Murder on Consignment (3 page)

I checked my cell phone for any new voice mails. None. I dialed Shep’s number and left another message. This time, I let my annoyance come through the phone. I’m sure he was just at home trying to recover from whatever
bug he had, or maybe he decided to take an impromptu vacation; but still, I was one of his best friends. What would it take to return my call? I needed to warn him that Sean was looking for him.

The thought
of which made me angry again. How could Sean ever suspect Shep of anything criminal, let alone something to do with murder? Here’s a guy that ran away from an abusive situation as a teen, grew up on the streets with nothing, turned his life around and was now owner of the Retro Metro, one of the hottest consignment shops in the city. Shep also used his success to help wayward kids. He hired dozens of runaways, paid them well and helped them get the counseling they needed to turn their lives around. He was an all-around good guy. There’s no way he would ever hurt anyone. I simple had to figure a way to convince Sean of Shep’s innocence. It was time to find out more about Jane Reynolds.

If I’d
learned anything as a used merchandiser, it was that people’s cast-outs spoke volumes about their personal lives. For example, go through the garbage of a young family and you’ll find out-grown clothing, used up toys, and other remnants indicative of a growing family. A garbage with lots of take-out bags and Styrofoam Starbucks cups usually belonged to a young single person; and, the dumpsters on the college campus…well, needless to say, those kids aren’t spending
all
their time studying. Point being, if you want to know something about someone, go through their garbage.

Chapter 5

I felt a bit uneasy as I pulled into the parking lot of The Classy Closet. For a second, I considered abandoning my mission, but I knew if I wanted to get to the bottom of things I needed to find out more about Jane Reynolds.

As if on cue, the sun dipped low on the horizon, cas
ting long shadows across the pavement as I eased my car next to the security fence that surrounded the dumpster. Using my station wagon as a step stool, I clambered up the windshield and made my way to the top of the car. I cringed when I heard a few metallic popping sounds under my feet, but I didn’t let it deter me. By stretching onto my tip-toes, I was able to get a firm enough grasp to hoist my upper body onto the top-edge of the fence. I teetered there for a moment, catching my breath, before swinging my legs up and over.

I landed with a thud on the other side, my palms acquiring a few splinters from the maneuver. Looking up, I was proud of my ninja-lik
e prowess until I realized I hadn’t planned for a way out. Lucky for me there were several wooden pallets stacked next to the dumpster. I’d have to use them to fabricate a make-shift ladder. No problem.

The sky was growing dark; I’d need
ed to work quickly. I surveyed the giant container. The left lid was open with stacks of folded cardboard boxes protruding from its depths.

By utilizing a couple of the pallets
, I was up and into the dumpster in no time at all. At first glance I saw the usual: empty boxes, waded up plastic bags, broken hangers, shredded papers, and…oh…a beautiful black sequined purse. The dainty shoulder strap was broken, but heck, I could just take the strap off. It’d make a great little clutch. Wow, what a find!

Momentarily forgetting my mission, I began rooting around for more resalable treasures. In the corner, I found a partially opened box. Peering inside I was surprised to see several hard-cover books. Weird. Jane didn’t sell books, just clothing and accessories. What were these doing here?

Turning the box on its side, I saw the word Sokolov—the same as marked on the bags in Jane’s office. I wondered if I’d been wrong about the bags being brought in by a consigner; Jane probably picked up these items at an estate sale. A lot of consigners shop estate sales. I even go to them every once in a while, but only when I’m desperate—it gives me the heebies to buy dead people’s stuff.

I thought about it for
a moment. Jane, the owner, probably hit an estate sale and purchased a large lot of clothing and accessories. This box must have been mixed in with the lot by mistake. So, instead of trying to return these books, she disposed of them.

I began going through the box, shining my light on each spine. The books were in good shape, leather bound, and written in a fore
ign language. I could tell they were somewhat valuable. I could definitely make a good profit selling them on-line.

On the other hand, may
be this was the connection I’d been looking for. Was there some sort of tie between the Sokolov estate and Jane Reynolds’ murder? I remembered that the clothing bags in Jane’s office were disheveled, as if someone had packed them in a hurry. I was rethinking that now. Could it have been that someone was searching through them? If so, what would be so valuable—valuable enough to kill for—in a bag of used clothing? Perhaps this was the type of connection Sean was hoping I’d make.

I flipped open my cell. Darn, no rece
ption. Well, maybe I could run the box over to the precinct.

I was
trying to figure out how to get the books out of the dumpster when the sirens started. They seemed to be coming from everywhere. North, south, east…then there were lights. I looked through the top of the dumpster and could see the darkening sky lit up in red and blue.

“Police. Don’t move!” I dropped the box and straightened up, raising my hands above my head. A giant strobe light flooded through the slats of the fence creating tiny dissecting lines that danced throughout the dumpster.

