“Your next step?”
“Checking out a list of known associates and firming up the timeline. Because the roommate was pretty shook up, I’ll need to talk to her again later. Ollie and I plan to talk to Ms. Simmons’ co-workers in the Shoreline News office.”
“What are you thinking?”
“It’s early,” admitted Lou. “The roommate is a suspect, of course. She could have concocted the missing person report and the break-in to throw us off.”
“You must have a couple of ideas of leads besides the roommate. Anyone have a beef with Ms. Simmons?”
“Cara Mia Delgatto did.”
“What?” Davidson leaned forward suddenly. “You’re kidding me.”
“No. Kathy Simmons insisted on buying an expensive item from The Treasure Chest, but Cara didn’t want to sell it until later. Supposedly the picture was for Kathy’s mother’s birthday. The two had words because Ms. Simmons threatened Cara.”
“Threatened?” Davidson’s eyebrows shot up.
“Ms. Simmons was overheard telling Cara that if she didn’t sell the picture that night, the news article on the Old Florida Photo Gallery would include things Cara doesn’t want made public.”
“What sort of things?”
“Things like the fact she went to jail for hitting that louse of an ex-husband over the head with a frying pan. That she stumbled over a fresh corpse the same day she bought The Treasure Chest. Kathy Simmons even brought up Cooper Rivers in some sort of a veiled threat.”
Davidson frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense. Last I heard, he was engaged to Cara’s sister, Jodi Wireka.”
“Right. But Ms. Simmons still mentioned his name. She wanted that picture in the worst way, and Cara dug her heels in, so Ms. Simmons pulled out all the stops.”
“We’ll need to explore that angle.”
“You’re thinking that Cara was involved in the murder?” Lou couldn’t believe his ears.
“No,” Davidson laughed. “Not hardly. But I’m wondering why Ms. Simmons used Cooper Rivers as leverage. More importantly, how she used him. What does she have on the architect?”
“Beats me.”
“Let’s suppose that Kathy Simmons was in the habit of blackmailing people,” said Davidson. “It’s possible she threatened Cooper Rivers, and that backfired. You need to check this out. Let me know what you discover.”
CHAPTER 21
~Cara~
Skye went back to her shift at Pumpernickel’s. MJ left the store to call on a customer. Honora busied herself getting familiar with the store. Sid was still working on my computer.
That left me to finish prepping food for tomorrow’s VIP event. Alone in the back room with my thoughts, I realized that Skye had been right: My emotional tanks were empty. I’d done little or nothing for myself lately. In fact, I rarely left the store except to take Jack for a walk around the block. I knew that my behavior wasn’t healthy. When times get tough, I tend to buckle down and work harder, but not necessarily smarter. In fact, I’m more likely to whip myself into a frenzy. Or wind up coming down with bronchitis.
When my parents were alive, they’d been my ballast. Mom and Dad helped me sail through rough seas. They’d schedule me for time off at the restaurant. Mom would suggest we go and get our nails done. Dad would ask me to take a drive with him.
After they died, I turned to my friend Kiki Lowenstein. Her scrapbook and craft store had become my second home. Working on a project, I’d totally lose track of time. I walked away refreshed. When I needed to vent, Kiki helped me put life into perspective.
Yes, that was the ticket. A call to Kiki would definitely help.
It was quarter to five, and I deserved a mental health break. Setting aside the strawberries I’d been stemming, I grabbed my cell phone and punched in her number.
She answered quickly. A baby cooed in the background.
"I haven’t talked to you since the baby was born. I've missed you," I said. "How is Baby Ty? What is he, two weeks old?"
"Two weeks today. He’s great. Before I forget, thanks for the terrific gift. An adorable porcelain piggy bank from Tiffany’s? You shouldn’t have. As you can guess, life has been crazy. How are you doing, Cara? It seems like it’s been forever since we’ve talked. Your timing is perfect. I just put Ty down for his nap."
