by J. B. Lynn
The charity organizer stood a whole inch taller as she approached.
“Will you walk into my parlor? Said the spider to the fly.” Bea recited the opening of the Mary Howitt poem while watching the flirtation.
“I don’t like spiders,” Pim piped up from her pocket.
“Neither do I,” Bea murmured.
Axelrod and Nottingham stood close together, engaged in an intense conversation. Bea was tempted to roll over and see if she could eavesdrop on it, but she knew they would recognize her, so she stayed where she was hidden in part by a melting ice sculpture.
After a moment, Nottingham walked up to a little dais that had been set up at the edge of the rooftop. He yelled out in a loud booming voice, “I believe we are ready to get started. Because of the weather,” he pointed to the ominous sky, “we’ve left the originals inside so they’d be safe. But, so there would be no confusion about what you’re all bidding on, we’ve got likenesses.”
He nodded at Amber Axelrod and she removed the blue silk cover on the first piece of art.
“We’ll start off with the first bid on…” He pointed to a painting of a pink skull and crossbones with pigtails, with a lizard waving out of one eye. “…Confessions of a Neurotic.”
Beatrice watched in interest as he conducted an auction with lightning speed. She was both amused and appalled at the amount of money people were paying for the artwork. He quickly moved through six paintings as the storm grew closer and closer, the wind whipping up.
The party had been supposed to take place with the backdrop of a sunset, but only clouds and the occasional flash of heat lightning filled the sky.
Reaching the last item in the auction, Nottingham unveiled the print of the Red Bug Slough pond.
Beatrice gasped as she felt a current of indignation spread from the moss agate ring throughout her body. She wasn’t just envisioning Letty. She was channeling her outrage.
The bidding began and Beatrice rolled herself closer to the auctioneer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Amber notice her and stiffen. She glared at Beatrice and then began marching toward her.
Beatrice, feeling like she didn’t have much time, yelled out, “It’s a fake!”
Everyone on the rooftop turned toward her.
Nottingham remained smooth and in control. “I’m sorry, you are?”
“It’s a fake,” she said again.
The crowd murmured, the sound a strange echo of the thunder that was now bearing down on them.
“Are you an art expert?” the Nottingham asked. “Because we’ve had our esteemed colleague, Myron Flatbottom,” he gestured to the man from the elevator, “verify the authenticity of this work.”
Looking like a deer caught in headlights, the man who’d threatened Letty in the art gallery froze.
“I know where the original is, and it’s not in the lobby of this hotel,” Beatrice said, wheeling herself closer to Nottingham.
Thunder boomed, drowning out her last words.
At that moment, the sky opened and rain began to pour. The wind was already whipping and the storm chased people inside. Lightning struck the roof of one of the nearby luxury condominium buildings.
People screamed in response to the explosion. It was bedlam as they stampeded toward the entrance to the hotel.
Bea frantically tried to get out of the path of the herd, but she wasn’t fast enough.
Her wheelchair was knocked over and she hit the floor hard. She groaned, trying to catch her breath as she found herself lying on the hard cement surface of the roof.
“Ow,” Pim complained as he, too, had been slammed to the ground.
Bea couldn’t reach her wheelchair, but she was close to the frame. She used it to leverage herself upward, silently thanking Ash for his dedication to building sturdy things.
Nottingham, like everyone else, had run off, and Beatrice found herself alone with Amber Axelrod.
“You’ve ruined everything,” the woman screamed.
Beatrice fought the urge to tell her she was not responsible for the actions of the weather.
“Why couldn’t you and your stupid family just leave things well enough alone. I was glad when Letty died. I hope the same happens to you,” Axelrod raged, advancing on Beatrice.
50
Bea fought to stay upright, off balance because of her cast and being buffeted by the wind and rain.
She realized that not telling Ash what had happened, or what she discovered, had been a mistake. She hadn’t expected things to go downhill so fast. She could almost imagine what her sisters would say if they were here. You didn’t think things out. You acted impulsively. Now look, you’re going to have to pay the consequences.
The woman, seeing that Beatrice was using the frame to stand, batted at it, hoping to knock her over. It began to move, just as it had been designed to do.
Beatrice knew to duck.
But Axelrod didn’t.
It smacked her in the face, causing her to stumble backward.
“Look out,” Beatrice warned. She reached out her injured hand, trying to catch the woman, as a wind gust pushed them both closer to the edge of the roof.
Eyes wide with terror, Amber reached for her. Despite the searing pain in her injured finger, Beatrice grabbed her. She yanked the other woman toward her, away from the roof’s edge.
Back on safe footing, Axelrod shook loose of Bea’s grip. Bea wobbled precariously, catching herself on the frame. In doing so, she put pressure on it and it began to move again.
This time, it moved Beatrice toward the precipice, but the other woman wasn’t so quick to grab her back. Beatrice wobbled precariously on the roof’s edge, knowing she was about to fall. And this fall would be worse than the one that put her in the cast. “Help me,” Beatrice begged the woman.
