3 Loosey Goosey

by Rae Davies

  I laughed until I cried. It was then that I realized how truly stressed all of this had made me. “Thanks,” I said, wiping at my eyes.

  They both stared back at me like sad kittens. Their attention made me want to turn my face away and change the topic.

  “Uh, I do appreciate it, but I don’t want you two getting in trouble for me.” I slid the flash drive back across the table toward Gary.

  He made no move to take it. “In trouble for what? We told you. It was an accident. Now...” He turned in his seat to retrieve his camera from where he had hung it on the back of his chair. “I put any images I thought might be useful to you on that,” he pointed at the drive, “but I still have everything on my camera too.”

  “Everything?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Well, not everything.” He flipped on his camera and handed it to me. The pictures started on the night of the first protest, the night at Tiffany’s restaurant, and went up through last night. At least I assumed the shot of Ben being led into the police station in handcuffs was from the evening before.

  “Sorry, but I do have to do my job,” he explained.

  I shrugged. As much as I would have liked to erase all record of my brother being arrested, I couldn’t. Besides, Mom already knew about Ben’s arrest. While seeing him in handcuffs might send her into a new panic, it was one of the many things beyond my control.

  “They’re on here too?” I asked, setting down the camera and retrieving the drive.

  “Yes. Technically, they belong to the paper, but as long as you don’t post them on FriendTime or something, we’re good.”

  Uh, yeah, no risk of that.

  I expressed my thanks again and slipped the drive into my pocket.

  “And here.” Marcy shoved another flash drive toward me. “All of Daniel’s notes, at least what was on his computer. Mainly looks like background information on Tiffany, and HA!, but there is other stuff in there too.”

  “Really?” I was surprised enough that they’d worked together to get the picture Ted was holding over my head deleted, but giving me Daniel’s notes took me to near shock.

  Marcy tilted her head to the side. “He’s your brother.”

  “But—”

  “And I’m not being totally altruistic. I expect you to tell me anything you learn.” She sat up a little straighter, trying to look prim and responsible, I guessed.

  I thanked her again and then fidgeted in my seat, waiting for enough time to have passed for a polite exit. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate their help. I did. But their concern made me jumpy, like I had something to be worried about.

  It hit me then that I did. I’d been so focused on how Ben’s arrest would affect my mother that I’d forgotten about Ben himself. What if he was found guilty? What if his arrest led to time in prison, or even... death.

  I left soon after that to return to my shop. I’d dropped Pauline and Kiska off there earlier, leaving Kiska in the main room and Pauline locked in my office.

  When I walked back in with the two flash drives weighing down my pocket, Betty was busy moving furniture around again.

  There was a pile of animal mounts in one corner, a brass cash register sat on my counter, and two rows of theater seats blocked the space between the front door and where Betty stood.

  “Everett’s coming with another truckload in an hour,” she announced.

  Seeing my expression at the velvet-covered obstacle in my path, she added, “There’s more of those, but I told him to take them to Rhonda’s. That’s where he is now.”

  I nodded, unsure how we were going to position these two rows without violating every fire and safety code that had ever been written.

  As I was mulling this over, something crashed inside my office. Kiska, lying on the floor a few feet away, lifted his eyebrows.

  Betty did the same. “Second one this morning. First time, I went to check and was nearly killed by that goose of your brother’s.” She ran her hand down the silk scarf that hung from her neck. “Made me wish I’d worn a boa today.”

  Grunting, I threw a leg over the row of seating and hurried to my office.

  Inside, I found Pauline sitting on a stack of magazines I’d been planning to place in protective plastic sleeves before putting them for sale in the shop. As I watched, she grabbed a page with her beak and ripped it from the magazine’s spine.

  When she reached for a comic, I screamed. “No you don’t.” I jumped forward, determined to save my recently acquired collection of All American Western comics.

  She squawked, jumped backward and pooped.

  “That’s new.” Betty spoke over my shoulder.

  My teeth gritted, I tried to remember how important Pauline was to Ben.

  “I hear goose is good roasted.”

  Ben, I reminded myself. “She’s probably stressed.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.” Betty’s gaze wandered over the disaster that Pauline had made of my office.

  After eyeing me with a level of distrust that confirmed in my mind that Pauline was smarter than your average goose or bear, she shook out her tail feathers and waddled past me into the main store.

  I waited for screams or honks or breaking glass, but all seemed quiet. Pauline and Kiska had seemed to have come to some kind of accord the night before, right about the time Kiska gave over his position on the bed to the goose. So it wasn’t the dog/goose interaction I was concerned with, but Betty/goose.

  Both, however, were tough birds, and I was confident both would survive any disagreements. My store? That was up for debate.

  Still, I had a brother to exonerate, so the two would have to sort it out between themselves.

  I cleaned up Pauline’s mess—poop, magazines and what appeared to be the remains of a corn cob doll that I’d forgotten I owned—and then sat down at my computer to find a killer, or at least a likely suspect who could take some heat off of Ben.

  I started with the pictures.

  There were a lot of pictures, but I focused on the ones from the night of Tiffany’s opening and the naked protest. The two occasions where I was confident her killer had been present at least at some point.

