Little Shop of Homicide (22 page)

I licked my lips and sighed. That was the problem.

*    *    *

Although I had agreed it was a good idea to allow everyone to think Jake and I were involved, I still tried to pretend an indifference to him for the rest of the evening. But sitting beside me, with his thigh occasionally brushing mine, he was too intense and too compelling to be ignored.

During halftime, or whatever they called it for bingo, I finally made it to the food table. Jake followed me and I carefully avoided looking at him as I passed him the dishes he requested. I needed to get my libido under control and remember the only reason we were spending time together was to keep me out of jail. Otherwise, when we checked in to the hotel tomorrow afternoon, I would end up tackling him the minute we stepped through the door of the suite.

Just before we went back to the game, I excused myself. This time I wasn’t running away; I truly did need to use the restroom. A few seconds after I sat down, I heard the outer door squeak open. As I peered through the gap between the stall door and the frame, I saw two women walk up to the sinks.

They were in their late fifties or early sixties, and clearly old friends, since they seemed in perfect sync with each other. Almost as one, they withdrew combs from their handbags.

The women’s conversation wasn’t so much a discussion as a stand-up comedy routine, with one of the ladies doing all the talking.

The nontalker’s laugh was like the shrill squeal of a telephone receiver left off the hook for too long. Someone needed to hang her up before the mirror cracked.

I was about to stuff toilet paper into my ears when I heard the comedian say, “Did I tell you that the cops were out at Miss Ayers’s condo again?”

“No,” Ms. Hyena said, raising both of her painted-on brows to indicate her surprise. “How do you know that?”

My question exactly.

I drew my legs up so they wouldn’t realize I was there and willed the stand-up comic to explain herself.

“Remember after the first time, her attorney, Mr. Oberkircher, told me to go ahead and clean up the mess they left, because the landlord wanted to rent it out again as soon as Ms. Ayers’s lease was up?”

The funny lady must be Joelle’s housekeeper. I needed to have a chat with her somewhere private. Birdie would probably know her name.

“Uh-huh,” Ms. Hyena replied. “You said she had left all her money to that dog of hers. Too bad she didn’t name you as his guardian, instead of her fiancé. You would have been sitting pretty getting all that money to take care of the little mutt.”

“Yeah. That would have been a sweet setup.” The comedian paused to dig through her purse. “Anyway, Mr. Oberkircher called again yesterday and said to go back. Seems the cops found out something new—Mr. Oberkircher said he didn’t know what—and took the condo apart again.”

Hmm.
I wrinkled my forehead. Jake’s ex must have informed the KC police that Joelle wasn’t who she had claimed to be. Jake had said his ex would have to notify them. But if the cops hadn’t told her attorney, that meant that they were keeping her false identity a secret.

“Did it take you long to put the place to rights?” Ms. Hyena asked.

“A lot longer than last time.” The stand-up comic grimaced. “This time they got fingerprint dust everywhere, and that stuff is tough to wipe off.”

“So we need to talk to Joelle’s housekeeper and hairdresser,” I explained to Jake as he walked me to my car after bingo.

“Okay.” He waited until I was seated. “See if you can make an appointment at that beauty shop for five o’clock.”

“I’ll try, but salons like that one book really far ahead, so there might not be any openings.”

“Do your best. We’ll tackle the cleaning lady once we find out her name. By the way, the CI at the Parkside said that Joelle originally checked in at eleven a.m. and came back at five p.m. There was no gas purchase on her credit cards, so she must have paid in cash.” Jake started to close the Z4’s door, then stopped and leaned forward.

Suddenly the air around us seemed electrified and I knew he was about to kiss me. My pulse skittered alarmingly. Another second and it would be too late to stop him.

“Devereaux?”

“Yes?” I loved the way my name sounded rolling off his tongue. My full name, not the shortened version nearly everyone else used.

Suddenly a horn honked and the sound of voices calling good night drifted over us. We both seemed to realize where we were, and Jake withdrew, slamming the car’s door without another word.

“Y
ou know, you could do a lot worse than Jake Del Vecchio,” Gran commented as we sat watching Julia Roberts play a hooker with a heart of gold on TV later that night.

“I’m sure I could.”
Pretty Woman
was one of Gran’s favorite movies, but I thought the message it gave about women sucked. “But he’s a Mr. Right Now and I want more than that.”

“Sweet Jesus!” Birdie exclaimed. “Do you think you can find a man who’s handsome, charming, witty, well dressed, financially successful, and a romantic lover anytime you decide?”

“No. But it would be nice.” I was amused by Gran’s list. I would settle for someone not leaving town as soon as he got his job back.

“You know, you’ll be thirty soon, and what you look for in a guy will have to change.”

“Really?” I decided two could play matchmaker. “How about when you reach the ripe old age of seventy-five? What do you want then?”

“He needs to be breathing and not miss the toilet when he pees.”

After I stopped laughing, I asked, “Well, Tony Del
Vecchio certainly exceeds your wish list. Heck, he has most of what’s on my list.”

“Some things aren’t meant to be.” Birdie’s voice was sad, and a few minutes later she decided to go to bed.

I had thought about asking Gran about her relationship with Tony back when they were teenagers. Why she had married so soon after he was declared MIA. And why she and Tony hadn’t gotten together after both their spouses had passed away. But I wasn’t ready for any more emotion in my life right then. I would discuss it all with her later—once I was no longer in danger of joining my father behind bars.

The first thing I did when I arrived at work the next morning was call Imagination for an appointment. I stated that Joelle had referred me and I wanted her stylist. For once, luck was shining on me. Sarin had just had a late-afternoon cancellation and she agreed to slip me into that vacant slot.

