Murder on Consignment (10 page)

He shrugged. I continued, “You were going to meet her at the Retro around six, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“You were the first one on the scene. Did you notice anything unusual about the place when you got there?”

He inhaled deeply and looked downward. “No, everything seemed normal until I got to the office.”

“How’d you get in?”

“I used my key.”

That’s right. I forgot
that Tanner worked for Shep, also. “Did Pauline have any enemies?”

“No. Absolutely not. Everyone liked her.”

“I’m wondering if she mentioned anything to you about an envelope she found in one of the books at the shop.”

He looked up s
uddenly. “Why? Do you think it had something to do with her death?”

“I don’t know, maybe. What was it? Did she tell you about it?”

“I called her earlier that day and she said she’d found an envelope with some sort of legal document in an old book.”

“What type of legal document?” I could hardly contain myself.

“I don’t know for sure. She started to tell me, but the she had to take care of a customer.”

My hopes fell. “What did she say exactly, Tanner? Think. It could be really important.”

“Not much. I had just called her to see if we were still on for dinner that night. Like I said, she was busy. We didn’t talk long.”

“Did she say anything else about the document? Anything at all?”

“Well, she must have thought it was important. She said she’d tried to call the owner.”

“Did she say who that was?” I pressed.

“No, like I said, she had to go. I just figured she’d tell me about it at dinner.”

“What time was
it when you talked to her?”

“Around
four-thirty or so. She told me she’d be there until six finishing up some paperwork.”

That
jived with what Owen said about Shep calling and asking her to work late.

I shook my head. I had too many open ends to tie up. It seemed the more I found out, the more I didn’t understand.

On the way home, I mulled over the facts. Every conclusion I came to pointed at one of the Farrells as the killer. My best guess was James Farrell. Any guy that keeps a mistress for over twenty years, let’s her die alone, and doesn’t even take responsibility for his own son … well, that’s the murdering type. No doubt about it. He was the first suspect on my list.

By the time I reached my apartment, I was brain dead. Deciding to give the case a rest, I got busy checking my on-line payment accounts. I had several auctions that were due to finish and I was anxious to see how high the bids had gone. I was giddy with excitement when I
found one of my children’s clothing lots went for thirty-eight bucks. To top things off, the buyer was an instant payer. Yay for me!

I decided to celebrate by stirring up a batch of brownies. While they were baking, I sent out the rest of my invoices and start
ed photographing next week’s sales—which were looking bleak. I needed to get ahold of some more merchandise, but since I’d volunteered my time at the garage sale, my scavenging time would be limited this week.

Twenty minutes later, I pulled the brownies out of the oven. They were still a lit
tle soft in the middle, which was just the way I liked them. I spooned some out of the pan, popped the steamy goo into my mouth, and relished the chocolate bliss.

Shep would love some of
these, I thought, wrapping tinfoil over the pan and grabbing a couple of clean spoons. If I hurried, they’d still be warm by the time I reached the hospital.

On the way out, I grabbed my bag and an extra warm hoodie, then stopped dead in my tracks. Sarah Maloney was standing just outside my door.

Chapter 13

“Phillipena,” she purred. “I was just coming to visit with you. Is this a bad time?” Before I could reply, she pushed past me and made her way into my apartment. She seemed like a woman on a mission.

“I won’t be here long,” she said, brushing an invisible speck of dirt off her coat and looking around my apartment with an unmistakable look of disgust.

As usual, we were a vision of contrasts. She, a walking billboard of popular fashion, was wearing a
n expensive quilted, knee-length jacket and a pricey pair of leather boots. I, on the other hand, was wearing sweat pants and fleece hoodie that I had pulled off the floor this morning.

“Actually, Sarah,” I began,
“I have an appointment, so can we make this some other time?”

She wheeled around and faced me. Her
expression darkened and her voice dropped its sweet cantor. “We need to talk.”

“About what?”

“Sean.”

“What about him?”

“I want you to stay away from him.” 

Was she seriou
s? Certainly she realized how immature this conversation sounded. She was acting like a high school girl.

“Did you hear me? I said, stay away from Sean!” As if to em
phasize her point, she moved closer to me. In fact, she was close enough for me to see the tiny clumps of mascara at the ends of her lashes. She really needed to switch mascaras. I’d used the pink and green tube for years and rarely had trouble with clumps.

“Look, Sarah,” I said, placing my hand on her chest in an attempt to keep her at bay. “I don’t know what you think is going on, but—”

“I know what’s going on. Do you honestly think you can compete with me?  You … you …,” she was looking me up and down as she searched for the right word, “you slut!”

I broke into hysterical laughter. “Slut?” I asked. “Slut? You’ve got to be kidding!”