  It, of course, didn’t mean Gary had caught him or her on film, but it was a start.

  The shots from the opening started with those of us waiting to be let in for our meal. There was a cute one of Peter and me with his arm laced around my waist.

  It made me realize how long it had been since I’d seen him. I glanced at the phone, but put aside the need to call him. I didn’t want to have to not talk about Ben, and I knew Peter wouldn’t be able to. It would make any conversation we had stiff and awkward, and I didn’t need that right now. Better to wait and spend my time hurrying along Ben’s release.

  I returned to the pictures, making notes on everyone who was there. Stone had shown interest in the pâté that I’d ordered and not eaten. Maybe someone else had done the same thing.

  As I wrote down the names, I paused at one. Carl Mack.

  Carl had wanted the Antlers and the items inside restored to their original glory. Based on our conversation by the window that night, he had not been enamored with Tiffany’s choices.

  A motive for murder?

  It seemed unlikely, but how many rational reasons for murder were there? Carl had been there that night, and he had reason to dislike Tiffany.

  It was enough to write his name at the top of the sheet to check into first.

  The next few pictures were generic shots of the sign and door. Then, probably, I guessed, just as Gary was thinking he was done for the night, HA! had shown up.

  Another five showed HA! members gathered outside of the restaurant, choosing their signs and preparing themselves for the night, while Pauline stood on the roof of a car, watching over them. Rhonda was there too, but Eric, I realized, was missing. I quickly clicked through the rest of the shots—of the actual protest, right up to and past the point where Gary caught Tiffany, Pauline, and me in our scuffle—but the founder
didn’t appear in any of them.

  Perhaps he wasn’t there yet. I couldn’t remember now when Ben had said the HA! founder had arrived. I made a note to check, although I had no idea why his absence could be important.

  When I was done, I looked over what I had so far. All of the HA! members except Eric, Carl, Peter, Rhonda, me. At least a few of those names I could cross off my suspect list. Then there was the governor and the people at his table. I marked our state’s leader and wife off the list too. Then I pondered the other three couples that had been sitting with him.

  I realized now that I’d seen the men since, at the Capitol protest and on TV when I’d seen Richard Danes interviewed about the conference.

  They were all beef ranchers, most likely important ones. So why wasn’t Richard Danes there too? He was the president of the organization and Tiffany’s landlord. He might have been sick or had some other commitment, but, like Eric, his absence, considering, was curious.

  I wrote his name under Eric’s and kept going.

  When I was done with the opening I had quite a list. I also had some people I didn’t know, but I was sure Rhonda or Betty would.

  I printed out copies to show them later and moved to the pictures from the naked rally.

  As promised, the one of Ben and me was there. Without the editorial blurring, it showed an image that I wanted to burn from my mind as quickly as possible. I deleted the file, then hit delete again five more times. Still not satisfied the image was actually gone, I pulled the drive from my laptop and carried it out to Betty.

  “Open it.”

  With a shrug, she slid the drive into the USB slot and clicked on the file. I looked over her shoulder, holding my breath and hoping that the photo was really and truly gone.

  It was. With a sigh, I motioned for her to hand me back the drive.

  “What’s this?” she asked, disturbing my calm. On the screen was the first shot of the crowd at the naked protest.

  “Who is that talking to Daniel?” she asked.

  I squinted my eyes. “Richard Danes. He’s the head of the beef ranchers. The guy who’s letting us sell all of this.” I motioned toward the stack of dead animal heads.

  While she clicked ahead, I went back to my office for my notes. Then we sat together, going through the rest of the images.

  This time I noted three beef ranchers besides Richard talking to or near Daniel. He also spoke with Eric, Ben, a number of police officers, and Pauline.

  “I think I can mark Pauline off the list,” I said, eyeing the goose, who seemed to have settled in nicely atop an embroidered silk cushion.

  Betty snorted. “I’d put her at the top if I were you.”

  She was right; Pauline certainly had the attitude of a killer, and what with the pâté thing, a motive. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I could convince Stone of her guilt.

  I took control of the mouse and went back to the images from the restaurant’s opening. Betty was able to identify six more people, none of whom she could think of as having any connection to Tiffany.

  Satisfied with my list, I took it, the pictures I’d printed out, and the flash drive over to Rhonda’s.

  Rhonda was back in the romance section with three women who looked suspiciously older and richer than her normal clientele.

  She handed one of them three books and followed me to the front.

  “Who knew spanking would be the hot new trend?” she asked.

  “Spanking?” I leaned to look around a shelf at the three women who were now gathered around one of the books Rhonda had given them.

  “You know, spanking.” She made a motion of slapping her own behind with her hand. Her voice lowered. “And handcuffs and tickling and everything you wouldn’t expect them to be into. Ever since that Shades book came out, bondage is all the rage.”

  “Oh.” This conversation was quickly getting almost as disturbing as the picture of me with my naked protesting brother. “They look... old. Like my mother’s age.”

  Rhonda moved a stack of books from one table to another. “She’s probably read it too.”