“Don’t shoot,” I tried to yell, but my voice came out in a dry whisper. I could feel all the blood draining down to my feet, making my ears whiz and my head spin. I kept my hands up even though they felt like two concrete blocks.

Then,
I heard the scraping of steel on steel as the cops popped the chain that locked and secured the fence around the dumpster. The gate swung open with a shattering thud, followed by the sound of a dozen footsteps.

“Don’t move,” the deep voice ordered again. Little did he know, I was too scared to move.

I heard something scraping the concrete outside and then a clanking noise on the side of the dumpster. They must have been using something to climb up.

I stood ram-rod still, my eyes squeezed shut, trying to figure out how I was going to explain being inside this dumpster.

“What are you doing here?” I immediately recognized the squeaky little voice. I flipped open my eyes and saw Officer Wagoner staring at me over the barrel of her gun. “Hold it guys. I know this woman,” she said, holstering her gun and waving off the officers that must have been positioned and ready outside the dumpster.

Officer Wagoner reached down and offered her hand. Reluctantly, I allowed her to pull me out. Once outside, I attempted to explain to her why I was in the dumpster, but she told me to keep quiet and wait inside her cruiser. I was still there a half hour later when Sean arrived. He leaned in so we were face to face. “
Pippi?” he said, his voice low and his eyes searching for an explanation.

“Uh, hi Sean. I tried to call you earlier. I just couldn’t get any reception from inside the….” I let my voice trail off, glancing over his shoulder to where the other officers were gathered. They all wore smirks, except Wagoner who was regarding me with concern or pity. I wasn’t sure which.

“Hey guys, leave us alone for a minute, will you?” Sean said, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the cruiser.

I stood with my back up against the cop car as he paced in front of me.
I started to explain, “I found a box of old books in the dumpster. I think it’s from an estate sale…”

He stopped and placed his hands with a thud on either side of me, trapping me against the car. I stiffened. Usually
, I would love to be trapped against a hard surface with Sean leaning in close, but tonight he was scaring me.

“Unbelievable.” His voice was low and husky, his face just inches from mine. “You haven’t changed a bit. What made you think you should come over here and break into their garbage dumpster? You’re trespassing!”

He was so close, I could actually feel his body heat. I was struggling emotionally somewhere between fear, lust, and anger.

“Wait a minute
. I was tying—” 

“Trying to do what? Play detective? Don’t you remember what happened last time you did that?” 

I thought for a minute. Sure, I behaved a little stupidly last time I got involved in a police investigation, but that was different. It wasn’t like I was going to get killed digging around in a garbage can. I do that all the time. Of course, not in the middle of the night at a known crime scene. Not usually accompanied by a half-dozen armed officers, either.

I put my hand on his chest and
gently backed him up, trying to keep the situation calm. “What do you expect me to do? You’re the one who brought me into this case in the first place. Then you practically accused Shep of being somehow involved.”

“Look,” he snarled, grabbing a hold of my shoulders. “I don’t want you getting hurt. A woman was just killed here. What were you thinking coming here alone, in the dark?”

My eyes roamed his face. His eyes were wild, his skin flushed, his hair tussled. I could feel the intensity of his emotion and a rush of heat crept over me as I struggled not to lean into him. Whatever I was feeling was wrong. He was getting married. It was over between us.

I searched for something to say to squelch the heat rising in me
: admit an error, change the subject, anything. “Okay. You’re right. I do need to be more careful. I did find something interesting, though. There was this box of books from an estate sale, marked Sokolov. I think there could be a connection.”

There, I’d got it out. I felt a speck of pride as I waited for his reply. Certainly he’d be pleased with my discovery.

He began rubbing his temples.

“So,” I continued. “When your guys get the books could you have them look around for a black se
quined purse? It’s damaged a bit, but—”

“This is why it didn’t work out with us,” he
practically shouted. “You can’t stay out of things.”

“What!” Suddenly the temperature in my hot head matched the heat in my lower extremities. Surprising how I could go from intense desire to downright ticked-off. “It didn’t work out with
us because you never could commit to any sort of serious relationship. Although you don’t have that problem
now
, do you?” It was my turn to get in his face. I began jamming my finger into his chest to emphasize every word. “You and Sarah deserve each other. And you want to know who hasn’t changed? You. You’re still a jerk.” 

I started
toward my car. “Where are you going?” he called after me.

“I’m leaving.” I turned and shot him a daring look. “Unless you’re planning to arrest me.” I glanced over to
the other cops. They were each pretending to be wrapped up in some sort of task, but I knew they were hanging on every word. Well, I didn’t care.

I dramatically held out my wrists. “Well?” I taunted in my loudest voice.

He looked down, not responding. So, I turned and walked away.

