by Beth Yarnall
One of the fifteen-foot-high metal shelving units had fallen over. I could just barely see the top of Shasta’s head. The big boxes on the higher shelves had piled down onto her and in front of the door. I started pulling boxes off of her, handing them back to the people behind me.
I finally moved the last big box. “Oh, damn.”
Behind me the gawkers gasped. Someone was crying. The shelving unit had pinned Shasta to the wall, hitting her square in the solar plexus. Her head hung on her chest, a thin line of blood seeped from her mouth.
“Shasta?”
Licking my lips, I reached out a tentative hand and felt for a pulse. Nothing. I’d seen death before when Chuck Puckett had been murdered. It really hadn’t prepared me for this. Bowing my head, I closed my eyes. I whispered a quick blessing and made the sign of the cross. I wasn’t the best person or the best Catholic, but it was all I could think to do for her.
“What’s the trouble here?” a male voice I didn’t recognize asked.
I stood up slowly and turned to the crowd that had gathered in the cramped space, thinking I should probably get everyone out of there.
An older gentleman, whose portrait hung in the executive offices of every Stratford’s Department Store, broke from the crowd and rushed forward. “Shasta?”
Oh, hell no.
He elbowed me aside and dropped to his knees. “Shasta!” He shook her. “Shasta!”
“I’m sorry—” I began.
“Don’t just stand there. Get this thing off her!” He tried to move the shelving unit, but it wouldn’t budge.
I put a hand on his arm. “Mr. Stratford, don’t. There’s no way to move it. Help is already on the way.”
“You don’t understand.” He leaned against the unit, putting his whole body into it. It didn’t shift an inch. He bent over and gripped his knees, breathing hard. “I can’t leave her like this.” He looked up at me and whispered, “She’s…she’s my daughter.”
Dread pooled, sick and thick in my belly. Oh, shit. Double shit. Shit, fuck, shit!
I’d killed the big boss’s daughter.
Chapter Four
This was going to look really bad in my personnel file. My first month as counter manager and I’d gotten one of my employees killed. And not just any employee, but the storeowner’s daughter. I should’ve let her go get her latte like she wanted. If I had, she’d be happily texting and sipping, I’d be unhappily brooding and working my ass off, the store would be open, cops wouldn’t be swarming the place, and no one would be carting a body bag out the door. But nooo, I had to go and assert my stupid authority.
At least I knew now how Shasta had gotten a job she wasn’t qualified for or interested in and why Daryl hadn’t fired her.
Xavier put his arm across my shoulders. “Well, at least old man Stratford knows who you are now.”
I gave him a get-bent glare. I hadn’t shared Mr. Stratford’s little revelation with Tabitha and Xavier. Not long after the police had arrived, Mr. Stratford had pulled me aside and insisted—no, insisted was too nice a word, threatened was really more accurate—that I didn’t tell anyone Shasta was his daughter.
“It’s really not your fault,” Tabitha offered.
I transferred the glare to her. “You’re almost convincing.”
“That’s not what I meant. I mean it’s totally not your fault. How were you supposed to know that shelving unit was going to fall on her? Who could know that? No one. That’s who. I wouldn’t have known. You couldn’t have known.”
I put a hand up to stop her. Tabitha always jibber-jabbered when she was nervous.
“I bet her family could sue for the shelves not being strapped to the wall,” Xavier said.
I swiveled my head in his direction. “What?”
“No strapping. Didn’t you notice?”
Come to think of it, I had, but I guessed I’d been so distracted by Daddy Department Store’s declaration and threatening aside that the shelves not being bolted to the wall had kinda taken a backseat. Why hadn’t that shelving unit been fixed to the wall?
Lance strolled over and inserted himself between Tabitha and me. “Terrible tragedy. Terrible.” He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him. “How’re you holding up, love?”
Xavier tightened his hold and brought me closer to him. He hated Lance. “She’s fine.”
“Indeed she is.” Lance dug his fingers into the flesh on my hip and jerked me closer. “Now that I’m here.”
I suddenly found myself the center of a tug of war, my head bobbling back and forth. I finally had enough of them and elbowed them in the sides. “If one of you tries to pee on me, you’ll both be pissing sideways for the rest of your lives. Knock it off.”
They dropped their arms.
Xavier crossed his over his chest. “She was fine before you got here,” he grumbled at Lance.
My retort caught in my throat as they brought Shasta’s body out of the stockroom and hefted the body bag onto a stretcher. Even though she was nearly as tall as me at five foot nine, the black bag seemed too big for her young body. The nervous chitchat was suspended for a moment as we all watched them wheel her body out of the store.
“Why was she even over on that side of the stockroom?” Lance’s voice held the same disbelief we were all feeling.
For once His Fake Highness was making sense. Annoying, tactless sense, but sense nonetheless. The shelving unit that had fallen on Shasta held Shy Kitty products, not Estelle Landers. Our products were on the other side of the stockroom. So what had made her turn right instead of left?
“Maybe she saw something shiny and climbed up for a closer look.” Tabitha clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “I can’t believe I just disrespected the dead like that.”
“Did you or one of your counter mates ask Shasta to get some product down for you?” I asked Xavier.
