"Are you thinking Hal Humberger's murder is linked to Essie's stroke? The first one she had? That doesn't make much sense. Twelve years have passed."
"You are right. It doesn't," I agreed. "I'm grasping at straws."
"Is there some reason you want to play Nancy Drew?" MJ asked, raising a speculative eyebrow.
"This living under suspicion is wearing me down. Every time Detective Murray drops by, my stomach knots up. I worry that he's going to accuse me again.”
"He hasn't cleared you?" MJ asked.
"No, and it's starting to keep me from sleeping at night. Sometimes I find myself thinking, 'Who is the killer? Is he watching me? And why did the crime happen here?' I feel like I'm looking over my shoulder all the time. I hate to admit that I'm scared, but maybe I am.”
"Sounds to me like you're having some sort of delayed reaction to finding the body," MJ said, as she sipped her coffee.
"Possibly. Probably. I had bad dreams last night. I'm worried that people are blaming me for Hal Humberger's death. Maybe the graffiti is just the tip of the iceberg. I realize I sound paranoid, and maybe I'm just overly tired, but…" I paused. "What if people avoid the store because of what happened here? You can't blame them, can you? The idea that a killer is roaming around makes everyone jumpy. Shadows seem to come alive. Noises are magnified. Staying home seems like a smart move. What if our grand opening is a big bust!"
"I think you're letting your imagination get the best of you. There's nothing we can do about what happened here," she said, in a logical tone of voice. "Except to make the store as inviting as possible. And you're already doing everything you can in that regard."
"I know, I know," I said, rubbing my temples. "I guess I just have a case of the jitters. I'm obsessing about everything. It's silly. I haven't done this for a long, long time."
"Look," she said. "You're not the only one who goes over and over things in her mind. I do, too. I still feel bad about leaving Essie after her stroke. She kept encouraging me to go to Michigan. In fact, she got really agitated about it. Finally, I decided I was doing more harm than good by staying."
"Maybe she felt guilty keeping you from your mother, when she'd just had her own brush with mortality," I said.
"I'm sure that was part of it." MJ looked down into her coffee cup. "Our conversation yesterday got me thinking about the paintings. I came up with one other way that they could have disappeared. Right before Essie had her first stroke, Irving's wife Evelyn was diagnosed with MS. He was scurrying around even then trying to find alternative treatments for her. I wonder if Essie gave the paintings to Irving to sell and forgot about it. The stroke did a lot of damage to her brain. Her memory was never the same afterwards."
"What about the money? Wouldn't someone have noticed that Irving had come into a lot of cash? Or that he spent a lot on getting help for Evelyn?" I asked.
"Not really. Essie bragged and bragged that someday her paintings would be worth a mint, but that was pure speculation on her part. Back then they weren't worth much of anything."
I said, "Suppose Irving did sell the paintings, right before her stroke—and he didn't get much—then maybe he chose not to remind his mother that he'd sold them. He decided it was better to just let her and everyone else think they were stolen."
"That's what I'm thinking," said MJ. "Because she would have been furious with him if he sold them for next to nothing. Even though that's all they would have been worth. She loved those paintings. She cared more about them than she did about Irving."
"My mother used to say that Essie was too hard on Irving, that she never had a kind word to say about her son."
"That's true. She could be awful to him. Just horrible."
"Then you’re suggesting that the cameras didn't record the paintings going out the door, because they left under Essie's supervision shortly before she had the stroke.”
"That's what I'm guessing," said MJ. "At least all the pieces fit."
68
MJ settled in at her makeshift desk. Spread on the surface was a carpet of manila file folders. One of them had to be dated the same year that the Highwayman paintings went missing. The questions was: Could she find it? I went back to working on spreadsheets. We didn't talk to each other as we worked, although I could hear her phoning customers. I couldn't do much about getting a business license on a Saturday, but I could delegate this busy work to Wilson, so I shot him an email.
