Getting Dumped (9 page)

Lori held the donuts and we marched next door to the police station to explain the situation to the woman behind the counter.

She didn’t look impressed.

“So you want to complain about cheap handbags?” she said dryly, fingering a name badge that read
Petty
. I wasn’t sure if that was her name, the crimes she handled, or her personality.

“It’s more complicated than that,” I said patiently, opening the bakery box to offer her a donut. “I found these scraps of fabric out at the landfill which lead me to conclude that someone is manufacturing counterfeit designer bags.”

“Do people ever say you have quite the imagination?”

“On occasion.”

Petty eyed the pile of smelly fabric Lori had just upended on the counter beside the donuts.

“Is that a slice of moldy carrot?”

“Probably,” I admitted, flicking it off a piece of faux suede. “Anyway, I want to report it. The counterfeit bags. Not the carrot.”

The woman sighed and glanced at her watch. “Everyone’s really busy right now. With slightly more pressing crimes.”

Another cop walked past and eyed the bakery box with undisguised lust. He stopped in his tracks and stared, his gaze fixed on a particularly oozy jelly-filled number. I watched him, wondering if he might be a better ally than Petty. His tag said
Frank
. A much better omen. Frank reached for the donut.

“Look,” Lori said, folding her arms over her chest and looking like a disgruntled elf as she stared down Petty. “The officer last night who came to assist our friend, Pete Wilco, suggested we come here and—”

“Who?” Petty asked.

“P-Pete Wilco?” stuttered Frank, dropping his donut on the floor. He bent down and retrieved it, straightening up with a dumbstruck expression and the donut in his fist.

“Pete Wilco,” I repeated, looking from one to the other.

“Never heard of him,” Petty said, scowling.

Frank just stared.

I shrugged. “He starred in some straight-to-video action flick that sold a few dozen copies a few years ago.”

“
Bionic Cyber Cops in Monster Trucks
,” Frank said, nodding as he clutched the donut in one hand. “If you ladies would like to come with me, I think I can help you out.”

Lori gave Petty her most smug smirk before grabbing the box of donuts and tucking them under her arm. I scooped up the fabric swatches and trotted after Frank as he lumbered down the hall, around a corner, and into a small, gray office.

He dropped into a lopsided yellow chair behind the desk and set his donut down on a piece of paper. Lori put the donut box on the edge of the desk and opened it up enticingly before settling into another chair. I eyed the remaining chairs – all covered with giant stacks of paper – and opted to stand.

Frank reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a pair of rubber gloves and some tweezers.

“So what seems to be the problem?” he asked, pulling on the gloves and picking up the tweezers.

Lori and I stared for a few beats, neither of us speaking. I was the first to break the silence.

“Well, I just started this new job at the landfill,” I began.

“Sure, sure,” Frank said, studying the donut with his tweezers poised above it. “You being sexually harassed or something?”

“Um, no. That’s not it.”

Frank grunted and began picking at the donut with the tweezers. “Unsafe work environment?”

He extracted something from the jelly filling before dipping the tip of the tweezers in a tiny dish of liquid on the edge of his desk.

“No, of course not. See—”

“Do you need a different donut?” Lori interrupted. She’d been quiet until this point, but had apparently reached a breaking point.

He looked up, seemingly startled to see us sitting there. “Donut? No, I can’t stand donuts. They give me gas.”

“But—”

“This here is Drosophila pachea,” he said, holding up his tweezers. “A very rare fruit fly that only breeds on the stems of senita cactus. I don’t know how the little devil ended up here, but I’ve been wanting a specimen like this for years.”

I stared. “You collect fruit flies.”

“Of course.”

Lori nodded, apparently satisfied with that explanation. “I collect handbags,” she announced, reaching into hers to extract a business card. “I’m really proud of my collection, and I’ve invested a lot of time and money in it. As I’m sure you have with your collection?”

“Um—” Frank said, studying Lori’s card with apparent confusion.

“And I care very much about making sure every item in my collection is authentic, don’t you?”

“Well—”

“So how would you feel if someone started forging fruit flies?”

Frank stared at Lori.

