“Oh, yeah,” Joan said. “But I don’t think we’ll demonstrate it.”
Cathy and I waited until everyone else had lined up for the signing before we joined the end of the queue. The store had pretty much cleared out. Everybody was leaving with their books and a small gift from Joan: fortune cookies.
Joan looked up from the table. “You already have my book,” she said to me. “How are you enjoying it?”
“It’s certainly eye-opening,” I said.
“But I don’t have your book,” Cathy said, sliding a copy across the table.
“How sweet,” Joan said. “I remember you from writers group.” She paused with her pen suspended above the page. “That’s …”
“Cathy, with a C.”
“That’s right. I had to stop coming to that group. They weren’t friendly to what I was writing.” She looked over her glasses. “But then again, the group met in a public place. I can understand why those parents complained. How’s your book coming along?”
“Still revising,” she said, “although I have a little one at home now, and he’s rather demanding of my time.”
Joan set down her Sharpie. “Don’t be hard on yourself. It’s more important to raise your family. I didn’t even begin to write until after all my kids were out of the house. By then I had more … life experience to draw from, if you get my meaning.” Just in case we hadn’t, she punctuated that statement with a sly wink.
“I wanted to ask you something,” I said.
“If it’s about page ninety-seven, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t know if it’s possible or not.”
“Not sure I’m there yet.”
“You’ll know when you get there,” Joan said.
“Something to look forward to. But I really wanted to ask you about Marya Young.”
“What about her?”
“One of the things the investigation revealed is that Marya may have dipped into a few clients’ purses while they were distracted. Did you ever think you were missing anything from your purse after an appointment?”
“Like money, you mean?” she said. “Well, once I thought I had another five in my purse, but that could be me. I’m a little scatterbrained when it comes to finances. Using the whole creative side of the brain, I think.”
“Five dollars?”
“And if she took it, the joke was on her, because that was her tip anyhow. But from the tone of your voice, you were thinking something more?”
“Do you carry prescription medications with you?”
“Never,” she said. “Maybe the occasional essential oil. Jasmine. Sandalwood. Ylang-ylang.”
I’d never heard of Ylang-ylang, but from her tone I figured it might be wise to end the conversation before she enlightened me. But not before I snagged a few of her remaining fortune cookies.
Chapter 22
Dad was still AWOL on Tuesday, working the case. Waiting on customers, usually a task I enjoyed, did little to advance the clock.
Overcome by curiosity, or maybe even boredom, I even sneaked a peek at page ninety-seven of Won Ton Desire. That was a mistake. I wondered how much lasting damage it would cause if I bleached my eyeballs.
Later in the morning Mark texted and asked what I was doing that night, but I had to tell him I was tied up with the doll club meeting.
“Could you skip? Play hooky?” he texted.
“Wouldn’t be fair to Cathy,” I said, although my mind was more concerned with getting another chance to talk with both Diana and Valerie about their experience with Marya.
Mark’s frowny face emoji preceded a couple more flirty texts and a GIF of David Tennant saying hello.
By the time Cathy arrived for our meeting, I’d set up all the tables. She pulled off her scarf. “I’d planned to help set up. You ready for tonight?”
“For the meeting?” I gestured at the fully set-up room. “Did I forget anything?”
“You know what I mean. You’re going to interrogate Diana and Mrs. Browning.”
“I’m not going to interrogate them. That’s the quickest way to get them to freeze up. What we need to do is gently push the conversation in that direction. You can help, you know.”
“How’s that?”
“Marya was part of the committee, so it wouldn’t be hard for you to bring her up, and maybe I can ask a few casual follow-up questions and see how they respond. And if the conversation veers off topic, there’ll be two of us to swing it back around again. Keep it nice and simple, and there’s a better chance something will slip out.”
“Wow. I don’t know what scares me more, how well you’ve thought this out or how devious you’ve become.”
“Just a sixth sense that I have from all my years in law enforcement, however vicariously. I think Dad used the same technique on me and Parker. Felons, kids. He insisted the same techniques worked on both.”
Lori Briggs arrived first. “I thought maybe you’d cancel. I heard about the break-in next door.”
“Yeah,” I said, “Dad said it was ransacked pretty good.”
“I also heard you found Lionel Kelley naked in the alley.”
“Not exactly naked,” I said. “I guess the gossip network got that a little wrong.”
“Too bad,” she said. “Made for a better story. Anyway, I started brainstorming fundraising ideas, just in case the Browning Foundation doesn’t come through.”
“Not sure you have to worry about that,” Cathy said, and tilted her head toward the door.
Valerie Browning was being helped from the passenger seat of the Prius by Ian.
“Why, Liz McCall,” Lori said. “Nice catch.”
“Valerie should be a good addition to the committee,” I said.
“I was talking about Ian,” Lori said, fanning her face.
“Too bad she’s thinking of throwing him back,” Cathy said.
“Why on earth would you do a thing like that?” Lori asked.
“Because we’re as compatible as champagne and barbecue,” I said. “Not sure why he hasn’t seen it yet, but sooner or later it would end badly. Best to end it early.”
“But not before he funds the doll project, right?” Lori said.
