Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery (20 page)

Frank got up from his desk, stepped off the stage, made his way out into the audience, and slipped a comforting arm around Mr. Wilson’s shoulder. The studio camera went live. “And we’re just not the kind of people to allow you to get buried because of unforeseeable circumstances,” he said.

The audience began to clap.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson,” Frank asked. “I have a question for you.”

The Wilsons looked hopeful.

“Are you willing to make the hard choices it’s going to take to institute that plan and get your financial future back on track?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“Are you willing to accept that fixing money problems is a marathon and not a sprint?”

“Yes,” they said again.

“I’m glad you feel that way, because we’ve got a special surprise for you.”

On cue, Anastasia welcomed a group of men and women dressed in matching gray pin-stripe suits onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Frank said. “I’d like to introduce you to an elite group of bankers, financial planners, loan consolidators, and fiscal advisors who will hereby be known as the Frank Financial Force.”

As in Frank’s version of my Frugarmy?

“I came up with that name,” FJ whispered, cracking a sly smile.

The audience went wild as the FFF reached into their various briefcases and pulled everything from pens and calculators to a great big
Publisher’s Clearinghouse
–style check with
The Wilson Family
scrawled across the front.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, your financial future is about to flourish!”

Frank clicked closed the door to his dressing room, burst into a huge grin, and fist pumped the air. “They loved it!”

“It was great,” I said, not at all surprised but having chewed more than one nail down to the quick while I waited for the post-show congratulations and dialogue between Frank and the national TV execs to wrap up. “So you signed the contract?”

“All but.” He patted his jacket and pants pockets. “Have you seen my keys?”

“No.” I did a cursory scan of the various countertops around the room. “What do you mean by ‘all but’?”

He opened the drawers of his dressing table. “We shook on it.”

“That’s wonderful!” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster considering the sick feeling starting to overtake me. “I assume you’re going to sign before you take them to the airport?”

“I can’t,” he said checking the bathroom. “There’s no paperwork yet.”

“There isn’t?”

“But there is a call into their legal department to draw up the docs,” Frank said. “Can I borrow your key to my car? I must have put them somewhere when I was rushing before the show, and I should have left to get Jim and Mike to the airport ten minutes ago.”

“Jim and Mike,” I repeated, glad he was now on a first-name basis with his soon-to-be bosses. I reached into my purse for the spare key to his car on my keychain. “When do they expect to have the contract to you?”

Frank smiled the biggest, most carefree smile I’d seen on him in years. “Monday.”

“Monday,” Anastasia whispered as we passed in the hallway. “If I were you, I wouldn’t set foot outside the house until then.”

Twenty-Three

Distressed as I was
by the prospect of Anastasia-imposed house arrest, the exhaustion and stress of the past forty-eight hours would probably have me sleeping like Rip Van Winkle through most of the weekend anyway. Other than go home, pretend to play happy housewife, and simply wait for the days to pass, there really wasn’t much else I could do. Even if Frank had signed the contract right after the show, it’s not like I could have just congratulated him, confronted him about Anastasia, and then casually mentioned I was wanted for murder.

Not right away, anyway.

Better to wait until I was no longer being cast under the shadow of doubt.

Which meant Monday.

In the meantime, I did what little I could by leaving Griff a message thanking him for coming to the taping and asking him to call me ASAP with any relevant information. Then, en route to home incarceration, I stopped by Vitamin Ville to use my store coupon for a new bottle of Bye Bye Fat
32
and ask the question that had been nagging me since Detective McClarkey suggested Laila had consumed the beverage I’d intended to drink myself.

“Adverse reactions to Bye Bye Fat?” Vitamin Ville’s nutritional supplements expert retied her green apron. “Much less than any of the other weight loss products we carry.”

“But there have been some?”

“Mainly insomnia,” she said.

“Good to know.” I certainly wouldn’t be taking any until after I caught up on my lost sleep. “And?”

“We have had a few returns due to diarrhea,” she said.

Luckily, I’d only experienced the insomnia. “But nothing like people collapsing or anything like that?”

She pointed to the bold “
Ephedra-Free
” label on the side of the bottle. “Never.”

The sky was blue, the temperature an unusually pleasant seventy-five degrees, and the birds were chirping outside my window when I woke up from my Friday afternoon to Saturday morning slumber. There were no chirps from the boys or my husband, who were, per the note Frank left on the kitchen counter,
out and about
. Better yet, there were no communications from Detective McClarkey or Anastasia to shatter the tenuous mental peace my coma-like sleep had facilitated.

I assumed no news from Griff was no news.

I had a breakfast of toast, coffee, and a BBF. I took a forty-five minute spin on the basement stationary bike. I showered and pulled on a worn-in pair of jeans. All the while, my cell didn’t so much as bing, ping, or ring.

