by Rose Pressey
“What are you going to name her?” Charlotte asked.
“Before I name her anything, I need to find out if she has a microchip. Someone has to be looking for a cat as beautiful as she is.”
“Okay. What if she doesn’t? Then what are you going to name her?”
“Hmm. I’d like to name her Wind Song. After my grandmother’s favorite perfume.” I smiled.
I’d dreamed of a life on the big screen when I was young, but I’d given up on that fantasy years ago when I discovered I could more realistically have a career in fashion. Clothing was much more my calling. My acting skills weren’t that great anyway, so Hollywood wasn’t missing much by losing me.
“It suits her. Now she just needs a diamond collar,” Charlotte said.
With Charlotte following me, I left the shop and locked the door behind me. I climbed behind the wheel of my Buick and headed for the final committee meeting before tomorrow’s big event. Last minute details about the clowns, jugglers, and face painters for the kids still needed to be sorted. The festival board of directors, which consisted of Blanche Dickens, Cindy Johnson, Dixie Bryant, Annette Hayes, and me had just a few loose ends to tie up.
I was in charge of the vendor booths on the north side of town. The other businesses in town usually offered booths in front of their storefronts, while handcrafted items from artists across the state were set up in the nearby church parking lot.
Blanche was the head of the committee. She had wanted to handle all aspects of the event, but she’d soon realized that sometimes it was necessary to delegate.
She owned the pet store around the corner and had given me valuable advice when I’d opened my place. She made running a business look effortless. Her strength never ceased to amaze me, even if she was a bit pushy at times. When her husband ran off with a woman half his age, she’d picked herself up by her sandal straps and started her life over. Plus, she hadn’t let the gossip around town get her down.
I could allow her to take charge of the festival, though when it came to my store, I was a total control freak.
The meeting was being held in a lackluster, red-brick building on the edge of historic downtown at Maple and Main streets. Sugar Creek had the Norman Rockwell vibe with brick storefronts lining the streets around the courthouse square. Ornate lampposts and pots of flowers dotted the sidewalks. We drove past a horse-drawn carriage on our way there.
Charlotte complained about the estate sale for most of the ride, but finally switched back to her favorite topic. “I’m telling you there has to be a way to find my killer. Someone had to have seen something.” She looked out the window, watching a world that was very much still alive.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. After all, even you didn’t see your murderer,” I said as I turned the steering wheel. The Buick had been built before the days of power steering, so it took some effort to maneuver it. My arms had become more toned since I’d inherited the car, so that was a plus.
“Right,” Charlotte murmured, but her mind seemed to be elsewhere.
“Don’t you know who might have wanted you dead?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”
“Asking me for help in solving your murder is like asking me to help you solve a math problem. Math was not my favorite subject.”
She didn’t acknowledge my comment, but changed the subject. “How you put up with these committee women is beyond me. They’re nothing but a bunch of hens. Yak, yak, yak. All they do is talk.” Charlotte mimicked with her hand.
The fuzzy dice swung from the rearview mirror as I maneuvered the large steering wheel and turned onto Maple. “Yes, I can see where nonstop talking would definitely be annoying.” I glanced over at her.
She scowled.
“You don’t have to come to the meeting with me,” I said.
“What else would I do?” She studied her manicured fingernails.
After turning into the small parking lot, I pulled into the nearest available space. “Haunt someone else?” I suggested.
“Fat chance,” she quipped as I got out of the car.
Of course she went inside with me. It was too much to hope that she would wait in the car. When we entered the meeting room, no one looked up. The other members had already arrived, making me look like a straggler even though I was early.
A long conference table sat at the back of the room with metal chairs placed in neat rows in front. To the right was another small table with refreshments.
Blanche noticed my presence and quirked a finely sculpted eyebrow as if to say, Finally, you’re here. She had a tendency to be a tad high-strung.
Short and pleasantly plump, she wore a blond updo that would definitely be classified in the big hair category. My friend Binky at the Rexall had told me that Blanche went through two cans of hair spray a week to achieve that look.
“Hurry up, Cookie. We need to get this done.” Blanche motioned for me to join the group.
“She always was a highfalutin, bossy one,” Charlotte said.
I couldn’t argue with that. Blanche was certainly on the assertive side. One time, she’d even tried to tell the police how to investigate a string of burglaries around town. In her defense, I should add that the criminal had been arrested because of her tip.
“Oh, Cindy is here. That just dills my pickle! We had a falling out recently,” Charlotte whispered.
As if anyone other than me could actually hear her.
I followed her ghostly gaze to see Cindy Johnson. She had married Bill Johnson right after they’d graduated high school. He owned the Ford dealership in town and she spent her time with charitable events and causes. They had divorced last year. She still wouldn’t divulge the details of what had brought on the breakup. The gossip going around was that he’d cheated. Always looking for details, the busybodies in Sugar Creek were still circling her like vultures.
Why hadn’t Charlotte mentioned knowing Cindy? If they knew each other, Charlotte would have known Cindy was a committee member. I’d have to find out what had sparked their argument.
