Second Chance at Life

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  This was really an inconvenience, because I’d planned to spend more time on Pinterest. Viewing craft ideas and décor trends on the tiny phone screen just didn’t cut it. The men waited for my answer. “Could you just take that little computer to the police station and work on it there?”

  Nathan turned to Sid. “Have you had the measles? Or been vaccinated against them?”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “Because I have three people out with the measles, and two who think they are coming down with it.”

  Oh well. I mentally threw up my hands.

  “Sid? Old buddy, old pal,” I said. “We need to get you a measles shot. In the meantime, you need to stay out of places where a lot of people congregate. Especially if you ever want to be a father.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” he asked.

  “Uh,” I turned red. “Your turn, Nathan. I’ll leave you to explain the facts of life to our young friend here.”

  “Aye, aye, captain,” said Nathan with a mock salute.

  I went out onto the sales floor, feather duster in hand. It wasn’t the most productive use of my time, but at least it would keep my hands busy and free my mind up to think about promotions.

  We really did need a second computer or two. Buying them zoomed to the top of my “to do” list. The cash register in my head went "ca-ching," as money flew out of the drawer.

  Money. When you don’t have it, every problem is exacerbated by the lack of it. When you do have it, problems are merely inconveniences.

  Still, the newfound success of our website’s shopping cart sent a shiver of excitement up my spine. Was it remotely possible that we could double our business? If this early success was any indication, things were looking up.

  “Could you help me load these into my car?” MJ asked. She pointed her chin at two Highwayman paintings. She already had one in each hand. “I have a client up in Port St. Lucie who wants to see these.”

  “Great,” I said, as I picked up the other two landscapes. They were heavy.

  Once we got outside, we rested the pictures against her car and debated where to put them. We could spread quilted pads in the trunk of the Cadillac or on the passenger’s seat in the back. MJ and I were discussing the merits of each approach when EveLynn rolled up. She took the parking space right next to MJ’s car, leaving us no space to maneuver on the passenger side.

  “That settles that,” said MJ, rolling her eyes.

  While Honora slowly opened her passenger side door and got out, EveLynn came over and stood inches from my face. “Cara, I want to go over the descriptions of my merchandise with you. I checked your website last night. You don't have accurate descriptions of the fabric content."

  EveLynn had me boxed in between the cars and the store. Meanwhile, Honora struggled to remove a piece of luggage from the back seat of EveLynn’s car. However, her daughter didn’t notice. Fortunately, MJ had put down the paintings and came to Honora’s aid.

  “My tools for making miniatures,” Honora reminded me, as I raised a curious eyebrow. “There’s also a folding table I can use until my new desk arrives.”

  “You need to get that rewritten, and you need to do it right now!” said EveLynn. She was totally focused on her agenda.

  “Right,” I said, turning away from her. I was still trying to figure out where the Highway man paintings should go. If we stacked them in the trunk, they could rub against each other. They were far too precious to risk damaging.

  “Customers want to know how much cotton content the fabric has,” EveLynn kept talking. “Or whether it’s hand-dyed. Or vintage.”

  “Uh-huh.” Although I’d already tuned her out, she kept rattling off all the information I'd mangled when describing her soft goods.

  “You have to get it fixed!” EveLynn stomped her foot. She stood two inches from me, fisting her hands on her hips. Her voice had gone up a notch. Her lower lip trembled. Tears formed in her eyes. Her face had gotten very, very red.

  I’d seen this sort of behavior before, back when my son was a toddler. Any second, she would blow her cool. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help, but there was no way I could keep track of all her changes, much less apply them with precision. Not when she’d rattled them off so fast.

  Then it dawned on me. I had a printout of the descriptions on my desk.

  “EveLynn, I’ve got a copy of the website page. How about if I let you make the corrections on it? That way I can't possibly make any mistakes, can I? It’s in my desk.”

  She sighed. “I guess.”