“No. We pulled stock this morning.”
Curiouser and curiouser. The shelves weren’t attached to the wall like they were supposed to be. Shasta had been on the wrong side of the stockroom at the wrong time. There was a seldom-used door at the other end of the stockroom. Someone could’ve lured her in, brought the shelving unit down on top of her and then easily escaped. Everything about this “accident” just didn’t feel right to me, like the very real possibility that it hadn’t been an accident at all. That maybe, just maybe someone had unstrapped that shelving unit and used it to kill.
Chapter Five
I caught Mr. Stratford staring at me across the sales floor, the look in his eyes wary and watchful as I worked to close down the counter for the day. Did he suspect as I did that his daughter had been murdered? And if so, why keep the fact that Shasta was his daughter a secret? Wouldn’t that help the police find out who killed her and why? Maybe she was killed in retaliation for something Mr. Stratford had or hadn’t done. Maybe her murder was some kind of warning to him. Or maybe—and this was kinda farfetched—he killed Shasta, setting it up to look like an accident.
Or the more likely scenario was that having a murdered ex-boyfriend made me see conspiracies where there was nothing more than lazy workmanship and a father distancing himself from his drugged-up screw-up of a daughter. But that wasn’t nearly as interesting to me, so I was going with “Murder for a Thousand, Alex”.
“The police want to interview you,” Daryl said, drawing me out of my conspiracy theories. He was in red because it was Wednesday. “There’s a detective waiting in my office to speak with you.”
Yeah, I didn’t do cops. Unless you counted Super Agent. Him I’d do upside down and sideways on a trapeze in the rain. “Can’t I just write down what I saw and give it to him? You know, like a report?” I hated reports, but I hated cops more. They gave me hives. I’d already starting itching like an addict coming down off a fix.
He reached up and squeezed my elbow, real concern on his face. I didn’t know he could do concern or any other kind of emotion other than avoidance. “I’m sorry you ha
ve to go through this. I wish there was a way I could take your place. Do you want me to go in there with you…as support?”
I blinked down at him. This was the nicest he’d ever been to me. “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you, but I can handle this.” I glanced up at his closed office door. “I guess.”
He bowed his head, cleared his throat and gave my elbow another squeeze before letting go. “I’m always here for you,” he mumbled.
Shuffling my feet, I glanced anywhere but at him. “Yeah, sure. Okay.” Tragedy did strange things to people I guessed, like turning them into human beings.
As I headed off toward Daryl’s office, I could feel Mr. Stratford’s eyes still on me. The look on his face was almost pleading. Did he really think I’d spill my guts under pressure like some cheap 99-cent store piñata? Well, he’d see I was made of sterner stuff. And why I cared what that man thought of me was beyond me. Other than wanting to keep my job in his store I had no reason to be afraid of him. So why was I sweating through my clinical-strength antiperspirant?
I knocked on Daryl’s office door, then pushed it open without waiting for a reply. “You wanted to speak with me?”
Oh, cripes. Not another hot one. Really, whoever was doing the law-enforcement recruiting these days was better than a casting agent for a nighttime TV drama. This one was long and lean with the lazy-eyed squint of a young Elvis. His dark hair and goatee shined blue-black under the fluorescent lights. Suddenly I was sweating for a whole other reason.
“Maggie Mae Castro?” Damn. That voice.
“That’s me. How long is this going to take?” I made a show of checking the time on my cell phone. “I’ve got plans.” I said this to remind myself. Plans = date. Date = boyfriend. Boyfriend = can’t throw myself at him like the sex-starved slut I was.
“Have a seat.” He smiled, but there was something not quite right about it and the look in his eyes that accompanied it. “I’ll try not to keep you. I’m Detective Cruz. I just have few questions about what happened today.”
He asked me for my contact info, then took me through what had happened with Shasta. It was all very conversational and inappropriately flirty. My hives hardly itched at all until he asked me who had access to the stockroom.
“Anyone in the cosmetics department. They haven’t changed the access code since I started here three years ago. Why?”
“In the past few days, did you see anyone hanging around the stockroom who shouldn’t have been?”
Honestly, I hardly paid attention to anything other than keeping my sales numbers up and how long until I was off work. “No.”
“Can you think of anything that seemed unusual or out of place to you?”
“No.” I didn’t think he’d care about all the crap I’d misplaced over the past few weeks.
“Okay, well, thank you for answering my questions. If you can think of anything else—” he handed me his business card, “—give me a call.”
“This wasn’t an accident, was it?”
He sat back in his seat and regarded me with his sexy, panty-melting bedroom eyes. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “Why are you answering my question with a question?”
“Why won’t you tell me why you think this wasn’t an accident?”
“Why don’t I call you if I have any more questions?” I got up from my chair and headed for the door.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
Halting midstride, I turned back to look at him. My initial attraction to him had slowly morphed into unease the more time I’d spent with him. Even if I wasn’t deliciously tangled up with Super Agent there was no way I’d go out with this guy. “I’m not seeing enough of someone.”
He laughed, but it had an odd edge to it. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not in the market for any more frustration. But thank you.” I opened the door and paused. “Oh, and thanks for answering my question.”
