Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery (10 page)

Twelve

Given my knowledge of
spreadsheets, Griff’s knowledge of the mall employees, and our joint observations of everyone and everything we saw on Thursday, the police were sure to have a killer in custody in record time. Like dominoes, Anastasia would be free to work on
Frank Finance
, Frank would impress the national TV people, and Griff would have an impressive footnote for his résumé. As for me, I would be content in having helped facilitate swift justice and could get back to the business of secretly being Mrs. Frugalicious.

I pulled into the mall parking, made a beeline across the mall, turned the corner into the administrative wing, and opened the door to the security office.

I stepped in to an empty room and a single piece of paper fluttering in the wake of a table fan on Griff’s shared desk.

My name was scrawled across the top.

Maddie,

I know I said I’d be here to talk, but there’s been another incident.

Please leave your list. I’ll get back to you about it as soon as I can.

Griff

“There’s been another incident alright,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Can you believe it?” Mrs. Piggledy munched nervously on a piece of freshly spun rainbow cotton candy. “As if the news about Laila weren’t enough of a blow to all of us.”

My heart, which started racing the minute I saw Griff’s note and hadn’t stopped as I ran past the locked administrative offices and into Circus Circus, began to pound in my chest. “What happened?”

“Someone ransacked Pet Pals!” Mr. Piggledy said.

“The cages were opened and all the animals got loose,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

“Patricia from the mall offices should be down here any minute to fill us in on the details,” Mr. Piggledy said.

Higgledy, who lay listlessly on his nap pad beside a half-eaten banana, let out a deep sigh.

“The B-I-R-D,” Mrs. Higgledy spelled in a lowered voice, “may be amongst the missing.”

“Poor thing,” I said.

They shook their heads in unison.

“You know,” Mr. Piggledy said. “This whole unfortunate business is starting to remind me of poor, dear Delia.”

Mrs. Piggledy gasped. “Honey, you’re right. It sure does.”

Eager to hear whatever Patricia knew about both Laila and Pet Pals, I leaned against the front counter while the Piggledys readied their store for the day. “Who’s Delia?”

“She was the star attraction of our circus,” Mr. Piggledy said, handing me my own puff of cotton candy from the machine.

“Until she dropped dead in center ring during a Sunday matinee,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

“We had to drive the clown car out and haul her away like it was part of the show,” Mr. Piggledy said.

Mrs. Piggledy poured popcorn into the popper beside me. “I never thought I’d have to deal with something that awful ever again.”

“Mercury
is
in retrograde,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Just like it was that day,” Mrs. Piggledy said. “Which means there must be some detail we need to revisit for some reason.”

They shared the same pensive expression.

“Well, both Laila and Delia did have eating problems,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“They were different, though. Delia was starving herself because she was lovesick over the animal trainer,” Mrs. Piggledy said
.

As the smell of popping corn began to permeate the store, I found myself picturing a painfully thin, raven-haired beauty swinging from the trapeze in a shimmering, sequined leotard while her trainer twirled the ends of his waxed moustache. “What did she do in the circus?”

“Elephant show,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Everyone loved her,” Mrs. Piggledy said with a wistful smile.

“Unlike Laila,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Laila was challenging, but no worse than say, Andre the Acrobat or that one nasty bearded lady that quit after a year. What was her name? Caprice or—”

“What happened to Delia?” I asked, to keep her from detouring into a side (show) story.

“Some thought the poor thing died from a broken heart.” Mrs. Piggledy opened a drawer filled with balloons, slid one onto a nearby helium tank, inflated it, and tied on a string. “Most were sure she collapsed from starvation.”

“At first,” Mr. Piggledy said, accepting the balloon from her and releasing it into a half-filled holding net beside him.

“Then they did an autopsy,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

“And?”

“Someone slipped her a mickey!” Mr. Piggledy said.

The cotton candy in my hand began to congeal into a sweat-sticky mess of food coloring. “This sounds almost exactly like Laila.”

