Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery (15 page)

“I’d love it.”

“I love it.”

“I love you.”

I wasn’t at all sure which, since Trent’s voice boomed from the family room and echoed through the entry hall and up the stairs. “Something’s burning!”

Sixteen

In the dream, Anastasia
Chastain stood in my kitchen wearing my apron, a pair of Jimmy Choo stilettos I’d gotten for 70% off, short shorts, a leopard-print tank top, and red lipstick.

She was serving last night’s singed, black lasagna to Frank and my sons.

“Love it,” FJ said, between heaping mouthfuls.

“More!” Trent said, handing her his plate. “I love it.”

Frank looked up at her adoringly. “I love you, Mrs. Frank Fruga-
licious.”

“But I’m Mrs. Frank Frugalicious!” I began to choke on the thick, acrid lasagna smoke permeating the room. “Not her.”

Everyone stopped chewing and turned to glare at me.

“Weird,” Trent said. “But it explains that whole bargain shopping room of yours.”

“Burned,” FJ said.

“I thought you were going to stay out of it,” Frank said. “You don’t belong here in the first place.”

Griff materialized out of nowhere beside me and tipped his Mountie hat. “Guilty as charged.”

Anastasia giggled, smiled her kewpie-doll smile, and offered Griff a plate of lasagna flambé. “Told you she was a person of interest.”

“I’m just helping the police,” I tried to say through the thick smoke.

When the room cleared, I’d been transported from what used to be my house to the mall security office, where one of my hands was cuffed to the leg of a table.

I picked up the ringing phone beside me with the other.

“Lasagna,” Eloise said, in lieu of a greeting.

I looked around the room. Wrappers, tin foil, Styrofoam clamshells, and pizza boxes covered every table and desk, but there wasn’t a crumb of actual food anywhere. “No lasagna.”

“But I need it,” Eloise wailed.

“Why can’t you understand?” I screamed. “We’re all out of burnt lasagna!”

“
Love it. I love it.” She materialized beside me, grasped my shoulders, and began to shake me. “I love—”

“Eloise!”

“Maddie?” Her voice transformed into Frank’s.

The shaking continued.

“Maddie, wake up!”

I forced my eyes open and tried to fight my way back to consciousness by focusing on the ray of sunlight brightening the Restoration Hardware beige walls, antique sleigh bed, and Italian vintage bedding I’d furnished our bedroom with while we could still afford such extravagances.

Frank, dressed for the gym in a Puma T-shirt, shorts, and those damned sunglasses, had his hands on my shoulders. “You were having a nightmare or something.”

“Or something,” I managed.

“You just said
Eloise
.”

“Eloise,” I repeated, as the last cottony tendrils of my dream state gave way to the equally dubious here and now. I glanced at the clock and realized Frank, who never missed his morning workout, should have been long gone, and I should have still been asleep. I’d been awake most of the night with the smell of the lasagna I’d burnt in my nose and thoughts of everything I’d heard all day tumbling through my head.

“I talked to her,” Frank said.

My heart began to thump.
I’d love it. I love it. I love you.
“Talked to who?”

“Eloise.”

Relief washed over me at not hearing him utter
Stasia
.

“I forgot to tell you Eloise called for money yesterday,” I said.

“I told her to cash advance five hundred on her emergency Visa card.”

I sat up. “Are you kidding me?”

“She needed it.”

Could Frank have picked a more inopportune time to once again assuage his conscience over the effect of the divorce on pampered Eloise by allowing her to cash advance extra shopping money? “If she needed money for food I could have sent her a care package
27
or even clothes. I’ll—”

“There are more important things for you to do right now.”

“Meaning what?”

It was then I noticed the worry lines furrowing Frank’s forehead. “They’re coming.”

“Who’s coming?”

“The network head honchos from Financial/News programming and Reality.”

The irritation I felt over Frank’s contribution to Eloise’s party fund and concerns I had from listening in on his conversation gave way to something more akin to an all-around nervous panic. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” he said.

“As in the day after today?”

“As in, they want to see the show live on Friday morning so they can gauge audience reaction to my new segment and get a snapshot of my life.”

“A snapshot?”

“They want to meet you and the boys.”

