Moving Is Murder (21 page)

The room seemed colder. I untied the sleeves of the sweatshirt from around my waist and slipped it on before removing the plastic notebook of photos and credit cards for Joe. I sorted the things into piles—trash, donation, or for Joe to check—but I kept the spiral notebook with a plain red cover. Flicking through the pages, I saw names from the squadron, each followed with a short biographical sketch and sometimes a question or two. I tucked it in my back pocket to look at later.

Back at the closet, I sorted running shoes from heels and boots. Under a pair of cross trainers, I found a fanny pack. I picked it up and tossed it into the pile with the purses, but it was too heavy for the lightweight microfiber material. It landed with a thud. I retrieved it and unzipped the small pouch. A cell phone, a dented Walkman, and a single key fell into my palm.

I punched the power button on the phone and it beeped back at me. I wondered if I could figure out the lock code. The display lit up. No lock code. I should have known Cass wouldn’t use one. Another beep sounded and the words “Two new messages” flashed on the screen. I pushed the button marked with an envelope after studying the phone and put it to my ear.

“Cass, I’m running late. I’ll see you after the coffee.” I recognized the quiet, steady voice as Joe’s. He must have called her Wednesday.

The other message began, “Listen, Cass, this is Brent. I know you’re upset.” Brent? Diana’s husband? Mr. Touchy-feely? “But, well,” he chuckled in a way that seemed to say, “Yeah, I know I’m an ass, but I’m still pretty cute, aren’t I?” The message continued, “But, if you’ll just let me talk to you, I can explain everything. Look for me at the squad tomorrow.” My thoughts raced. “Tomorrow at the squad” had to be at the barbeque. She might have talked with Brent at the barbeque shortly before she died. Brent had left the squad at the same time I did, but he could have placed the wasps in Cass’s van beforehand.

I didn’t want to, but I made myself do it. I marched over to the phone and called Thistlewait. I described why I was at the Vincents’ and the voice mail message. He said he’d be there in a few minutes.

He must have been down the block because he arrived
in about thirty seconds. I opened the door before he could ring the bell. “That was fast.”

He smiled briefly. He pulled on latex gloves, saw my questioning look, and said, “Prints.” Then he took the phone from me. It chirped and the display read, “Low battery. Recharge.” Then it went blank.

Thislewait dropped the phone into a bag he pulled from his windbreaker pocket, then raised his eyebrows at me. “The messages?”

I know men don’t use as many words as women, but jeez, a parrot said more words in a day than this guy had today. I described the messages while Thistlewait jotted notes.

“So have you been able to confirm anyone else’s alibi besides Joe’s?” If he realized I already had a little info, maybe he’d share more info with me.

“Afraid I can’t say. Thanks for your help, Mrs. Avery,” he said and left as quickly as he arrived.

Mitch arrived a few minutes later. It seemed the Vincents’ house was as busy today as a hub airport. “I found your note saying you were over here. How’s it going?” Mitch asked.

“Fine. I’m almost done with her clothes.” I gestured to the pile of trash bags and boxes. “I found Cass’s phone.”

I described the message from Brent. “What do you think Brent did to make Cass mad?”

“Could be anything. It could have nothing to do with her death,” Mitch said in a preoccupied way. He didn’t want to talk about Cass. He was sticking to our avoidance policy as the best way to keep the peace between us.

“I know, but it might. Although, he didn’t sound worried.
Did you see him in the parking lot before he came out with me?”

Mitch paused. “No. I don’t remember anyone but Nick.” He switched gears. “Okay, here’s the plan. I’ll take Livvy with me and set up a pick-up time with Goodwill. You go look for a dress for our date. I’m meeting Jeff to shoot some hoops.” He held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Before you say anything, I’m under strict orders from Abby. She’s already on her way to meet you at our house in fifteen minutes to go shopping. She told me you need a new dress.”

I gave him a quick kiss and headed out. “I’ll be back before her next feeding.” You don’t have to tell me twice to go shopping. And I knew just where I wanted to go.

“I
don’t know.” I twisted around and looked over my shoulder so I could see my back reflected in the dressing room mirror.“It’s kind of revealing.”

“You look great. You should get it. Everyone needs a little black dress,” Abby said from her seat on the plush bench. She put a shimmery blue cocktail dress back on a hanger. We were in a dressing room at Tate’s, a very expensive boutique-type store.