“Of course it’s hard to imagine what it’s like to autopsy an elephant.”

“An elephant?” I stopped short of stuffing the now gooey wad of candy into my mouth. “Delia was an—?”

“Only the smartest, most beloved, most beautiful creature we ever met in all our years working with animals,” Mr. Piggledy sniffled.

Mrs. Piggledy handed him another balloon, gave him a stern look, and pointed with her head at Higgledy, who listlessly rolled a ball back and forth on his mat.

“Except for our dear lovesick boy over there, of course,” Mr. Piggledy said loudly.

Higgledy perked his head up, not in acknowledgement of the Piggledy’s praise, but at the arrival of Patricia from the administrative office.

“I can’t remember a worse morning!” She entered the store and collapsed onto a bench from a defunct zoo train. “One minute, we’re hearing the horrible news about Laila DeSimone and the next we’re running upstairs on a Code Red.”

“Dreadful,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

“And that just describes the mess. You wouldn’t believe what a pet shop ransacked by animals looks like.”

“No one was hurt though?” I asked.

“Thankfully not,” she said. “Of course, someone’s liable to have a heart attack when they come upon one of the animals that escaped into the mall.”

“I’m sure they’ll locate the missing critters,” Mr. Piggledy said.

Higgledy whimpered.

“What about the parrot?” Mrs. Piggledy asked.

“She’s okay—a little stressed out, but no more so than him,” she said, pointing to Higgledy. “Or me, for that matter.”

Mrs. Piggledy handed Patricia a bottle of water and a bag of pop-
corn.

“Thanks.” Patricia took a swig. “Damn animal rights fanatics.”

“Animal rights people were behind the break-in?”

“There was no money taken, just cages let open. It just stands to reason … ” She shrugged.

“They have been picketing around here on and off all summer,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Just like that year before Delia—”

“I’d forgotten about that!” Mr. Piggledy said.

Patricia looked thoroughly confused. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“The uncanny similarities between Laila’s death and the passing of a circus elephant named Delia,” I said, cutting to what I saw as the salient points of the story.

“Who was poisoned by a rival circus trying to kill our profit margin,” Mr. Piggledy said.

“Like those protesters are trying to do to businesses like Pet Pals,” Mrs. Piggledy said.

“At least that’s where the similarities end,” I said.

Mr. Piggledy furrowed his bushy brow. “It’s interesting you should say that.”

“It sure is,” Mrs. Piggledy said, nodding her head.

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“Laila certainly loved to rile those folks up by parading across their picket lines in whatever short little leather or fur getup suited her that day,” Mr. Piggledy said.

Patricia’s eyes grew wide. “You two can’t possibly think she riled them up enough for one of them to …”

“I worried that attitude of hers was going to bite her one day.” Mrs. Piggledy said.

Higgledy hoo-hooed in apparent agreement.

Patricia’s walkie-talkie beeped. “I’m afraid I’ve gotta run.”

With the word
run
, a group of children with gifts, a cake, and harried parents in tow came bounding into the store.

“Well,” Patricia said as she started for the door, “Dan always said she was like the great big elephant in the room.”

The Piggledys nodded in knowing agreement.

I should have left the mall right then and there. I’d have been safely grocery shopping when Griff found the note saying his name was on Frank’s VIP list in lieu of a suspect list I couldn’t leave on his desk for anyone to chance upon. I might have, were my hands not so sticky from cotton candy that I had to stop at the ladies’ restroom to scrub the mess from my fingers before I could even think about reaching into my purse for my car keys.

I’d washed and was reaching for a paper towel
when two women in matching black cosmetic counter smocks came out of their respective stalls and met up at the washbasins.

“I hate to say it,” one said to the other. “But Laila deserved what she got.”

“Totally.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“Not sure, but as soon as I narrow down who I think it is, I’m headed over to Gadgeteria to place my bet with Andy Oliver.”

Andy Oliver was taking wagers over who’d killed Laila?