“I wasn’t the one that killed your godmother,” Amber told her. “But I was glad she was dead. I’ll be glad about the same for you.”
With that, Axelrod turned around and ran for the door, leaving Beatrice to fend for herself.
Bea held on to the frame as tightly as she could, trying to figure out how to leverage herself back to a safer position. It was hard to see because of the rain plastering her hair over her eyes. And the wind was picking up, threatening to lift her right off the roof as she slowly slipped off the side.
“Hold on,” Pim urged.
“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Bea ground out through gritted teeth.
Beatrice was fighting gravity and she was losing the battle. It was only the weight of the frame that kept her from plummeting to her death.
She was tired, and she felt her own tears mixing with the raindrops. “I was just trying to do the right thing,” she sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut.
“I don’t think she would have wanted you to die doing it,” Winnie yelled.
Beatrice opened her eyes and saw her sisters, arm-in-arm, running toward her.
“Hold on,” Winnie yelled.
The thunder boomed, the lightning flashed, and it was like they were back on the beach.
“We’ve got you,” Amanda said, grabbing her sister’s arm.
“Let go,” Winnie urged, trying to pull Beatrice’s death grip off of the kinetic frame.
The three sisters hovered at the edge of the roof. Amanda and Winnie weren’t quite strong enough to pull Beatrice back over, but they wouldn’t let go.
“I’m sorry,” Bea said. “I’m sorry for everything.”
Suddenly, Beatrice had a vision of Ash swimming before her. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe.” He hooked his muscular arms underneath her tired ones and heaved her close to him.
As her cast scraped along the edge of the roof, Beatrice realized that it wasn’t a vision. He was really there. Ash fell backward, taking Beatrice with him. Amanda and Winnie fell alongside them. The only one who had a soft landing was Beatrice, because she landed on top of Ash.
They all lay there for a long moment, gasping for breath, as the p
uddles soaked through their clothing.
“As Letty used to say, ‘You girls are something else’,” Ash wheezed.
The three sisters reached out to touch one another. “Concordia sisters!” they yelled at the storming sky.
After spending a long night at the Police Department answering questions, Bea greedily inhaled the scent of oranges and cinnamon as Amanda pushed her through the door of One Woman’s Junk. “It’s good to be home.”
“It feels like home, doesn’t it?” Amanda asked.
The dog rushed up to them, barking an enthusiastic greeting.
“It doesn’t feel like home to me,” Winnie groused, bringing up the rear. She wrestled Angus outside to prop open the door. “It’s not normal for a place to have this much thunder and lightning.”
“Wimp,” Bea teased.
“We’ve almost died twice in one week,” Winnie reminded her testily. “If your boyfriend hadn’t shown up when he did—”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Beatrice denied quickly.
“I did risk my life for you,” Ash said from the doorway. “I think that should earn me some sort of special status.”
Surprised by his arrival, the sisters turned in unison to greet him. “Hi.”
Beatrice watched him carefully, wondering if he was still annoyed that she’d considered him a suspect at one point. When he’d heard her say that in the police station, she’d thought he might crack a tooth, he’d clamped his jaw so tightly shut.
“Talk to you for a second?” he requested of Bea.
Nodding, she rolled herself back outside.
Winnie removed the ashtray so the door swung shut, giving them a semblance of privacy, despite the fact they were on a public street.
“I’m sorry,” Bea began.
“You could have gotten yourself killed,” Ash said. “And that would have been a damn shame.”
“I had no way of knowing it was going to go that badly,” Beatrice told him. “You heard what the police said. Amber and her partner, that Flatbottom guy, got greedy with the art forgery and auction.”
“I also heard them say that they both had airtight alibis for the hours surrounding Letty’s collapse. They were both at a charity luncheon on Longboat Key. Dozens of the city’s elite will vouch for them,” Ash reminded her gently.
Bea nodded, hanging her head. “All I wanted to do in the beginning was prove Letty hadn’t stolen the purse.”
Ash stepped closer to her. “And you almost got yourself killed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That would have been a shame,” Ash repeated. “Because if you’d succeeded, I would have never gotten to do this.” He bent and quickly pressed his lips to hers. It was a closed mouth kiss, warm and firm, but not an invasion. Still, she could sense the desire pulsing behind it.
Standing up straight, he walked away quickly without another word.
Bea pressed her hand to her tingling lips.
51
Winnie and Amanda were glaring at each other when Bea rolled back into the store.
“She wants to go back to the hospital,” Winnie accused. She, again, propped the door open with the ashtray stand.
“I have to try to find Letty,” Amanda explained.
“After what happened to you, after we all could have died, she wants to use those so-called powers of hers.” Winnie paced the length of the shop.
Amanda held her ground against their middle sister’s attack. “If Amber Axelrod didn’t kill Letty, who did?”
