Little Shop of Homicide (14 page)

“His position and his family’s money.” Poppy succinctly summed it up. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” She blew out a deep breath. “Too bad you can’t return him for a nice cashmere sweater or a designer purse.”

When the mayor rejoined us, he said, “As I was about to advise you before the phone interrupted, I’ve recently begun dating a lovely young lady, and we were together right here in Shadow Bend during Valentine’s Day weekend. So, as I stated before, I no longer had any interest in Joelle.”

“Really. I’m surprised I haven’t heard about it.” Cynicism turned Poppy’s angelic amethyst eyes to gunmetal gray, and scorn curled her perfect rosebud mouth. “What’s your new girlfriend’s name? Is she from around here?”

“I see no reason to share my personal information with you.” He produced a white handkerchief and a snuffbox. Taking snuff was one of his many unpleasant eccentricities. “And I certainly don’t want my friend’s privacy invaded.”

“Say we believe you.” Poppy shot me a glance that said he was right—there was no way to force him to tell us anything. “Then who else might have had a motive to kill Joelle? Were there other men interested in her? Maybe someone from before she moved here?”

“She never talked about her past, and the one time I
was in her condo, there were no personal items of any kind visible.” Eggers took a pinch of snuff, inserted it in one nostril, sneezed, and blew his nose. “I got the impression this was a fresh start for her, and she didn’t want any reminders of before she arrived in Shadow Bend.”

W
hen I got back to the dime store after talking to Geoffrey Eggers, Mrs. Ziegler, the high school principal, was standing in front of the locked door, pulling on the handle. Her face was twisted into an impatient frown; evidently she assumed the CLOSED sign in the window was intended for mere mortals and not for her.

She had been the principal of Shadow Bend High even before I graduated from its esteemed halls of learning. Although she’d always been addressed as Mrs. Ziegler, no one seemed to remember a Mr. Ziegler. And believe me, nobody had the nerve to question her about him.

“Mrs. Ziegler.” I approached her cautiously. She wasn’t someone you wanted to offend or provoke. “Let me open that for you.”

“Thank you.” She nodded regally and stepped out of my way. “The placard states that this establishment’s hours are from nine a.m. to nine p.m. on Wednesdays.” She crossed her arms. “Is it incorrect?”

“No, ma’am.” I searched my mind for an excuse.

“I only have a few minutes and I need to discuss something with you.”

“I’m terribly sorry.” Deciding to go with the truth, or at least part of it, I explained, “I was called to a meeting with the mayor.”

She sniffed, the tilt of her nose indicating that her opinion of His Honor matched mine.

I finally managed to insert my key into the lock and turn it. “There you go.” I held the door open for her while she swept past toward the back of the store with me trailing her like a baby duck. I wondered what was up, but kept my mouth shut.

While I admired Mrs. Ziegler, she scared the crap out of me. I had never seen her less than immaculately dressed in a well-tailored skirt, a perfectly pressed blouse, and impeccably shined shoes. I halfway believed she wasn’t entirely human.

Pointing to my worktable, where I, thank God, was assembling the basket for the Cline baby shower and not the one for the Stewart bachelorette party, she announced, “The high school needs you to show the Athletic Booster Club members how to make Easter baskets for their equipment and uniform fund-raiser.”

I had automatically opened my mouth to refuse, since teaching others how to become my competition didn’t seem like a very smart business move, when I realized that pissing off one of the town’s most respected citizens was not good business, either.

Thinking fast, I said, “I could do that. Or I could put together three samples, take photos, and design a leaflet from which the Boosters could sell the baskets for twenty or thirty percent over their cost.” I didn’t mention that their cost included my profit.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Ziegler tapped the toe of her low-heeled black pump.

“Think about it this way.” I could tell she wasn’t sold on the idea, so I upped the ante. “If we do what I suggest, there’s no capital outlay, there’s no storage problem, and there’s no mess.”

