EMBELLISHED TO DEATH (15 page)

“Sure. These have already been put into the sales system.” Steve moved the products he rung up to the far end of the table. “There's only a few left.”

“I'm on it.”

He looked at me strangely then went to the woman near the sticker display.

I zipped through the remaining items. I didn't want Violet to put back the glue and leave. This was going to the easiest way to find out who she really was. “Here you go.” I thrust the scrapbooking goodies at the current customer. “Next.”

Violet handed me the bottle of glue.

“Was there anything else you'd like but couldn't find? There might be a box or two that hasn't been opened yet.” I scanned in the bar code. “This is a great orange. There's a green in the same vibrant shade that would go fantastic with this.”

“Just that.”

“I just need to get your tab sheet filled out.”

“Just need that.” She pulled twenty dollars from her front pocket.

Scrap it all. Now, I'd need another plan. I put the twenty in the register and handed the change to Violet. I was no closer to finding out who Violet really was, or why she was here. Maybe, Morgan was innocent of trying to kill the identity thief and this woman was the one sent to do her in. Men were a novelty at crop retreats and stood out. A woman would blend in perfectly. If I was going to send someone to hunt down a woman at a mostly women's event, I'd send another woman.

Not that I'd ever send someone to hurt another person.

“You forgot to give her the receipt.” Steve's voice drew me from my supposing.

I blinked and turned toward him. “What?”

He nodded at my hand. “You forgot to give that cropper her receipt. You're still holding it.”

I glanced down and grinned. He was right. Now, I had a perfect excuse to go visit Violet at her table and see what she was working on. “I'll take it to her.”

Steve's eyes narrowed. “Don't be long.”

The man knew I was up to something. Tonight when we were alone, I'd fill him in on everything. Okay, maybe not everything, as depending on what might happen once we were finally alone I didn't want to ruin the mood with talk of my ex-husband.

Chicken.
Oh shut up, I told myself.

I passed by Gussie, Darlene, and Garrison, ignoring their pointed stares, and made my way to where Violet sat. I stood beside her. “You left your receipt.”

She twisted off the cap of the glue and drizzled it across the top of a notebook.

The work area contained no layouts, pictures, or even scraps of paper or leftover sticker sheets. She wasn't going to make finding out anything about her easy. I hoped I was up for the challenge.

“Your receipt.” I held it off to the side, hoping she'd catch it from the corner of her eye.

“I'd just put it down on the corner,” Amanda said. “She's not much of a talker.”

Amanda's two friends nodded in agreement.

“We tried chatting with her and making her feel at home here but she isn't interested.” The well-endowed blonde at the table placed a completed layout into a twelve-by-twelve plastic box then started cleaning up her scraps.

I watched her like an endangered species. The clean-as-you-finish-a-page scrapper was a rare breed in the cropping world. Most croppers, me included, waited until the end of each cropping day to clean up our scrapping zone. There were more scrapbookers who waited until the end of the entire weekend to clean than ones who tidied up after each completed layout.

“Is there a problem?” Violet's earbuds dangled over her shoulders.

“I forgot to give you your receipt.” I placed it near her project.

She rolled her eyes. “I won't need to make a return.”

“I love the cover of your book. Is it a day planner?”

“This is May. I'd be way behind if I was working on one now.” Violet capped the glue and pushed back from the table.

“They make lovely Christmas gifts and now is a good time to start,” I rambled. “I always wait until November to start my holiday crafting and never get around to completing everything.”

“Then you should work on that.” Violet placed the buds back into her ears. Using a black marker, she added doodles to the cover. A few of the glitter glue trails smeared.

Odd. Most crafters would do the pen work first and then layer on the glue, not the other way around. Suspicion jumped up and down in my head and waved its arms. Something was telling me Violet was not a crafter.

I scooted away from the croppers and went toward the back of the room. I glanced up and down the service hallway. Empty. Hiding in a shadowy corner, I took out my cell phone and opened up an Internet browser. The light glowed in the darkness. The last bit of sunlight leaked from the sky as the sun slid behind the mountains.