“We don’t know for sure anyone did kill her,” Bea said quietly.
The jaws of both her sisters dropped open in shock.
“Hang on a sec,” Winnie said, the first to recover. “Are you trying to be the voice of reason here?”
“What are you saying?” Amanda asked. “Now you’re saying there was no foul play involved in her death? She just tripped, fell and died?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” a man interjected.
Detective Keller walked inside.
The dog ran up to him happily. He took a long moment to pet him before addressing the group.
Bea watched Amanda smooth the front of her shirt and then clasp her hands nervously.
“I hear you three had a busy night,” he said dryly.
“Letty didn’t steal the purse,” Bea explained eagerly. “Amber Axelrod had thrown it out. Rena found it in the trash and decided to sell it at One Woman’s Junk.” She paused to take a breath.
Winnie took over the story. “When Axelrod saw Letty with it on the human interest story about helping the homeless, she knew it was hers because of the tassle.”
“Tassle?” Keller asked.
“The one Rena has on her backpack,” Bea supplied. “It had been on the purse, but Letty told her she should take it.”
The detective nodded his understanding.
“By the way,” Bea told him with righteous indignation. “I was right. It is a Prissy purse by Moochie.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender.
“When Amber realized the memory card containing the photos of the painting by Rupert, that were used to create the forgery, was still in the purse,” Bea said, noticing out of the corner of her eye the smile Amanda flashed at the bookshelf, “she knew she had to get it back.”
Keller nodded politely and Bea got the impression he already knew all of the story.
“But you removed the memory card before your dog brought the stolen item to my attention,” he filled in.
Bea nodded guiltily.
“And she didn’t tell us about it,” Winnie added, shooting her a look loaded with both annoyance and affection. “She could have gotten herself killed.”
“But you’re not here about the purse,” Amanda guessed quietly.
The detective looked at Amanda as he straightened up. “The EMT who arrived first on the scene took pictures,” he began slowly.
“Of Letty?” Winnie asked.
He nodded.
“Why?” Bea wanted to know, as the dog jumped into her lap.
“He wanted to document her injuries before putting a cervical collar on her…especially the one to the back of her neck.”
The sisters took a collective breath.
“You think she was killed?” Amanda asked.
“I haven’t ruled out the possibility,” the detective answered carefully. “You all look the worse for wear. Take a nap or get some coffee from Piper. I’ll keep you apprised of my investigation.” He walked out of the store.
“Thank you!” Bea called after him.
The detective raised his hand in acknowledgment. “Tell Piper to add nutmeg to your—”
Howling, the dog leapt off Bea’s lap. Dancing on his hind legs, he spun in a circle, barking excitedly at the detective.
Everyone stared at him.
“Nutmeg? Is your name Nutmeg?” Winnie asked.
The dog launched himself into Winnie’s arms and began to lick her face.
“Peabody was right,” Bea said. “His name is a kind of food.”
THE END
Author’s Note
Greetings from Florida!
Consignment shops and thrift stores are among my favorite places to visit. You never know what you’ll see there and it’s fun to watch shoppers become excited over what others consider “junk”.
If the weather is nice, I love to be out in nature. Living in Sarasota, both the beach and Red Bug Slough (yes, it’s a real place!) are among my favorite spots.
And who doesn’t love spending time in metaphysical shops and psychic fairs?
The great and mighty Pim says that if you enjoyed One Woman’s Junk you should buy a billboard and tell the world exactly that.
I think that might be overkill, and so I would just ask that, if you have the inclination, could you please take a moment to leave a short review for One Woman’s Junk? I’d so appreciate it.
Make sure to visit www.jblynn.com to learn more about the next books in the Psychic Consig
nment Mystery series as well as the Confessions of a Neurotic Hitwoman series.
If you’re not signed up for my newsletter, take a second to do so now. I’ll only send one when I have something to say and will be including short stories that are exclusive to my newsletter.
CLICK HERE TO JOIN NOW
Hugs and murder,
JB
Also by JB Lynn
CONFESSIONS OF A SLIGHTLY NEUROTIC HITWOMAN SERIES
Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman
Further Confessions of a Slightly Neurotic Hitwoman
The Hitwoman Gets Lucky
The Hitwoman and the Family Jewels
The Hitwoman and the Neurotic Witness
The Hitwoman Hunts a Ghost
The Hitwoman and the 7 Cops
The Hitwoman and the Poisoned Apple
The Hitwoman’s Downward Dog
The Hitwoman’s Act of Contrition
The Hitwoman Hires a Manny
The Hitwoman and the Sacrificial Lamb
The Hitwoman and the Chubby Cherub
The Hitwoman and the Mother Load
The Hitwoman Under Pressure
The Hitwoman Plays Chaperone
The Hitwoman Takes a Road Trip
The Hitwoman in a Pickle
The Hitwoman and the Gold Digger