"Where do I begin?" I blabbered like a fool. Kiki interrupted occasionally to ask for clarification, but mainly she listened. When I finished, she didn’t say anything for a long, long time. In fact, I was beginning to think she'd hung up on me.
"Cara, sweetie, that's a lot to have dumped on your plate all at once," she said.
"I haven’t been handling things well. I've been so down."
"Then apologize and change. But here's an idea. Bear with me, okay? I want you to stand on one foot."
I stood up and shifted all my weight to one foot.
“Now hit yourself repeatedly."
"Huh?"
"Just do as I ask."
I tried and failed because I was falling all around. "What's this supposed to prove?"
"That you can't catch your balance while you're beating yourself up. Quit berating yourself for the past. It's over. You’ve reached your limit, and now it's time to move along life's highway. You need to schedule fun into your life. Have you been doing any Zentangle®?”
She was referencing a sort of meditative drawing technique that she’d taught me up.
“No,” I admitted. The supplies were simple: a pen, a pencil, and a square of good paper, called a tile.
“This might be an excellent time to work on a tile or two.”
"I couldn’t concentrate on tangling! I don't know what to do about all these extra expenses.”
"Yes, you do. You’re selling stuff. You’ve moved a lot of big ticket items that are still on the floor. A website is important in this day and age, and you need more counter help. Honora sounds ideal. As for Sid, you can deal with chronic lateness; you've dealt with employees’ problems before. You can’t run a business without inventory. Sounds like the miniatures and the soft goods are exactly what you need. It’s one thing to be careful about spending money, but it’s another to be penny-wise and pound-foolish.”
I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. “You’re right, of course. Why couldn't I see all that?”
"You're overloaded. You're reacting rather than thinking things through. You're overly tired. Oh, and your heart is broken. You are grieving. Cooper's indecision has caused you to doubt everything, especially since you were so sure about him."
I nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "And Kathy Simmons is dead."
"That isn't your problem. She didn't die on your property or your watch. You have a case of the Jessica Fletcher Syndrome, just like I do. We seem destined to trip over more dead bodies than the average person does."
Laughing, I agreed. "Poor Jessica."
"Yeppers. No wonder she became an amateur sleuth. What other choice did she have?"
CHAPTER 22
After my talk with Kiki, I flipped the store sign to read CLOSED. I ran upstairs, washed my face, changed out of my smelly clothes, and spritzed on cologne. The floral fragrance lifted my spirits. I felt ready to take on the world as I hurried back to the sales floor. The store was empty, except for Skye who had ended her shift at Pumpernickel’s. She stepped out of the restroom by my office and gave me her report.
“Honora’s daughter came to pick her up. MJ ran home to change into jeans,” she said. “She said she’ll meet us at whatever restaurant we choose. How about if we eat outside? That way Jack can stay with us.”
Sounded great to me.
Many downtown Stuart eateries spill out onto the sidewalk with seating. Skye and I found a nice table outdoors, one that Jack approved of, where we could people-watch.
By the time MJ arrived, the plate of nachos I’d ordered had arrived. We placed our dinner orders and ate and laughed and talked.
“Time to head to the concert,” sai
d Skye.
I grabbed for the bill and paid it, dropping a dime out of my pocket as I did. Out of habit, I bent down to pick it up.
MJ frowned at me. "You aren't really that hard up, are you, Cara? Scooping money off a dirty floor. If you are, we can pay for our own.”
"My Italian grandmother taught me that if you pass up money on the ground, it will pass you up in life. Silly, but it’s a habit."
We ambled down to the RiverWalk Park, an outdoor amphitheater on the banks of the Intracoastal. Finding a spot we liked on the concrete steps that double as seating, we watched while the band finished setting up on the small stage.
Although the group didn’t play anything original, it was still fun to listen. Most of their tunes were cover songs from the 60s, 70s, and 80s. By the time the performance ended, I was in a wonderful mood. Darkness settled in like a cat finding a warm spot in the window.
