“Sorry, Lizzie,” Mark muttered.
“We are so in trouble.” Lizzie picked at her nail polish.
A picture formed on why Marilyn’s children were sitting in the store. Steve stood behind me and rested a comforting hand on my shoulder. How could this get any worse?
On second thought, I really didn’t want to know.
Ted crossed his arms and glared at the teens. “Would either of you like to start explaining?”
“Lizzie didn’t do anything,” Mark said.
“She drove you here,” Ted said.
Mark stood. “That’s all!”
“Sit down!” Ted stepped toward the boy and pointed at the chair. Mark sat.
“She didn’t know that—” The teen clamped his mouth shut.
“Start talking.” Ted towered over the teen.
I had enough of the bullying. I walked over and picked up the phone receiver on the desk. “Do you need me to call your grandparents?”
“Faith, let me handle this,” Ted said. “You have no idea what’s going on.”
“I have a pretty good idea. They’re kids. I think we should have their grandparents here.”
“I called them. Once Mark…” Lizzie rested her head on the table.
“It’s okay, Lizzie. You can tell them I did that,” Mark said. “Please don’t be mad at her. It’s all my fault. All of it.”
A car stopped in front of the store and the headlights blinded me. Eli Bennett rushed inside, gaped at the broken window, then turned his attention to his grandchildren. “Mark Benjamin and Elizabeth Noelle, what have you two done?”
Lizzie wailed.
Mark’s bottom lip quivered, but he stood up and faced his grandfather. “I threw a rock, sir.”
Eli pointed at the window. “You did that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Faith, I’m so sorry.” Eli pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket. “My nephew is a contractor. I’ll see if he can come board up the window. “
Ted jutted his chin toward the window. “What happened here tonight is a crime. I’m taking these two down to the station.”
Lizzie cried louder. Tears trailed down Mark’s cheeks.
“That’s not necessary, Detective Roget,” I said. “As long as the window gets fixed—”
“What about the phone calls?” Roget glared at me.
“The calls?” I squeaked out.
“Calls?” Eli looked from the detective to his grandson.
“I just wanted her to keep helping Mom,” Mark said.
“It’s my fault,” Lizzie turned pleading eyes to me. “I’m the oldest. I’m almost eighteen and should’ve known better. I drove him to your house, Faith. He couldn’t have gotten there by himself. And tonight. I brought him. But I didn’t know he’d break the window.”
The noise I heard in my backyard wasn’t Yowler. Someone had been lurking in my backyard. While I felt better knowing it had been Mark, it unnerved me that someone easily hid in the bushes without me knowing, or seeing, them.
“She really didn’t,” Mark said. “I just wanted to talk to Faith. Not hurt her. Or cause problems.”
“But?” Steve asked.
Mark looked at the floor. “I saw her in here with you and the detective. I figured she turned on Mom. Wanted my mom to go to prison.”
Roget sat down and motioned for all of us to do the same. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “How about you kids start from the beginning?”
I dropped into the nearest chair. Steve dragged another one over and sat beside me. Mark looked at his grandfather. Eli nodded his encouragement.
Clasping his hands together, Mark started explaining, occasionally meeting my gaze. “When we went to visit Mom, she said you were helping her. You know, find who really murdered our dad.”
Ted groaned and slapped his forehead, shaking his head back and forth.
Way to go, Marilyn. What was she thinking telling her children that? Then again, what other hope did she have to offer her babies?
“The papers kept saying worse things about Mom, so I thought you quit. I wanted you to keep helping Mom. So I called and left you a message.”
The cryptic words of ‘you just can’t stop’ no longer held an ominous meaning to them. Mark needed a little work on his communication skills, like remembering to leave a name when he left a message.
“Then this morning, I called you between classes and you yelled at me. So I decided to see you in person.”
I didn’t correct his interpretation and tell him I screamed because I ran into a car. The boy felt guilty enough about the situation.