I took a chair in the first row and Charlotte sat right beside me. She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair, glaring at Cindy.
“There are just a few matters to discuss . . .” Blanche began.
My thoughts wandered. The meetings were always on the boring side, but then again, what meeting wasn’t? I looked around. Cindy had her blond hair cut in a chin-length bob. She wore a red and white striped scarf around her neck and a navy blue suit . . . definitely not vintage.
“She’d look better if her suit wasn’t so drab,” Charlotte said, as if she’d read my thoughts. “That woman has skeletons in her closet, if you ask me. She pretends to be goody-goody, but—” Charlotte clucked her tongue.
“Has everyone paid for their booths?” Blanche’s gaze traveled over to me.
I snapped out of my thoughts and away from Charlotte’s gossip. I held up my hand. “Paid in full.”
Blanche didn’t respond to my answer. She moved on to the next point of discussion. “Let’s hope the parking runs smoothly and the appropriate streets are blocked off.”
As I listened to her bark out more orders, a noise behind me captured my attention. I glanced over my shoulder. A man stood at the exit. At first, I didn’t recognize him, then it came back to me. He had been speaking with Marie Vance outside Charlotte’s home this morning. He didn’t meet my stare.
Charlotte looked over her shoulder. “Isn’t that Marie’s new boy toy?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered back.
Talking stopped and all the women focused on the man.
“May I help you?” Blanche asked, clearly irritated by the interruption.
“Oh, he’s here to see me.” Cindy jumped up and headed toward the man, her kitten heels clicking on the linoleum floor. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
We watched as Cindy stepped outside with the man.
“Well, that
was strange,” Charlotte said. “Is he dating both women?”
That was a big assumption. “How do you know he is dating either woman?”
“I don’t. I just guessed.”
“Who was that?” Blanche asked all of us.
No one knew.
I was sure that she wouldn’t allow Cindy to talk to a stranger and not include her in the conversation. She’d probably corner Cindy after the meeting and ask a million questions.
After a couple minutes, Cindy returned, clicking her heels more forcefully than before.
Charlotte fidgeted in her seat beside me, probably wondering the same thing as me. Who was the mysterious man and why were Cindy and Marie talking to him?
Once the excitement of the stranger had died down, Blanche declared the meeting adjourned, lifting her hand and bringing it down as if banging an imaginary gavel.
I was anxious to pick up Wind Song and get home. It had been a long and bizarre day. Not to mention that I was starving. I reached out and grabbed a can of Diet Coke and a potato chip from the refreshment table. They were my favorite—Miss Parker’s Sweet ’n Sour Potato Crisps. The brand was only sold in the South.
Charlotte wiggled her finger. “You know, those diet drinks won’t matter if you continue eating potato chips.”
“I like potato chips,” I said through gritted teeth.
Charlotte wiggled her finger again. “They’re your hips.”
I glanced down at my bottom half. Sure, I had curves, but I figured they were just the right amount. My frame was naturally petite and I had an hourglass figure.
“Will you stop talking,” I whispered. “You’re going to get me into trouble. Here comes Annette. Be quiet.”
“She can’t hear me. What difference does it make?”
Annette Hayes wore her gray hair in a sassy short cut. I’d forgiven her for rarely wearing vintage because she always looked fabulous in her clothes. Her outfit featured buttercup-colored trouser pants and a white, cotton, eyelet lace blouse.
Every time I saw her I couldn’t help but smile. I’d spent many hours in her antique shop, learning to care for and appreciate the treasures of previous generations. Her store had whisked me away to the past and made me dream of having a shop of my own. She was as close a mother figure as I had, since my parents had moved to Tybee Island, although I doubted she realized that. I knew she wouldn’t have signed up for the job. One thing was for sure, we shared a love for old things.
She touched my arm. “You seem distracted. Is everything okay?”
I glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Her eyes widened. “That’s an odd question. I thought you would ask me something about the festival. But to answer your question, yes, I suppose I think it’s possible. Why do you ask?”
Before I could answer, Cindy approached. I felt Charlotte tense beside me. The first chance I got, I’d have to stop in Annette’s shop and tell her about Charlotte’s ghost. I wondered if she’d believe me.
“What are y’all talking about?” Cindy flashed a wide smile.
“Tell her I’m still madder than a wet hen at her. Tell them I’m here,” Charlotte urged.
Should I tell them about her snarky comments?
Dixie Bryant joined us, her warm hazel eyes magnified by the oversized white-rimmed glasses she wore. “Hi, Cookie. You need to stop by the café for a piece of red velvet cake.” She patted my shoulder. She was a petite bundle of energy who always reminded me of a pixie, as though the first letter of her name could be either P or D.
“Bless her heart. Her cake is dry. It’s like eating a sponge,” Charlotte said with a scrunched-up face. “And you’d better bring the Tums if you go anywhere near her chili. That stuff set my stomach on fire. She’s as sweet as a Georgia peach, though.”
