“I’m just across the alley if you need me, ladies,” Jason said.
After Jason, MJ, and Lou walked out my door, Skye came over and sat down beside me. “Cara? Me and my big mouth. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Me, too.”
12
~ Lou~
Lou was eager to get back to the crime scene, but MJ had other plans.
“Hang on, boys,” she said.
She opened the passenger side door of the pink Cadillac. Sticking her head inside, she rummaged around. From one of a cardboard box, she withdrew an envelope and handed it to Jason. “I don’t know if you received an invitation earlier, but we’d love to have you join us tomorrow night for our VIP event. Even if you only come for the food, which will be outstanding, it would be nice to have you here. Of course, if you have a date…”
She let her voice trail off.
“No, I’m free.” Jason pocketed the invitation.
MJ’s eyes brightened.
“I’ll be here. Thanks. Remember, I’m right across the alley if you need me.”
“Not today you aren’t,” said Lou.
“Right, right, right.” Jason reached into his shirt pocket to withdraw a business card. “You’ll text me if we can’t get started tomorrow?”
“Yes,” said Lou, as he exchanged business cards with Jason.
“Give me a card, too,” MJ fluttered her eyelashes at Jason. “It’ll be good to keep one in our files.”
Although the Toyota was gone, Lou could see there were still crime scene techs wearing their white Tyvek uniforms, moving in precise patterns, and making a grid to pick up any last bits of evidence. He started to walk away when Jason did, but MJ grabbed the back of his jacket.
“Not so fast,” she said, holding on tightly.
“What’s up?”
She let go of him and plucked a white cat hair off her denim skirt. "Skye tells you everything, doesn't she? But you might have gotten the wrong impression. That argument between Cara and Kathy Simmons wasn't a big deal. The media open house was scheduled to end at eight. But nearly an hour later, after everyone else had left, Kathy Simmons was still hanging around and helping herself to the food.”
Lou nodded impatiently. “Cara told me.”
“But you need to know that Cara got ahold of herself and sold Kathy the picture. See? I repeat: It wasn’t a big deal!”
Lou frowned. "Except that it was. Cara lost her cool. That’s not like her. From everything I’ve seen and heard, she’s a stickler about customer service."
"Right,” said MJ with a shrug. “But we were all tired. Cara’s feet hurt her. She had on a pair of new pumps. Kathy kept badgering her, and she had a meltdown. Anyway, the point is that Cara hasn’t been herself lately, and you need to know why.”
“Okay.” He cocked his head to listen.
“It’s her sister’s fault,” said MJ, while flicking at another cat hair. “Jodi Wireka has been pulling all sorts of mean tricks on Cara. Ever seen that movie Gaslight? I really do believe that Jodi is trying to drive Cara insane. She’s dropped by the store twice since Christmas. Walked in, looked around, stared at Cara, and left. She's sent people in with odd requests, just to bug Cara. Using Cara’s name, she ordered twenty pizzas and had them delivered to the store. She ran classified ads in the papers saying we're selling Highwaymen paintings for a pittance. Ditto on Craigslist. Egged our front windows. Stupid stuff like that. And I suspect she’s the one sending Cara those letters.”
“Letters? What letters?”
“I don’t know much about them. Cara glances at them and puts them in the shredder. But I can tell you that they leave her shook-up for the rest of the day.”
“Huh,” said Lou, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Skye hasn’t told me anything about all this.”
“She’s usually at Pumpernickel’s when it happens,” explained MJ.
“Cara seems too smart to let this sort of baloney get her down.”
“Lou, give me a break. Jodi fights dirty, and Cara doesn’t. Jodi knows that Cooper Rivers is in love with Cara, and that has to be eating her alive. So she’s determined to make Cara pay.”
“Maybe he really loves Jodi,” said Lou. “You never know what’s going on inside another person’s head.”
“Don’t be silly,” said MJ. “You’ve seen how Cooper looks at Cara. Jodi might have his ring, but Cara has his heart. Meanwhile Jodi keeps pulling nasty tricks on Cara. It’s starting to wear her down.”