Because I had Jack under one arm, Skye helped me to my feet. The three of us headed back to the store. I hummed “My Brown Eyed Girl” and snapped my fingers. Jack must have liked the song, because his little tail beat time with the music.
"Are you happy you came, Jack?" I asked him. He responded by licking my chin.
“Nice night,” said Skye. “Chilly for Florida.”
“This is the kind of evening that makes you grateful to be alive,” I said, stopping myself before adding a gloomy thought: Kathy Simmons isn’t here to enjoy herself.
"No bugs,” said MJ. "Love that. Have you thought about getting a little sweater for Jack?"
“He needs one,” I said, snuggling Jack closer. “I never realized the weather could get so cool here in Florida! It’s perfect, isn’t it? In the seventies during the day and near fifties after dark."
"I love living downtown,” said Skye, as a streetlight lit up her face. “We’re so close to all the action. The Lyric theatre, the RiverWalk, the shops, and the restaurants.”
“Don’t forget the farmers’ market on Saturday," I said, with a sigh of contentment. I didn’t spoil the mood by adding that I would rather live someplace with fewer people. I really like my solitude.
"Thanks for buying us, Cara. You didn’t need to pick up the check,” said MJ.
“She’s right. That was kind of you,” said Skye.
“Thank you both for coming with me,” I said. “I needed a night away from the store. We’ve all been working so hard. I promise both of you that I’ll take better care of myself. I plan to start by getting over Cooper and moving on.”
“Why doesn’t he dump Jodi?” asked Skye. “It’s clear he loves you.”
“It’s complicated,” I said, slowing my pace. “He stopped by over the holidays when no one else was around. He told me that he loves me, but he also said that he’d made a mistake. A big one. Jodi knows about it, and she’s holding it over his head. According to Cooper, she could ruin him.”
“Ruin him? He used those exact words?” said MJ. “How positively Victorian.”
“There’s nothing he can do?” asked Skye.
“That’s the impression I got.”
“I bet it’s connected to his work,” said MJ. “If he loses his architect’s license, he’s sunk.”
“He didn’t share any details,” I admitted. “I thought he’d get it straightened out by now.”
“Let me guess,” said MJ, with a smirk. “He asked you to wait for him.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Typical. And you bought that?”
“I did,” I said. Feeling glad my friends couldn’t see the embarrassed blush on my face. The closer we got to my store, the darker it got and the fewer people were milling around us.
“Take it from someone who’s been married five times,” said MJ. “Six if you count marrying the same guy twice. Men don’t like making commitments. They run away like cockroaches when you turn on the light. Once they do make a commitment, they hate breaking it because they can’t stand drama. He’s toast, Cara. Jodi Wireka is a barracuda. She’s sunk her teeth into him, and she’s not going to let go.”
CHAPTER 23
“Oh, Cara! You can’t give up on him! You two are perfect for each other,” said Skye.
“There is no one perfect match,” said MJ. “Trust me.”
She would know.
“Don’t be such a cynic,” said Skye. “Cooper is perfect for Cara. He’s romantic, he’s handsome—”
We turned onto the alley that ran behind The Treasure Chest. After taking a few steps, I saw a light shining through the glass panes of the back door. I dragged my feet as I watched it travel from spot to spot inside the store, a spectral flash of brightness.
“Whoa!” I threw my arm in front of Skye and MJ, to stop them in their tracks. “Don’t move.
“What is it?” MJ asked.
“Someone’s in the store. There’s a light inside, and it’s moving.”
At that moment, Jack’s ears perked up. He stared at the store and growled.
“I think it’s your imagination,” said MJ. “Or maybe it’s Essie Feldman, coming back to check out her store.”
“Can’t be a ghost,” said Skye. “Ghosts don’t carry flashlights. That beam is bright and focused.”
“Right,” I said. “We better go back to where there are people.”
We hustled back toward the RiverWalk, jogging until we reached the corner of the municipal lot. Along the way, Skye whipped out her phone and dialed nine-one-one. After reporting what I’d seen and the address of the store, she gave them my name and phone number, explaining that I’m the store owner. The dispatcher cautioned Skye (and the rest of us) to stay clear of The Treasure Chest.