As I worked, I heard the wet sound of paint being applied to drywall. I didn't expect my free labor force to do a great job. I figured that even a cursory first coat would be better than nothing, although I'd been pleasantly surprised to see they had brought tarps with them. Officer Dooley had stood over them as they spread the protective cloth over our so-called merchandise. I could hear him pointing out areas they'd missed with the paint and generally overseeing the quality of their efforts.
I turned my efforts to our grand opening. Getting people through our door would be a challenge. Or so it seemed. On the face of it, Essie's ads produced a very poor result, because the correlation of advertising to sales was pitiful. I was tempted to skip advertising all together. However, I decided that was being penny wise and pound foolish. Essie had not needed advertising because back then The Treasure Chest had been an ongoing concern. I was almost starting from scratch, seeing as how the doors had been shuttered. It would be up to me to re-establish The Treasure Chest's clientele. Reluctantly, I started putting together an ad budget for the store.
On Monday, I could contact the local newspaper and get their ad rates. From the Chamber of Commerce website, I printed a calendar of upcoming local events. I couldn't plan for the ads until I talked with Skye and MJ about possible promotions. For the time being, my entrepreneurial paperwork had come to a standstill.
Just then Skye arrived at the back door, loaded down with food and supplies. I helped her with some of the plastic bags. As I juggled the parcels, I could see that she’d done a good job of making sure there’d be a lot for my painting crew to eat.
"You're going to have to quit buying food for everyone, Cara," MJ said, as she accepted the receipt from Skye. "This habit is costing you a fortune."
"I will stop as soon as we get the store fixed up," I promised her. "Right now, everyone is working long hours. I'd rather pay for food than pay for the overtime."
"Have you looked in on the painters to see how they're doing?" Skye asked.
"Nope."
“Are you ready for the big reveal?” Skye asked with a grin.
This was the moment of truth. I wondered if I would regret arming a troop of teenage boys with brushes, rollers, and paint. I held my breath as we walked onto the sales floor.
The boys had done a terrific job. The paint had been applied in judicious coats, not too thick and not too thin. Nothing had been spilled. One entire wall was finished. Officer Dooley had obviously been supervising the young men carefully. The color I had chosen visually lifted the ceiling. It also reflected the sunlight streaming through the display windows that were being meticulously cleaned by a boy on a ladder. The kid was using a razor blade to remove any remaining flakes of red paint from the graffiti episode. What a difference the clean glass made!
I thanked Officer Dooley and his crew members. Skye showed him the bags of food. He clapped his hands and suggested that the boys take a break. As they fell on the meals the way only teenage boys can, I showered them with praise them for their efforts. The Treasure Chest was definitely shaping up. I could scarcely believe my eyes.
"I have a few ideas for repurposing the other drawers," Skye said. "I was thinking we could use them as floating shelves in one area of the bare wall space. They will fill the empty space and allow us to display other merchandise."
"Brilliant," I said.
We turned to see Bobby walk in. Skye explained her idea to him.
"I can get shelves made and mounted," he said. "I'll also get all those locks changed for you. I've got them in my truck. MJ told me yo
u needed that done."
"We need to hurry," said Skye.
"Why? What’s up?" I was enjoying the transformation of the sales floor.
"You and I and MJ need to be somewhere in fifteen minutes."
"Where? You didn't warn me." I shook my head.
"It's a surprise. Bobby has plenty to do. Officer Dooley and the boys will keep working. The kids can dog sit. We have to find more merchandise, and you need to come with us while we’re on a materials run."
“MJ knows about this?”
“Of course.”
The front door handle jiggled. To my surprise, it was Cooper trying to get in. Skye ran over to allow him entrance, because I could only stand there with knocking knees. He and Skye exchanged knowing looks before he said, "Ladies, your carriage awaits."
I glared at Skye. What was she up to? She ignored my frown, raced to the backroom, and yelled, "MJ? Time to go!"
In one hand, MJ carried cloth grocery bags. She linked her free arm through mine and said, "Come on. We've got to move it."
"Have a good one," said Officer Dooley. "We'll keep an eye on everything."