“We do football, basketball, and current events pools.” Andy pulled
a straightedge from his pocket and slit open a box with a flourish that sent chills down my spine. “Why not a whodunit pool?”

I’d watched one too many detective shows to leave a mall so abuzz over Laila’s murder that cosmetics counter girls were talking suspects over hand soap. More important, one of
my
main suspects was so nonchalant as to be taking bets on the identity of the killer. With Griff otherwise occupied, the job of finding out why temporarily fell on me.

“Isn’t that kind of disrespectful?”

“The winner of this pool isn’t just whoever picked correctly,” he said, opening the cardboard flaps.

“I’m not sure I understand,” I said.

“As far as I’m concerned, this is a case of justifiable homicide. Most of the pot is going to help defray the legal bills of whoever had the guts to do what everyone else wanted to.”

I couldn’t help but think the pool might just be earmarked for the innocent-looking but certainly not innocent-acting bookie before me. “I see.”

“Do you want in?” he asked. “It’s only ten bucks.”

“I can’t imagine who I’d pick,” I said, wondering if he’d be more appreciative or offended by hearing his own name.

“It’s probably a bit too early to start handicapping, considering we just found out less than an hour ago anyway.” Andy pulled a package from inside the shipping box he’d just sliced open. “Sick!”

Did I even have a proper category on my spreadsheet to adequately describe how sick taking wagers on a murder seemed?

“How cool is this?” he asked pulling what looked like an iPod clone from the shrink-wrap.

“What is it?” I asked.

He turned it on, handed me the ear buds, and pointed the base out toward the mall at an elderly couple seated together on a bench at the opposite side of the courtyard. “Listen.”

“I hate mall-walking,” the man said.

“Hate shmate,” the woman said, “we still have three laps to go.”

“Wow,” I said.

“It’s the newest version of the Eavesdropper,” Andy said. “Allows you to listen in on conversations up to twenty-five feet away.”

“But my feet hurt,” the man continued.

“There’s a warm bubble bath in it for you when we get home,” his wife said. “For us.”

Despite the geriatric TMI, there was no telling how much more intelligence I could pick up with the help of a clever little device like the Eavesdropper. “How much does one of these things run?”

“MSRP is $99.99,” Andy said.

Which was a solid $79.99 over my budget. “It’s really, really cool but … ”

“I can make you a deal on last season’s floor model.”

With the word
deal
, Mrs. Frugalicious perked up her ears. “By
deal
, what do you mean?”

He motioned me to follow him toward the register area, reached below the register, pulled out a boxier, slightly scratched version, and handed it to me.

“Hmm,” I said, not allowing myself to look behind me for a peek at just how much more sleek and streamlined the newer version really was. “What’s the difference between this model and the new one?”

“The new one has a few extra bells and whistles, but the sound mechanism and background noise reduction are the same.”

“What’s the price difference?”
12

“I can sell it for sixty percent off.”

“So, like $39.99?”

“This one retailed for $89.99, so I can sell it for $24.99 final sale.”

There was no way I should have even considered spending twenty-five dollars on an impulse item, but then again, I shouldn’t have been accused of shoplifting, witnessed Laila’s death, nor found myself in the position of needing to help investigate her murder either. “I’ll take it.”

“Great.” He smiled. “You planning to hang around the mall for a while?”

“I still have a bit of shopping to do,” I said, managing not to substitute the word
sleuthing
.

“If you hear anything that’ll help me handicap the board, be sure to fill me in.”

I wasn’t sure whether Andy had shot to the top of my suspect list for his whodunit pool or if I should cross off his name for cutting me a deal on a listening device and setting me loose in the mall. But one thing was certain: Laila had definitely misjudged the kid. Maybe he wasn’t on management track at Gadgeteria, but Andy was no slouch in the brains department.

He’d capitalized on my fortuitous appearance without missing a beat by enlisting me to do the reconnaissance he’d be doing were he not stuck in his store. Little did he know I was already on the job, but I now planned to head directly to Eternally 21 to ask a few questions myself.