Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery (12 page)

Thirteen

Thankfully,
we’re on TV
meant the South Highlands Valley Mall in general and not the food court specifically. Anastasia Chastain and her crew were indeed at the mall and broadcasting from the relatively distant but far-too-close-for-comfort south courtyard outside Pet Pals. Thanks to high-definition and that telltale Mountie-style hat, I managed to spot Griff behind her before I tossed my soda into the trash and bolted toward my vehicle in the north parking lot.

Twenty minutes later, I was in the air-conditioned bliss of a nearby
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grocery store pushing a cart already filled with fifteen boxes of pasta
15
and ten jars of spaghetti sauce
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toward the health and beauty aisle to fulfill the Frugasm-worthy Tuesday triple-coupon shop I’d promised the Frugarmy. Despite the cool air and the inherent peace in a store with
safe
as part of its name, I was still sweating as I parked my cart in front of the deodorant section.

I’d gone to the mall expecting to meet up with Griff and compile everything we’d seen or heard into a list to turn over to the police. Instead, my head was spinning with all the information I’d amassed. With Anastasia at the mall, there was no way I could stick around for more while I waited to hear from Griff.

Wet cleanup on aisle nine
reverberated over the loudspeaker.

At least I had the all-encompassing mathematical distraction of a coupon shop to keep my mind occupied until I could talk to him.

Theoretically.

I’d paper-clipped ten 55-cent-off coupons (limit two) for Speed Stick deodorant and twenty for 50 cents off any one Old Spice product and put them into an envelope to choose which was the better deal. But, as I reached for my price bible to compare the store’s current price with cost comparisons, I couldn’t help but glance at my makeshift suspect spreadsheet.

I didn’t doubt whoever claimed to have seen Laila with what had to be Richard by the loading dock really did see what she’d been relaying around the mall. Meaning, one of the
shes
the food court workers were talking about had to be Claudia, Richard’s wife. If so, that not only meant Claudia might have known about the affair, but she spent enough time around the mall for the food court workers to know and gossip about her.

Jealousy was certainly motive enough for Claudia to off Laila, but the other
she
purportedly
hated Laila’s guts
, potentially giving her just
as compelling a motive.

Perhaps Tara Hu?

Despite saying she wouldn’t kill her, Laila had dangled a job in front of her, called her Tara Ho, and reportedly treated her like a slave
. With Laila gone, however, Tara was now the manager—and not at the mall across town, but the same place as her boyfriend worked. Question was, would she have been so blatant as to admit she wouldn’t have killed her right before inventory if she really had killed her?

I grabbed the pen from my binder and jotted everything I’d heard at the mall about Tara. As for the new section,
Lies,
she got a TBD just like her boss, Richard.

While I was at it, I circled back to Claudia’s entry and put an asterisk and a
maybe
beside the check mark I’d previously put in the
Innocent
column.

“Excuse me,” a fellow shopper said from behind me. “Mind if I reach around you?”

“Sorry.” I moved out of the way so the woman could grab a Sure Fresh Scent, priced higher than I’d seen lately. I quickly flipped to the deodorant page of my price bible, confirmed that despite the 55 cents off Speed Stick, Old Spice was priced lower, and that the Sure the woman placed in her cart was indeed fourteen cents more than usual. Before she disappeared down the aisle, I reached into my binder, plucked a 25-cent coupon I’d been holding onto, and gave it to her. “It’s worth triple today.”

“Thanks!” she said, heading on her way.
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As I began to count out sticks of Old Spice, my text alert beeped.

Hopefully, it was Griff.

I tossed twenty
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deodorant sticks into my cart, reached into my purse, and pulled out my phone.

Did you do your morning cardio?

I sighed. On Tuesdays, I was supposed to start the day off with thirty minutes on my stationary bike. Needless to say, it was the last thing on my mind when I woke up. To my non-surprise, my exercise or lack thereof was the
first
thing on Chelsea’s mind.

I typed back:

Crazy morning. Ended up back at the mall because of that incident but will get the workout in later.

Atta girl.

I shook my head, flipped my price bible to the shampoo page, compared the entries and prices to my coupons, and continued down the aisle. An unadvertised combo pack of Garnier Fructis shampoo and conditioner was the instant and clear winner.

As I loaded twelve into my cart
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, the concepts of clean hair and winning got me thinking about shaggy-locked Andy Oliver. Andy hated Laila enough to take bets on who’d killed her. Would a murderer who knew the mall was buzzing with talk of who’d done it set anyone up with a listening device to overhear what could be his own indictment?

Or worse, his girlfriend’s?

I flipped back to my suspects list. Under
Innocent
? I penned in a question mark.

I’d rounded the corner and was near the dairy section when my phone rang.

My blood pressure shot up and then dropped just as precipitously when I once again saw it wasn’t Griff.

“Where are you?” my son Trent asked.

“I’m at the grocery store.”

“When are you coming home?”

“As soon as I’m done shopping.”

“We have that early scrimmage today.”

“Dad’s taking you.”

“Oh yeah,” Trent said. “What time’s he gonna be here to get us?”

“Soon, I’m sure,” I said nearing the yogurt. “Call him.”

I hung up, collected ten Yoplaits for $4.00, which I’d combine with a Catalina for $3.00 off and grabbed three tubs of I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter.

I couldn’t believe Hailey Rosenberg, AKA Whorely, didn’t seem to harbor any animosity for her now former boss. If Laila really was her role model and her downright weird memorial was any proof, she had to be innocent though.

That, or murderously crazy.

I stopped and jotted
Hailey claims she has
nothing to hide
. Since she was possibly the only person so far with valid grounds for an insanity defense, I didn’t make a new category but put
Kinda crazy?
in the
Lies
category.