“Then she should get a restraining order.”
“Don’t make me laugh,” said MJ, her eyes growing cold. “You and I know how much good that would do.”
MJ’s vehemence surprised him. All right, Skye was protective of Cara, but Skye was tender-hearted to a fault. However, MJ was more restrained. She was a no-nonsense type of woman who didn't get upset about anything except a broken nail or a glob of gum stuck to her high heels. For her to go on and on like this about Jodi’s behavior meant she was really worried.
Neither Skye nor MJ had any use for Cara’s sister, and Lou couldn’t blame them. Not given Jodi’s history. But even so…
"So what are you telling me, MJ? Bottom line?"
"I'm telling you that Cara is really, really fragile. She's stressed out. Either you be nice to her, or I'll personally come after you with a baseball bat."
13
~Cara~
Skye kept apologizing, over and over. Finally I said, “Enough. You didn’t mean to do anything wrong looked me over. You thought you could trust him. Goodness knows, I could be the poster child for trusting the wrong man.”
A sharp pain shot through my head. A stress headache was coming on. I’d had a lot of them lately. I must have winced because Skye squatted down beside me and gave me the once over.
“You don’t look so hot. Maybe you need to go back upstairs and put your feet up.”
I had to admit that I still felt woozy.
We put Jack in his crate, and Skye walked me back upstairs.
“I’ll make you a cup of chamomile tea,” she said.
A few minutes later, MJ joined us, taking over the folding chair. In her hand was a rolled up bunch of papers. “We’ve got twenty minutes until the store opens. Cara, I know you probably don't feel like talking, but we need to go over the guest list.”
“That can wait,” I said, sipping my tea. It tasted like freshly mowed grass, but Skye sworn it would help me to calm down. I slipped off my shoes and sat cross-legged on my sofa. It was one of exactly four pieces of furniture that I owned: the sofa-bed, a card table, a metal folding chair, and a mattress set on a cheap metal frame. To look at my place, you’d never guess that I was making a living by refurbishing and selling décor items.
“No, it can’t.” MJ handed me the printout. She and Skye exchanged meaningful looks, but I was too weary to decode the message that passed between them.
“I need to get into my Pumpernickel uniform,” said Skye, bending to give me a hug. “See you two later.”
Try as I might, I couldn't focus on the names. After trying to review them, I set them aside and said, "I'm sure it's fine."
"I don’t think it is. Sid took calls yesterday while you and Skye were at the grocery store, and I was at the auction house."
"So? Did he mess something up? It can’t be that big of a deal. We’ve got more than enough food and beverages. I’d rather have the place packed than empty.”
“Check out the last page,” said MJ. “Jodi called. She made a reservation to attend with Cooper. Sid took the info.”
The news knocked all of the air out of me.
“That figures,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach.
“I’ll be happy to call Jodi and tell her that she’s not welcome.” MJ grinned. “In fact, I’d consider it an honor.”
“What difference does it make? She’ll probably come no matter what. This is a small town. Running and hiding is not an option. Jodi knows that. I’ll muddle
through somehow.”
MJ’s eyes flashed with anger. “Cara, you cannot let her bother you like this. Pull up your big girl panties!”
“Don’t you start! I’ve already gotten this lecture from Skye. How I’m letting Cooper and Jodi ruin my life. How I need to get out more and have more fun.”
“She’s right. But just so you know, I get dibs on that gorgeous man who’s working across the alley,” said MJ. “What a body! That guy Jason carried you like you didn’t weigh an ounce. When he whisked you up the stairs, it was so romantic that I got goose bumps.”
“Right. Too bad I missed it. Being out for the count and all. Okay, enough lazing around. I need to get back to work.” My feet began the search for my sandals. I’d slipped them off. They had to be somewhere under my sofa. Finally, I gave up and crawled around on my hands and knees to retrieve them.
