Death Before Diamonds (Sky High Pies Cozy Mysteries Book 10) (4 page)

CHAPTER
6

After finishing a few more notes
about the Sky High cooking class, I sent Rex Greer’s license plate number to Trent.
Then I drove over to Simply Chic to ask Pearl White about the fuchsia tights
that the woman was wearing in the background of Theo’s selfie.

When I pulled up and parked at the
curb, the boutique’s front windows were completely dark. Pearl usually stayed
open until seven during the week, so I was a little confused until I saw the
bright beam of a flashlight darting around the shadowy interior. I grabbed my
purse, scrambled out of the car and hurried across the sidewalk.

“Pearl?” I called after slowly
opening the front door. “Is everything okay?”

I heard something crash to the
floor followed by a flock of muffled words.

“Is that you, Katie?”

Instead of Pearl’s lilting Irish brogue,
the voice I heard belonged to Blanche Speltzer, the oldest living resident of
Crescent Creek. The 80-year-old firecracker and retired history teacher was one
of my favorite people in the entire world. She was sassy, intelligent,
thoughtful and incredibly sweet.

“Blanche?” I said after spotting a
silhouette against the back wall.

“Yes, sweetheart,” she replied.
“Did you come to our rescue?”

Before I could answer, I heard Pearl
somewhere in the distance.

“I can’t find the thingy with the
fuses!” she yelled. “Do you think we should call the police?”

“How about a private detective?”
Blanche shouted. “Will that help?”

I moved slowly through the gloom,
holding one hand out in front as I inched toward the sound of the town’s most
skillful chatterbox. While I tiptoed around a table piled with bulky sweaters,
Blanche’s flashlight suddenly looped up from the floor and into my eyes.

“There you are!” she said
cheerfully. “You’ve got impeccable timing, Katie! Pearl and I have been
wandering around in this blackout for the past twenty minutes.”

“Can you lower that a little?” I asked.
“I can’t see where I’m going.”

“Oh, you bet, doll!” She giggled
softly. “I just wanted to make sure that it was you.”

“It’s me alright,” I said. “What
happened?”

Blanche’s cheery laugh erupted again.
“Oh, Katie! I’m so embarrassed that I can’t even imagine telling you the
story!”

I moved closer, gliding along the
glass-topped display cabinets that ran from the front of the shop to the
changing rooms in the rear.

“I’m guessing that maybe someone
blew a fuse,” I said. “Is that about the gist of it?”

“More or less,” she said.

“Did Pearl plug in something that
overloaded the circuits?”

Blanche snickered. “No, it was me.
I was showing her my new glue gun. I think that was the guilty culprit!”

“And why did you have a glue gun?”
I asked.

“Because I’m starting a clothing
line, Katie! It’s called Bedazzled by Blanche! And I wanted to show Pearl my
technique for applying crystals. It was supposed to be a quick demo, not the
start of a national emergency.”

“I’m sure she’ll—”

The overhead lights suddenly
flashed and blinked before resuming a bright, steady glow.

“And there you go!” I said. “Let
there be light!”

Blanche was perched on a stool
behind the cash register. She held the flashlight in one hand and a can of spray
glitter in the other.

“I found it!” Pearl cheered,
emerging through the black velvet curtains that covered the doorway to the back
of her store. “I thought we—”

She stopped and smiled when she noticed
me walking toward Blanche. Despite the unexpected blackout and subsequent
scramble to find the fuse box, Pearl looked as flawless and elegant as always. Her
shoulder-length reddish-blonde hair was tied back and she was wearing a
lavender blouse over slim-cut black slacks. The Dublin-born beauty was around
fifty, with a vivacious personality, a zest for fashion and green eyes that
sparked with vigor.

“Hey, Katie! You’ve got great
timing. Blanche and I just spent the last hour in the dark.”

Blanche gave me a wink. “Twenty
minutes,” she whispered. “But who’s counting?”

Pearl hurried over, both hands quivering
in the air and a look of deep concern on her face.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Speltzer? Did
you burn yourself?”

Blanche grinned. “I’m fine, doll.
That wasn’t my first blown fuse!” She paused and winked again. “The glue gun
didn’t even start to warm up, so we’re all good.”

Pearl was visibly relieved. She
closed the space between them with a few final shuffle steps. Then she wrapped
her arms around the fragile, gray-haired local treasure and gave her a big kiss
on the cheek.