Which led to Shoshanna.

My phone rang again.

“He’s not answering,” Trent said.

“Text him,” I said heading for paper goods.

“I already did.”

“He’s been really busy this week.” I stopped in front of the toilet paper and perused the per-roll prices. “Just be ready when he gets there in case he’s running late.”

I texted Frank myself and picked up a twelve-pack of Cottonelle. Was Shoshanna a religious girl consumed with guilt, a great actress, or a little bit of both? Guilty as her teary non-confession initially sounded, my gut said she hadn’t killed Laila.

On the other hand, she’d accused Laila of committing suicide—just what the police suspected her killer wanted everyone to believe.

My cell rang yet again.

Since it wasn’t Griff, nor Frank, but my stepdaughter, Eloise, I thought for a second about letting the call go. But I couldn’t. I’d never forgive myself if there were some sort of problem.

“Eloise,” I answered. “Is everything okay?”

“I can’t get a hold of Daddy,” she said.

A-ha. It appeared the problem was she’d already run through her spending money for the month.

“I’ve been trying to reach him myself, so he must be in an important meeting or something.” Eloise was little more than a toddler when we married, and even though we only had her at our house halftime, I’d always thought of her as one of my own. She did have two parents very much in the picture, however, so for the sake of family peace and serenity, I always played good stepmother, sent her goodies, and the occasional bauble I’d found at a discount. I was also careful to let the word
no
come from Frank. “I’ll make sure he gets back to you as soon as I hear from him.”

She emitted a dramatic sigh. “Please!”

“No problem, sweetie.”

I hung up and made my way down the beverage, canned goods, and condiment aisles, picking up Mandarin oranges but passing on salad dressing that was supposed to earn me 40 cents a bottle but ended up costing 80 cents.
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By my calculations, I’d still saved enough to splurge on fresh strawberries, raspberries, and watermelon, but as I bagged green beans, I couldn’t help but worry my suspect spreadsheet added up to an inaccurate blob of circular reasoning.

Approaching the registers, I couldn’t say if any one of my initial suspects looked any more or less guilty than another. The only thing I knew for sure was that Laila was definitely despised by most everyone at the mall, and for good reason.

I scanned the checkout area and settled on an efficient-looking checker in her mid-forties
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at out-of-the-way lane twelve.

“Find everything you need today?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” I said, reaching for the first of four gallons of milk. What I really needed was to talk to Griff.

She examined the contents of my overflowing cart. “Stocking up, I see.”

“I’ve heard all this talk about saving tons of money by couponing,” I said, feeling guilty for the lie I had to tell practically every time I went to the grocery store. “So, I thought I’d try it out.”

She smiled. “You and everyone else lately.”

I smiled in return and unloaded five packs of hot dogs
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and a handful of paper towels onto the belt. I’d estimated my shop to be worth $300.00 retail, but I planned to pay no more than $50.00, even with the substitutions.

My text alert beeped again.

Without allowing my eyes to leave the register, I grabbed my phone and quickly glanced at the message:

Dad’s not here yet.

I texted back as I unloaded yogurts:

I’ll try and find him

The woman to whom I’d given the deodorant fell in line behind me, followed by two other people.

“I’m sorry,” I said to everyone as I dialed Frank’s work line then continued to unload while simultaneously watching the transaction monitor. “Small emergency.”

“Not a problem,” the checker said with the hint of a sigh.

I dialed Frank’s cell, left a pointed
where are you
message, and unloaded cereal boxes onto the belt. “I think I only had ten yogurts,” I said watching eleven ring up on the transaction monitor. “They were ten for four dollars.”

The checker grabbed all the yogurts and ran them through again. “You have eleven.”

“Can you take one out please?” I asked, keying in a text to Trent.

The man at the back of the line abdicated for another register.

“I’m getting nineteen deodorants,” the checker said. “Is that right?”

“There aren’t twenty?”

She shook her head.

Another beep:

We need to be there in twenty!

“I’m afraid that’s a mistake. I’ll just run and—”

“It’s all right,” she said picking up the phone. “I’ll have one of the baggers grab it.”

“Thank you,” I said, silently cursing Frank and whatever had him totally incommunicado before returning Trent’s text:

Be there as soon as I can.

A bead of sweat traveled from the nape of my neck down my spine as I unloaded twenty bottles of Gatorade and the checker totaled up my order.

“360.28,” she said.

A shot of bile rose in my throat as I scanned the register monitor. Even with the substitutions, I’d calculated a maximum before discount total of no more than $310.00. “More than I expected.”

The checker let loose her sigh. “Do you want to see the register display from the top?”

Hurry!!!
appeared on my phone.

“That’s okay.” I swiped my store loyalty card and watched the total drop precipitously.

“$301.46,” the checker said. “Not bad.”

I forced a happy novice couponer’s smile but felt lightheaded as I handed over the coupons. “I am getting credited for the buy seven get the eighth item free, correct?”

“On all participating items,” the checker said.

“And buy one get one frees?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, scanning one coupon after another.

I texted back to Trent:

Going as fast as I can.

The woman behind me began to unload her groceries as my register total continued to drop. “Are you one of those extreme coupon-
ers?”

“Not at all,” I said, crossing my fingers. “I just collected a bunch and thought I’d try to see how much I could save.”

“My friend who coupons swears by this website called Mrs. Frugalicious.”

“I’ll have to check that one out,” I said, my heart thumping.

“There’s a total limit of five on the gourmet pizzas.” The checker said.

“But I have two coupons.”

“Per transaction,” she said, handing me back the coupon to confirm. “Want me to delete the other five from the order and ring them separately?”

“That’s okay.” How could I have missed that? “I don’t want to hold up the line any longer than I have.”