“Cara, there will always be more work,” said MJ, as she shook a finger at me. “You need to stop and smell the aftershave.”
14
~Cara~
MJ didn’t take me by the arm, but she did hover over me as we walked downstairs and into the back room. Despite all her smoldering sexuality, she’s not the touchy-feely type of person that Skye is. Nor is she as emotional. Some days I feel like I’m caught between yin and yang, stuck in the middle, while my friends pull against each other, two opposite ends of a spectrum. But that’s not a complaint. Not really. I value their differing perspectives. My dad always taught me that triangles are stronger than square shapes. That’s why bridges are made up of triangles. MJ, Skye, and I were three points that when plotted out built a powerful structure, on that benefited both my personal life and my business.
Considering all that had happened that morning, I was surprised to see we still had five minutes until the store opened.
“Where is Sid?” I asked, talking more to myself than to MJ.
“Late again, I guess,” she said. “You did see these, didn’t you?”
She handed me laminated copies of the article that Kathy Simmons had written about The Treasure Chest and our upcoming VIP Event. “Sid highlighted the best parts in yellow. I think he did a nice job.”
“He did,” I admitted. “But he’s still late.”
Kathy had quoted me as saying, “We want to reach out to as many VIPs as possible, but we’re new here in town. If we’ve missed someone who should be on our VIP list, we urge them to call us. As long as we have room, we’ll gladly accommodate more guests.”
My ploy had worked. Once the article appeared on Tuesday, the phone had never stopped ringing. Of course, other reporters had also produced nice pieces, but Kathy’s was by far the most glowing.
"I’ve been thinking,” said MJ. “With all these people planning to attend the VIP event, we are definitely going to need more help. Sid’s going to have his hands full acting like a server. Skye will be doing her upcycling demo. That leaves just you and me working with customers. If nothing else, we need another pair of eyes to make sure merchandise doesn’t walk off."
“Maybe we should cancel the demo,” I said. Skye was planning to show our guests how plastic bags could be melted together—carefully—using an iron. The resultant new material could be used to craft wallets, purses, and stronger tote bags.
“No way,” MJ shot back. “It will get people talking. We want people to see us do our magic in action. Besides, the demo drives home the point that we specialize in recycling and repurposing goods.”
She was right. The goal was to create a psychological link between the ubiquitous plastic bags and our store. With any luck, customers would think of us each time they came across a plastic bag.
I made one more last ditch effort to downsize MJ’s expectations. "You're assuming that all of these people on our list will actually come, and that they'll really want to buy something. I’d be happy if half this number shows up.”
"Oh, they’re coming all right. This place will be packed. Standing Room Only. People keep telling me how Kathy Simmons's article really piqued their interest. One woman even asked me to set aside two Highwaymen paintings, sight unseen. She specifically wants one of a Poinciana tree and another of the St. Lucie River."
“What are you suggesting?” I asked. MJ had worked with Essie Feldman, the previous owner of The Treasure Chest. My background was in the restaurant business, and as a consequence I often deferred to her retail experience.
“I’ve asked Honora McAfee to drop by. I think you should hire her.”
“MJ, I just added Sid to our payroll. Now you want me to add another person? Where’s all the money to pay them going to come from?”
“Sid is going to pay for himself when he gets the website up and running. Honora, well, she knows absolutely everybody on the Treasure Coast. She’ll only be part-time because she’s retired and can’t jeopardize her Social Security. But she’ll more than pay for herself, and she’ll take care of another problem we have.”
“Which is?” I rubbed my temples. I needed to rein MJ in and fast. Some days she acted like money grew on palm trees. I was worried about how I’d keep the store in the black during the off-season, when the “snowbirds,” our visitors, who came from the North to escape the cold weather, weren’t here to swell our population. Adding more people to the payroll was the exact opposite of what I needed to do to keep my fixed costs in line.