“What question?”
“The one about this not being an accident.”
“I never said that.”
“Actually, you did. I’ve gotten pretty fluent in verbal evasion.” And I had a big ole broad-shouldered FBI agent to thank for that. “Nice meeting you.”
Heading back to the counter to gather my things and go home, I thought about all Detective Cruz had said and not said. Shasta’s death wasn’t accidental, so who wanted her dead?
Chapter Six
Instead of grabbing my purse and heading home like I should’ve done, I went in search of Mr. Stratford. He wasn’t where I last saw him so I took the elevator to the third floor. The executive offices were tucked behind an unmarked door next to giftwrap. I figured if Daddy Department Store was still in the store that was where I’d find him.
Callie, the store manager’s assistant, was busy fielding calls at her desk. I had to wait a couple of minutes for a break in calls. The media had already gotten wind of the story, apparently. “Hey, Callie, is Mr. Stratford up here?”
She flicked a hand toward one of the offices that had become vacant during the last store restructuring. “In there. But he asked to not be disturbed.” She let out a hefty sigh as her phone lit up again.
I waited until she answered to tiptoe past her. “I won’t disturb him.” Much.
I did my usual knock-and-burst-in thing, opening the door to find Mr. Stratford hunched over the desk, head in hands.
He lifted his head. “I told you… What do you want?”
Yeah, I wasn’t happy to see him either.
“Can we talk?” I closed the door behind me.
“No.”
“Then I’ll talk. You can do whatever.” I lowered myself into the chair across the desk from him. It was then that I noticed his red-rimmed eyes and mussed-up hair. In all the confusion and shock I’d forgotten this man had lost his daughter. “I’m sorry about Shasta.”
“If that’s why you barged in here, you’re wasting your time as well as mine.”
“It’s not, but that doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.” Putting my elbows on my knees, I leaned closer. “I’m sorry.”
He glanced down at his hands on the desk. “You’re the first person to offer condolences.”
“If more people knew about Shasta’s connection to you—”
“No.”
“Okaaay.” I didn’t get this guy. He obviously cared about his daughter, so why not claim her?
“Do you have children?”
“Not that I know of.”
That managed to pull a half smile out of him. “I didn’t think I did either until about fifteen years ago.”
By my quick calculations—math genius that I was—Shasta was about three when Stratford had found out he was a baby daddy. Sooo Shasta clearly hadn’t been a product of his twenty-eight-year marriage. No wonder he wasn’t so keen on making the news public.
He noted my raised brows. “I’m not proud of myself. I did the best I could, providing for her, making sure she had everything she needed.”
“Your wife doesn’t know.”
“I didn’t want to hurt her. We couldn’t have children. If she found out about Shasta… Look, I love my wife.”
I held up a hand. He didn’t owe me an explanation. “I get it.”
“I did the best I could for Shasta. She got into drugs. I paid for rehab. She got arrested. I got her a job.”
“Yeah, thanks for that.”
He had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Sorry. She chose cosmetics. I thought maybe if she worked at something she enjoyed—” He let out a frustrated breath. “I kept tabs. I know how that went. I’m sorry you had to deal with her…behavior.”
“The police don’t think it was an accident.”
That seemed to surprise him. “What else could it be?” The realization slowly dawned for him. “No,” he breathed. “Why? Who would want to hurt her like that? She was just a troubled girl.”
“It happened in your store…” Really, this man was a department store mog
ul, but he couldn’t put two and two together?
“You think…aw, Jesus.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.
“Who knew Shasta was your daughter?”
“No one. Well, her mother, obviously. My attorneys…and now you. My name isn’t even on her birth certificate. We did everything privately and quietly. Her mother just wanted to secure Shasta’s financial future.”
“Could Shasta have told someone?”
“She didn’t know about me. It was a condition of my contract with her mother, Valerie. I always deal with Valerie directly. All Shasta knew was that she got the job here at the store through one of Valerie’s friends. We’ve never even met.”
Wow. No wonder Shasta had been so screwed up.
“Is there anyone who might have a grudge against you or the store?”
He shook his head. “No. I can’t think of anyone who could or would do such a thing. God. I still can’t believe this. I guess I should call Valerie and break the news.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Yes?” Mr. Stratford answered.
Callie opened the door and popped her head around it. “There’s a detective here to speak with you, Mr. Stratford.”
“I’ll be there in a moment.” He waited until Callie had closed the door. “Please. Don’t tell anyone what I’ve told you. My wife…her health is very fragile.”
I’d heard about Mrs. Stratford’s cancer battle. “I won’t, but don’t you think the police should know? You know, to help them find Shasta’s killer?”
He flinched at the word killer, then battled back, morphing into the titan of department store industry. “That’s my decision to make. Not yours. I need your word you won’t talk about this with anyone.”
I rolled my eyes at him. So dramatic. “I gave you my word.”
“I suppose you think you’ve got me over a barrel now, that I’ll do anything to keep you from telling my secret.”
“I’m not going to blackmail you, if that’s what you’re implying. Like you said, it’s your story to tell or not tell.”
