whole thing. She didn't even notice. After the first fifteen minutes, I had such a headache."
Vangie went over to a woman with a name tag that read "Alice" and whispered in her ear. The customer got red-faced and got out her credit card. Vangie left to ring up her class fees and complete the charge. Both she and Alice were feeling awkward, a situation Kym had created. I felt another wave of irritation.
I called for the class' attention. All heads turned to me expectantly. "I am sorry about the inconvenience," I said.
"You need to talk to the police. They're not letting us move our cars," my tablemate said.
I looked to Wong. He shrugged. Police investigations trumped comfort.
The lipsticked granny called out. "How are we supposed to get home?"
I had to do something. "Let me go ask Detective Zorn. Maybe he can tell me how long it's going to be."
I crossed to the kitchen. The door was open, and I waited for Zorn to finish talking. A curly-haired brunette had replaced Tim Shore. As soon as I realized more flirting than questioning was going on, I broached the room.
"Listen," I said. "Is there something I can do to move things along? I mean, my customers need to get home"
"I'll talk to them," he said, watching the student leave. It was amazing how long it takes to watch a pretty woman walk awayand with such concentration. I was just about to jump into his line of vision when he followed her to the door.
He paused in the doorway to let me go through first. "They can go once I've talked to them."
He took a stance alongside Ina at the podium, legs spread and hands on his hips. Superman pose.
"People, this is an official police investigation. I appreciate your cooperation. I'm sorry to put you out, but your cars are in the midst of a crime scene and will not be released until the investigation is complete. That could take several hours. You may want to secure alternate means to get home."
The group turned to me, standing in the doorway. I held up my hands helplessly. "I'm sorry. You can use the phone in here or in my office to call husbands or friends to come get you. Just dial nine for an outside line."
That satisfied most of the customers, and they spread out and began to make their calls. Two remembered thei
r cells and retrieved them from Ina's basket. Tim Shore was the lone holdout. He was angry and not budging. Typical male. Even though there was nothing to be done, he wanted something done.
Tim opened his mouth to complain.
I tried to forestall his scene. "I will provide cab fare for anyone who can't get a ride home."
His face slowly creased into a smile, and he gave me a thumbsup. He was quite handsome when he smiled.
Vangie came into the classroom to give Alice her credit slip, just in time to hear my offer. When she heard what I'd said, she nudged me hard and whispered, "Do you know how expensive cabs are? We've got exactly eighty bucks in petty cash."
"Can you drive anyone home?" I whispered.
"On my bike?" Vangie laughed, and started humming the music to The Wizard of Oz. "That would be a sight."
I had the last laugh. "Isn't your bike part of the crime scene?"
She stopped humming. "Damn"
Ten minutes later, I was out on the sidewalk in front of the store. Vangie and I had carried out sewing machines and schlepped bags and rulers. Most of the students had gotten rides home from family members. Ina was dropping off the remainder.
Only Tim Shore was taking me up on my offer of cab money. I held out the petty cash. Tim plucked a twenty from my fingers, like I'd told him to Go Fish.
"I live in Santa Cruz," he said.
After a moment's consideration, he pulled out one more.
I saw Vangie roll her eyes. This was money I could ill afford to give away. I bit back a retort when he came back for one more. My heart sank, but I gave Vangie a brave look.
He walked away, saying he would get closer to downtown to catch a cab.
Vangie and I didn't wait for him to get out of sight before we locked the front door. The store was quiet, serene even. It was hard to believe what was going on in the alley.
There was a loud rap. Vangie and I jumped. The rap came again, and I could see Buster standing in the front window, fist raised, college ring tapping on the window. I was so glad to see him, I covered the distance in a few steps and flung open the door.
"Are you okay?" Buster said, gathering me in his arms. I let myself rest there a moment. "Sorry, I just got your message. I had my cell off," he said, and greeted Vangie.
She acknowledged him with a nod and a grin. She was glad he was there, too.
"I can't compete with laundry, I know." I managed to stick to a teasing tone, but I was a little peeved. It had been only an hour since I'd called him, but it felt like forever.
"Do you know the vic?" he asked.
Vangie shook her head vehemently.
I said, "He looked sort of familiar, but you know how it is in this neighborhood. There are tons of people that I say hi to on the street, but I don't know them."
I moved Buster over to the cushy chair in our book section. A hand-me-down from my parent's den, it was a well-broken-in leather recliner. Buster sat, and I perched on the arm. Vangie leaned on the book rack.
Buster was dressed in a sky blue SJPD Pistol Range T-shirt and navy sweats. I looked down at his feet clad in leather moccasins. He had rushed out of the house. He was practically in his pajamas. For him, going out in public in sweats was akin to being naked.
"You know I'm in for a long night," I said to him. I'd been through this before. The police would take their time processing the scene outside. "I haven't given my statement."
"Are you okay with that?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I just want them to do what they need to do. I don't need a homicide investigation going on all week. How would it look like if my parking lot had crime scene tape roping if off on Saturday?"
Buster took my hand and kissed it. I slid into his lap. "They're not going to leave the tape up forever. As soon as the coroner takes the body away, they'll be done. You'll have your lot back by the morning. Mid-morning the latest."
Vangie said, "They'd better. The sale is only three days away."
"And you don't need to stay here the whole night. There's nothing you can do. Who's the detective in charge?"
"Zorn," I said. I was surprised when Buster pulled a face. He clearly didn't like the man. "What?" I asked.
