Loose Lips (17 page)

“When did you start locking the back
door?”

I looked over my shoulder at Betty.
“Today.”

“Hmm.”

I stood with the door open, but neither man
entered. I took that as a bad sign. “Did you need something?” I
asked.

Peter glanced at Klein and stepped back.

The Chicago detective moved into his place
like a menacing fog. “Do you mind if we come inside, Ms. Mathews?
You are open for business?”

Behind me, Betty mumbled something.

I ignored her.

“Of course. Are you interested in antiques,
Detective?” I knew that wasn’t why he was here, but Betty was
making me jumpy. Well, more jumpy than I would have been anyway.
Police other than Peter and George showing up at my shop tended to
make me a little jumpy.

The two strolled inside. Peter shot me a
look as he walked past. His lips were pressed tightly together. A
little too tightly.

He was annoyed. With me? Klein? Or
something/someone else altogether?

Feeling a bit more relaxed, I followed them
to the front where Klein began “browsing.” His hands were in his
pockets the entire time, but his eyes seemed to touch every item in
my shop, even a few things that I’d forgotten I had.

He pointed to a horsehair hat band. “Do you
mind?”

I forced myself not to look at Peter. “Of
course not.”

Klein picked the item up, pinched between
index finger and thumb, analyzed it for a moment, and then set it
back down.

He repeated the request and action with a
number of other items, all of them long, thin and flexible.

Eventually, I did glance at Peter. His mouth
had softened, and his face had taken on its usual impenetrable
expression.

Things were, I guessed, going well.

After ten minutes or so of Klein’s
“shopping,” the Chicagoan stopped by Darrell’s open boxes. “Get
some new merchandise?”

I explained that the items were on loan for
my upcoming window display.

“Hmm.” He peered down into the depths of
each box as if he could see anything past the mass of old newspaper
and the few items I had pulled free of it.

“I could—” Something whacked me in the back.
Startled, I glanced over my shoulder to see Peter looking back at
me, the picture of innocence.

Klein’s gaze washed over us, taking in Betty
too, who’d decided to scowl at me for some reason. “I could?”

“Um... come back after I get everything
unpacked and set up in the window.” Seeing Betty’s expression
soften, I smiled and, with new confidence, continued, “Darrell
loaned me some great things. There’s a painting too...” Realizing I
hadn’t seen the painting, I glanced around. There was no box big
enough to hold it. I hoped Joe hadn’t left it out back too. If it
had been stolen, Darrell would lose no time in holding me
responsible.

“I might do that.” Klein waited, maybe to
see if I had more to say, but, distracted by the missing painting,
I didn’t.

“Well,” he said. “I guess we’ll be going.
For now.”

I smiled again, but weaker. “Yes, for now.
Like I said, I’ll give you a buzz when the display is done. I have
your number.” I tried to sound cheerful, but the detective only
grunted and walked out the back door.

Peter stayed behind, but only for a moment
and only to stare at me in a way that said both a lot and nothing.
Or at least nothing I could decipher. Then, as if worried he would
break and actually speak a word or two, he spun on his cowboy heel
and stalked out.

“Well, that...” Betty exclaimed, dropping
onto the loveseat. “... was a close one.”

I collapsed onto the cushion beside her.
“Yes, it was.”

A moment of silence passed.

I tapped the loveseat’s wooden arm. “Uh, but
close to what?”

Betty raised both brows. “Arrest?”

“For what?”

“Murder.”

I waved my hand.
That old thing
. “I
figured that, but more specifically,
why
was Klein here?”
I’d decided Peter was here to watch Klein, or me, or both. I’d have
to ask him later which... maybe. Or maybe I’d let that sleeping
malamute of a question lie.

Realizing she hadn’t shared whatever nugget
of information she’d had before Klein and Peter arrived, Betty sat
up. “Someone called the tip line and said you had the murder
weapon.”

“And how, exactly, do you know that?”

“I was at the station. I might have
forgotten to pay a parking ticket or two.”

Last I’d checked, parking tickets weren’t
paid at the police station, but I wasn’t one to pry.

“And as you know, little pitchers...” She
ran a hand down her petite body. “Have big ears.”