“What my sister is trying to say,” I continued, “is that we found some materials at the Albright County Landfill that suggest someone is creating counterfeit designer handbags locally.”

“Say what?”

“Look,” Lori said, snatching the fabric swatches from me and dumping them out beside the donuts. “This here is supposed to look like Coach’s signature material, only you notice how the little Cs don’t line up right? Or this one, this is supposed to look like the lining from a special edition Christian Dior bag that was just released in the spring, only if you look really closely you’ll see that—”

“What does this have to do with you being sexually harassed?” Frank said, staring at me, then Lori, then back at me. When we didn’t respond immediately, he shook his head and went back to rinsing his fruit fly.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m not being sexually harassed and my workplace isn’t unsafe. We’re here about the handbags.”

“It’s a very serious issue,” Lori added.

Ignoring us, Frank opened the top of a tiny glass container and nestled the fruit fly inside. Setting down his tweezers, he screwed the top back on the container and folded his hands, looking back up at us.

“Look, ladies – I’ve gotta tell you that digging through the landfill to figure out if someone, somewhere, might be making fake purses – that’s not real high on our priority list right now.”

“But—” Lori began.

“How do you even know someone’s making these things locally?” Frank asked. “Maybe someone bought a bunch of purses in China or something and tossed ‘em in the landfill.”

“Because we found fabric swatches, not handbags,” Lori snapped. “If you look at the fabric, it’s obvious these are remnants from a manufacturing operation and not just pieces that have been torn out of old handbags. See here how it looks like someone’s been practicing different types of stitching, and then these pieces here are all close enough in design that it’s obvious someone’s reviewing sample fabrics to choose—”

“Look, miss,” Frank said, unclasping his fingers and touching the edge of Lori’s business card. He yanked his hand back and stuck a finger in his mouth, and I tried not to be too glad about the paper cut. “We’ve got gangs. We’ve got drugs. We’ve got homicides to deal with. Really, where do you see purses fitting in with all that?”

I straightened in my chair and cleared my throat with authority. “The sale of counterfeit luxury items funds terrorism and drug cartels and has ties to human trafficking and—”

Frank sighed. “And likewise, if you have lunch at Mel’s Diner down the street, you’re probably funding his wife’s coke habit.”

Lori narrowed her eyes at him.

“That was an example,” he said. “There’s no Mel’s Diner down the street. I was just giving you an example.”

“An example,” Lori said, gripping the arms of her chair so hard her knuckles turned white. I recognized the signs that she was on the verge of a full-fledged elf tantrum.

“What about her intern?” I asked. “Her name is Macy, and Lori asked her to do some snooping into this whole handbag thing. We haven’t heard from her since.”

There was a faint flicker of interest in Frank’s eyes. “A missing person?”

“I left her a few messages, but she hasn’t called back, and we weren’t able to connect with her last night for drinks and her car isn’t at her house,” Lori supplied.

Frank frowned. “Why wasn’t this the first thing you mentioned?”

I sighed. “Well, the thing is, Macy has the tendency to travel. A lot. Without actually notifying her friends or her employer or—”

“So how long has it been since you’ve heard from her?”

I looked at Lori. She shrugged. “About eighteen hours.”

Frank stared at us. “Let me get this straight. Your girlfriend – who, by your own admission, disappears frequently without warning – has not called you for eighteen hours and you want to report this to the police.”

“Well—” I stopped. Okay, fine, when he put it that way, it did sound a little dumb. Maybe we should have stopped with the handbag thing.

Officer Frank had already turned his attention back to his fruit fly, and Lori appeared to be considering stabbing him in the eyeball with his own tweezers. With a sigh, I grabbed my sister’s elbow and hoisted her up.

“Fine,” I said. “Thank you for your time. I’ll let you know if I uncover anything else that might be relevant to the case.”

“Case?”

“And because you at least tried to be helpful, I’ll pay extra special attention to any fruit flies I encounter in the course of my work.”

“Oh. Well, that’s very kind—”

“But I’ve gotta tell you,” I continued, “if you think I’m just going to let this handbag thing die, you really don’t know me at all.”

He blinked at me. “What was your name again?”