"Ms. Pellicano?" We were interrupted as Zorn and the other homicide detective came in from the back hall. Buster stood abruptly, nearly dumping me out of his lap. The police department was as fanatical as a gang about showing respect. A gang or a family of baboons.
Buster walked toward the pair, hand out. "Zorn. Peters," he said, with a nod to both. He rubbed his hands on his sweatpants. I hid a smile. Not being dressed in his detective drag, a suit and tie, was killing him.
"The ME pulled the driver's license. We've got an ID," Zorn said. "Frank Bascomb."
Peters and Zorn watched for a reaction. I didn't know the guy. I looked at Vangie who shrugged, and studied the book in her hand. I made a mental note to check my database.
The other detective said, "The address is in Milpitas. I' going over to his place." She said her goodbyes and left.
"What are you doing here?" Zorn asked Buster.
"This is my girlfriend's store."
Zorn smirked. "Your girlfriend? How cute."
A muscle in Buster's cheek twitched. Buster was always teased about being the youngest homicide detective. Like most bullying, he chose to ignore it.
I was more concerned when I saw Vangie's back stiffen. Zorn's voice dripped with condescension. She didn't care for cops much and any one who put down Buster was doubly bad in her book. I shook my head at her, hoping to avoid a scene.
"Ms. Pellicano," Zorn said smoothly. "Thank you for your cooperation."
Vangie said, "Do you really think the guy was poisoned?"
Zorn looked her over, taking in the nearly faded gang tattoo on her finger and her Dickies jeans and hooded sweatshirt and Doc Martens. We both could see he was making judgments about her. She thrust out her chest. Buster put an arm around Vangie.
"We will be investigating," Zorn said. "He has a nasty bump on his head, but it was probably just a bad burrito."
Vangie snapped, "Those are the best burritos in town. Mrs. Unites' kitchen is spotless." Vangie's loyalty was fierce. She loved our neighbor.
Buster gave her a fond look, and said, "I'm taking this one home. She's already given her statement."
Zorn shrugged. I smiled at him. That was Buster, thoughtful. He knew he was doing me a favor by making sure Vangie got home okay.
"I'll take you up on that," she said.
"I can stay until you finish using my kitchen," I said to Zorn.
"That would be great. Though as homicide, we're used to being out in the cold, aren't we, Healy?"
Buster smiled and walked Vangie out to his truck. I followed them and gave him a kiss. "I can swing back for you," he said.
"No sense in both of us losing a night's sleep."
I wasn't sure I meant that.
I waited until the CSI van came, and made more coffee for everyone, which they accepted gratefully. They brought in large lights that illuminated my parking lot and alley. Neighbors came out of their houses down the street to see what was going on. The police talked to everyone. I waited until the investigation was well underway, and then made my way home.
I opened the door into my tiny galley kitchen. The nightlight over the stove was burning, meaning Buster had made himself a cup of tea. A mug sat on the kitchen counter with my favorite tea bag already in it. I turned on the now-cold electric teakettle. A grilled cheese sandwich was on a plate beside it. Leave it to Buster to use a plate. I swiped the plate with a paper towel and put it back in the cupboard. I took a bite of my sandwich and went to look for Buster. I called his name but there was no answer.
A quick glance in the bedroom showed me it was empty. My guitar was missing from the stand in the corner, though. My heart skipped a beat. I loved to hear him play. Mostly I liked watching his fingers manipulate the strings.
I didn't hear any playing, though. My stomach growled a
ngrily. Standing over the sink, I shoved the sandwich into my mouth with two fingers. I poured my tea. Maybe Buster was waiting in the living room, ready to end our embargo. Anticipation swelled.
I tiptoed into the living room to maintain the mood. But there was no mood to break. I heard a gentle snore.
I'd stayed at the store for about forty minutes, which looked to be thirty-five minutes too long. Buster was laid out on the couch, half-empty cup of tea and guitar on the coffee table, sound asleep. His eyes fluttered when I shook his arm, but closed again. He was a heavy sleeper, I knew. He'd sleep here for a few hours, then go home to get ready for work.
I pulled the flannel rag quilt off the back of the couch and kissed his cheek. He reached up and grabbed my hand, pulling me into him. I tumbled onto his chest.
"You think you're going to get off that easy?" he said, nuzzling my hair.
"You're asleep"
"Wrong. I was asleep."
I laughed as he faded again, his long curly eyelashes fluttering. "You can't keep your eyes open. I can wait. At least until you're awake enough so we can both enjoy it."
He let go of my hand and was asleep in ten seconds. I sighed, the sigh of the sexually frustrated female.
SEVEN
"OVER MY DEAD BODY," Kym said with a hair toss that would snap the wrist of a lesser woman. Vangie, sitting next to her at the kitchen table that doubled as conference table, ducked to avoid being blinded.
I winced at Kym's words. I had yet to address the possibly murdered man in the alley at the staff meeting. I'd met Jenn's earlier questions about the story in the paper by promising to give everyone the full scoop at the end of the meeting. I had an agenda that we had to get through. I couldn't allow even a man dying in my alley to get in the way of this sale.
"I'm not wearing pajamas to work. That is tacky," Kym said.
I hadn't realized Kym objected to tacky. I didn't want to remind her that calling it The Butt Crack of Dawn sale had been her idea.
Vangie muttered, "I bet you have a pair of pink bunny slippers you're just dying to show off."