  MJ had begun spreading the quilted pads in her trunk. “I’ve got this covered. Go on.”

  As I led the way to the store, EveLynn followed right behind me, nearly stepping on my heels. Honora brought up the rear.

  After introducing EveLynn to Nathan, I asked Sid to move over so I could reach my in-box. I was rummaging through papers, when Nathan held up a picture. “Cara, do you recognize this headscarf and raincoat? Is this exactly what Kathy Simmons wore to your media event?”

  I took it from him.

  I could feel EveLynn literally breathing down my neck. She had no compunction about invading my personal space—and she was starting to get on my nerves. I turned to ask her to back off. With a jerk, EveLynn pulled the picture out of my hands.“That’s not Kathy Simmons.”

  CHAPTER 62

  “Kathy was five-seven,” said EveLynn. Repeating herself, she added, “The woman in the picture is not Kathy Simmons.”

  “How do you know?” asked Nathan.

  “I know. First, I never forget numbers. Second, my ability to estimate measurements is exceptional. For example, you are five-nine and you weigh 165. Cara is five-three, and she weighs—”

  “Stop right there,” I said. “Do not share my weight, EveLynn.”

  “If you’re estimating the height of the woman in the photo, you could be wrong,” said Nathan.

  “I’m not wrong. I can prove to you that’s not Kathy.” EveLynn grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and began to write down numbers.

  I watched her do the calculations while I searched for the print-out of her merchandise.

  Although she was short on people skills, her mathematical ability was truly awe-inspiring. EveLynn was confident she knew the height of the rest stop door.

  “My daughter never forgets a measurement,” said her mother, who was standing on the threshold of my office. Honora pulled the hatpin out of her hair and took off her straw boater. A ping told us that she’d dropped her hatpin. She bent at the waist and scanned the floor. I was closest to her, so I helped her look for it. But after crawling around on my hands and knees, I didn’t locate the pin. I gave up and turned back to my inbox.

  “Not to worry,” she said. “It will turn up.”

  Starting with the height of the rest stop door and estimating the distance the woman in the photo was standing from that door, EveLynn systematically worked her way through the Pythagorean Theorem.

  When she was done, she shoved her figures toward Nathan and said, “The numbers prove that I’m right. The person in that picture is not Kathy Simmons. Kathy was five-seven. She came to my mother’s house on April 20, last year, at three p.m. She stayed four hours and asked thirty-two questions.”

  "Could that be Kathy’s roommate, Darcy?" I wondered out loud.

  “According to their drivers’ licenses, Darcy Lahti and Kathy Simmons are—or were—approximately the same height,” said Nathan.

  “Yes,” I murmured, thinking back on Darcy’s visit.

  “So who is the woman in our photo? More importantly, why is she wearing Kathy’s things? This is big. Really big.” Nathan dialed his cell phone. “Valerie? I need you to do something for me. In Lou’s top desk drawer there’s a USB stick labeled KS. Send those files to me at my email address. I need them right now, please.”

  He turned to EveLynn. “Are you planning to stick around? I want to show you a few more pictures and see if you can tell m
e whether they are Kathy Simmons or not.”

  “Unfortunately,” she said with a pout, “I am forced to stay here long enough to fix the mistakes Cara made when she listed my merchandise.”

  I cringed.

  “What EveLynn's trying to say is that she’ll be happy to help you, Captain Davidson, won't you dear?” Honora gave us all a conciliatory smile.

  EveLynn shrugged.

  Honora exhaled loudly. “Well, I think I’ll go make myself a cup of tea and then set up my work space.”

  “Sid? Could you take a break and help Honora bring in a table? It’s in EveLynn’s car,” I said. “Oh, and you’ll need to move the bulletin board for her. We can hang it on the other wall. That’ll make it easier to see anyway.”

  “Sure thing,” he said, and they both left my office.