Dixie owned Glorious Grits around the corner. She was a sassy brunette with a collection of jeans that consisted of almost every known designer. It wasn’t often that I saw her out of her green polka-dotted café apron, but the bright red silk blouse she had on set off her complexion nicely. She was constantly trying to add inches to my curves with her cakes.
“I’ll stop by real soon,” I said with a smile.
Blanche was shuffling through papers like a bubbly teenager frantically planning junior prom. She called Dixie and Annette back over.
Charlotte walked to the door and waited for me, tapping her foot impatiently. Cindy looked in the direction of the door. For a second, I wondered if she could see Charlotte, too. Or maybe she sensed her? But knowing Cindy, if she’d seen Charlotte’s ghost she wouldn’t have kept that fact to herself.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, ladies,” I said with a wave. Turning to Cindy, I said, “Well, I’d better get home. I have a ton of work for the store.”
She studied my face. “Sure, I’ll probably see you tomorrow for the big day.”
“Thank goodness you didn’t make me endure a conversation with her,” Charlotte said as we headed toward the parking lot. “Now, are you going to help me find my killer?”
“I think you should just trust the police. I’m sure they’re doing all that they can to find out who murdered you.”
She brushed off my comment with a wave of her hand. “Oh, please. They have other things to worry about than solving my case.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Eating doughnuts.” She smirked.
“That’s not very nice.”
“Well, I’m not happy with them. If they were any good, they’d have my killer under arrest by now.”
As I headed down the sidewalk, the man who had been talking with Marie and Cindy was walking straight toward me. He took a quick drag on his cigarette, then tossed it on the ground and stomped it out. He was only a couple steps away when he said, “Are you friends with the women in that meeting?”
I thought about telling him to mind his own business, but I was curious about his question. “I’m on the planning committee for the town’s spring festival.”
“Then you know Cindy Johnson.” His dark eyebrows shot up.
“Yes, I know her.” I looked toward my car, hoping for a chance to slip away. “Why do you ask?”
“My name’s Edward Andersen.” He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to me. Besides his name, the card read PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR. PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL. STATE LICENSED AND INSURED. His phone number was listed underneath.
I studied his face. “What do you want with Cindy?”
“I’m looking into the death of Charlotte Meadows.” His mouth took on an unpleasant twist.
Charlotte released a little gasp.
“Who hired you?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I can’t release that information.”
I stepped around him toward my car. “I don’t know anything about her death. I barely knew her.”
“Ask more questions,” Charlotte urged. “Find out what he knows.”
How was I supposed to ask more questions? He had already walked away.
“You’ll call me if you think of anything?” His voice carried across the parking lot.
Charlotte walked so close that she was practically attached to my side. “I can’t believe someone hired a private investigator. And I can’t believe that you didn’t ask more questions. You have to find out what’s going on.”
“Like I said, it’s up to the police. Not me.”
“Well, they’re not doing enough.” Her voice raised a level. “Speaking of which, there’s one of the detectives who’s supposedly investigating my death. He’s clearly not very good at his job.” She pointed across the parking lot toward an official-looking black Crown Victoria.
I realized that the detective had been watching my exchange with the private investigator. When I glanced over my shoulder, Andersen was gone. He hadn’t wasted any time getting out of there. I was the one stuck with the police watching me.
As I shoved the key into the lock and opened the car door, Charl
otte continued, “That’s Detective Valentine. He’s been poking around my house.”
The man had short dark hair and tanned skin. He wore a red T-shirt exposing his muscular forearms. I’d never seen him before. Was he new on the force?
“He doesn’t look like a policeman. I don’t see a gun,” I said as I surveyed him.
The detective quirked his eyebrow. My stomach took a dive and my heart rate sped up. Why was I nervous? So what if the detective seemed interested in what I was doing. He couldn’t possibly know I was talking to Charlotte. She was a ghost. He couldn’t see her. No one could, except me.
I jumped into my car as if I’d done something wrong, not quite sure why I was rushing. I wasn’t guilty, but I was sure acting suspicious. With a slight tap on the gas pedal, I backed out of the space, then headed for the exit. Not too fast, though. I didn’t want to get a speeding ticket. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The detective was still interested in my movements.
“Why was he staring at me?” I asked, turning on the radio to my favorite oldies station. Just like in my shop, I’d had satellite radio added to the car’s audio system, as well as modern speakers, so I could always listen to the sounds I loved. “Bye Bye Love” by The Everly Brothers spilled from the speakers as I pulled out of the lot.
“Maybe because you acted as if you’d killed someone,” Charlotte offered from the passenger seat.
“I wasn’t acting nervous. Was I?” I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel.
“No, not at all.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, thank goodness that pointless meeting is over. Do you always hum along with the music?”
I turned down the radio even though “Moonlight Serenade” by the Glenn Miller Band had come on. “Do you want to tell me what was going on between you and Cindy Johnson? Why are you so hard on her?”
“I was involved with her charity.”
Using my muscles, I navigated the steering wheel around a curve. “Oh, yeah. It’s called Speak Out.”
Cindy was the president. The charity worked to end violence against women and children.
“I was supposed to donate money to the cause, but I changed my mind at the last minute,” Charlotte said.