“We’ve sold a lot of big pieces,” said MJ, gesturing toward various furniture items. “That hutch, the wicker set, and the bookshelf by the front windows. Those pieces are still on the floor because the delivery service is picking them up later today. For the VIP Open House, we need to have this place packed with stock. You’ve put time, effort and money into this event. If we don’t have tons of stuff to sell, the return on investment could be less than optimal.”
She was right. Since we hadn’t gotten a good inventory system up and running, I’d relied on the physical look of our store to tell me whether we were low on goods or not. That had been a mistake.
Worse yet, our items were all OOAK, or One of a Kind, so they couldn’t be replaced by picking up the phone and calling in an order. Once Sid got our inventory system installed, it would be easier to track what we needed. But that wouldn’t solve our immediate problem.
“It’s a little late to do anything now,” I said.
“It might not be,” said MJ. “I’ve asked Honora and her daughter EveLynn to bring along merchandise. They’re willing to sell it on consignment. Subject to your approval, that is.”
“Eve-Lynn? Do you mean Evelyn?”
“No, it’s Eve and Lynn put together, because Honora’s mother was Eve and her husband Frank’s mother was Lynn,” explained MJ.
“I assume that their goods are recycled, upcycled or repurposed?”
“Yes,” said MJ. “Honora will be perfect for helping us with the sales floor. She doesn’t want an hourly wage. Instead, she needs somewhere to work on her crafts. I told her we could find a workspace for her here.”
“Whoa,” I said. “We don’t have a lot of extra space in the back room.”
“You’re in luck,” said MJ, with a half smile. “Honora thinks small.”
15
~Lou~
11 a.m. on Thursday
The Forensic Lab in Fort Pierce, FL
Because the DB had been thoughtfully wrapped in a big piece of black plastic like gardeners use to line flower beds, removing the corpse from the car had been surprisingly easy. Once the body and the liner had been carefully vacuumed for trace evidence, the corpse had been transferred to the morgue. There Dr. Faraday, the Medical Examiner, would joyfully do "his thing."
Faraday’s cavalier attitude, his weak attempts at humor, rubbed Lou the wrong way. He'd said as much to his boss, the Police Captain Davidson, and promptly been told, "Dr. Faraday’s patients are dead and he doesn't interact with their next-of-kin, so I'm not concerned about his attitude. The man's a genius. Nothing slips past him."
After slipping on Tyvek protective gear
and a face shield, Lou steeled himself to join the good doctor in the morgue.
While listening to strains of the Grateful Dead, Faraday moved efficiently around the girl's body, which was still fully clothed. As the morgue assistant, or diener, aided the doctor, Faraday took a variety of swabs and examined the corpse. Lou took a spot by the door, not too close and not too far from the action. His notebook was a crutch, giving him a way to focus away from the proceedings, but keeping him close enough to stay alert.
The diener helped Faraday remove Kathy's clothing. "Interesting," said Faraday, as he turned the woman over.
That got Lou's attention. "What’d you find?"
"I can confirm that she had soiled herself. Not surprising, but I’m pretty sure this crime happened over a lengthy period. Maybe days. This rash on her buttocks supports my theory. Ms. Simmons has diaper rash. A full blown case."
“Diaper rash?” Lou looked up from his pad and frowned at Faraday. "What are you telling me?"
"That she was sitting in her own mess for a while. A long while," said Faraday, as he went back to his assessment of the now naked body.
"Young female, age mid-twenties, well-nourished, slightly above average height," droned Faraday.
Faraday continued to weigh, measure, and visually inspect the body while it was propped up with a body block under the victim's chest.
"Notice the tattoo," and Faraday gestured for both Lou to come closer. Kathy Simmons' arms fell back from her torso, because of the supporting block. On one of them, blue ink proclaimed: Darcy+Kathy4Ever.
Lou tried to sketch it in his notebook.
Faraday’s alert eyes brightened behind his mask.
"Her body temperature taken along with the ambient temperature of her surroundings, in conjunction with the physiological signs that accompany post-mortem decay tell me that she died around eight o'clock last night, give or take an hour or two. But these vestiges of internal activity might tell me a different story all together."
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 96