“You overheard something?”

She nodded. “Some people seemed to think the
call was a waste of time. Others didn’t.”

Obviously, Klein was in the “didn’t.” I had
to hope Peter was in the “was.”

With that cleared up, I shifted back to her
original revelation. “So, they were here looking for the murder
weapon? But they didn’t get a warrant?”

She shrugged. “They couldn’t have. They just
got the call.”

“So he came hoping to find something without
it?”

“I guess.” Then she added the unnecessary.
“He may be back. You should call Gregor.”

Since each time I picked up the phone for my
attorney it cost me $100, I let her advice sit for a bit. Klein had
left, after all, and he obviously hadn’t found anything, or he
wouldn’t have left, not without me in cuffs beside him.

After Klein and Peter left, I took a short
break to run next door to Joe’s. I was hoping he had the painting,
or would at least tell me it hadn’t been delivered. I also still
needed to share my news about the interview that I’d lined up for
him with Bev. But when I got there, the coffee shop was locked up
tight.

I wandered into Pegasus Books for Rhonda’s
take.

“He never closes in the middle of the day
like this,” I commented.

Unpacking some boxes of her own, she
shrugged. “He’s had to cut back. He’s let almost all of his help
go. If he has an errand to run, what else is he going to do?”

It was sad, but she was right. Joe’s
business had gotten so bad it had been weeks since I’d seen any of
the cute college–aged boys that usually worked there.

Not that I had any interest in college–aged
boys, of course.

I was busy digging through a stack of old
Dog Lovers
magazines when Rhonda interrupted me. “Isn’t
that one of the Cuties? I think she’s going into your store.”

Sure enough Rachel Sanders bounced down the
street in shorts way too short for the weather and a bright pink
Cuties
t–shirt.

Ugh, what if Joe came back and saw
her?
Panicked that he’d think I’d betrayed him, I rushed out
of Pegasus Books without saying goodbye and into Dusty Deals.

Rachel was there, looking around as if she’d
been dropped into some foreign land. Betty stood behind the
counter, more than a little wary.

As I entered, Rachel turned. “There you are.
I hadn’t heard anything about the website, so I thought I’d drop
by.” She wandered a few steps until her turquoise tennis shoe hit
one of Darrell’s boxes. “Did you get some new merchandise?”

After glancing out the front window to check
for signs of Joe, I moved forward, forcing Rachel a bit deeper into
the store as I did. Once I was comfortable that Joe wouldn’t spy
her with a casual glance through our front window, I replied,
filling her in on the window display contest and my good luck at
getting Darrell to loan me a few things.

“That is lucky. I don’t know much about
Helena history or the Deeres, but Ruby sounds fascinating.” She
reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a handful of bunched
up old newspaper.

The smell of mildew filled the space around
us.

“Oh.” She dropped the newspaper. “I guess
this hasn’t been gone through in a while.”

I frowned and dug deeper into the box. More
mildew. It appeared Darrell had decided to unload at least one
extra box filled with mismatched old jelly glasses and chipped
cereal bowls.

“Were those Ruby’s?” Rachel asked with
obvious disbelief.

I shoved the blue bowl I was holding back
into the box. “No. There seems to have been some mix up.”
Mix
up, my ass
. Darrell did this on purpose. I thought we’d gotten
past our previous “issues,” but it appeared not.

“Maybe that’s why there’s no painting,”
Betty offered.

Rachel tilted her head. “Painting?”

Lured out of my funk by the opportunity to
talk more about Ruby, I described the painting to Rachel and just
how wonderful it was going to look in my window.

“If someone didn’t steal it.” Betty
again.

Rachel’s eyes widened. “Steal it? Did
someone break in?” She looked around again and nodded, as if what
she was seeing now made sense.

Shoving a stray plastic bag under the
loveseat with my toe, I replied, “No. It’s just that the painting
wasn’t delivered, and we found the other boxes outside in the
alley.” I explained how a “neighbor” had gotten the boxes by
mistake and nicely dropped them off for me.

“That is nice... as long as it isn’t the
kind of neighbor who might...” She tilted her head and made a
face.