“That’s good news.” I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples. “Right?”

“Maybe if they were coming, say, end of next week,” he said.

“Everything’s gotta be perfect—the house, the kids—”

“The show.”

Meaning garden-variety perfect wasn’t perfect enough. “Can’t you put them off for a few days?”

“I told them I’d already started taping the segment.”

“Isn’t there someone besides Anastasia Chastain who can step in?” I asked in a moment of what felt like kill-two-birds-of-prey-with-one-stone brilliance. Get the ball rolling and get the young blond away from Frank.

Frank shook his head definitively. “I told them I’d already brought Anastasia on.”

At least he hadn’t called her Stasia. “What are you going to do?”

“What I’ve been trying to do since I got the message this morning.”

“Which is?”

“Get her and a crew, get over to the home of that family in need, and somehow figure out how to pull off a dog and pony show like they’ve never seen by Friday morning.”

“Can you do it?”

“I have to,” he said, “or we’re totally screwed.”

Seventeen

After twenty-four-plus hours punctuated,
seemingly on the hour, by revelations of everything from a poisoning murder, having my name mentioned as a person of interest, Frank’s indulgent purchases, a questionable use of the L word, and the imminent arrival of Frank’s choosy potential future employers, I was eager to do whatever it took to avoid being
totally screwed.

I started by bribing
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the boys to do some of the manual work that needed to be done around the house while I got the heck out of Dodge to chip away at the endless errands that needed doing before the network execs came, from getting a battery for Frank’s watch
to getting the car washed. In the midst of it all, there was Chelsea to think of. I couldn’t cancel our scheduled training session since I’d likely have to bend her daily workouts rule until the weekend. There would be time to dust and vacuum after Frank—who was alternately frantic, cranky, panic-stricken, and manic—left to execute whatever he was planning to do with Anastasia this morning.

My stomach turned at the thought.

Then, my text alert pinged:

Forgot to tell you FJ needs cleats before practice today.

No worries.

I sent off the reply, then repeated the phrase to myself mantra-style until I almost believed it. I’d budgeted for new athletic shoes for the boys and had a coupon set aside. And wouldn’t cleats for FJ been the last thing on Frank’s mind if he were about to spend the day canoodling with his far-too-young, fair, and flirtatious co-
hostess-to-be?

Which gave me an idea.

Even if there was something I didn’t know (or didn’t want to know, at least until the network execs offered Frank a big, lucrative contract), one thing was certain: Anastasia would be spending the morning with Frank. Meaning I knew of one place she
wouldn’t
be.

Skylight-filtered sunshine bathed the corridors of the South Highlands Valley Mall. Doors clicked open, employees spruced window displays, and music spilled out from inside the stores. From the enticing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee to the redheaded security guard’s smile as he passed out antibacterial wipes at the entrance of the play mining town, the general mood around the mall seemed oddly back to business as usual.

Frank would be none too thrilled to know where I was, but it wasn’t like I was overjoyed with his whereabouts either. I had must-do errands for him here. Given that the police still seemed to be sniffing around at least one wrong tree, I also had an item or three of my own to attend to; namely, trying to figure out who actually killed Laila so I could get my name stricken from Detective McClarkey’s list as swiftly as possible.

My text alert pinged again:

Pls call Robin at Manscapers for emergency haircut and skin treatment before tomorrow pm.

Will do.

I then keyed in another text to Manscapers asking for an appoint-
ment.

Normally, I’d have rolled my eyes at Frank’s request for what he didn’t realize was pretty much a man facial. Instead, I took comfort in the fact that he was taking the Friday taping so seriously. More important, he was still in text contact, meaning Anastasia hadn’t captivated him to the point where he’d forgotten he had a wife/personal assistant.

I’d love it. I love it. I love you.

I took a deep breath, told myself I had to have heard one of the former but no way the latter, and began ticking off items from both of our lists.

Andy Oliver fiddled with the power switch on my non-returnable Eavesdropper. “I forgot to mention these things can be kinda temperamental.”