“Well.” Mrs. Ziegler slapped her leather gloves against the palm of her hand. “That group does tend to be untidy.”

Seeing that she was close to agreeing, I went in for
the kill. “And I’ll donate a deluxe basket that they can raffle off at their next event.” I’d hide the cost of that prize in the price of the other baskets.

“It’s a deal.” Mrs. Ziegler adjusted her purse strap to sit more securely on her shoulder. “I’ll expect the brochures on my desk first thing Monday morning.” She paused, tapping the index finger of her ringless left hand on her chin. “Two hundred and fifty copies should be sufficient.” She turned to go. “No, better make it five hundred.”

Great! Another thing to add to my to-do list. I slumped against the counter.

“Devereaux.”

Oops!
Mrs. Ziegler hadn’t left. I twisted my head to look at her.

“Stand up straight.” She winked at me. “Slouching makes your breasts sag.”

I swallowed wrong and choked. When I stopped coughing, she was gone and I questioned my hearing. Had Mrs. Ziegler really said the word
breasts
? Shaking my head, I shrugged out of my coat and hung it in the back room. I didn’t have time to worry about what the principal did or didn’t say. I had to get to work.

Good thing that those of us in retail always worked well ahead of the coming season. I already had boxes of Easter supplies stacked in my stockroom. My original plan had been to use this week to sell off the remaining Valentine’s Day merchandise at a hefty discount. Once it was gone, I’d begin displaying the pastel plastic eggs, bright green artificial grass, and chocolate rabbits. But with all that had happened since Monday, and now Principal Ziegler’s bombshell, I wasn’t sure when I’d have a chance to get the cute little chicks and bunnies on the shelves.

Checking the clock, I saw that it was already going on one o’clock, and I hadn’t accomplished anything yet today. Better get moving. If I ate my lunch while I finished the baby shower basket, I might still have time to
prep the sewing area for tonight’s Blood, Sweat, and Shears meeting before the after-school crowd descended on the soda fountain and candy counter.

A half hour later, I popped the last bite of my boiled ham sandwich into my mouth, wiped my hands on a paper towel, and stepped back to admire my creation. For this basket, I had found an original copy of
Bootsy
, published by Wonder Books in 1959. The adorable black and white kitten on the bright blue cover seemed to be smiling his approval as I gathered up the cellophane and tied it closed with an enormous yellow and green bow.

While I was restocking the magazine shelves, the sleigh bells over the front door jingled and I looked up just in time to see Jake striding over the threshold. His expression was guarded, and he looked as exhausted as I felt. His chin was stubbled with twenty-four hours’ worth of beard, and his eyes were deeply shadowed with fatigue. Maybe he hadn’t slept well, either.

“Hi.” He took off his Stetson, fingered the brim for a moment, then put his hat next to the register and unbuttoned his jacket. “About last night…” He trailed off, seeming to be at a loss for words.

I flashed back to our steamy encounter in his pickup and felt my cheeks redden and other parts of me tingle. Quickly, almost afraid he could read my thoughts, and because I definitely did not want to hear the end of his sentence, I interjected, “Let’s just chalk what happened up to chemistry or proximity or too many cosmos at the fund-raiser, and forget all about it.”

“Why? Because you like guys who wear designer suits, drink champagne, and take you to the ballet?” His blue eyes were as hard as the Hope diamond. “I’m not your type, am I?”

Was he serious? He had to be aware of how attractive he was. I’d bet there was at least one woman, maybe more, who lost her head over him on every case he worked. I just had to make sure I wasn’t the one this time. A love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of man didn’t work for me.

When I saw his jaw tighten, I realized that he was still waiting for an answer, and I quickly assured him, “That’s not it at all.” His expression of disbelief made me add, “I just think we need to concentrate on the matter at hand. Emotions only mess people up.”

Jake didn’t appear entirely convinced, so before he could probe further, I elaborated. “See, the thing is that I’m in a good place right now. I’ve accepted that there are things I may never have in my life, but at least I’m not getting my heart broken.”