“Joe would never!” I exclaimed, completely
forgetting that I had been trying to avoid mentioning exactly
which
neighbor had done the good deed.

Rachel, however, seemed to take it in
stride. “Oh, Joe, from Cuppa Joe’s? I’ve heard nothing but good
things about him.” She paused for a second, then added. “For the
most part.”

I shot an alarmed look at Betty. She batted
her eyelashes and calmly said, “I didn’t realize
anyone
had an issue with Joe.”

Rachel turned as if she’d forgotten Betty
was there. “Oh, it isn’t that anyone had an issue with him. It’s
that he had an issue with us.” She lifted one shoulder.
“Competition and all that.”

I didn’t like the direction this was going,
but as Joe’s friend, I had to hear the worst. It was the only way I
was going to be able to help him.

“What did he do?”

“Well...” She glanced around as if unsure
she should be sharing. “I heard he was going through our Dumpster,
which is just...” She scrunched up her face.

“Maybe he dropped something in it,” I
offered. Weak, but all I had.

Rachel’s look said she agreed with me, about
the weak part.

“He took bags out and put them in his car.”
She shivered as if she’d just touched the trash herself.

“That is odd.”

Betty nodded in agreement, adjusted herself
on her stool and asked, “What do you think was in the bags that
he’d want?”

Rachel hesitated, then laughed. “Who knows?
Maybe our coffee brand. Although if he’d asked, Missy would have
told him. She wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.”

This perked my interest. “Really? What kind
of secrets did she have?”

Rachel’s face straightened. “Just things
about the business. Our suppliers and such. You might not think the
coffee business is cutthroat, but with Joe going through our trash,
those women picketing us and then Missy getting killed... It
obviously is. I just don’t know who I can trust.” Her eyes got
round and moist, like a tear could fall from one of her perfect
lashes at any moment.

I pulled in a breath and tried not to resent
the ease with which she pulled the wounded beauty thing off. When I
tried it, I wound up looking and sounding as if I’d had a head cold
for four months.

Betty, not as distracted as I by Rachel’s
perfection, chimed in. “Are you thinking of closing?”

“What? No! Why would you think that? Is
someone saying we’re closing?” Her annoyance obvious, she looked
from Betty to me.

We both shook our heads.

She smiled and relaxed. “I’m sorry. It’s
just been so stressful trying to keep everything going. Missy was
really the boss. She made all the decisions and now, I have to.”
More of the wounded beauty.

“But business is still good.” It was a
combination statement and question on my part.

“Very good,” Rachel agreed. “Better,
actually, than ever.”

I hadn’t thought the lines at the kiosk
could get any longer, and actually I hadn’t noticed that they had,
but maybe the Cuties were moving cars through more quickly now or
maybe I just hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“And that,” Rachel announced, “reminds me
that I have a business to run.” She glanced at her cell phone and
turned toward the door.

“Wait,” I called out. “I thought you wanted
to see what Betty has done on the site.” I didn’t know if Betty had
done anything on the site, but I wanted Rachel to stay a bit
longer, maybe while I went to check on Joe and keep him busy while
Betty snuck Rachel out the back.

Rachel, however, was in a hurry. She waved
off my offer. “I’m sure it’s great. I’ll stop by again in a couple
of days.” She headed out the front door and turned right, the same
direction as Cuppa Joe’s.

I resisted the urge to step outside behind
her, just to make sure she made it past Joe’s undetected.

“Check your reed enough times and it will
split for sure,” Betty offered.

With a grunt, I sat down on the loveseat and
stared at her.

I spent the rest of the day stalking Joe’s
and unpacking moldy newspaper. I still had a number of boxes to go
through, but with the painting missing, it was all I could think
about.

“Call him,” Betty suggested.

“Darrell?” I shook my head, vehemently. I
didn’t want Darrell to know that the painting was missing until I
was sure it hadn’t been delivered.

I really needed to talk to Joe.

Deciding to do a combo trip, I stuffed a
trash bag full of the newspaper and headed to the Dumpster. I was
reaching for the lid when I saw Joe coming out of the back of his
shop.