  Nathan switched from my email inbox to his. I kept shuffling through the papers in my inbox. Soon we heard the sounds of Sid setting up a table in the next room.

  “All done,” Sid said, as he rejoined us. “I’ll re-hang the bulletin board later, okay?”

  Honora surprised us all when she exclaimed loudly from the kitchen, “Well, my stars and bars! Cara, where on earth did you get this old photo of Josiah Wentworth?”

  “What photo?” I asked. I had no idea what she was viewing. Nathan’s hands froze on my keyboard. Sid’s eyebrows shot up. Only EveLynn was unmoved.

  Honora stuck her head back inside my office. “The one on your bulletin board. Is that the picture you put up there the other day?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I need to get my glasses changed,” she said with a laugh. “I didn’t recognize Josiah.”

  Nathan and I exchanged looks.

  “I have a photo of Josiah Wentworth? Are you sure?” I asked her.

  “Yes, that is the Senator in his younger days,” she said.

  Nathan got up from behind my desk and walked over to where Honora was standing.

  “Which one is Josiah Wentworth?”

  “The grown man in the middle.”

  “And you are positive?”

  “Absolutely. I’ve known Josiah all of my life,” said Honora.

  CHAPTER 63

  Although all this new information was clearly helpful to Captain Davidson, it also insured that I wouldn’t be getting any work done on my computer for quite a while.

  I still needed the papers with the descriptions of EveLynn’s merchandise. It took a few more minutes to find them. Once I had them, EveLynn and I left Nathan and Sid working in my office. Honora was happily setting up the tools she’d brought. With the papers in her hand, EveLynn plopped herself down in the middle of the sales floor. There she sprawled like a teenager on a chair that Skye had reupholstered. I thought about reprimanding her for making herself at home in a place of business, but it hardly seemed worth the effort.

  My “to do” list had been seriously derailed. Get a grip, Cara, I told myself. There are plenty of other projects you can work on.

  Nothing makes me feel better than to turn trash into treasure. Sundays are usually slow, so I turned my attention to salvaging six wrought iron stands. These had once been the lower halves of six treadle sewing machines. When discovered in a local high school’s storage unit, the Singer Sewing Machines were long gone. But Skye and I were happy to take what was left.

  “All we need is to paint them and add new tops,” she’d said.

  I had agreed. “Plywood would do the trick.”

  “We could decoupage the surfaces,” she said.

  We gave each other a high five.

  With a little imagination and elbow grease, these could make cute occasional tables. Now I needed to remove the rust and old paint. Keeping an eye open for customers, I began the laborious job of sanding.

  A little later, EveLynn returned the printouts, shoving them under my nose. “Your accuracy leaves a lot to be desired, Cara.”

  From across the sales floor, where she’d been arranging a tiny beach scene on a shelf, Honora clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. She shook her head, and began to mouth an apology, but I cut her off with a dismissive gesture.

  “EveLynn,” I said, “I’m glad you corrected this. From now on, please include a printed copy of your descriptions along with your merchandise. Better yet, email your descriptions directly to Sid so we don’t have to retype your work. He can put them directly on the website and we can avoid this problem.”

  “You should know what these fabrics are,” she protested.

  “No,” I stopped her. “That’s not my job. It's yours.”

  “If you insist,” she said. With that, she turned and marched toward the door.

  As I watched her go, I counted my lucky stars that she was Honora’s child and not mine. Despite her fantastic talents with fabric, EveLynn had the social maturity of a pre-teen. Worst of all, it would never change. This wasn’t a phase; this was forever.

  “You handled that brilliantly, Cara, dear,” Honora said. "I am sorry—"

  "Don't apologize for her," I interrupted. "Her behavior is not your fault. Don’t worry about it. That’s the way she is. She has other sterling qualities."

  Honora gave me a hug. “Thank you, for being so understanding.”

  "I need a bottle of water," I told the older woman. "Can I get anything for you?"