I typed in Violet Hancock and waited for results to pop up. That wasn't going to work. There were a lot of Violet Hancock's out there; I'd be holed up in the corner all night if I went that route. I narrowed the search results to her name and West Virginia. None.

I tried another search engine and came up with the same results. Nothing. I needed to tell Bob my suspicions about Violet. I had a feeling she found her next victim: Marsha Smith. If I was going to steal a name, I'd pick one that would have hundreds of results if someone looked me up.

Loud music boomed through the area. Two great-looking guys in security uniforms bounced into the room, twirling handcuffs above their heads. What in the scrap was going on?

“Heard there are some naughty ladies who need arresting!” One of them bellowed, moving his hips in sequence with the beat.

The croppers all froze. Some glared at the men with disgust; others looked on with extreme interest. I searched the room, hoping Lydia had the answer to this new puzzle.

A giggling woman, near the dancers' entrance point, brandished a bottle of champagne from a thermal tote and another pulled out a tiara and placed it on the red-head beside her.

“It's party time!” One of the other tablemates of the woman stood on a chair and waved her arms in the air. “Show us what you got.”

The dancers, shimmying and swaying, headed their way.

The queen for the night squealed.

Another woman walked up behind her and wrapped her friend in a hug. “You really think scrapping was the only thing we'd do for your bachelorette party.”

Even from where I was standing, I saw the queen turn four different shades of red.

Gussie snapped some pictures using her phone. Darlene turned her chair around and settled in to watch the show.

“Best. Crop. Ever.” A woman dropped the merchandise in her hands, deciding instead to wave her bills in the air. “Never been to one with hot men stripping.”

Lydia climbed onto the chair. “No stripping. Just dancing.”

A few women snarled at her, one of them being Gussie.

“If you can't do it on network TV, don't do it here,” Lydia added to the rules.

That didn't put much off limits, but enough that I didn't think we'd get in trouble with management. Mr. Anderson was annoyed with us already. We didn't need to get on the wrong side of the night manager. I was glad Marsha and Lydia were present so I wouldn't have to deal with the man. Though, Mr. Anderson was probably off duty so now some other manager had to deal with this issue.

Marsha rushed out of the room. Either she didn't like the show, or all the swaying and spinning made her nauseous.

“Did you know about this?” Steve looked shell-shocked, either from the bump to his head earlier or from the men entertaining the ladies with some seriously provocative dance moves.

“No. And I'm thinking Lydia and Marsha didn't either. I'd think they'd have given a heads-up earlier so those that weren't interested in this entertainment could take a break. Now would be a great time to try out the pool, hot tub, or fitness center.”

My grandmothers might regret deciding to stay home for this crop. Though, a few women looked like they wished they had. A few shielded their eyes as they fled toward the doors, Violet being one of them.

“This music is giving me a headache. I'm going to the room. Want me to take the cash with me?” Steve placed a hand on our cash box.

“That's a great idea.” I tallied up the amount, made a note in the binder of the amounts in the box, then handed it Steve. With Steve and the money box gone, I wouldn't need to worry about the money box getting lonely and going off with someone else when I wandered over to Violet's seat. Right now, Gussie, Darlene and Garrison seemed preoccupied as did the majority of the croppers in the room. I didn't want to ruin the show-watching experience for them and ask them to keep an eye on things. And now, with everyone's attention on the dancing duo, I had the perfect opportunity to dig for some information on Violet.

Lydia slipped out the door. Either she was bailing, going to explain things to the manager before the person came to her, or make sure Marsha went straight to her room and didn't make a stopover at the bar.

Steve dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “Don't stay up too late.”

“Once it clears out some more, I'll head up.”

I doubted the women abandoning the cropping area would venture back down after they got comfy in their rooms. I'd rather go upstairs with Steve, as I had no interest in the entertainment, but I needed to do a little snooping, have a chat with Bob, and give him my room keys. I still hadn't told Steve he'd have a roommate this weekend. I figured it would be easier to explain when I joined him tonight.