Saturday was a busy day at Devereaux’s Dime Store, and my weekend clerk, Xylia Locke, and I were kept hopping. Xylia was the complete opposite of my high school helper. While Hannah dressed like a Hello Kitty girl, Xylia wore khakis and sweater sets. Hannah planned to study graphic arts, while Xylia was majoring in business administration. However, both young women were hard workers, intelligent, and loyal to me and the store.

With Xylia’s assistance, I was able to help shoppers locate the items they were searching for, work the soda fountain, and still photograph the baskets for the Athletic Booster Club’s fund-raiser, create the flyers, and e-mail the brochure file to the OfficeMax nearest the Parkside Hotel.

It was three thirty, and I was making what I thought might be the fiftieth hot fudge sundae of the afternoon when I realized that Gran would be by herself overnight. Why I hadn’t thought of this sooner, I’m not sure. Maybe because I hadn’t been away from home since I’d bought the dime store.

Shoot!
Gran would have a hissy fit if she got the notion I had arranged for someone to babysit her, so I couldn’t ask Poppy or Boone to spend the evening. What I needed was a way to make sure she was okay without making it seem I was unwilling to leave her alone.

Hmm.
An idea was forming, but would it work? Handing a bowl of ice cream to the eager ten-year-old customer standing across from me, I put the CLOSED sign on the soda fountain counter and hurried into the back room. It took me a few seconds to find the number, but when I punched it in, Gran’s friend Frieda answered on the first ring.

After identifying myself, and suffering through a few minutes of chitchat, I cut to the chase. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” Frieda’s tone was cautious. She’d worked the midnight shift at the local liquor store for too many years to be overly trusting or optimistic.

“How would you like to go to the Argosy casino in Riverside this afternoon and stay overnight in its hotel? I’ll pay for gas, your room, and stake you a hundred dollars gambling money.”

“What’s the catch?” Frieda had had a hard life; losing a husband before she turned twenty-one and dealing with a no-account son had probably taught her that there was no such thing as a free lunch.

“You take my grandmother with you, but don’t let her know our arrangement. Tell her you won the trip.”

“Why?”

I explained that I had to be out of town, without saying why or with whom, then added, “And I don’t think she should be alone for so long.”

“Birdie is fine. You really don’t have to worry about her, but if it will make you feel better, okay.” Frieda paused. “How should we do this?”

“Call Gran as soon as we hang up and don’t take no for an answer. Tell her you won’t go if she doesn’t come
with you because it won’t be any fun alone.” I swiftly calculated the logistics. “I’ll make your hotel reservation right now and drop the money and your confirmation number off in a half hour or so.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

I thanked Frieda and said good-bye, then got online and booked a double room for her and Gran. Although it was still ten minutes until the store was officially scheduled to close, there were no customers present, so I walked Xylia to the front door and switched off the neon OPEN sign. Once I was alone, I took six twenties from the register for Frieda and two hundred dollars for me before locking the rest of the contents in the safe. Not that there was much left after my pilfering.

I paperclipped Frieda’s money to the reservation printout and stuffed it all into an envelope, then stuck it in my purse. I carefully tucked the remaining cash into my wallet, reserving a fifty, which I stashed in my bra.

With only a few minutes left, I grabbed my tote bag and dashed into the restroom to change clothes. It wasn’t that I cared about being attractive for Jake. Really. But I knew from my days of patronizing upscale hair salons that I needed to look the part of their usual affluent clientele when I arrived for my appointment.

The antique black distressed jeans and scarlet V-neck sweater were the perfect attire for a Saturday afternoon visit to the salon, especially when I added my cropped leather motorcycle jacket. The asymmetrical ruffle-covered zipper gave the jacket a chic flair. Thank goodness I hadn’t gotten rid of
all
my “city” clothes—only the ones that reminded me of the office.

Jake was precisely on time. I met him at the door and hustled him into his truck while explaining, “Sorry to rush you, but we need to run a couple of errands before you take me to the hair salon, and I don’t want to be late for my appointment.”

“No problem.” He backed out of the parking space and asked, “Where to first?”

“White Eagle Trailer Park.” I was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t question me about what we were doing, but wondered why he was so silent.

After I delivered the money and confirmation printout to Frieda and she assured me that Gran had agreed to accompany her to the casino, I settled back into the F-250’s comfy leather seat and gave Jake the address of the OfficeMax. I waited for him to say something about the errands or our mission, or even about my outfit, but he just nodded, put the truck in gear, and headed toward the highway.

His silence as the miles rolled by was beginning to get on my nerves, but when I tried to start a conversation, he responded with only a word or two. The man plainly didn’t want to talk, and that confused me. The previous night at my car, I was sure he was about to kiss me. Now, in the light of day, I wondered if he was regretting his offer to help me.

Between the quiet and the motion of the pickup, I must have dozed off, because I startled awake when he pulled up in front of the OfficeMax. When my eyes opened, I saw that Jake was studying me, his expression impossible to read.

After a few seconds I gave up trying to figure out what he was thinking and said, “I’ll only be a minute.”

“Fine.”

As promised, the flyers were waiting for me. I paid for them and was back in the Ford before my seat got cold. As I settled in, I asked, “Do you know the way to the salon?”

“Yep.”

Why wasn’t he talking? Had I done something wrong? Maybe he was sorry he had agreed to act as if we were a couple.
Grr!
Even if his brooding was about something else, the least he could do was be sociable.

When we pulled up to Imagination, I asked, “Are you coming inside with me?”

He shook his head. “I’ll go take another look at the
hotel before we check in, and be back for you in an hour.”

“Don’t bother.” His impersonal attitude was beyond exasperating and I snapped, “I’ll grab a cab and save you a trip.”

He didn’t respond, just waited for me to get out, then merged smoothly into traffic. I thought I saw him glance in his rearview mirror, but that may have been purely wishful thinking on my part.