By 11:09 a.m., I was all ready to go nowhere.

I had lunch waiting for Frank, who’d been at the gym, and for the boys, who’d been at the park tossing a football. I spent a solid twenty minutes with FJ trying to coax Chili out of the couch so we could get a peek at the kittens. I watched two hours of anything that wasn’t a crime drama.

Through it all, I focused on tuning out Frank’s giddy, whistling rendition of “We’re in the Money” by repeating my new mantra
: Don’t think about it till Monday.

As soon as my husband left for the station to do his spot on the weekend news, I made my way up to my office, turned on the computer, and logged onto Mrsfrugalicious. Since Wendy K.’s pizza tip on Wednesday evening, I hadn’t had the inclination to check in. And considering I’d promised the Frugarmy a post-game wrap-up of the budget party, I had catching up to do. If I wanted to be maudlin, I also had time to stockpile (as it were) extra blogs in case swift justice turned out to be neither swift nor just.

Thanks to said beloved Frugarmy, my inbox was full enough to kill at least an hour or two.

There were questions to be answered:

Q: Dear Mrs. Frugalicious, how do you stop yourself from making impulse purchases? —
Kathryn J.

A:
Whenever you’re considering making an unnecessary purchase, wait thirty days and then ask yourself if you still want that item. Quite often, you’ll find that the urge to buy has passed and you’ll have saved yourself some money by simply waiting.

Q: I have little to no money for birthday or holiday gifts but still want to do something special for friends and loved ones. Ideas? —
Cassie H.

A: Make your own gifts! You can make food mixes, candles, bread, cookies, soap, and all kinds of other things at home quite easily and inexpensively. Not crafty? Give an evening of babysitting, an offer to take care of pets for a weekend away, or lawn care.

There were additional party tips:

Make an inexpensive, basic side dish like potato salad look gourmet by putting it in a martini glass and topping it off with a grape tomato. —
Laura J.

Thrift stores—There’s no better place to find fun and funky serving pieces for next to nothing. —
Nora M.

You can waste money by not taking into account the age, time of day, and activities of the people attending. For instance, serve an economical meal over a fancy light snack at a regular mealtime when people will be hungry and eat lots. —
Julie G.

There was also a two-day old entreaty from
Here’s the Deal
magazine with a subject line of:
Please, Mrs. Frugalicious?

I once again politely declined.

I worked my way through the remainder of the entries in my inbox, posted a blog detailing the high points of my cocktail party, from the low-cost, garden-themed centerpieces to the success of the doctored pizza, and was about to pen a post on discount blue jean shopping when my text alert sounded for the first time all day.

As soon as I saw the message wasn’t from Detective McClarkey, Anastasia or even Griff, my heart rate plummeted back toward normal.

Be here by three?

It was Chelsea trying to coax me into an impromptu workout.

Already rode the home bike this AM.

Atta girl but it’s not for a workout.

????

Had to cancel my weekly appointment with l’raine at the last minute so I booked you in my place.

For a massage?

On the house.

You are so sweet...

I pondered how to turn her down.

Why am I sensing a but … ?

Of course she was, even via text message. But, why? It wasn’t as though I was really on house arrest. The concept behind staying home all weekend was to lay low, do nothing, and of course:
Don’t think about it till Monday
.

I said I wouldn’t do anything or go anywhere, but how much less active could I get than having a massage?

I glanced at the first sentence of an email that had popped into my Mrs. Frugalicious inbox, a
response from
Here’s the Deal
magazine.

Dear Mrs. Frugalicious, I know you want to remain anonymous, but I …

I clicked out of the email without bothering to read the rest. Having already reached my weekend limit for ambitious reporters, this one would simply have to take no response for an answer. I turned my attention back to my phone.

But that’s only 22 minutes from now.

Then you better hurry and get your butt down here!

A half-hour (or so) later, I lay face down on the massage table listening to a New Age musical arrangement punctuated by gentle rainfall while L’Raine worked massage oil into my muscles with a warm, smooth river rock.

I’d thanked Chelsea when I checked in for the appointment, but I’d have to do something special for her later.

After Monday.

After Frank’s deal was signed.

After the toxicology reports came back and my name was cleared.

After I confronted my husband.

After, after, after.

“Your shoulders are in knots,” L’Raine said, setting aside the stone to dig into my upper back muscles with her thumbs.

“I’m not surprised,” I said.

“Chelsea told me you’ve had an off-the-hook week.”

“That I did,” I said, over the low tribal drumbeat now accompanying the rain and the dull throb of my head.

L’Raine dug that much deeper into my shoulders. “She said everything went beyond perfect at the taping though.”