“Seeing Mr. Davis and me here made you angry?” Roget asked.
“Yes, sir. Like I said, I thought she was giving up on my mom.”
“I’d never give up on your mom,” I said.
Roget glared at me and Steve shook his head.
What else was I supposed to say to a distraught teen?
“My mom’s not guilty. She didn’t do anything. This is all my fault.” A sob tore through him and he sank to the floor. His grandfather knelt down to comfort him. “All of it.”
With tears now brimming my eyes, I tried catching Steve’s gaze. I wanted this over. The teen’s pain tore through me and I didn’t even want to imagine what it was doing to his grandfather and sister.
Roget frowned and knelt by Mark. “What do you mean by that?” The friendly tone evaporated. Roget was using the police interrogation voice he used on me.
I stepped forward and wiggled between Roget and Mark. “He wasn’t at the event.”
“Stay out of this.” Roget looked up at me.
“I’m not going to let you…” The term railroad stuck in my mouth as Roget’s unpleasant expression intensified. The two teenagers and their grandfather watched us. Taking a breath, I took a step back and found myself slamming into Steve. He gripped my shoulders and maneuvered me off to the side.
“Mark, don’t worry about the phone calls.” I blurted. “I understand you made a mistake. I will accept an apology and want to drop the matter. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Heck, I just thought it was a prank.”
Roget stood. “Faith…”
“Well, I did.” I wouldn’t let Roget bully Mark. The boy’s mom got arrested for his father’s murder. That was more than enough turmoil for one family. What were a couple of misunderstood phone calls between people in a small community?
Mark stood and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Miss Hunter, I’m sorry. I was mad when I threw that rock, but I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I smiled at the boy. “I wasn’t hurt, Mark. Don’t worry about it.”
“He isn’t quite off the hook yet, Faith.” Eli glared at his grandson. “Though I appreciate your understanding in this.”
Lizzie touched my arm. “Mark wanted you to keep helping Mom. Since no one else would.” She fired the accusation toward Roget with a small gesture of her head. “Mark and Dad were supposed to go a baseball game that day.”
Mark hunched his body forward, almost trying to fold it in half.
Eli wrapped an arm around his grandson’s shoulder. The older man’s pain filled gaze locked with mine.
“Mark.” Steve cautiously approached the teenage boy. “If you were angry at your father for canceling your plans, that’s understandable. It has nothing to do with what happened to him.”
“Davis…” The warning from Roget bounced off the walls.
Steve continued. “I knew your father. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”
“You don’t understand,” Mark grumbled.
I sat down, hoping it would ease the tension radiating from the teen. “I’d like to understand, Mark. Can you explain it to me?”
Mark stared at me and minutes ticked by. I stayed still and maintained eye contact. I figured he’d either leave the room or tell me. Finally, he released a shuddering breath and then his secret. “I cancelled on Dad.”
I pushed back the memory
of the righteous anger Marilyn felt when she believed her husband stood up her son in favor of his mistress. We had been wrong. I had been wrong. We all labeled Michael a scoundrel, a bad father, a horrible person for an action he never committed. Maybe Michael had also told the truth about the baby not being his. We automatically assumed he was cheating on Marilyn because of the baby. Though Michael never denied the affair.
Did we ever really listen to him?
I know no one listened to my explanations that Adam was lying about my involvement. The authorities figured the reason Adam and I planned a honeymoon to Las Vegas was to go AWOL and never return to Germany. They figured we’d take all the black-market money earned from selling stolen military items and assume new identities.
“I was sick of him defending his right to have ‘women friends’ and hurting mom. I told Dad I wouldn’t be caught dead with him.” With tears streaking down his face, Mark’s gaze rested longest on his grandfather.
Lizzie took hold of his brother’s hand. “Mark thinks if he went to the ball game with Dad, he’d still be alive. I think someone would’ve hurt Dad anyway.”