“You can’t make time stand still.” Jake seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me. “If you don’t keep moving forward toward a goal, you’ll fall back to where you were to start with.”

“I’m not trying to make time stand still,” I protested, fighting the intensity of his gaze. “It’s just that I’m tired of men disappointing me, and I don’t want to get hurt anymore.”

I was considering what he’d said when it dawned on me. Why was I the one on the hot seat? It was Jake’s girlfriend who had interrupted us. A girlfriend he had denied having only moments before kissing me. If anyone should be explaining himself, it was him.

Before I could say all that, he stepped toward me. My back was to the magazine rack and he put his hands on either side of my shoulders, resting them on the wooden shelves. A shiver shot through me at the realization that I was trapped and had no desire to break free.

With his face close to mine, he teased, “So it sounds as if you’re planning to live the rest of your life as a nun.”

“No.” My voice held an uncertain tone that I didn’t recognize. I was rarely unsure of my decisions. What was this guy doing to me?

Jake’s lips brushed mine, and I knew I was less than a nanosecond away from lust overtaking my good intentions, so with my last rational thought I confronted him. “Detective Woods paid me a visit this morning. Your
girlfriend called him about Joelle’s fingerprints, and now he’s more convinced than ever that I’m the murderer.”

“Shit!” Jake jerked away from me as if I had stuck a cattle prod in his groin.

I took the opportunity to move away from him and walked to the register. Flipping open the counter, I stepped behind it and quickly closed the opening. Putting some distance, not to mention a physical barrier, between Jake and me seemed like a prudent move.

“What in the hell did she say to him?” Jake ground out the question between clenched teeth.

As I began cleaning up the basket-making paraphernalia, I repeated Woods’s accusations, ending with, “Then when he was leaving, he said, ‘Your boss may have weaseled out of serving prison time, but someone is going to pay for losing my retirement money.’”

“What a jerk.”

“Yep.”

Once my work space was spick-and-span, I hauled out the first of four long folding tables that needed to be set up for the sewing circle. Jake mutely brought out the other three while I put them up.

He finally broke the silence between us by saying, “Meg’s my ex, not my girlfriend.”

“You called your ex-wife for information?” I nearly dropped the sewing machine I was carrying. “Did you ever consider she might not want to help you? Even if you had one heck of an amicable divorce, there are usually some hurt feelings or resentment. Didn’t you think it was possible that she’d want to sabotage you and set off Woods on purpose?”

“She’s the best researcher in the service.” His expression was a mixture of stubborn and sheepish. “Besides, she left me, not the other way around. She has no reason to want to get back at me.”

“Okay.” I drew out the word, indicating my incredulity at his utter lack of understanding of the female
mind, but I didn’t bother to argue. If Jake really believed his ex-wife didn’t have any ill will about their failed marriage, then there was no point wasting my breath trying to persuade him otherwise. “If you say so.”

“I’m sure whatever happened when Meg spoke with Woods wasn’t intentional on her part.” Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “She wouldn’t be that unprofessional.”

“Uh-huh.” I made sure he didn’t see me roll my eyes. “Anyway, considering how well our investigation has gone so far, I think it’s probably best that we stop now before we make things worse for me. Maybe if I don’t draw any more attention to myself, Woods will lose interest.”

“You know that’s not what will happen.” Jake shook his head. “Woods is like a rock. And it doesn’t matter if the rock hits the glass or the glass hits the rock—it’ll be bad for the glass.”

“Yeah.” He was right, even though I hated to admit it and really wanted the whole situation to go away without any further effort on my part. Still, it was always better to be proactive than reactive. At least that’s what I told myself as I admitted, “You’re probably right.”

“I spoke to Joelle’s attorney, Riyad Oberkircher, just before I came over here.” Jake explained about the scene his uncle had witnessed at the bank.