Before I could answer, Valerie and Ian came in the door. “What a quaint little shop!” Valerie said as her son helped her with her coat. She wandered a few aisles and went on to explore the doll room with Cathy on her heels, ready to give the grand tour.
Ian pulled me aside. “Mother is very keen on this project and insisted I come hear what it’s all about.”
“I told you from the very beginning that I had a project I wanted to pitch.”
“I thought maybe that was your coy way of getting my attention. Tell you what. I can’t stay for the meeting tonight. Have dinner with me tomorrow, and you can pitch to your heart’s content. I’ll listen fairly and impartially.”
Another date? Before I could answer, he surprised me with a passionate kiss, and then was out the door.
Cathy had just come back in from the doll room, and her jaw dropped.
Lori hid her reaction with a polite cough.
And Mrs. Browning beamed a most satisfied, motherly smile in my direction.
That brief prelude threw me off kilter. By the time Diana Oliveri arrived, I’d forgotten I even had a plan. Good thing Cathy ran the meeting. She did a remarkable job of encapsulating the whole project for Valerie, who asked intelligent questions such as whether we were officially incorporating as a nonprofit and which 501.3 program we’d be applying for.
“I’m not even sure how that works,” Cathy said.
“You’ll need to have that in place,” Valerie said, “just to open up the business account, which you’ll need before you officially apply for a grant.”
Cathy and I looked at each other. Our little doll project had just gotten a whole lot more complicated, care of the state and federal government.
“Let me see if I can draft a mission statement and bylaws,” Valerie offered, “and run them pa
st my attorney, okay?”
“That would be wonderful!” Cathy said. “I know we’ve been just talking about organization, and it’s all been theoretical, but”—she picked up a box and opened it—“I thought maybe it would be a good time to get our hands dirty and rehab a few dolls.” As she started unloading her box, the women grouped around her and I kept to the fringes.
“This one basically needs a good cleaning,” she said, picking up a bedraggled smiling blonde doll.
“I’m good at stains,” Valerie said.
“I can testify to that,” I said. The dress she cleaned looked about as good as it did when I first took it off the hanger.
“I used to clean Ian’s dolls—excuse me, action figures—with toothpaste and an old toothbrush. It works wonders and doesn’t remove the paint.”
“You’re hired,” Cathy said. “Getting the grunge off the dress and the loving off the face would help a great deal.” She handed the doll toward Valerie. “Want to give it a go?”
“I’ll be happy to try,” she said. “Of course my hands aren’t as strong as they once were. Might have to do it a little at a time.”
I looked at her fingers and then remembered her kneading her hands after rinsing my dress for me.
“Arthritis?” I asked.
“Afraid so,” she said. “Hazards of growing older.”
“Sorry,” I said. On the other hand, with limited hand strength, she’d just pretty much cleared herself in Marya’s death. I doubted those hands could strangle anyone, even using the hair dryer cord.
Diana, on the other hand, was a big hefty woman, used to working hard all her life.
“Of course you should take your time,” Cathy said, “Unless you’d rather I find someone else.”
“No,” Valerie said, taking the doll and holding it possessively. “I’d love to do my part.”
Cathy turned to Lori. “Any luck finding replacement volunteers to help with the hair?”
Lori shook her head. “I tried a couple of schools. Still waiting for guidance counselors to get back to me.”
“What’s this about?” Valerie asked.
“Our original volunteer … uh,” Cathy began, then turned to me.
I sighed. Hopefully not too dramatically. “Yes, Marya.”
“Oh,” Valerie said. “Marya would have done a lovely job.”
“We could always ask Antoine,” Diana said. “I’d be happy to approach him.”
I bet she would. “He didn’t seem like the volunteering sort,” I said.
“Well, Marya never struck me as the sort, either,” Diana said. “And yet, she volunteered.”
“Did you have many dealings with Marya?” Cathy asked.
“Other than getting my hair cut, not really,” Diana said. “She came in the store once and handed around her coupons to my quilting group.”
“Mostly seniors?” I said.
Diana nodded.
“She came in and did the same thing at my knitting group,” Glenda said. “I mean, I appreciate a discount, but I thought it odd that she never asked permission first.”
“And the knitting group was also mainly seniors,” I said.
“What are you getting at?” Diana said.
“She also handed out coupons at senior speed dating. It wasn’t just that she had a lot of senior clients. She was specifically targeting them.”
“Targeting us!” Glenda said. “But why?”
“Well, I heard,” Cathy said, putting on her best gossipy tone, “that she was stealing from people’s purses.” She gave an exaggerated nod. “Drugs. Maybe money.”
A few gasps followed.
“Did any of you ladies ever miss anything?” I asked, trying for my best innocent tone.
“Of course not!” Diana said. “Just because we’re getting up there doesn’t mean we’re all easy marks.”
“I certainly wouldn’t have suspected her of anything,” Glenda said. “And here she was, married to the chief of police!”
“If you ask me, the whole thing was hinky from the very beginning,” Lori said. “Evil through and through, that bimbo.”
“Do people still say bimbo?” Glenda asked.
