Gesturing toward the multitude of color paper, I stepped aside. “This, Detective Roget—”
“Can you call me Ted?” He gazed into my eyes, the green of his a vivid forest. “The detective title sounds out of place.”
Flustered by the intensity in his eyes, I looked away. “Sure. Why not, that’s your name isn’t it?” What is it about Roget—Ted—that caused words to start flowing before the mind engaged?
His lips twitched into a smile and then slipped back into a straight line.
“This is cardstock. It’s heavier. Paper. Acid-free…” I clamped my lips shut and stopped the stumbling speech. Hard to inspire confidence when a person sounded like they didn’t know what they were talking about.
“I’m supposed to choose one from all of those?” He looked terrified at the prospect.
“It’s just paper.” Why did men get so bent out of shape by hues? I stood in the middle of the aisle and pointed at the reds and then the blues. “What color is predominant in the photo you’re using for your layout?”
He grimaced. “This was a spur of the moment decision. I had nothing else to do tonight. “
“I figured that.” I refrained from rubbing my hands in malicious glee. It was time to turn the tables. Let him feel uncomfortable and out of his league.
He reached forward and pulled out a burgundy sheet, the color closest to his reach.
The best way to know a person was to see what their private life was like. And this was my opportunity. “If you’re not going to enter into the contest, I’m willing to wave the subject of the photograph for your layout. Do you have an idea of what kind of picture you’d like to use?”
“Not really.” He returned the burgundy and removed a sheet of Christmas red.
“Please don’t tell me you’re not a picture-taking kind of guy.”
“Not too much in life to take photos of.”
I gaped at him. “Of course there is. Everyone’s life is worth documenting. What about holiday celebrations, milestones in your life, your work, or family?”
Sadness appeared in his eyes. He pivoted and continued down the row of paper. “My little girl loves green. The brighter the better.”
Questions tumbled through my mind about his daughter, but it was none of my business. Besides finding out what shade of green his little girl preferred. A jade green color caught my eye and I pointed it out to Ted.
With a blinding grin, he shook his head. Squatting down, he grabbed a handful of neon green cardstock from the bottom slot of the paper rack.
“This is Claire.” He waved the stack at me. “Can I use this as the major color and then use tan as the mat? Or whatever is the technical term you used. I’ll make something for her to hang in her room.”
The love in his voice for his daughter touched me. I felt my attitude softening toward Ted. Maybe his ulterior motive for stopping by was a good one. Not that I had any clue what it would be. “Sure. We can even work on a few layouts so she can have a collage. I don’t think the other croppers are coming.”
“They probably forgot,” Ted said.
“Right. Both of them.”
Twenty minutes after seven meant it was safe to presume the other students were no shows. On the bright side, the class fee was non-refundable. I locked the front door. My hand lingered on the string of the blinds as I debated if it would be more profitable showing my one-person class or would it give the impression I was a lousy teacher.
Then again, Ted’s presence could draw in more women. He was an available male. Perfect choice if a woman preferred the tall, good-looking, bossy type. I also wasn’t quite sure I trusted the man. I left the blinds open. Better for others to see and know, just in case there was a reason someone asked who I had last been seen with.
“You know, women usually like going places in pairs. If one had to bail, the other wasn’t going to show up on her own.”
“They changed their minds when they realized they read about the store recently.”
He leveled a sidelong glance at me. “You think it’s because of Michael Kane’s murder?”
“No. I think it’s because Marilyn was arrested for the crime. Who wants to shop at a place that hires a killer? Karen England’s informative article this morning didn’t help much.”
“Yeah. I had a talk with Miss England about that.” A hint of anger developed in Ted’s eyes. “Apparently she had a reliable source.”
“I’d like to know who.”
“So would I.”
We turned and faced each other. For the first time, we had actually agreed on something. Though I’m sure this harmony would end if he had an inkling I planned on finding out that source.
His eyes narrowed. Drat. He knew. How could this man know me so well when we just met? And we never had a conversation that didn’t result in an argument and the reminder I was interfering in a police investigation.
“Our business is tanking because of those articles.”
“It’s just a coincidence they didn’t show up and the article ran today. It’s not like your grandmothers hired Mrs. Kane knowing one day she’d commit a crime.”
I couldn’t keep the venom out of my voice. “Who cares about reality when it comes to passing judgment? Everyone believes you should’ve seen what was coming. Should’ve known who that person really was. Saw through the lies.” The anger I held for so long boiled out of me.
“Faith, not everyone judges a person based on what they might have known.” He rested a gentle hand on my shoulder and kneaded the tense muscles. “Or on what other people have done.”
I stumbled away from him and started busying myself with the products on the table. My hands shook as I picked up a pack of chipboard. Geometric shapes wouldn’t hold that much interest for a little girl who loved neon lime green over jade. I held the pieces up for Ted’s inspection. “Do you think these would work with the project you’re planning?”
He glanced at them. “I guess. You’re the expert.”
Men.
“What picture are you using? That will help make the decision easier on if we should stick with these embellishments or using something else. Personally, I’d choose a photo that went well with lime.”