“Whoa, whoa!” Blanche exclaimed.
“No PDA without mama’s permission!”

Pearl giggled and stepped back.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said. “I had these terrible visions of
third-degree burns and ambulance sirens and law suits.”

“Not this time, sweetheart,” Blanche
said, getting down from the stool. “Why don’t I go back there and give it
another try? I’ll let you know when I’m ready for the demonstration, okay?”

Pearl walked over to the velvet
curtains and parted them for Blanche.

“I’ll see you soon, Katie,” Blanche
called. “Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do!”

As soon as she was through the
doorway, Pearl let the curtains close. Then she came over and gave me a welcoming
hug.

“That was scary,” she said quietly.
“I had no idea that a glue gun could make the lights go out.”

I nodded. “I’ve never used one, so
I wouldn’t know. The last craft project I did was in sixth grade.”

Pearl smiled. “Oh, that’s cute.
What was it?”

“I put plastic wrap over the toilet
seat in the teacher’s restroom,” I said, grinning with embarrassment. “It was
back when I was a wild child and the concept of law and order hadn’t quite
clicked in yet.”

We shared a laugh and Pearl went
behind the counter.

“It’s good to see you,” she said.
“Are you looking for anything special?”

“I actually wanted to ask you about
some tights,” I said, reaching for my phone. “I heard that you received an
order recently, and I wanted to see if maybe you remembered selling a particular
pair.”

I quickly found the email from Rex
Greer, opened the picture of his brother and showed the image to Pearl.

“In the background there,” I said. “The
fuchsia tights. Do you know who bought them?”

“Those aren’t simply tights, Katie,”
she said. “They’re Wunder Under Pants.”

I grinned, repeated the name and
asked why the tights deserved such a fanciful moniker. “Oh, because they’re so
wonderful
!”
Pearl gushed. “They fit like a dream. They’re perfect for every body type.
And there’s a little hidden pocket in the waistband for your key.” She pointed
at a rack against the far wall. “They’re right over there. But if you had your
heart set on fuchsia, we only had two pairs and they’re both gone.”

“Oh, drat the luck!” I joked,
lowering the phone. “Who beat me to them?”

Pearl’s smile went flat. “What was
that?”

“I was wondering if you remembered
who bought the fuchsia tights,” I said. “Er, I mean, the wonderful underwear pants
or whatever.”

“Well, I think…” She paused,
crinkling her nose. “Why are you asking?”

“It’s kind of a long shot,” I
explained. “But the man in the photo…” I held up my phone again. “…his brother
came to see me. He thinks that Theo, that’s the guy in the picture, went
missing sometime after this selfie was taken on the porch at Sky High last week.”

Pearl studied the phone again. “And
you think…what? The woman in the photo might know something?”

I shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a
long shot. But I remember working a case in Chicago that was solved because of
something similar.”

“Fuchsia Wunder Under Pants?” She
smiled playfully. “Is that what you mean?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “But you
never know. Maybe the woman in the tights heard the man on his phone, saw him
talking to someone or noticed which car he left in.”

“They’re so much more than tights,”
Pearl said again. “But I know what you’re saying.”

It felt like a minor breakthrough,
so I hoped she would reel off the names and I could head out to talk with the
proud owners of the fuchsia pants. Instead, Pearl told me that she was on
vacation when both pairs were sold.

“Do you mind asking whoever was
working while you were away?” I said.

“Absolutely,” she answered. “It
would’ve been either Leslie or Caroline.”

“What about Gia?”

Pearl shook her head. “Gia quit a
couple of weeks ago,” she said with a trace of melancholy. “Her dad’s really
sick, so she moved back to Atlanta.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“I know,” Pearl said softly. “He’s
such a sweetheart, too.”

“Well, at least Gia will be able to
spend some time with him, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Pearl glanced at
the door when it opened and waved at the two women who came inside. “I just
feel so bad for Gia. She was an only child, and her mother passed away last
year.”

We stood together in silence,
thinking about Gia and parents and the heartrending reality of fate, until Blanche
suddenly shouted from behind the velvet curtains.

“I’m all set!” she yelled. “You
ready to see the magic happen?”

Pearl smiled. “I better get back
there,” she said. “One of us will give you a call about the fuchsia pants.”

“Thank you so much,” I said. “And tell
Blanche that I can’t wait to see her bedazzled designs in your front window.”