  I sucked in a breath. This was not something I needed to think about.

  “Here.” I shoved the pictures that I’d printed out into her face.

  She laughed, at me I was sure, but took the pages and settled onto a stool that set behind the counter to check them over.

  “Do you know any of them?” I’d circled the people in question before leaving my office.

  “Well...” She looked over her shoulder toward the back part of her store where the bondage babes were still gathered. “This is one of the women here right now. From what they’ve said, I’ve gathered that they’re here for the beef conference—or their husbands are.”

  “Oh.” As I was pondering if this was useful information or just filler, the three women came strolling around the corner, giggling.

  I couldn’t look at any of them now without seeing my mother. Embarrassed, I dropped my gaze and pretended interest in A History of Barbed Wire. Who knew spiked wire could be such a game changer?

  The woman Rhonda had pointed out saw me looking at the book. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d put that behind the counter.” Her gaze turned suspicious.

  I glanced with what I’m sure appeared to be guilt from the book to her to Rhonda then back at her. “No, sorry. It was sitting here...” Unable to think of anything else to say to cover my apparent book-thieving ways, I held the volume out to her.

  She snatched the book from my hand and held it pressed against her chest. “My husband collects barbed wire.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes narrowed as if she were ready for an insult.

  “I have a board next door with five strands mounted on it.” I’d bought the board at a farm sale three years ago and given up selling it six months later.

  “Lucy owns the antique shop next door. She probably has all kinds of things beef related,” Rhonda announced, cheerful as a bell.

  “Oh.” The woman’s demeanor changed from suspicious to enthusiastic. “That would be great. It’s so hard to find presents for my husband, and our anniversary is coming up next month.”

  She set the book on the counter and then turned suddenly as if a thought had just occurred to her. “Oh, my God, did you hear about Leslie?”

  “Leslie Danes?” one of the other women replied.

  “Yes. Richard gave her a week at a spa for their anniversary.”

  “A week alone?”

  Interestingly, all three women seemed to see that as a bonus rather than a drawback.

  “That’s why she isn’t here and why he didn’t go to dinner with us the other night... when that chef died.” She looked at Rhonda and me with that air of superiority that a lot of people get from having been so close to news.

  One of the other women held up her hands. “You mean she gave up all this... for a week at a spa?”

  The three of them tittered.

  I looked at Rhonda to see if she was insulted by their obvious slam. True to her laid-back self, she just smiled along with them.

  I sighed. I really needed to find bitchier friends.

  Chapter 15

  I returned to Dusty Deals a few minutes later and walked into a bevy of bitchy.

  Betty and Phyllis stood in the middle of the store, their hands wrapped around one of Tiffany’s red sculptures.

  Betty tugged the free-form shape toward her. “This is not staying in this shop.”

  “This is staying in this shop.” Phyllis returned the move, jerking the sculpture back toward her chest.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  They went back and forth, pulling and tugging, while Kiska and Pauline watched fascinated from the sidelines.

  Betty gained ground, pushing up against a display of antique restaurant creamers and knocking me out of my stupor.

  “Stop!” I held up both hands.

  The dog and the goose turned to look at me. The women kept arguing.
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  “Seriously... stop!” I walked over and wrapped my arms around the sculpture.

  They each gave it another few tugs, jerking me back and forth, before dropping their holds and stepping back with scowls on their faces.

  I held the sculpture against my chest as if it might ward off the negative energy flowing off them and crashing somewhere around the middle of my head.

  I glanced around the room. “Where is everything else?” The place was bedlam. Chairs were sitting on tables, dishes were on the floor and rugs were rolled into scrolls, but I didn’t see any more of the items that I knew Everett should have delivered by now.

  “In the alley.” Betty spoke without removing her gaze from Phyllis.

  I felt as if I was standing between two growling, territorial dogs. I glanced around, wishing for a hose.

  Of course, a wet Betty would be more like a wet hen. I didn’t think it would do anything to calm her temper.

  I held up my hands again. This time in a sign of defeat.

  “I don’t have time to sort this out now.” I also had no idea how to sort this out.

  Phyllis, after giving Betty one long deprecating look, turned to face me. “I have an idea.”

  Pauline hissed. I looked at the goose. Check that. Betty hissed.

  Feeling like a first grade teacher, I gave Betty a fleeting frown and addressed Phyllis, “Yes?”

  “A sell-off.” Phyllis smiled. It was a prim, knowing smile all too fitting of my first grade analogy with Phyllis being the teacher’s pet and Betty being... me.

  “A sell-off,” Betty scoffed.

  Still in teacher’s pet mode, Phyllis turned on her toes to face her rival. “I can understand why the idea would intimidate you, but—”

  Betty puffed up bigger than a blow-dried Malamute wearing a goose-down coat. “You want a rumble?”

  The use of the word rumble worried me a bit. “Now, I don’t think—”

  Phyllis stepped forward, her green leather heels making little tapping noises on the bare concrete floor. “I suppose that’s your way of saying you accept the challenge.”

  “Let’s jam.” Betty leaned forward, her polished red nails clicking against each other as if she was counting off the ways she would do Phyllis in.