“That’s easy.” Ted grinned. “Twinkle.”
“Twinkle?”
“Yep.” He nodded, the little boy smile still splashed all over his face. “My pet iguana. My ex-wife didn’t allow pets in the house so my very first purchase for the apartment was a pet.”
“So instead of something cute and cuddly, you picked a scaly creature?”
“Hey!” Mock indignation filled his voice. “My five-year-old thinks Twinkle is cute and cuddly. She did name him.”
Poor him. “I prefer pets without scales and ones that do not stick out their tongues.”
“With my job, I needed a pet that wouldn’t mind being left alone. Plus, it’s easier to clean up the pet mess when it’s in an aquarium.”
“Good point.”
He rubbed his hands in anticipation. “So, you have any kind of decorations that would go with a reptile?”
I laughed. “Actually, we do.”
I walked toward the back of the store where the stickers were located. Five-year-olds loved stickers. At least the ones whose parents brought them into Scrap This. Though we kept an eye on young school age children when they ventured into sticker row.
A rattle stopped me cold. I halted and Ted rammed into the back of me.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and prevented me from tumbling forward. “What’s wrong?”
“Did you hear that?”
The rattling of a doorknob shattered our self-imposed quiet.
NINETEEN
Ted tucked me behind him and placed his fingers on his lips. Like I couldn’t figure that out for myself. I glanced toward the front windows. A deep rich black had descended and blanketed the area—a perfect time for committing a crime. The door rattled again.
“Stay here.” Ted motioned for me to
stay low.
I hunched down, my back against the wall, trying to control the tremors racing through my body. Ted pointed at the wall on the right hand side of the store, then the door. He wanted me closer to the front so I could run out.
“You might need backup,” I whispered.
“Have it.” Ted reached behind and pulled out a pistol. He gestured toward the door with his chin. This time, I went with his suggestions. He was equipped to take on a bad guy. On my hands and knees, I scuttled toward the front door and prayed whoever was breaking into the store didn’t have a gun. I didn’t want Ted getting hurt.
The jiggling at the back door stopped. The door creaked open.
Ted stood, back jammed against the wall and the gun locked in his grip. His head turned to the side as he waited for the person to step into the area.
Please let Ted grab them and have them not put up a fight. As much as I didn’t appreciate someone breaking into the store—or stalking me for that matter—I didn’t want that person getting shot.
“Faith,” a familiar voice called out.
“Steve?” My intended shriek left my lungs as a squeak.
Muttering undistinguishable words, Ted holstered his gun. As Steve stepped into the main store area, Ted grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and pressed him against the wall. “What were you thinking, Davis?”
A startled expression filled Steve’s face. “What are you doing?”
Did Ted think Steve left the threatening calls? There wasn’t much I was certain about lately, but I knew Steve would never hurt me.
I shouldered my way between the two men. “Let him go. My grandmothers must have loaned him a key.”
“You should’ve called the lady.” Ted glared at Steve. “You scared her.”
Casting an unreadable look from Ted to me, Steve apologized. “Hope and Cheryl told me you were working late tonight and asked if I could check up on you.”
Of course they would. “I’m fine.”
An image of Ted holding the gun popped into my mind. A shudder wracked my body and I felt the blood drain from my head. “You almost weren’t,” I whispered.
Steve pulled me into his arms, resting his head on top of mine. “I’m sorry, Faith. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You might have been sorrier, Davis. I had my gun drawn.” Ted tapped his side. “It’s a good thing Faith recognized your voice.”
“Are you the shoot first kind of cop?” Steve asked.
“No. I’m the protect-and-serve kind of cop, not the look-the-other-way kind.” Ted stood like a gunfighter preparing for a duel. “This woman, as you know, has been receiving harassing calls. I took precautions. And since you knew about the calls, it’d been nice if you let her know you were stopping by. Sometimes surprises aren’t appreciated.”
“I apologized,” Steve said.
I pushed away from Steve, hoping if I wasn’t secluded in his arms the men would remember I existed in the same room. “Listen—”
“What if she’d been alone, Davis? How scared might she have been then?”
I saw red and marched toward Ted. “I would’ve managed on my own. I know self-defense. I don’t need you.”
“It seemed that—” Ted started.
“Lots of things seem a certain way and aren’t that way. That’s what the word assumption is all about. I don’t need you coming in here and berating Steve. If his apology is good enough for me, then what happened is no concern of yours.”
Ted crossed his arms. “Maybe Steve doesn’t need you defending him.”
I clamped my mouth shut and peered at Steve.
Instead of anger or embarrassment in his expression, he had a grin on his face. “I don’t mind at all.”
Ted pointed toward the table. “Now that you know she’s safe and sound, I’d like to get back to my class. Have a nice evening, Davis.” Ted went and unlocked the front door.
“You’re taking a scrapbook class?” Steve roved his gaze from Ted to me.
“It’s a crop,” I corrected. Not a very successful one.
“Hobbies make a man well-rounded,” Ted said.
Steve snapped his fingers. “That’s right, the crop for the contest is tonight and tomorrow. Maybe I should enter.”