CHAPTER
7

After leaving Pearl’s boutique, I
made a quick stop at Java & Juice. Then I drove to Homer Figg’s house with
the windows down, a fresh blueberry-kale smoothie cooling my throat and the
radio tuned to a classic rock station. I didn’t recognize the song that was
blaring from the speakers as I turned onto Homer’s street, but it had a driving
beat, jangling guitars and a saxophone line that coiled around the singer’s
vocals like a rattlesnake circling its prey.

Homer was one of the more
adventurous and active residents of Crescent Creek. He was patriarch of the
family’s legendary business, a consignment shop for clothing, furniture and
toys known as Figg’s Pretty Penny Emporium. He was also founder of the Crescent
Creek International Museum of Art & Antiques, a local attraction that
filled the two-car garage at his house on Conover Street. The museum’s exhibits
and memorabilia featured items donated by local residents or culled from the
Lost & Found drawer at the Pretty Penny.

When I pulled into the driveway,
Homer was in his front yard with something small and furry on a leash.

“Hi!” I called, getting out of the
car. “Did you get a new pet?”

He glared at the tiny animal. “This
isn’t a pet, Katie. It’s a fuzzy oven mitt with legs. We’re babysitting for one
of the women from my wife’s book club.”

“And how does the oven mitt get
along with your Labs?”

Homer laughed. “It’s the first
Teacup Poodle the boys have ever seen. They were curious for about ten seconds
the night that King Kong arrived, but they’re over it now.”

We both watched as the small furry
creature lifted its leg and threatened to moisten the tip of Homer’s boot.

“Poor thing doesn’t realize he’s
not tall enough to tinkle that high,” Homer said.

“And his name is King Kong?”

He frowned. “Peg said she wanted
something ironic.”

“Uh-huh. And what do you call the
little guy? King or Kong?

“Me?” Homer’s eyes lit up with
mischief. “I call him something that isn’t polite to say in mixed company,
Katie. Most people call him Double K, which is about as far from ironic as you
can get. I mean, why bother with King Kong in the first place, right?”

We both fell silent again and
watched as the miniature mutt took care of business without dampening the boot.
Then Homer asked how things were at Sky High Pies.

“I haven’t come in this week,” he
said regretfully. “What’s been going on?”

“We’re busy as always!” I answered.
“How about the museum? Have you had many visitors this week?”

He frowned. “We’re closed for
repairs. I accidentally dropped the garage door opener in the toilet, so I’m
waiting on Ernie Stewart to come by and reprogram the new one that I bought.”

“What about the gizmo on the wall?”

“I broke that a couple of years
back,” Homer said. “Hit it too hard with my elbow and smashed the plastic doohickey
that covers the thingamabob.”

I smiled at his explanation.
“Accidents happen!”

“Every five minutes or so around
here,” he said, glancing down at the puppy on the leash. “Last night, this
little bugger christened the new area rug in the guest bedroom, destroyed a pair
of my wife’s fancy high heels and left a tiny brown gift in the middle of the
kitchen floor.”

“I guess that’s par for the course
with someone named King Kong,” I said.

“Yeah, I suppose,” Homer agreed. “But
enough about this furry beast. Was there something I can help you with, Katie?”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you
about a man that you may have talked with at Sky High last week.” I pulled out
my phone and showed him the picture of Theo Greer. “Do you remember him?”

Homer angled toward the screen and
peered at the image.

“Yeah,” he said. “I talked to him
briefly that morning, and I’ve also seen that picture before, too. I was
leaving the bank earlier today and some fellow was standing out front. Came up
and asked if I’d seen his brother in town. I told him that I remembered him,
but couldn’t provide much that would be useful. Then I went to get in my car,
but the guy started pestering some woman.”

“Seriously? What happened?”

The dog on the leash began to chew
on Homer’s shoelaces. He quickly pulled his foot out of harm’s way and leaned
down to pet the pooch.

“There you go, buddy,” Homer cooed.
“That’s a good boy. We’ll go inside in a minute or two and you can gnaw on the
rawhide bone.”

Homer finished with the puppy and
turned his attention back to me.

“How did he pester the woman?” I
asked.

“He was just a pest,” Homer said.
“He kept pushing the picture into her face and demanding that she look at it. I
guess they exchanged a few spicy words before he eventually left her alone.”

“Did she report him to the police?”