All of the women's eyes were riveted to the guys at the front of the room. Gussie and Garrison moved some empty tables and seats from the front of the room so the “guards” had plenty of space for shimmying, shaking, and thrusting.

Croppers had left cast-offs of paper, empty packages, and embellishments all over the floor. Normally, this kind of crafty messiness left all over Scrap This brought out my inner sassiness. While I'd never voice my opinions to our customers, I said plenty to them in my head. Tonight the litter thrilled me. I had a perfect reason for hovering around people's work spaces and even peeking into a bag or two. I could say I was trying to return items to the proper place.

Props. I pressed my lips together to stop my grin. I hurried over to our store, gathered a few items, snapping some pictures with my cell phone so I knew what I “gifted” later. After snagging a couple of pens, in case I needed something to chase down, I returned to the vast sea of totes. If someone caught me, I'd just say I noticed they dropped a package of embellishments and wanted to secure them in their bags before someone else snatched them off the floor.

Most scrapbookers wouldn't turn up their noses at free embellishments or a nice journaling pen. I shoved the pens into my back pocket and set to work uncovering who was Violet Hancock.

Amanda still sat at the table so I couldn't go over yet and root around in Violet's belongings. The best way to learn about Violet was in her stuff. I hoped she had brought some pictures or mementos to scrap this weekend. The only thing I'd seen her working on was a cover of a journal.

I hoisted an empty box onto my hip, marked it “Lost and Found,” then wandered around the room collecting the castoffs from the floor. I placed a roll of decorative Disney tape I found on the ground at a scrapping space that looked like advertisement for the vacation spot. There wasn't one thing on the table without a Disney related icon on it. Even the cup and trash bag had Disney characters all over.

The dance beat changed to a faster tempo.

“Come on ladies, we need some dance partners.” A dancer motioned for croppers to come to the makeshift dance floor.

The men and ladies started rocking it out. The men switched dance partners as fast as the beat. It looked like they planned on dancing with every woman. Amanda decided to join the dance party.

Slowly, I made my way over and continued scanning the room. Violet had left a small cropping tote and a utensil organizer on the table and a turquoise rolling tote by her chair. I glanced into the slots. Markers. Ruler. Pencil. X-acto knife. Embellishment packages.

I looked around. No one paid any attention to me. I knelt down and unzipped the tote and looked inside. Disappointment swelled. Cardstock. Pattern paper. Large sticker sheets categorized by theme...and packets of photos. I slipped out a pack of photos and placed them underneath the table.

If anyone caught me, I'd say I saw the pictures on the floor and was picking them up—unless Violet caught me, then I hoped Bob showed up because I'd be in real trouble.

I nudged the pictures apart, creating a fan shape. The first photos were grainy and blurry pictures of a townhouse complex. My breath caught in my throat. Three townhouses decorated for Christmas. The middle house had a reindeer barn blow-up, the one to the left had a Santa blow-up and the house on the right had Mrs. Claus. Why had Violet taken pictures of where I lived?

I shoved those photos aside and looked at the other ones. Scrap This. The courthouse. My car. Steve's car. A picture of Steve and I walking down the street holding hands. The last items were index cards filled with notes about my grandmothers.

ELEVEN

  

Shoving the pictures into my back pocket, I left the cropping area and headed for the hotel registration desk. The pictures felt like they were branding my backside. I was done trying to figure out what was going on, I'd find out for certain. I'd wait right in front of her room if I had too. Fortunately, there was no one in line. I hoped I could explain my dire need for the room number without telling the clerk Violet was a stalker, or a stalking identity thief.

A perky brunette was now at the counter. Maybe this new worker would hand over the number without question. I needed to give an award-winning performance and give her a good reason why I needed it.

“May I help you?” The perky clerk smiled at me.

“Yeah. I forgot my friend's room number. She asked me to bring her wallet up.” I fudged the facts a little bit and hoped Miss Perky didn't wonder why I didn't have anything with me. “Violet Hancock.”

The keys clacked and she looked at the monitor. She frowned. “What was the name again?”

My heart hammered. “Violet.”