“It really was something,” I managed.

“I’d loved to have been there.”

“I wish I’d known. I’d have been glad to put your name on the list.”

“I had clients all morning anyway.” She giggled. “Of course, I’d have been that much more tempted to cancel had I known Griff, the mall officer, was going to be there.”

“He’s a big fan of the show,” I said, enjoying the massage, but not so relaxed by the direction the conversation was headed.

She giggled again. “And really cute.”

“He is a sweetheart.” I didn’t want to be unappreciative, but I had to wonder if I wouldn’t prefer a less-talkative masseuse the next time I found myself in a position to enjoy such a luxury. Assuming there was a next time.

L’Raine finished up my shoulders. “Do you happen to know if he has a girlfriend or anything?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said.

“Cops are super sexy,” she said turning to grab a warm stone from the heater. “Don’t you think?”

“I suppose.” I couldn’t think of a profession I found less sexy at the moment. “Griff’s not exactly a cop, though.”

She began to work the tension forming at the base of my neck. “But he’s working on the Laila DeSimone investigation, right?”

Not having heard from him since yesterday morning, I couldn’t answer that question for sure, either. “It’s my understanding he’s looking into a few things.”

“Cool,” she said, working down toward the base of my spine. “Maybe I can get his attention next time he’s in by telling him some stuff I’ve heard around here.”

“Good idea.” The background drums intensified to what felt like insistent pounding. Or maybe it was my heartbeat. “You know,” I found myself saying. “I’m supposed to be hearing from him any time now.”

“Really?”

“So, if there’s any information you’d like me to pass along …”

“Can you find out if he’s single?” she asked. “And, if he is, will you let him know I’m interested?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, feeling irked by the music, which had transitioned into a peaceful valley’s worth of birds and non-biting insects frolicking in a light breeze. I was more irked by the junior high–style mission I’d just set myself up for.
If L’Raine said she liked you, would you like her back? Check yes or no.

“You’re the best,” she said, positioning the privacy sheet so I could turn onto my back for the rest of the massage and the uncharacteristic stretch of silence from L’Raine that followed.

“Hey,” I said as she finished massaging my left leg and moved on to my right. “If you want, I can also let Griff know whatever it was you were going to tell him while I’m at it.”

She turned toward the counter behind her and spritzed the air with an essential oil called Confidence. “You will tell him the info came from me, right?”

“Absolutely,” I said as the room filled with the scent of orange and rosemary.

“It’s not like I really know all that much …”

“Sometimes the smallest detail turns out to be key.”

“Well, I did hear Laila’s drink was poisoned.”

Wasn’t the means by which the Ephedra was delivered supposed to be as much a secret as the identity of the temporary primary suspect? “From who?”

“The manager at Whimsies.”

“Shoshanna?”

“She and Hailey were both alone with Laila’s drink at some point,” she said. “So the police were all over them asking questions.”

I tried to release my relieved sigh slowly enough so L’Raine, now running the stone along the outer side of my shin, wouldn’t notice. “And?”

“They both passed lie detector tests.”

“Is that all you heard?”

“That, and Andy supposedly added some new mystery person to his betting pool.”

I had to stop myself from bolting upright. “What do you mean?”

“He and Tara claim to know of some big suspect who will come as a major shock if and when he or she is arrested.”

My guts started churning like a cement mixer.

“Apparently they’re supposedly going to give hints about who it is, to stir up the betting pool even more.”

“Did you happen to hear when the hints will start?” I somehow choked out.

“Any time now.”

Seventeen aromatherapy-scented, Didgeridoo-accompanied, Zen-less minutes passed with excruciating slowness before I was free of the massage room and rushing toward the locker room.

Specifically, to my phone.

As L’Raine worked each of my fingers and palms and massaged what felt like every tendon and muscle fiber up and down my arms, all I could think about was Andy and Tara.

Were they about to sell me down the river for a crime they’d committed?

Had the two of them been waiting for the right moment or the right person to take the fall and I’d stepped right into their murderous plans? Certainly Tara learned who I was as soon as Laila had me dragged out of Eternally 21. Had she capitalized on my morning’s altercation by jumping into action, having Andy follow me to the food court so we could “accidentally” bump trays, mix up drinks, and let me know Laila had an eating disorder? She’d been so apologetic and helpful afterwards, how could I not come up to the store? Why wouldn’t I complain to Eternally 21 corporate via email and implicate myself that much more as a result? My skin bristled thinking how I’d not only run all over the mall listening in on conversations like a guilty murderer, but spent a second day off-course “investigating” Dan Mitchell, Nina Marino, Richard the regional manager, and his wife—all on Andy’s bad advice.