“I don’t know about that,” he
answered. “I heard about it from Roxie Lambert. She had a similar experience at
Bubble Brite Laundry when she stopped to ask June Taggart about a stain on her
silk dress.” He scowled at the picture of Theo Greer again. “The guy with the
photograph of his brother was harassing June and demanding to know if she was
familiar with a woman named Arlene.”

“Arlene?” I said. “Did you hear a
last name?”

Homer narrowed his watery gaze. “Not
that I recall,” he said. “But I’m seventy-five, Katie. Some parts don’t work as
well as they used to.” He flashed a smile and chuckled. “And, as far as I know,
they don’t make a little blue pill for the brain yet.”

I nodded silently at the remark and
asked if he could remember anything specific that Theo Greer mentioned during
their conversation.

“He talked a lot about Ben
Franklin,” Homer said.

“Who?”

“Benjamin Franklin. As in, one of
the Founding Fathers of the United States of America.”

“Oh,
that
Ben Franklin! I
thought you were talking about someone who lives around here.”

Homer shook his head. “I guess the
guy’s a big history nut. From the way he was boasting, I’d also say it’s safe
to assume that he lives in Philadelphia.”

“Okay,” I said. “He’s from back
east, but he was in Crescent Creek looking for someone that he used to work
with.”

“Maybe he found her, too,” Homer
said with a smile.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw him on your front porch
about a half hour later as I was leaving,” Homer said. “He and a young lady
were really getting into it.”

“They were arguing?”

Homer nodded. “Cats and dogs,
Katie. Cats and dogs.”

“Who was she?”

“Heck if I know,” he answered. “I
only saw her shapely caboose.” He winked. “If you know what I mean.”

“I think I do,” I said. “Could you
guess her age?”

“Somewhere between birth and the
Pearly Gates.”

“Mr. Figg!”

“What? How can I guess her age when
the only thing that I saw was her backside? I mean, I could describe all of
that beauty if you’d like.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay,” I
said. “I get the picture.”

“I’m just teasing, Katie. I don’t
have any idea who it was or what her age might be, but the look on that guy’s
face told me that they weren’t chatting about the weather.”

“Can you describe what she was
wearing?”

He smiled. “Clothes.”

I felt my blood pressure percolate.
“Uh-huh. And can you be more specific?”

“Women’s clothes,” Homer said.

I glared at him for a split second
before smiling. “You’re in rare form, Mr. Figg.”

“Prune juice,” he said. “And Double
K. I’m getting twice as much exercise and fresh air now that I’m walking our
two pups and this little runt separately.”

“Well, that’s all good to hear.” I
smiled at the diminutive furry critter sprawled in the grass. “Can we try that
last question again?”

“About the woman’s clothes?”

I nodded.

“Well, she was pretty dang fit,”
Homer said. “Muscular legs, tiny waist, slim arms and her rump was—”

“Her
clothes
, Mr. Figg! What
was the woman wearing?”

He smiled. “Let me see that picture
again,” he said.

I reached into my purse, pulled out
the phone and navigated to the image of Theo Greer. When I held it up, Homer
lightly cupped my hand and studied the image closely.

“That’s her,” he said, pointing at
the screen. “She’s the one right behind the man in the picture.”

I turned the phone and once again scrutinized
the fuchsia tights, boxy gray sweatshirt and sapphire running shoes.

“See, Katie?” Homer said. “It’s
just like I told you—she’s wearing women’s clothes.”

I put away the phone. Then I asked
if he remembered any additional details about the brief encounter with Theo
Greer.

“That’s about it,” Homer said. “We
didn’t have a lengthy chat or anything. He asked for directions to the drug
store. We talked about Benjamin Franklin. And then he asked if I knew anyone
named Arlene.”

“Did he mention where he was staying
in town?” I asked.

“He wasn’t,” Homer said. “He had a
room down in Frisco at the Silver Dollar Motel.”

“You’re sure about that?” I asked.

“That’s what I heard him tell
someone on the phone,” Homer said. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“I’m not really surprised,” I
answered. “I just haven’t heard anyone mention the Silver Dollar since I moved
back to Crescent Creek.”

“Does that dump hold a special
place in your heart or something?”

I blushed. “Possibly.”

Homer chuckled and stepped closer.
“Is that right?” he asked, lowering his voice. “A long ago romantic rendezvous?
A tryst with someone famous?”

“Nothing that exciting,” I said.
“But like your comment about the dog, my stay at the Silver Dollar is something
that isn’t polite to discuss in mixed company.”