The clerk narrowed her eyes on me. “Last name.”

“Hancock.”

She clacked away again on the keyboard. “She's not here at this hotel.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” All her perkiness slipped away. A tight smile wiped out her happy one and she clenched her hands. “Unless she is sharing a room with someone and not registered.”

That was a possibility. But who would she be sharing with?

Marsha.
The thought slammed into me.

“Thanks for your help.” I headed for the elevator, contemplating the new situation. Marsha was the one who let Violet into the crop and put her on the seating chart. Either Violet paid the registration fee in cash, or Marsha knew Violet was using a fake name.

Had Marsha hired someone to give her tips on establishing a new identity? What would Lydia do when she found out that her new business was being used to gather names?

The one thing I did know was going alone to confront Violet was stupid. Steve was in Violet's crossfire also and deserved an answer. Besides, having some muscle with me might come in handy. Not that Steve would beat answers out of anyone, but he could play the role of intimidator quite well with his muscular physique.

The bell pinged for the elevator. I stepped inside.

“Hold the door,” Garrison called out.

I pressed the open button.

Garrison entered into the elevator. “I'm glad I caught up to you. Bob said you had our room key.”

Ugh! I totally forgot. I reached into my rather full back pockets. One had my phone, the other the photographs and room keys. I worked on wrangling out the keys while keeping the photos secured in my back pocket. “Yes. The room is still in my name. I figured it was easier than trying to explain the reason for a change with the clerk.”

“Make sure we settle up at the end of the weekend.” Garrison waited patiently for me to retrieve the keys.

The elevator halted.

Walking out, I continued trying to extract the key without Garrison seeing my reason for a showdown with Violet. Not that he knew I was headed for a battle.

Garrison paused at the vending machines. “Would you like something?”

“Thanks. I'm good.” Finally, I slipped the sleeved card from my back pocket. “Here you go.”

The machine hummed, sucking up Garrison's bill before spitting out a Diet Coke. He claimed his drink then the key.

“See you tomorrow.”

Garrison waved and stepped inside his room.

I heard a startled cry followed by a thud. “Garrison, are you okay?”

A moan came from the room. Did he trip on something?

I nudged the door open. I stretched my neck and looked around. The lights were off. Dark shapes littered the floor of the room. Someone had been in here. I moved in a little bit more to get a better look.

A hand slapped over my mouth. I screamed. It came out a muffled hum. I twisted and clawed at the arms holding me hostage. I made out a still form–Garrison—a few feet away.

“Knock it off.” Morgan growled in my ear.

Not a chance. I kicked at his legs.

Morgan hoisted me up. I continued scratching, kicking, and making sounds. I prayed my frantic movements knocked something over, or caused Morgan to grunt in severe pain.

His weight shifted. The door started closing. He was using his foot. Now was my chance.

Moonlight filtered through the small opening between the curtains. I twisted and arched my back. We pitched toward the floor. His grip slackened to break our fall and I escaped his grasp.

Screaming, I scooted away and grabbed the first weapon I saw in the nearly dark room. A pillow. I heaved it at Morgan's head. “Get out!”

Morgan grabbed for my arm. I blindly selected another item. A magazine. Not helpful.

I scrambled to my feet and stumbled to the back of the room. I hoped Morgan came after me and left Garrison alone.

Morgan lunged forward, found his target…my arm…and hauled me backwards. “Let's go!”

I stumbled and fell onto the bed. Steve hadn't known this wasn't my room. He brought up my luggage and placed it in the room. When I made our reservation, I had asked for the connecting door to be left unlocked. My suitcase and matching make-up bag were on the floor near the window side of the bed. I knew the make-up had some heft in it. I packed practically every beauty supply known to womankind.

Morgan seized me around the waist and attempted to haul me to my feet when the door separating my room from Steve's burst open.

I twisted and slugged Morgan in the jaw. He reeled back. I guessed more from shock than the strength of my blow. One, I didn't have good leverage to get off a good punch, and two I hadn't worked on my arm muscles for quite some time.

Steve grabbed Morgan and threw him away from me, into the small open area used as the closet. “Go into my room!”