I’d been called a lot of things before but never a slut. Little did this woman know, but I was currently enduring a dry spell that was … well, very dry.

Before I could even come up with a good retort, she was in my face, her bloodshot, clumpy-lash framed eyes boring into mine. “Stay away from him or you’ll be sorry,” she hissed.  

And with that she stomped out, her heavily booted feet causing my rickety steps to groan in protest.

I stood motionless for a few seconds thinking
back to my conversation with Officer Wagoner a few days ago. She warned me that Sarah Maloney had become obsessed with Sean. Who would think it? On the outside, Sarah had everything, but on the inside she was one messed-up woman.

I took a deep breath, shrugged it off and moved along. Sure, Sarah was a psycho witch, but I had bigger things to worry about. Namely, tending to my sick friend. I was anxious to see Shep. I wanted to catch him up on my progress, or lack thereof. I also wanted to make up for my weak behavior the other day. This time, I vowed, I’d be rock stro
ng. Shep needed my support and I intended to be there for him.

*

I walked into his room as his parents were leaving. They nodded politely, but didn’t stop to introduce themselves or even speak to me. Probably for the best; they weren’t high on my favorite people list.

Although Shep didn’t look any worse than he did a few days ago, his appearance still took my breath away; but I sucked it up and put on a happy face.

He brightened when he saw me. “Hey there, come on over,” he said patting the edge of his bed.

I sat next to him, opening the brownies and handing him a spoon. “Want some?”

His eyes lit up. “Sure do, doll. You know, I haven’t had much appetite, but these look good.”

We savored a few
chocolaty spoonfuls before he got down to business. “So, tell me what you’ve learned about Pauline.”

Trying not to dwell on the weakness of his voice, I pl
unged ahead, telling him what I’d found, which didn’t amount to much.

“So you really think
one of the Farrells has something to do with all this?” he asked, after I told him my suspicions.

“I’m certain of it. I’m starting with James Farrell
. Did you know Pauline found a document in one of the books from the Sokolov estate?”

“A document? What type of document?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m not even sure if it’s the reason she was killed.”

“Did you ask around about it?”

“I talked to Tanner and Owen. They didn’t seem to know much about it.”

“So, what’s next
?” He was pulling himself up and reaching for the water cup on the nearby table.

“I’ll get that.” I refilled the cup and held it below his mouth, bending the straw to make drinking easier. “I’m working
with Morgan Farrell this week at the St. Joan’s garage sale. She’s James Jr.’s wife. I’m hoping to get closer with the family and maybe pick up some more information.”

Shep nodded and then smiled at someone over my shoulder. I turned and saw Sean standing in the doorway.

I stood up, surprised. “Sean. What are you doing here?”

He looked just as surprised as me. An awkward feeling settled over the room.

“Come in, Detective.”

“I’m here to ask Shep a few more questions,” Sean answered.

“Is this necessary? Can’t you see he’s not feeling up to it?”

Shep grabbed my hand and gave it a little squeeze. “Take an easy, hon. There’s a few things I need to talk to him about too.”

I searched Shep’s face. “Like what?” I asked, suddenly feeling defensive. I knew what was going on. Shep didn’t think I was capable of finding the truth about Pauline’s murderer so he was calling in the big guns.

I glared at Sean who was still hovering in the doorway.

“It’s not what you think, doll. So, don’t go getting all mad and upset. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to speak to Sean in private. Will you come back soon?”

I bent down and kissed him
on the cheek. “Of course,” I said soothingly, before heading toward the door. My plan was to breeze past Sean without giving him the time of day; but he grabbed me as I was passing. “Wait for me down the hall. I’ll only be a few minutes. I need to talk to you,” he pleaded. I couldn’t bring myself to say no.

A few minutes later, he found me just as I
was about to retrieve a candy bar from a vending machine.

“Are you hungry? We could go for pizza.”

My heart did a little pitter-patter. On the surface, there were several reasons going out with Sean sounded like a great idea. One, I was at a dead end in my fact searching and he hopefully had information I could use. Two, it was already past my usual dinner time; and thanks to Doris’s magic fingers, I no longer needed to worry about extra calories. The obnoxious pumpkin colored dress was fitting fine. Three, I would love to stick it to Sarah. Her little warning about staying away from Sean didn’t sit well with me. It seemed like a challenge and being the competitive woman I was, a dinner out with Sean would be one more point for my team. And last, but not at all least, seeing him still gave me a tingly feeling, as wrong as it was to feel that way about a practically married man.

However, despite all these reasons, I was determined to take the high road.

“What exactly do we need to discuss? Something about the case or something about us?” I asked, in my most mature voice.

“Both.”