“Like I’d be stupid enough to run inside and try to defend my property,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s all replaceable.”
“Except that it’s not,” said MJ sadly. “With our big event tomorrow, we can’t afford to have bare shelves.”
That added to the tension, as the three of us plus Jack huddled under a streetlight. Concert-goers were still leaving the RiverWalk, climbing into their cars, and chatting with each other in a leisurely way. The swirl of the crowd around us felt mildly reassuring.
“This means somebody must have been watching us,” said Skye.
“What makes you think that?" MJ raised her eyebrows.
“This is the first evening that Cara and I have been away from the building at the same time. Usually one or the other of us is upstairs.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Oh, gosh.”
"Then we were lucky,” said MJ. “One of you could have walked in on our visitor.”
I thought I was going to get sick.
CHAPTER 24
~Lou~
Lou peeled off his latex gloves and shoved them deep in his pockets. The damp apartment that Kathy Simmons shared with Darcy Lahti depressed the heck out of him. Their "sofa" was a thin pad on a shipping pallet that had been shoved up against a wall. A cheap composite trunk, like kids took to college, doubled as a coffee table. A double-bed mattress sat on the floor in the only bedroom. Mildew stains marred the ceiling, forming a ring around the light fixtures.
The clothes in the shared closet revealed the size disparity between the roommates. Both young women were tall, but Kathy was big-boned and fleshy, while Darcy was thin enough to look emaciated. A cheap plastic dresser held a few more clothes, including a handful of tired looking undergarments. So far, the search had revealed nothing but poverty and sadness.
Darcy sat in one of two plastic lawn chairs and sobbed. Because Ollie was going through the books on bookshelf made from the makeshift boards and concrete blocks, Lou decided to ask Darcy a few questions.
“How would you characterize your friend’s emotional state?” He asked the young woman gently.
“Excited and worried.”
“Could you tell me more about that?”
“Kathy called me on her way to the newspaper office. After she had left that store. Said things were going to be different. But she didn’t s
ay how or why.” Darcy blew her nose on toilet paper, straight from the roll.
“That explains being excited. Sort of. What was Kathy worried about?”
Darcy shrugged.
Lou wondered if Darcy simply lacked the vocabulary to adequately describe her friend’s feelings. Even before Darcy opened her mouth, Lou had pegged her as underprivileged. He would have been hard-pressed to explain his conclusion in court. People called the United States a classless society, but nothing could be further from the truth. Darcy’s slumping posture, her chipped nail polish, her cheap shoes, her obvious lack of dental care, the way she picked at her face, her inept grammar, all nailed her firmly to a bulletin board labeled: Lower Middle Class.
Lou hated himself for this cold cavalier assessment of her.
“You’re an elitist snob,” chuckled Showalter. “Who’d have thunk it? It’s not like you grew up all high and mighty.”
“No,” Lou agreed. Lou’s father had been a barber. His mother took in laundry and ironing to make ends meet.
What made him different from Darcy?
Aspiration.
Lou’s parents had taught him—drilled into him—the desire for a better life. His mother was a stickler for proper word usage and grammar. His parents took him to museums and art exhibits. His father taught him to stand when a lady entered the room, to pull out her chair for her when she went to sit down, to hold open doors for people, and to remove his hat when he entered a building.
Lou could imagine Darcy’s upbringing. She’d probably been left to her own devices for most of her life, with no one to watch over her or take an interest in her development.
Could she have killed her roommate?
“Sure, she could have,” said Showalter. “Maybe Kathy saw her as an albatross. Dragging her down. Maybe they argued over a guy. Or money. Darcy regretted it after the fact, so she called in that missing person’s report out of guilt. Heck, she even called The Treasure Chest on the pretext of looking for Kathy. Could have all been part of an effort to avoid the naked truth, that she killed her friend.”
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