I rolled off the bed.

Steve helped me to my feet and nudged me toward the connecting door.

While Steve directed his attention to me, Morgan scrambled out of the closet and swung at Steve.

“Duck!” I screamed.

Steve plowed into Morgan, sending them both into the closet.

I wouldn't leave an injured Steve to face Morgan alone. We needed a slight advantage.

Dropping back onto to the bed, I scooted to the edge and scrambled my hand around, trying to find the handle of my make-up tote that blended into the hue of the carpet. I prayed my idea worked. I found my sunglasses and put them on. I crawled to the edge of the bed near where Steve and Morgan wrestled.

I pushed the button on the base of the lamp. Morgan blinked in the light. Steve kicked Morgan in the gut, knocking the guy off of him.

Morgan staggered backwards and pulled something from his waistband.

“No!” I threw myself off the bed and onto Garrison. Garrison was out cold.

A sound sizzled in the air and a charged jolted form the stun gun. I braced myself for the coming pain. Garrison rolled me off him.

The sound came again.

Garrison screamed and his body jolted.

Doors opened and slammed shut. No one wanted to get involved. Part of me grew angry, the other understood. Most of the hotel guests were women. They were probably terrified of also being attacked.

Morgan flicked the device toward me. “Get away from the door Steve, or your girl will get the next one.”

“I told you to leave her alone.” Steve held his ground.

“And as I said, I don't work for you.” The stun gun made another little hum and sparks shot from it. “Let's go, Faith, out the door.”

“You're not taking Faith anywhere,” Steve said.

“It's not your call. You know that,” Morgan said.

Something in Morgan's voice, and the expression on Steve's face, halted me. What was going on?
You know that.
The comment held a deliberate meaning for Steve.

The door creaked open.

Steve charged at Morgan.

Morgan zapped the stun gun toward me. I threw myself backwards onto the mattress. The air over me crackled.

Steve forced Morgan's hand clutching the weapon into the air as he twisted, then barreled them out of the room.

Screams came from the hallway.

I jumped off the bed and knelt beside Garrison.

“Stay put!” Bob said, slamming the door closed.

Garrison pushed at my leg. “Go. Make sure Bob—” His face twisted into a grimace.

I didn't need Garrison to finish the sentence, I knew what he feared—that Bob would shoot Morgan. I jumped to my feet and yanked the door open.

Steve had wrangled Morgan toward the end of the hallway, and soon he'd have the guy literally cornered. But Morgan wasn't giving up. He zapped the stun gun into the air.

“The charge will leave soon.” Bob tried to stop a group of panicked women from racing for the stairwell.

If someone entered the hall using those stairs they'd get hurt.

We had to end this. And now. I ran forward.

Morgan rammed his elbow into the side of Steve's neck. Steve fell to his knees. Morgan prepared the stun gun.

I hoped I had enough time to put myself between the electricity and Steve. I didn't know how much more abuse Steve's body could take.

“Don't try it, Ware.” Bob withdrew a gun from a shoulder holster.

Morgan dropped the stun gun and headed for the stairwell.

I reached for him.

He shoved me backwards.

I landed on my butt. Morgan charged down the stairs.

Quickly, I popped back up and went after him. I had no idea if anyone was in the stairwell and what Morgan would do. I had to stop him.

“Faith, no!” someone screamed at me.

I raced down the stairs. Footsteps thundered down the steps, following after me. I was tired of abusive bullies controlling my life with threats. It was one thing to interfere with my life, but I drew a firm line with someone harming the people I loved and cared about.

I slammed my hand on the bar. The door popped open.

Gripping the rail, I jumped the last few steps to the next landing. I needed to slow down or I'd get to the bottom by taking a header. Right now, I didn't care. I wanted revenge for Steve. Garrison. For myself.

“Faith, stop!” Bob called out.

An alarm blared. A warm breeze flowed into the stairwell. He went outside using the emergency exit. I jumped down the last few steps and opened the emergency exit, and ran outside.

Loud pops filled the air.

I hit the ground.