“You took pictures at the Art Show?” Ted asked.
“Sure,” Steve said. “I told Hope and Cheryl I’d get shots of their setup from different angles. Faith couldn’t as she was in charge of the booth.”
“So they asked you?” Ted crossed his arms.
Steve smiled. “They know they can trust me to help whenever they need it.”
How long would Steve and Ted continue talking around me? Pretty soon the men would start circling each other, beat their chests and prepare for war because—I had no idea. This crop was a bust. I didn’t want the room wrecked because the two “students” decided they’d rather brawl then scrapbook.
An advertising brainstorm flashed into my mind. I tilted my head and studied Ted and Steve. It could work. It had possibilities. Both men stopped talking and looked at me. They each took a step back.
“Steve, do you have your camera?” I asked, looking up at him through my lashes.
He gave me a dubious look. “In my car. Why?”
“I just wanted some photos of you and Ted working on your contest entries.”
Ted held up his hands. “Now wait a minute. I didn’t say I would enter into some contest. I don’t even have photographs from the show. The ones I do have access to wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Steve will share.”
Steve grinned. “Sure. And a contest sounds like fun.”
“Like you know how to scrapbook,” Ted said.
“I’m a quick study.” Steve crossed his arms, a hint of challenge in his gaze.
I tugged Ted and Steve toward the tables. “This will be great. We can start your layouts tonight then finish them tomorrow.”
“Hold up.” Ted locked his knees, cementing his feet to the ground. “What about the crop fee?”
“That’s right.” I held my hand out. “Forty-five dollars, please.”
With fanfare, Steve pulled out his wallet and handed over the cash. “I’m ready to learn the fine art of scrapbooking.”
Ted looked disappointed that Steve had cash readily available.
“You can pick something out later. Right now, I’d like to get started.” I picked up two sheets of 12x12 beige cardstock and placed one in front of each man. “This is the foundation for your layout.”
Steve raised his hand.
I couldn’t help smiling. “Yes.”
“Can I have a pen and some paper?”
Ted snorted.
Steve looked at Ted. “Do you think what Faith is teaching us isn’t important?”
Ted shot his hand into the air. “Me, too.”
Almost skipping, I made my way to the counter and retrieved two pens and narrowed-ruled writing paper.
Not one second later, the front window splintered and glass flew in all directions. Screaming, I covered my head, and dropped to the floor.
TWENTY
Footsteps pounded on the floor, heading toward the door. The bell rattled, then the door slammed shut. Uncovering my head, I remained on my knees and attempted to look around the store but my hair blocked the view.
Steve pushed my hair from my face, his desperate gaze roaming over me. “Faith, are you okay?”
Besides soreness in my knees, nothing hurt. I ran my fingers through my hair, tiny shards of glass dropped around the floor but I didn’t feel any wetness or cuts. “I’m okay,” I said. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Someone threw a rock through the front window, right at the displays.”
I scrambled to my feet. “How are we going to afford to fix that window? And the layouts. Please don’t let the layouts be damaged.” I headed for the entries.
Steve grabbed my arm and herded me toward the storage area. “Stay away from the windows.�
��
“I need to check—”
“No. After Roget returns. For now, we keep you safe.”
Keep me safe? The threats. Whoever made the calls wanted me to know they were serious. My legs shook and I tripped. Tears wavered the room.
Steve wrapped an arm around me. “Do you want to go into the lounge?”
“I want to sit. Now.”
He loosened his hold and I sat on the floor, staring at the gaping hole in the front window.
“We’ll get this fixed. I promise.”
“Cheryl and Hope will be devastated.”
“Who says they have to know?”
I looked at Steve. He’d keep something from my grandmothers? “You won’t tell them? You’ll help me get this straightened out tonight?”
“Absolutely.”
“They’ll find out we kept this from them.”
“They’ll get over it.”
I laughed, almost manic. “Did the rock hit you in the head?”
He encircled me in his arms. “Just tell them it was a secret between you and me. They’ll forgive us.”
I melted into Steve’s protective embrace and swiped away the tears forming in my eyes. Hopefully, Ted caught the person and everything would be fine. I didn’t want them to come back and hurt someone because of me.
“Where exactly did Ted go?” I asked.
“After the person threw the rock. He took off into the parking lot and Roget followed him.”
I jumped up. “We have to help him.”
Steve gripped my shoulders, blocking me from moving toward the door. “He can handle it. I’m sure he has back up by now.”
I worked out an argument, but before I uttered a word, an angry Detective Roget strode toward the store dragging a man behind him. As they got closer, I realized it wasn’t a man, but a teen. Mark Kane, Marilyn’s teenaged son.
Roget pushed the boy into Scrap This. “Sit down.”
Mark dropped into the chair in the crop area, avoiding looking at Steve or me.
Stalking to the door, Roget crooked his index finger and narrowed his eyes. “Get in here.”
Elizabeth Kane shuffled into the store, tears streaming down her pale face. She picked a chair far from her younger brother.
Cropped to Death Page 15