Hmm
. “Do you think going out for dinner is a good idea, considering?”

“Considering what?”

“Your fiancé?”

He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. I have to admit, I was starting to feel a little disgusted with the whole Sean situation. He was toying with me, again. Three years of dating and he never could commit to anything serious. Then he broke off our quasi
-relationship because I went out a few times with another guy? Here he was doing the same thing; only
he
was supposed to be engaged.

I drew in a deep breath waiting for him to come up with a good answer but he just kept shifting. As disgusted as I was, reason one and four won out. I needed information and well…that tingly feeling
was
hard to ignore.

“You know what,” I started. “I
am
a little hungry, why don’t you just follow me to the cafeteria. I’m going to grab a quick bite and we can discuss things down there.” I smiled inwardly at my suggestion which, in my opinion, sounded very levelheaded. Plus, dinner in a hospital cafeteria could hardly be called a date.

One awkward elevator ride later, we were in the hospital’s basement cafeteria, foraging through o
ur dinner selection which we’d carried on plastic trays to our white-top table. Hospital cafeterias reminded me of my grade school cafeteria. And that was a good thing; lunch was always my favorite period of the day.

As a tribute to my grade school’s cafeteria, I bypassed the soft drink dispenser and chose two small cartons of milk—one white, and one chocolate. Just like old times, I skipped the straws and drank
straight from the rough cardboard opening.

Sean started talking about his visit with Shep.
“Cancer is such a horrible disease,” he said, unwrapping a ham and cheese on whole wheat. “I know how close you and Shep are, Pippi. I’m sorry that this is happening to him.”

“Thanks. He’s
much braver than I would be. He seems to have come to terms with everything.” I paused to unwrap my own sandwich. “Why did he want to see you?” I asked, wanting to change the subject before I got too emotional.

“He wanted an update on Pauline’s case among other things.”

“Like what?”

“We had a
long talk about you. Seems he wants me to keep you safe.”

“You don’t need
to babysit me, Sean. I can take care of myself.”

He smirked and shoved in another
bite of his sandwich before moving on to his fruit salad.

“Did you find out if the Westmont police found anything on Shep’s laptop?” I asked, loading a fry with ketchup.

“Yup. There was an inventory list from the Sokolov estate. They purchased several items from A to Z a couple days prior to Pauline’s death,” he replied, stealing a fry from my plate.

“I told you there’s a connection.”

He shook his head and reached over to swipe some of my ketchup. “It may prove a connection to A to Z Estate Sales, but not to the Farrells. We’re taking another look at the auction house.”

“What about books? What books were inventoried? Russian books?”

“The inventory list was general. Books were listed, but nothing specific. No descriptions and no mention of foreign books.”

I paused, considering this new information. If only Pauline had been more specific. I needed a connection between the book in JimDog’s den and the books at
both The Classy Closet and the Retro Metro. I briefly considered telling Sean about the envelope Pauline found, but I knew while to me it was sure-fire evidence; to him it wouldn’t sound like much.

“Will
you let me know if you find anything else at A to Z?” I finally asked.

“If I can. Shep said that Pauline’s funeral is tomorrow morning,” he commented, quickly changing the subject. “Are you going?”

I squirmed with guilt. I should go. She was a friend. “I don’t think so. I had a prior commitment.” 

“What type of commitment?”

“I’m helping at the St. Joan’s garage sale. We’re sorting and marking tomorrow.”

“St. Joan’s? Why? That’s not your parish.”

“Uh, I’m helping my sister, Mary Frances.” I didn’t mention that I was working with Morgan Farrell and intended on using her to get closer to the Farrell clan. Sean probably wouldn’t approve.

“Oh. I see.” Then he suddenly smiled. “Guess that means you’ll be too busy to do much more checking around this week, huh?” 

I smiled back. “Right. So, you shouldn’t worry about babysitting me. I’ll be safe and sound at the parish.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

We ate in silence for a few minutes, before he spoke up. “Actually, I don’t mind babysitting you.”

It was a flirtatious remark and for some reason it really ticked me off.

“You know, Sean, I’m tired of this. We dated for a long time and you said you loved me, but you never made any serious commitments. Then, mostly just to make you jealous, I went out on a couple of dates with some guy—”

“A murderer.”

“True. But the point is that you completely dumped me over it. You felt betrayed. Then you started going out with Sarah, who, by the way, you had been secretly friends with while we were dating. Now you two are engaged.” Glancing around, I noticed I was drawing an audience and lowered my voice. “And, now you’re flirting with me?”

“You’re right,” he said, looking pitifully sad, but I kept on ranting.

“You’re getting ready to marry Sarah. Why are you doing this?”

“No, I’m not.”