“They must,” Lori said. “I just did.”
“Well, now,” I said, thinking that Lori, whether she intended to or not, had just set me up to play good cop to her bad cop. “Sometimes there’s reasons for things. From what I hear, Marya had a pretty rough childhood, smuggled into the country by traffickers, and I guess maybe she needed money pretty badly.”
“Who doesn’t have a past, or things to overcome?” Diana said. “You work hard, and you do things the right way. That’s the American way I know. None of this, ‘Why, I married an American. I guess I’m an American.’ ” She finished that last part with a finger to her cheek, a fair approximation of Marya’s accent, and a tone so thick with sarcasm you’d need a jackhammer to remove it.
It was apparent that Diana resented Marya’s “easy” road to citizenship. Could Marya have said or done something that compeled her to violence?
While the vehement comments continued, the only one not participating was Valerie Browning. Perhaps she considered herself above what she thought of as petty gossip. But that approving smile had dimmed considerably to a tight sneer.
The meeting ended on a happier note, with less talk of Marya and more talk of getting dolls in the hands of needy children. As the group emptied out, Lori lingered behind, looking through the dolls that nobody had taken with them.
“Liz, can we talk frankly?” she said.
Cathy glanced at me. “I should probably head home to check on Parker anyway.”
After she collected the rest of her things, I pulled out a chair across the table from Lori. “Something wrong?”
She pushed an invisible piece of lint off the table then looked up at me.
“I know things haven’t been all that rosy for you in the romance department these last few years,” she began. “And that can make it tempting to fall for the first fast-talking, good-looking hunk who throws a little attention your way.”
I winced. “I thought you called Ian a good catch.”
“I’ve teased you, but that was before I realized it had gotten serious between you two.”
“Serious?”
“I saw that kiss,” she said. “And from the way Mrs. Browning eyed you up, I’m going to lay odds she’s been catalog shopping mother-of-the-groom dresses.”
“Oh, please. I’ve gone out with him twice, and mainly because I wanted to get grant money for this project.”
“She’s here because of you, you know. And that kiss Ian planted on you, he was staking a claim.”
“I’ve done little to give him hopes of having one. Oh, Lori, I don’t know what to do,” I said. “I went to one party. One party. Just looking for a chance to meet him and pitch the doll project. He keeps putting it off and asking me out. Then meeting his parents. How did it snowball into this?”
“Look, it’s probably none of my business, but the Browning family is used to getting what they want. Businessmen, politicians, everybody just caters to their whims. Zoning boards change their votes. Permits are fast-tracked. If this isn’t what you want, you better start putting up a struggle, otherwise you’re going to be carried in the current. Right to the altar.”
I took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “I’ll make it clear to him tomorrow.”
“I guess I shouldn’t throw away the info on fundraising I gathered, huh?”
“Thanks, Lori.”
* * *
Dad was already snoring in his favorite recliner when I got upstairs. Too many hours working, too little rest. I pulled a blanket around him, and he smiled in his sleep then went back on snoring.
I didn’t get a chance to check my phone until after I’d fed two hungry cats and climbed into my warmest pajamas.
“Dinner tomorrow?” from Mark.
“Just got back,” I texted. “If you’re still awake, call me.”
I climbed into bed with the phone and stared at it, willing it to ring.
Othello hopped up next to me and meowed once loudly until I acknowledged the chewed up toy mouse he’d dropped next to my pillow. I stroked his soft fur, and he eventually quieted and curled up for a catnap.
I’d started to nod off, too, when the Tardis landed—in other words, my phone rang.
“Hello?” I said.
“So, dinner tomorrow?” Mark said.
“That’s one of the things I wanted to talk about. I’m afraid I can’t make dinner tomorrow. I have a dinner meeting with Ian Browning.”
This was met with silence. Finally, he said, “I heard something about you and Ian. Not sure I wanted to believe it.”
“I’m not interested in him,” I said. “That’s something I hope to make clear to him tomorrow night.”
“Do you have to go out with him to do it? After all, I heard there’s fifty ways to leave a lover. Probably more now because of technology. Texts. E-mail. Fax. They really should update that song.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” I said. “Cathy’s counting on the Browning Foundation to fund her doll project, and now Mrs. Browning is involved.”
“Not sure if it’s the jealous suitor or the FBI accountant talking, but I wish you’d steer clear of the whole clan. I don’t trust them.”
“Something touching your investigation?” I asked.
“That, you know, I can’t talk about. Just be careful. They’re a powerful bunch, and that power can be a bit mesmerizing.”
“Trust me, I never had any intentions of getting involved with Ian.”
“So you have been dating.”
Now it was my turn to stretch the silence. “Just twice.”
“I guess we never discussed anything exclusive. Look, if you want to call it quits—”
“No!” I said quickly. “Not with you anyway.”
“Oh, should we be discussing something exclusive then?”
“I’d … be open to the idea. How about dinner Thursday? I’ll even cook.”
“Really? You make more than a killer hot cocoa then?”
“Can’t claim to be cordon bleu, but I do manage to keep my father and me alive.”
“Will he be there, too?”
Death of a Russian Doll Page 21