I turned around and faced front again. It wasn’t your typical wear-to-any-occasion black dress that could be dressed up or down with the right combination of heel height and jewelry. This little black dress was little because there was little material involved and that material was cut in a cunning way so that it revealed curves. The material had a deep, almost burgundy, sheen to it when I moved. Totally impractical. “Where else would I
wear this?” I studied my reflection. I really did have cleavage.

“To a nice dinner with your husband.” Abby rolled her eyes. “He told you to go shopping and get something nice.”

It was great to see Abby relaxed. She’d sat silent and slumped on the drive over. I’d asked if she’d heard anything about the investigation.

“No,” she’d snapped, then said, “God. I’m sorry. It’s just so stressful.”

I checked my reflection in the mirror. “I do have that vintage handbag. You know, the black beaded clutch with the amethyst latch. But, I’ll never be able to fill out this dress after I stop breast-feeding Livvy,” I said with a sigh.

“How’s it going?” A cheery voice called out from the other side of the door. “Do you need another size?”

I studied my reflection for a moment more. “No. I’ll take this one.”

I handed over my credit card at the mahogany desk that served as the checkout counter. “This dress is wonderful.” The saleslady’s gray pageboy fell around her face as she tilted her chin down to read the receipt over the half-glasses perched on her nose. She handed over the receipt and a pen, then straightened the bow at the neck of her plain white blouse, above a stiff tweed skirt.

I agreed with her. The door to the store opened, setting off the mechanical chime, and Gwen breezed in carrying a soft leather briefcase, a sheaf of papers, and her purse. “Hello, Alice. Gorgeous day outside.” She sailed past, then paused beside a woman considering her reflection as she held a lightweight summer sweater up under her chin. “Oh, honey, that pale apple green looks spectacular on you. Did you know we’ve got the
cardigan to match? Right here. Makes those green eyes of yours look like emeralds. Here, try it on.” Gwen escorted the woman to the dressing room and then disappeared through a door at the back of the store.

“That was Gwen Givens?”

Alice put on a tight smile and said, “Yes. The manager.” She handed me my dress on a hanger and I wandered back to the dressing rooms where Abby was trying on pants.

Gwen passed me on the way to the desk, but didn’t look at me. “Alice. Here’s the new schedule. Now about the next shipment, it’s due Friday. It has some stunning suits. They’re going to fly out the store, so you’d better call Mrs. Hampton. You know how fussy she is if we don’t have her size in the store.” Her words faded as I checked on Abby in the dressing room. A perky teenager with extremely short, curly red hair and an eyebrow ring stood next to her.

“Those look fabulous,” she gushed. “Your butt looks great in those pants.” Abby turned in front of the mirror again. I hid a smile. Tate’s seemed to be the type of place that would frown on conversations about butts, but the young saleswoman,
HEATHER
her name tag read, kept raving about the fit of the pants.

Gwen passed the door to the dressing room and Heather fell silent. I sat down on a bench. Alice walked in and collected the clothes from my dressing room.

Heather said, so quietly I could hardly hear her, to Alice, “I see Miss-High-and-Mighty is back.”

Alice gave a curt nod, flung the last dress over her arm, and left.

Abby said, “I’m going to try the navy ones again,” and shut her door. Heather checked the other dressing rooms. Alice didn’t look like she would talk about
Gwen, but maybe Heather would. I still hadn’t found out what Cass knew about Gwen, but maybe her coworkers could shed some light on Gwen’s personality.

“What’s it like to work for Gwen?” I asked.

Heather popped out of a dressing room, more than ready to talk instead of work.

“I just met her through my husband’s work, but I’ve heard some interesting things about her.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Well, she is a little odd. I can see why people would talk about her.” Heather lowered her voice to a whisper. “Odd?”

“She’s worked here just as long as Alice and she’s never once taken a day of vacation. Something like three years. Can you imagine?”

“No.”

“Yeah. Alice was excited to meet someone else from Illinois, but Gwen won’t talk about her family there. In fact,” Heather’s voice was barely audible and I had to strain to hear her, “Alice says there was some sort of scandal and Gwen won’t even speak to her parents.”