“Apparently so.” I eyed the display of the shiny, brand-new model. Why hadn’t I thought to buy a new one? I’d have heard exactly the same wealth of conflicting information around the mall yesterday, confirmed what had to be the strictly business nature of my husband’s phone call, and could have brought the thing back for not so much as a re-shelving fee today. “So it’s fixable?”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Andy pulled a screwdriver from a drawer below the register and loosened a screw on the back of the device “Hear anything interesting before it went on the blink?”

Maybe Griff was convinced of Andy’s innocence, but I found myself wondering if perhaps the dear boy could be guilty of suggesting I buy a defective product knowing I’d end up back at Gadgeteria for repairs. That, and a pointed question or two. “There was a bit of conjecture here and there.”

He looked up and pushed aside his shaggy hair. “Did you get any of it on tape?”

“I couldn’t. This model doesn’t seem to have a recording feature.”

“Of course it does,” he said. “You press On twice.”

“Twice,” I repeated. “I wish I’d known that.”

“My bad,” he said. “’Probly should have mentioned that.”

“That might have been helpful.” Maybe it was for the best though. Frank would totally freak out were I called in to testify about the recording I’d made while snooping around the mall. “But I’m sure taping like that wouldn’t be legal anyway.”

“Probably not,” he said.

“And I really didn’t hear anything that specific,” I said, not at all convinced his interest was for betting purposes only. “Other than that the woman was pretty much universally hated.”

“She was a total pain in the butt.” He set a screw on the counter and removed the back of my Eavesdropper. “I don’t know how Tara dealt with her day after day.”

“Had to be a challenge,” I said. “For you, too.”

“I hated her guts.” His conviction showed in his face. “But Tara wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

I’d definitely heard that one before, from Griff. He’d also been right about Andy’s way of calling things as he saw them and his protectiveness toward his girlfriend. “Griff said the same thing.”

The muscles in Andy’s jaw seemed to relax. “Is he around here today?”

“Not until two.”

Andy popped a battery from the back of my Eavesdropper. “But you’ve already talked to him?”

“I ran into him at the gym yesterday afternoon.”

Andy popped out the rest of the batteries.

“I don’t think that’s the problem. I put fresh ones in yesterday,”
29
I said.

“That’s usually not it, anyway.” He replaced the batteries one by one and shut the back case. “Who does he think did it?”

“Griff?”

He nodded and retightened the screw.

Even though I’d assured Griff that my name would be promptly stricken from Detective McClarkey’s short list as soon as the test results came back on the food wrappers, I could only hope it wasn’t me. “Griff will only say who he thinks didn’t do it.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s just how he is, I guess.” Andy put an earbud to his left ear. “I’ll bet his money’s on Dan.”

“Dan?”

“Mitchell.”

“Dan Mitchell, the mall manager?”

Andy nodded and began to fiddle with the switches. “I’m getting feedback now, so it definitely wasn’t the batteries.”

The Eavesdropper was suddenly the last thing on my mind. “Are you sure you don’t mean Richard, the Eternally 21 regional manager?”

He shook his head.

“Meaning she was also seeing Dan Mitchell?”

“
Seeing
is a nice way to put it,” Andy said.

“I thought Dan was going out with Nina Marino, the food court manager?”

“He was. And is.”

“But she and Nina were best friends.”

“More like best frenemies, I guess.”

As I stood there speechless, Andy rapped the Eavesdropper against the counter twice then put the earbud back up to his ear and listened once more. “Works every time.”

Dan had described Laila as “the elephant in the room.”

Nina had said Laila had “a few bad habits.”

Like subsisting on an unhealthy binge and purge of other people’s men until someone decided to put an end to her shenanigans?
Someone like Dan or Nina?

She
number one
from the conversation I’d overheard at the food court was definitely Laila. If Laila was having affairs with both Richard and Dan, Nina Marino could easily be
she
number two—she certainly had both a motive and easy access to the mall fare.

If Andy knew Laila was having an affair with Dan Mitchell, surely the police already knew about it and were investigating both Dan and Nina.

But what if they didn’t?

And what about Griff? Would he have said he didn’t believe anyone who worked at the South Highlands Valley Mall would murder Laila if he’d known she’d hooked up with Dan Mitchell behind her best friend’s back?

