Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery (8 page)

Ten

Poisoned.

Frank said nothing more.

I knew better than to ask.

Telling a happy, back-on-his-game Frank I’d helped a person in need was one thing. Mentioning I was anywhere near, much less a party, to a
murder
—especially one where the victim had practically died at my feet—was out of the question.

Numb with horror, shock, and a nagging sense of having suspected that something didn’t add up all along, I forced a neutral expression and managed to make the smallest of talk while the boys broke the news about the cat to a less than overjoyed Frank. Dinner came and went. With little awareness of what I ate, conversation beyond Frank’s plan to watch the boys’ scrimmage tomorrow, or what became of the hours after, I found myself in bed, wide awake while Frank snored beside me.

Laila was nothing if not
prickly
, as Griff had called her.

So prickly, in fact, that half the mall wanted her gone.

And, gone she was.

Poisoned.

The national TV deal could be too if the killer wasn’t quickly brought to justice so Anastasia could work on this new segment for Frank.

Instead of sheep, I found myself counting suspects and motives: Richard the regional manager wanted her out of his life. Did his seemingly unwitting wife want her gone as well? How might have Tara Hu meant to finish her sentence when she said
Sometimes I wish she’d …

Die?

I kicked off the covers and turned over my pillow.

Andy Oliver certainly had no problem wishing aloud that Laila would croak. Hailey Rosenberg had to be disgruntled by doing Laila’s bidding around the mall as part of her job description. With Laila gone, Shoshanna at Whimsies was only too happy to buzz in as mall queen bee. And who knew how many other shoppers had suffered a fate similar to mine as a result of Laila’s attitude and her shoplifter-happy trigger finger?

Almost everyone at the mall seemed to have a motive, up to and including Higgledy the monkey.

There was no sleep to be had.

I slipped out of bed and padded silently down the carpeted hall and downstairs to my office. I logged onto my computer. Using the glow of the computer for light, I went to Mrsfrugalicious and scanned through emails until I found a question to distract me enough, I hoped, to settle down my brain:

I clip coupons, but it doesn’t seem to make much of a dent in my grocery bill. Can you help? —
Fiona J.

My response, in the form of a blog post, practically wrote itself.

Dearest Frugarmy,

You don’t have to be an extreme couponer to save 25 to 50% on groceries. Just follow the simple tips below and your grocery bill won’t feel so much like a mortgage payment.

88% of all coupons issued can be found in weekend circulars, so pick up a few extra copies of the Sunday paper and use them!

1. Clip coupons in multiples, but only on products you’ll actually use or can pick up for less than zero by combining store specials with other offers. Remember, if you end up throwing a product out (or don’t donate it to a worthy cause like a food bank), you’ve wasted money.
   
2. Organize your coupons in a file so you know what you have and when they expire.
   
3. Before you set foot in a grocery store, Google national couponing sites and local sites that help keep track of where your coupons match up with the best sales. You can also download apps and get digital coupons on your smartphone.
   
4. Know how much the items you buy most frequently cost when they are on sale. Create a price bible to make notes on the best pricing and keep it with you when you shop so you can stock up when prices are cheap. IMPORTANT—Wait for a sale on groceries you don’t have to have right now.
   
5. If you aren’t brand loyal on a particular item, try store brands. They cost less.
   
6. Use those store loyalty cards! If you do, you’ll not only save money, but stores share info with marketers who will pass along savings opportunities targeted specifically to your shopping habits.
   

Pay less and shop more, Mrs. Frugalicious

P.S. I’ll be putting these and more tips to the test on Triple Coupon Tuesday!

I posted the blog, signed off with a promising yawn, and headed back upstairs to my side of the bed. I pulled the now cool sheets up, felt the back of my head conform to my pillow, and closed my eyes
…

How and where had the poison been administered?

I turned on my side, closed my eyes, and tried to tune out Frank’s rhythmic
snort
-
puh
snoring pattern.

How long before she collapsed had Laila been poisoned?

What kind of poison was it?

I must have passed out at some point after noting the red 4:59 a.m. on my digital clock, because I woke up with a dull headache and the same endless loop of questions running through my head. Luckily, Frank had already left for his standing morning date with the gym before I could tell him I’d picked up suits for him at the tailor.
9
Since they needed to be dropped off at the station, I had an excuse to stop by the newsroom to get Griff’s name on the guest list for Frank’s show. I could also have a quick, unassuming, Frank-tells-me-you’re-working-on-a-story chat with the one person who might have an answer or two.

“I still can’t believe I was driving by the mall, heard something on the police scanner, and ended up as the first reporter on scene!” Anastasia Chastain, with her even-prettier-in-person heart-shaped face, highlighted hair, and ultra-white teeth smiled like she was accepting her local Emmy.

“What a lucky break!” I said, mostly in reference to my own good fortune at having
avoided her at the mall before she spotted me amongst the mourners at the memorial.

“And then Frank asked me to do that financial makeover segment for his show!” She practically squealed with delight. “It’s been such an incredible few days.”

I felt certain Laila wouldn’t agree.

“I just can’t wait to collaborate with Frank. He’s so savvy and smart. I’m going to learn
so
much!”

“He’s looking forward to working with you, too,” I managed. The sleep deprivation/stress headache I’d woken up with and couldn’t quite shake was intensifying from a combination of Anastasia’s over-exuberance—particularly about my husband—and her overly liberal use of perfume. Sitting at her desk, not far from my assigned spot way back in my intern days, she also reminded me of an on-air version of my younger self. I’d had hopes of becoming a producer when my whirlwind romance with Frank resulted in marriage and my pregnancy with the boys. (Not quite in that order.) I wasn’t worried about Frank’s professional interest in her exactly, but considering I was sort of a younger version of his first wife, Anastasia made a curious sidekick choice.