  On my way to the refrigerator, I checked on the men huddled over my computer. Despite the difference in their ages, Sid and Davidson got along like two peers. Back and forth they went, discussing options and concerns, hitting keys, and staring at the screen.

  “I took Jack outside,” said Davidson proudly. "He had to go while you were working on the sales floor."

  My dog might not be a champion in the show ring, but he was a world-beater at cajoling people into taking him outside for a potty stop. Or for a prance around in the alley. What a little booger. I glanced over to see that Jack’s crate was empty.

  “Thanks. Where is he now?”

  “In Sid’s lap." Davidson pointed to a space I couldn’t see because it was blocked by my desk. "He’s asleep.”

  Sid looked up from the keyboard. “Luna is in Captain Davidson’s lap. She’s asleep, too.”

  “Pet sitters anonymous, hey?” I said, with a laugh. “By the way, Nathan, any progress since last night on my burglary?”

  “Nothing yet,” he said.

  “Wasn’t it weird that the burglar only took pictures that had people in them?” Sid asked.

  “Excuse me?” I frowned at Sid. “What do you mean?”

  “Remember? Right before the VIP Open House? Skye noticed that all of the photos of people were missing. From the box of extras.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But she also said she needed to go through the box more carefully to be sure. They might have simply been mislabeled.”

  “She did do that, later. The morning you and Honora went for your drive. She didn’t find any pictures of people. That got me thinking,” and Sid rose to his feet. “Come look.”

  Davidson and I followed him to the sales floor. Sid pointed to the framed pictures on display. “There aren’t any people here either. But you had to replace some, right? After the burglary? And all of those must have been of people because there aren’t any here now.”

  I gawped at the display. “You are right, Sid. I’ve been walking past this for days, but I didn’t notice that the subjects had changed.”

  “There were photos of people on display before?” asked Davidson. “You mean before the VIP Open House, right?

  Right,” I said. “There were also extra photos of people in the box in the back. If Sid is right, they’re all gone. Every last one of them.”

  CHAPTER 64

  Although I looked at the wall display of photos every day, I had quit seeing them, really seeing them and letting their subject matter register on me. How easy it is to take your world for granted!

  “Sid, you are a very observant young man,” I said.

  “I try to be,” he answered. “
But that’s not helping any.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t seem to be able to help you, Captain Davidson.”

  “It was a long shot, Sid,” said Nathan, clapping a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder. The policeman stepped closer to the display wall, to study the framed photos. “You’ve done your best. We know that Kathy opened that cloud storage account right before she disappeared. The chances of us finding the password to it were slim. But it was worth a try. I can go through official channels and see if they’ll grant me access, but that’ll take time. I figured that first we would try a few combinations. I hoped we’d get lucky.”

  “I can see why you’d be hopeful. In the movies, the computer guy always comes up with the password,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Sid, “but that isn’t real life. In real life, you mess up the password, and you get locked out. Sometimes permanently. Besides, most people choose something easy, like their pet’s name and a date.”

  “Luna was Kathy’s cat,” I said.

  “Luna is only four letters,” said Sid, “and Kathy Simmons’ password is sixteen characters long. This chick was serious about keeping people out.”

  “So close and yet so far,” said Nathan. “But the morning wasn’t a total waste. Now we know that someone pretending to be Kathy Simmons drove up and down the turnpike the evening that Kathy disappeared. We also know that your burglar was only interested in photos of people.”

  “You also have the photo that Kathy bought from me,” I said.

  “Right. I’ll see if our lab can work any magic with it. Maybe there’s a message in there that can’t be seen with the naked eyes. Or a part of the image that could be enhanced.”

  “Are you thinking that photo is a clue in Kathy Simmons’ murder?”

  “It’s certainly a loose end, and loose ends bother me. Especially in a murder investigation.”

  “Sounds like you need to figure out what Kathy Simmons did between the time she left the store and when she died,” said Sid.