MJ and Skye led us to a black Escalade parked at the curb. Cooper opened our doors, ushering me into the front passenger seat. I buckled my seatbelt and avoided his eyes. He reached over and gave my hand a squeeze, as though nothing amiss had happened in his office.
It was the proverbial "elephant in the living room," and I felt uncomfortable. We needed to discuss our kiss and Jodi's reaction, but of course we couldn't do that in front of Skye and MJ. I squirmed in my seat for a while. Finally, I surrendered and decided to enjoy the moment.
"Last night when I stopped in at Pumpernickel's," he said, "Skye told me what she and MJ had planned. I volunteered to come along as your humble servant."
The other women chatted happily, remarking on how cool the car was, how nice the day was, and how much progress we were making at the store. Skye was particularly complimentary about my first efforts at stenciling.
"Yes, that was fun, and our re-decorating is coming along. Unfortunately, we don't have much to sell.”
"That's why we're taking this road trip." Skye handed Cooper a slip of paper. "Here are the addresses for our stops."
Following a scenic route north, we drove to Port St. Lucie and parked in front of a thrift store run by the Episcopal Church.
"Everybody out," hollered Skye.
69
Inside the thrift shop, we found a variety of interesting items including an old mirror decorated with driftwood. A few pieces of the wood were missing, but Skye was confident she could fill them in. MJ unearthed several old books that would sell well. Cooper found a cool "stuffed" alligator. A little gross, but definitely old Florida. Skye unearthed a box of Ball canning jars that she planned to turn into patio lights.
Our visit qualified as a delightful treasure hunt. By the time I'd paid for our loot, I was smiling, too.
Maybe this would work. Maybe it wouldn't. Whatever happened, I was having a blast.
Using Skye's list as a guide, Cooper drove us from one place to another until he glanced at his watch. Then he pointed the car toward Hobe Sound. At Bridge Road we turned east and drove through an allée of shade trees and over the bridge to Jupiter Island.
"Ficus," said MJ. "They were planted fifty years ago. I've heard that replacement trees are being grown nearby because ficus trees don't live long. The residents don't want to see these replaced with small ones. That would spoil the tunnel effect."
At the intersection of Bridge and Beach Roads, Cooper turned north. A few miles up the road, we stopped at a small park, and climbed out of the car. While Cooper paid a small fee for parking, MJ fiddled with things that she'd been carrying in the grocery bags.
"One for each of us.” Skye passed out mesh bags, flip-flops, and plastic buckets. I exchanged my Converse shoes for a pair of bright red flip-flops. MJ passed around a bottle of sunblock and admonished us each to cover our exposed skin. "Otherwise you risk wrinkles and skin cancer."
"Okay," said Skye, after we finished with the sunblock. She clapped her hands like a schoolteacher addressing a kindergarten class. "We're going beachcombing, but I have specific items in mind. I want rocks with holes in them. You'll see them here and there. Any shells, any size, any color, especially those with holes in them. Any plastic, especially flat hard pieces. Any driftwood. Of course, keep your eyes peeled for sea glass and sea beans."
I had no idea what sea beans were.
"Those are seeds that have washed up from the tide," explained MJ. "I'll show you some when I find them."
We took the path over the boardwalk and down to the sea where a thick layer of shells carpeted the sand.
"Low tide, full moon, rough seas," murmured Cooper, as he walked along beside me. "Perfect for washing up stuff from the ocean floor."
Earlier I'd been itching to ask him what happened after I left his office, but now the day was so lovely, I didn't want to spoil it. It was as if Cooper and I had entered a time machine. Suddenly, we were teenagers again. The sun infused my skin with happiness, a feeling that must have been infectious, because my friends acted like kids, too. MJ approached the sand methodically but with a childlike curiosity. Skye ran up and down the beach, darting over to show me a piece of sea glass or a special shell.
"This," she said, "is a hamburger seed. A sea bean. Or drift seed. Lots of names for it."
Cooper was drawn to bits of white coral. I picked up every shell I could, regardless of type. I counted myself the luckiest woman on earth.
We'd been walking about fifteen minutes when Cooper reached down into a pile of seaweed and snatched up something dark brown. "Aha! A seaheart!"