He wouldn’t be in until two, but since I wanted to let him know about the special taping on Friday, I took a quick detour down the administrative wing to leave Griff a note. While I was there, I also planned to duck into the executive offices for a quick hello and a well-placed question or two to Dan Mitchell’s assistant, Patricia.

“I really shouldn’t even be whispering about this … ”

Thanks to my once again good-as-almost-new Eavesdropper, it was starting to sound like I might get some answers without bothering anyone at all.

“But, no, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised.”

The voice, crystal clear despite the hushed tone, was coming from inside the executive offices. It was definitely Patricia.

“I think I should let him know what I know too, but Dan …”

Expecting to hear anything from “doesn’t want the police to know his sleazy affair with that trampy Laila DeSimone sent Nina into a murderous rage” to “doesn’t want to go to the big house,” I took a few silent steps closer.

“Can you imagine what a ruckus this is going to cause on top of everything else?”

While Patricia didn’t say what
this
was, I’d certainly overheard enough to know it was a far cry from the tale she told last week about young women collapsing from grief and dying of a broken heart after giving away the milk.

“Down at the food court talking to Nina.” She paused. “Damage control, I’m sure.”

My text alert pinged.

I reached into my purse and silenced my phone before Patricia’s voice seemed to echo into my ears.

“Better run. I think I may hear him now.”

And run I did. Or walk at as brisk a pace as I possibly could given the perpetual soreness in my legs and without calling undue attention to myself. I was well into the mall proper and headed toward the food court before I dared to check my phone:

Garage is finished.

Great.

I replied to Trent feeling ever so slightly disappointed despite what should have been glee that my teenage boys did a big chore having been asked eleven less times than the usual dozen.

Please do your rooms next.

I might have been more concerned about not having heard back from Frank yet were I not distracted by why Patricia was withholding information from what I presumed were the police.

Was she protecting Dan for some reason?

Had Dan insisted she keep quiet to protect Nina?

I spotted the pair in question the second I rounded the corner and veered into the food court.

Huddled together by the doors to an access hallway between Starbucks and Heaven’s Bakery, Dan and Nina were safely out of hearing range of the nearby eateries and the cluster of tables. I promptly sat at one and pretended to fumble in my purse. Heart pounding, I turned up the volume on my Eavesdropper.

“I love you so much,” Nina said through tears.

“I love you, too.” Dan’s voice cracked.

I turned the volume right back down to spare myself the sound effects of the passionate, lingering kiss that followed.

“Interesting,” Mrs. Piggledy said. “But not at all unexpected.”

“That Dan may have had an affair with Laila, or that he and Nina still seem to be madly in love?”

“That things have definitely gotten more and more confusing with this particular Mercury retrograde.”

“I’ll say.” Mr. Piggledy opened a cabinet behind the register that, judging by the array of candy, cookies, and crackers lining the shelves, served as their girth-maintaining goodie pantry. “Where did you say you put Higgledy’s bananas again?”

“In the basket in back, where I always put them.”

“They’re not there.”

“How about the drawer in the back office?”

“Nope. Higgledy’s getting really antsy.”

“Where is Higgledy?” I asked, scanning for the errant bunch of bananas that would enable the conversation I’d stopped by for and desperately need to have, to get back on track.

“Having a time-out in his cage.” Mr. Piggledy shook his head. “There was an animal control officer here at the mall searching for the tarantula and dwarf guinea pig, who are still on the lam, and Higgledy decided to sneak out of the store for an adventure down the length of the back access hall.”

“He could have been tranquilized and taken down to the pound.” Mrs. Piggledy dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “We could have lost our exotic animal permit, and then he’d be—”

“Luckily, we found him first.” Mr. Piggledy patted his wife’s back. “Everything’s okay.”

“I know.” Mrs. Piggledy grabbed a tissue from the box on the counter and turned away toward the popcorn machine to collect herself. “Aha.”

“Aha?”

She reached around the back of the machine and emerged with a bag containing the missing bananas. “I completely forgot I’d hidden them here so Higgledy wouldn’t whine any more than he already was.”

The Piggledys shook their heads in unison.

“Can’t wait for things to stop being so topsy-turvy,” Mr. Piggledy said, taking the bunch and heading toward the backroom.