I spent the rest of my weekend laying low.

There were no calls from Daniel, who was busy playing in a corporate golf tournament out of town.

Only Lori kept my phone ringing. Repeatedly.

“I still haven’t heard from Macy,” she told me on Sunday, her voice a little strained. “I’ve left like six messages, but she’s not calling me back.”

“Was she planning any trips?”

“She never really plans it,” Lori said. “She just does it.”

“Well, does she answer her cell when she’s gone?”

“Sometimes. Not if she’s at a spa retreat or staying in a monastery or—”

“Got it. Well, should we check with her family?”

Lori was quiet for a moment. “Her family. What’s the etiquette there? I mean, can you just pick up the phone and call a mob boss?”

“We don’t actually know he’s a mob boss.”

“Right. I guess it’s only been a couple days. And she’s done this before.”

“Like that time she couldn’t find saffron at the grocery store so she decided to fly to India.”

“Or that time she decided she wanted to buy a sailboat in Australia,” Lori added, giggling a little. “I still have the kangaroo testicles she brought me.”

By the time we hung up the phone, we had agreed not to panic just yet – for all the good that did us. It was clear we were both growing worried. Had Macy uncovered something tied to counterfeit handbags? Something worth harming her over?

Or was she just being her normal flaky self?

By Monday morning I was quite eager to get on with the business of smashing and packing. The garbage trucks cycled through all morning, bringing me mounds of fresh trash to crush beneath my wheels. Though I had never sought professional therapy, I suspected this was very much the same thing, only without the co-pay or the couch.

It also didn’t hurt having a hot male secretary to ogle every time I passed Pete’s desk on my way to the ladies room.

When lunchtime rolled around, I gobbled up my leftover pizza in a hurry, eager to take Burt up on his offer to escort me to Ernie’s little thrift store on the northwest corner of the landfill property.

As Burt pulled his 1960 International pickup to the front of the shop, I felt my heart speed up. It wasn’t that I was so thrilled at the prospect of sorting through used table lamps and waffle irons. It was the fact that Collin’s little 4WD Ranger was parked outside.

“What’s he doing here?” I asked, irritation making my palms clammy. I was
so
not in the mood for being treated like a terrorist spy with leprosy.

“Who, Collin?” Burt asked, wiping his nose on the back of his hand as he got out of the truck.

I sat rooted to my seat, startled when Burt yanked my door open and offered me a hand down.

“Um, thanks,” I said, hesitating only a moment.

I stumbled when my feet hit the ground, and Burt reached out and caught me, steadying me by the arm. We made our way toward the front door together.

“Collin repairs small engines for fun in his spare time, he’s probably just browsing on his lunch break,” Burt said, holding the door open for Green Barbie, who teetered out in high heels and a flesh-colored miniskirt, holding a box of recycled plastic against her equally plastic breasts. Burt tipped his hat politely, seemingly unmoved by the display. I felt my admiration for him swell.

I nodded a greeting to Green Barbie before turning back to Burt, still digesting the information about Collin. “He collects advanced college degrees and builds machines for fun,” I said slowly. “Does he have any hobbies that
normal
people would consider fun?”

Burt looked at me and grinned.

“Never mind,” I said, moving past him and into the store.

The second I walked through the doors, I was assaulted by Ernie’s squeal of delight.

“JJ! It’s so great to see you. Burt said he’d be bringing you by at lunchtime, so I made a special effort to take lunch a little early today even though I sometimes get heartburn if I eat before noon, but I really wanted to show you around today and let you get a feel for the place, maybe check out our bargain rack over there in the corner—”

“I’m happy to see you, too, Ernie,” I said, really meaning it as she wrapped me in a giant bear hug. “I can’t wait to see everything you do here. I’ve heard a lot about this place.”

Ernie grabbed hold of my arm and began towing me around, pointing out the different sections of the store where she stocked cast-off construction supplies, repaired household appliances, and clothing.

She showed me the area where she painstakingly cleaned and disinfected all potential merchandise, gluing the legs back onto chairs, scrubbing grime off kitchen gadgets, stitching arms and legs back onto tattered stuffed animals.