Opening my hand, he placed the large sea bean in my palm. To my surprise, it was indeed shaped like a heart.
"I gave you my heart years ago, Cara. Now it's yours once again," he said softly. "I can tell you're worrying about what happened. Don't. We'll get it all worked out."
My own cardiac rhythms went nuts as I looked into his chocolate-colored eyes. "I'll treasure this."
70
After an hour, we headed back to the Escalade. Cooper hit the unlock button. MJ reached into a cooler and handed each of us a bottle of water. Skye dumped all our findings into a plastic bin. MJ insisted that we all reapply sunblock.
Our first foray had taken us from south to north along the coast. Skye directed us in the opposite direction. In short order, we happened upon a scattered cluster of wood planks that had washed up.
"Perfecto!" hooted Skye. "See, Cara? You can stencil on these!"
"Then what?" I said running my hands lightly over the wood. As I examined the piece more closely, an idea hit me. "I could turn these sideways, we could add ropes, and they would make nifty towel racks."
"You're a very creative woman," said Cooper, with no small amount of admiration in his voice.
When Skye and MJ had wandered some distance away, I screwed up my courage. "What happened after I left?"
"It was tense. Look, I'll handle it, but I'll need some time, okay? Jodi told me some things I wasn’t aware of. The situation is more complicated that I realized. A lot more. Let's just enjoy the day, okay?"
I changed the subject. "Have you checked your emails lately?"
"No, why?"
"I think I've found an answer to the problem of Poppy's leaking gas tanks. There might be government funding available to help clean up the mess."
"That's the final hurdle to swapping out the Gas E Bait for the Fill Up and Go," he said. "Well done!"
"You think that the swap work? Will Poppy's place be okay for the franchise?"
Cooper nodded. "I'll get the final word next week, but I've been told it shouldn't be a problem. I dropped by to see your grandfather yesterday afternoon, and I offered him a job."
"What did he say?" I shaded my eyes with my hand because my sunglasses weren't up to the task of blocking the harsh rays.
"He told me he had several o
ffers to consider and that he'd get back to me."
"What a pill! That old coot!"
We both laughed.
"Any progress on the murder investigation?" he asked. "Skye told me about the graffiti."
"I wish they'd arrest someone. Maybe I'm paranoid, but I'm worried that people are talking about Hal Humberger's death. Everyone keeps saying what a small town Stuart is."
"The public has a very, very short memory."
"So people say. Yes, well…" I paused. There was no way that Cooper could know I was reliving the damage that Dom had done to my parents' business. Someday I'd have to tell him what had gone down.
"I will admit, however," he said with a frown, "that particular building seems to have a history of intrigue. Hal's death just adds to it."
"MJ and I were just talking about the missing Highwaymen paintings."
"It was quite a collection."
"Where did you get that painting in your office?" I thought back to the beautiful landscape on his wall.
"Many years ago, when I first got out of the service, I bought a house to rehab. There was a painting hanging on the wall in the garage, of all places. It was a Sam Newton. From then on, I was hooked. Essie guided me as to what to buy. Hal was a collector, too, you know."
"Really?"
"I think he caught the bug from Essie. Although I always thought that Hal was more interested in them because of their investment potential than their beauty," Cooper said, as he bent down to pick up a nice orange scallop shell. "That brings us back to the store. From what I saw today, you've totally transformed The Treasure Chest. Skye told me last night about your plans to scrounge up merchandise. Getting open in time for the Art Fair is a great idea. That should get you off to a good start."
"How do you know Skye?"
"From having her wait on me at Pumpernickel's. I've never seen her happier. She sings your praises. Tell me, Cara Mia, are you happy? Everyone else involved with your shop seems to be, but I'm curious. How's life treating you?" We'd been walking, but now he stopped and turned to stare into my eyes.
Kiki Lowenstein Books 1-3 & Cara Mia Delgatto Books 1-3: The Perfect Series for Crafters, Pet Lovers, and Readers Who Like Upbeat Books! Page 88