Roget started scribbling into his notebook. “Why do you say that? Was someone threatening your father?”
The air crackled around us. I could feel the change in the room. Roget’s mannerisms were different, not just confident and cop-like, but alert.
Mark shook his head. “No. But someone hated him. Mom didn’t. She didn’t kill him. Someone else there did. They killed our dad.”
TWENTY-ONE
When I pulled into the employee lot of Scrap This early the next morning, the sun filled the sky with a beautiful pinkish hue a paper company could never reproduce. I yawned and took a slug of the coffee in my travel mug. When I finally fell asleep the night before, the dreams playing in my head woke me up again.
How was I going to get through this day without saying something stupid? Tough enough when I got plenty of sleep. The contractor was arriving at seven to replace the window before my grandmothers arrived. It seemed a good idea last night. Of course, I thought I’d fall right to sleep, not have my mind what-if itself into worst-case scenarios.
I turned off the engine and then leaned forward, resting my head on the steering wheel. My heart hurt for Elizabeth, Mark, and their grandparents. They were just as much victims in this case as Michael. All the gossip about Marilyn had to be killing them and the only person they could rely for discovering the truth was me.
Well, I couldn’t just sit in the car all day. I flung open the door and fresh mountain air filled my lungs as I clambered from the car. Contorting my body into a weird position, I pulled out my purse and large tote.
Reaching the back door, I shifted the bags farther up on my shoulder and wrestled with the lock. Of course it’d get jammed today. One, I needed to get inside quickly, and two, I had my hands full. After a few minutes, I finally jiggled the key in the right pattern and the lock budged.
The glass guy arrived on time and quickly put up the new window while I cleaned up the mess left from last night. Steve and Ted took care of the large pieces, but the tiny shards were still on the floor. A thorough sweep, then I deposited them in the dumpster in the back.
I tidied up the crop table, leaving out the supplies, hoping it enticed someone to sign up for tonight’s crop. I’d throw in some extra goodies and more prize drawings so the price was worth it.
The phone rang. Was it nine already? I ran to the counter and snagged the handset.
“Scrap This.”
“When’s the next store event?” A woman asked, anxiously.
“We have a crop tonight—”
“Is it full?”
“No.”
“Great.” Her utter glee came through loud and clear. “I’d like two spots. One for me and a friend.”
“The fee is forty-five dollars since it was a two-day learning crop. But we’ll be having—”
“Not a problem. We’ll pay the full amount.”
“We can’t guarantee a spot without payment.” I doubted anyone else planned on signing up, but I had to stick with the rules or risk a countywide incident once Darlene found out. She always found out.
“Can you take a credit card over the phone?”
“Sure.”
The woman rattled off her number and I copied it down. “Don’t forget the pictures you and your friend plan to use for the contest.”
“Pictures. Right. We’ll bring some.”
As I placed the phone on the cradle, I heard the woman yell “we’re in.”
The phone rang again. Busy morning.
“Scrap This.”
“You have any openings for the thing tonight?” a woman asked.
“Do you mean the crop?”
“Yeah, that. I’d like to get in on it. How much is it?”
I told her and she eagerly gave me her credit card number and reserved a spot.
The back door slammed opened. I jumped and knocked the phone to the floor. The back sprang off the receiver and the batteries tumbled out.
“Faith Patience Hunter!” Cheryl exploded from behind the curtain.
I spun around and placed my hands behind my back. Not that I had anything to hide, but old instincts and all that. Her tone plus my full name meant Grandma found out something I didn’t want her finding out. “Yes, Grandma?”
She waved the newspaper at me. “Why didn’t you call?”
The smell of newsprint hit my nose as the pages fluttered close enough to give me a paper cut. Darn it! Of course the glass-breaking incident would be in the newspaper. I should’ve bribed Karen England to keep it quiet. Though that might have just made her more eager.
I opened and closed my mouth a few times as I worked on a good reason.