“Too bad you can’t get started until the police get a handle on that mall … ”

The word
murder
stuck in my throat.

“The poisoning?” she offered.

“Frank mentioned that,” I said as casually as possible. “Do they know what kind yet?”

“My source in the coroner’s office says they’re still waiting for a final report from toxicology.”

“So they don’t know?”

“Nothing’s official.” She lowered her voice. “But it looks like Ephedra.”

“Ephedra?”

“In the right dose, it can cause
heart attacks and strokes.”

My own heart began to thump. “That’s awful.”

“Isn’t it?” Anastasia offered with the perky enthusiasm of a cub reporter working a big scoop. “I can’t wait to break it on today’s news!”

I’d never paid much attention to the big bold EPHEDRA-FREE label along the bottom of my bottle of Bye Bye Fat, but clearly the manufacturer noted its lack for good reason:

Ephedra is an extract of the plant
Ephedra sinica.
It is also known as Ma Huang. Sold as an appetite suppressant and energy-boosting agent, Ephedra was banned by the FDA in 2004 after numerous dangerous side effects were blamed on the amphetamine-like stimulant.

Studies link Ephedra use with cardiovascular problems, including high blood pressure, palpitations, and heart attacks. In excess of 800 dangerous reactions have been reported—among them, heart attacks, strokes, seizures, and over 150 cases of sudden death.

Having Googled the word
Ephedra
on my smartphone, I sat in my car scanning websites committed to the dangers of what was once considered to be a highly effective diet and energy supplement. One sentence said it all:

The supplement has been linked to multiple cases of young, health-
conscious adults falling ill and/or even dying after taking it.

I switched over to text messaging and keyed in a sentence to my guru of all things diet and exercise:

You’re not going to believe this.

Chelsea responded in less than a second:

You’ve finally given up chocolate?
;)

Very funny. What do you know about Ephedra?

Omg! That it’s bad and banned.

How might someone get it though?

Don’t ever touch the stuff!!!

Not me.

Phew! Why do you ask?

Laila DeSimone.

She took Ephedra?

More like someone killed her with it.

Wha??????

Police have ruled her death a homicide.

As in she was murdered?

Told you something was up.

No way!!

Awful, huh?

More like awful when an eating disorder = suicide.

You think she did it to herself?????

Bulimics tend to abuse weight loss supplements.

Like Ephedra?

Pretty much anything they can get their hands on to lose or maintain weight.

Interesting.

Interesting the police could possibly think it was murder.

Chelsea was right. Why
would
anyone try to murder someone with something as imprecise as a banned diet supplement?

I veered into the lot of the South Metro PD.

Other than calling to report a stolen bicycle, I’d never had occasion to talk to the police, much less stop by the station, particularly not in any kind of
Crime Stoppers
capacity. But before the authorities spent precious time and taxpayer dollars investigating a homicide, I needed to fill them in on the possibility that this was a crime Laila had perpetrated upon herself.

I stepped into the hot, overcrowded lobby, took in a vaguely stale, paper-tinged breath of local justice at work and walked up to the uniformed policewoman at the front desk. “Detective McClarkey, please.”

“Your name?”

“Maddie Michaels,” I said, in my best,
yes, I’m the wife of Frank Michaels but I’m not making a big deal of it,
voice.

“And what is this is in regards to?”

“The Laila DeSimone … ” I hesitated to use the word
investigation
. “The young woman who passed away at the South Highlands Valley Mall on Thursday.”

“Have a seat,” she said, picking up the phone.

I settled into the middle of the row of gray plastic chairs between a haggard older man who looked like he’d be equally comfortable behind bars and a woman who I could only assume was there to bail out one of her fellow working girls. Careful to not brush against either of them, I pulled out my phone and checked my Frugalicious email.

Amongst the various sale and coupon alerts were three messages. The first was a new potential advertiser called SaveAway Travel. The second was from Designer Duds for Dimes, who had signed and attached a one-year advertising contract. I was reading the third, a request from a reader who asked where I was planning to shop so readers might meet up with me to learn from the “pro,” when the air in the room seemed to change.

The wood partition separating the reception from the processing areas of the station swung open, and Detective McClarkey swaggered into the room.

“Maddie Michaels!” he said with a warmth I suspected he reserved for select visitors. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but—”

“Not at all.” He waved me back.

I followed him past the requisite metal desks, stopping at the coffeepot where I waved off a foam cup of what every crime drama I’d ever watched told me would be a bitter and undrinkable brew. We passed his glassed-in office and stepped into a real live interrogation room complete with imitation wood grain table, banged-up chairs, and a two-way mirror.

Had he not left the door open, I might have felt slightly like a perp as we sat across from each other. As I hung my handbag on the back of the chair, Detective McClarkey grabbed a notepad and one of those small pencils from the end of the table and reached into his shirt pocket for a mini tape recorder.

“Do you mind?” he asked setting it between us.

I smiled at how oddly familiar my first real visit to the police was simply by virtue of television. “Of course not.”

He clicked on the device. “I’m speaking with Maddie Michaels, correct?”

“Correct,” I confirmed.

“And what is it that brings you in today?”

“Laila DeSimone.” I took a deep empowering breath. The best thing to do was lay out what I knew from beginning to end, since he’d undoubtedly have questions. “I know when we talked on Friday at Eternally 21, you said the circumstances surrounding her demise seemed pretty routine.”

“They did,” he said.