“Really?” It seemed Heather only needed one-word responses to keep her talking.

“They’re one of those old, rich families that always had their picture in the paper for society stuff, so Alice recognized her.”

“Miss High-and-Mighty?” This was more than one word, but it kept the information flowing.

“Yes.” Heather nodded her head to emphasize her point. “Gwen’s about to get a big promotion, regional manager. Alice works just as hard, but Gwen is more what Tate’s wants people to think they’ll look like if they shop here. That classy, old money look.” Heather pulled up the sleeves of her orange form-fitting top.
She definitely wasn’t going for that old money look. Heather obviously thought Alice was getting a raw deal. Nothing like competition in the workplace to create animosity and shake some gossip loose. “Do you know Gwen’s husband?”

“The military dude? Sure.” Heather fiddled with the row of pierced earrings that ranged from her lobe to the top of her ear. “He stops in sometimes.”

“Have you seen her meeting with another man besides her husband?”

“No.” She sorted through the clothes she held and then stopped. “But she does get these weird phone calls. A man asking for her. If she’s not here, he hangs up.”

“Have there been a lot of calls?”

“No, just a few in the last few weeks.”

Abby emerged from the dressing room. “I’m getting the navy and the khaki.”

“See, I told you your butt looked great in those,” Heather said triumphantly and led Abby to the checkout.

I stood to follow them out. If Gwen was having an affair, she sure was sloppy. Jill, I was sure, would deny Gwen was involved with another man. Steven and Gwen had seemed genuinely happy at the squadron barbeque, but I guess anyone could put up a good front. And then there was the DVD player. It
had
been in her trash can.

I flicked my plastic-shrouded dress over my shoulder and stopped dead in the dressing room doorway. Gwen blocked my path. “What is it with you?” Even though her voice was the same, husky, her words were clipped. She continued without waiting for my reply. “What are you doing here?”

She kept the volume of her voice down, but she was breathing loudly and her fists were clenched at her sides. She looked like she’d been interrupted in the middle of her kickboxing workout. The dressing area was empty, making her soft words even more threatening.

“Shopping. I needed a dress,” I said evenly.

“Why do you keep asking questions? Jill told me you asked about me. And now you’re back here whispering with my employees.” Her volume increased and heads swiveled in our direction. “Well, I won’t have it. You talk to me if you want to know something.” Her anger seemed to dry up her gushy, I’m-your-friend sales patter. She was strictly business now.

“Fine. What did Cass know about you that she was talking about at the barbeque?”

Gwen’s anger contracted. She briefly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She thought I was having an affair, which is
not true.”
She gouged the air with her finger to emphasize her last words.

“Well, who were you meeting in LaMont’s parking lot a few days ago when it was raining? I saw you.”

Gwen swallowed quickly. Her anger surged back. Her cheeks flushed. “None of your damn business. Now get out of my store.”

“Feisty as ever, aren’t you, Gwen?” The speaker, a man in a leather bomber jacket and jeans with intense green eyes in a tanned face, stood behind Gwen. Her face went pale and she stood motionless for a moment. Then she braced herself and turned toward the man. He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her on the cheek. “Still as beautiful as always, too.”

Gwen stiffly moved out of his casual embrace. “What do you want?”

“Just to see you and Zoë. You’ve been looking for
me, haven’t you?” Gwen and the man had forgotten about me. I was still in the dressing room doorway and couldn’t get past Gwen.

“Don’t think for a minute you can walk in and pick up where you left off with me and Zoë. I knew you’d do this someday. I’m not going to let it happen.”

“Gwen.” He shook his head, mildly scolding, “You’ve always been too uptight. It’s not about Zoë. It’s about you keeping control. Now, don’t say anything you might regret.” There was a hint of a threat under his easy manner. “I think you’ll come around to my way. But we’re getting started all wrong. You haven’t even asked what I’ve been doing. Don’t you want to know?”

Apparently, Gwen felt the uneasiness, the vague hint of threat, because she didn’t order him out like she had me. She shrugged a shoulder.

He smiled again, his white teeth contrasting with his tan skin. “I’ve been taking pictures. You’ve probably even seen some of them without knowing it.” That thought seemed to amuse him. “Ever pick up
Newsweek? USA Today?
I’m freelance. It suits me. Hopping from one hot spot to another.”