Hope stood beside Cheryl and tapped her foot on the ground. “We’d like an answer, young lady.”
“For what?” I went with feigning ignorance.
“Not telling us that someone threw a rock through the window.”
“Oh that.”
Hope shook her head and tsked.
“I didn’t want to worry either of you.” I gave them a gracious I’m-such-a-helpful-granddaughter smile. From the scowls on their face, it wasn’t working. “Mark felt really bad about throwing the rock, and since Mr. Bennett arranged for the replacement this morning, there was nothing to tell you.”
An assorted melody of voices outside the store ended our discussion. Cheryl and Hope gaped. A line formed in front of Scrap This entrance. Women shifted large satchels from one shoulder to the other. Others shifted anxiously from foot-to-foot, weaving their head back and forth around the crowd.
“We should unlock the door,” Cheryl said.
“Are you sure?” Hope asked. “It looks like someone said George Clooney was here giving out his phone number.”
Cheryl rolled up her sleeves. “Hope, you take the register, keep the phone beside you, and Faith and I will handle crowd control. Get ready to open those doors.”
I moved into action.
“Did you read the paper?” Sierra shouted, running through the store toward the register.
“No. But I was yelled at about it.” I stepped out of the way of the stampeding crowd. Some women thrust layouts at me while others bee-lined for the counter, asking about the crop. When—and why—had the contest crop become such a hot item?
Sierra shoved a newspaper into my hands and started managing the crop schedule. As I read the article about the vandalism, everything became clear. The paper made it sound like the store sponsored a singles night. The reporter, not Karen England, stated that homicide Detective Ted Roget and Assistant Prosecuting Attorney Steve Davis and a young lady were attending the store’s evening get-to-together when the malicious act occurred.
Bobbi-Annie made it to the front of the line. Leaning against the counter, she caught her breath. “Why didn’t you tell me about these get-togethers?”
“We’ve been advertising the crop since Saturday,” I said
.
“A crop. Nowhere did it say it was a singles mixer.”
If that is what the women of Eden wanted, that’s what Scrap This would give them. Now I needed more men attending the class. While Sierra rang up purchases, I tugged the class book toward me. “The crop fee is forty-five dollars, Bobbie-Annie.”
“Is there room for four?” She drummed her fingers on the counter. Her cell phone sang I’m Every Woman. She flipped it open. “Yeah, Jasper, I’m here. Taking care of it.”
Jasper wanted to attend also? Awesome! Another available, attractive, employed male—what every single, marriage-minded woman wanted in a man. I’d need another teacher for tonight. “We have room for four more croppers. Tonight, we’re focusing on creating layouts for the contest.”
Bobbie-Annie shooed away my words. “Sure. Pictures.”
“From the Art Benefit Show.”
“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.” She hit a button on the phone. “Aunt Gussie, I got the spaces. Yep, I’ll be here and keep an eye on them.”
I suppressed a shudder at the implication of those words. “Them” had to be Bobbie-Annie’s cousins, Wyatt and Wayne. Please let them not bring pictures of their hunting successes or their mug shots, I thought.
“I’m so excited.” A red-haired woman headed to the contest display board, now showcased by a brand new, sparkling windowpane. “I know my entry is the winner. The die-cutter is coming home with momma.”
The woman behind her laughed and shouldered past her. “That’s what you think. That machine is so mine. You should see the yummy page I made. My photos are fantastic.”
The good-natured ribbing between the friends continued. Before I could even wish the other contestants would be so fun-spirited about the competition, an argument broke out in the front of the store. Hope and Cheryl emerged from the paper aisles where they had been helping customers. Cheryl charged toward the melee.
Hope pointed at the boards. “Faith, arrange the entries. I’ll handle the cash register.”
A line that rivaled the auditions for American Idol weaved itself through the paper aisle and ended at the register. Some entrants decided to add more embellishments to their layouts before they entered them into the contest.
Cropped to Death Page 16