Thinking back on it later, I wished I wouldn’t have been so dramatic. Had I just been just a little nicer, maybe he would
have let me retrieve the books. They were fair game since they were in the dumpster anyway, even if behind a locked fence. If I’d really gotten on his good side maybe I could have even talked him into picking up that black sequined purse with the broken strap. I just hated to see a repairable discard go to waste.

Chapter 6

The next morning, I grabbed a bagel and twisted the top off a soda. Not much of a coffee drinker, I preferred to derive my daily caffeine fix from soda with its sugar kicker. Wearing my best jeans—or at least the only pair I could get buttoned—and a practically new fleece hoodie, I loaded the back of my station wagon with boxes to ship later in the afternoon. My first stop, however, was going to be the Retro Metro, where I hoped to find my elusive friend, Shep.

Ogden Avenue was packed with morning
commuters, so it was almost nine when I finally made it to Westmont. A few more turns and I was pulling into the lot of the Retro Metro. I glanced at the brick-fronted warehouse which housed three stories of consignment heaven. Shep had a knack, that’s for sure. Only he could convert a nuts and bolts warehouse into the best consignment shop in the tri-state area.

Although they weren’t officially opened for business until ten, I knew that several employees would be in setting up displays and sorting through merchandise. I rapped on the door for a couple of minutes before anyone came to answer.

“We’re not open yet,” a young guy announced through the closed door.

“I know. I’m here to talk to Shep. I’m a friend,” I yelled back.

The door opened a crack. I caught a glimpse of a kid with a plethora of piercings and a swatch of fuzz on his chin.

“Shep’s not here,” he said.

“When is he coming back?”

The kid shrugged and started to shut the door. I moved my foot in front of the frame and leaned in trying to wedge my body in the opening. “Hey, is Pauline here?” 

“She’s busy,” he said, pushing harder on the door, which was cutting off circulation in my leg. I pushed back, but he was proving to be strong for such a scrawny guy.

“Hey, Owen. What are you doing?  Let her in,” a female voice came from behind.

Owen let go of the door and I tumbled into the room.

“
Pippi! How are you?”

I righted myself and greeted Pauline, Shep’s right-hand gal. We’
d come to know each other well over the past year. “Hey, fine. I shot a menacing look at Owen; but he wasn’t making eye contact.

“What brings you to the Retro Metro?” she asked.

“I’ve been trying to reach Shep. Do you know where he is?”

She glanced uneasily at Owen. “Why don’t you go back and help the guys with that new load of boxes,” she told him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

After the door-warrior departed, Pauline motioned for me to follow her. We moved into a retro-eighties style room that instantly transported me back thirty years. “What a great room,” I commented, parking myself on a pink and black director’s chair. A faux zebra-striped rug stretched under my feet.

“Yeah, Shep wanted
to get this finished before ... well… it used to be a fifties-style dinette. He worked hard to collect all these items.”

“Wow,” I said glancing around. Shep had a knack for decorating. He never seemed to run out of ideas. The whole warehouse was divided into several different rooms, each showcasing a different era of style and déco
r. The eighties room was done so well it made we want to break out a white sweatband and don some fuzzy pink legwarmers.

“So you’re looking for Shep?” Pauline interrupted before I could get too far into the eighties groove.

I turned my focus away from a framed Ferris Bueller movie bill and back to her. “Yeah, so where is he? I’ve been trying to call him for a couple of days. He’s not returning my messages.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been worried. He’s fine. He’s taking some time off to visit with his parents.”

“His parents?  He hasn’t spoken to them in…what…twenty years?”

Pauline shrugged. “Well, I guess they’ve reconciled.”

I eyed her curiously. Shep’s parents kicked him out of the house when he was just a teen. I’d never heard him say anything about wanting to reconnect with them. “Reconciled?  Are you serious? Come on, Pauline. What’s up?” 

She glanced downward and
squinted at the zebra rug. Bending down, she made a production of removing several pieces of lint that had gathered on the black stripes. “Nothing’s up. He’s just taking some time off. He’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” she continued to pick as she spoke.

Her aloofness
bothered me, but I sensed I was going to get her to tell me what was really going on. “Well then, I guess I’ll let you get back to work. If, by chance, you talk to him, please tell him to give me a call. It’s important,” I emphasized. “Someone we know was murdered and the cops want to question Shep,” I added, watching for a reaction. A weird feeling settled over me when she didn’t seem surprised by the news. “Does Shep already know about the murder, Pauline?  Is that why he’s taken off? Is he in some sort of trouble?” I was working hard to keep my voice steady.

She stood and glanced at her watch. I took it as a dismissal
and also stood, but still maintaining eye contact. She shifted her stance and looked away. “I’ve said all I can say, Pippi. I’m sorry. I’ll tell Shep you were here. I’m sure he’ll be calling you soon. Now, I’ve got to get back to work, but if you want, you could go through some of the stuff out back. We’ve been sorting through a couple of lots from estate sales and there’s some things we can’t use.”

“Sure, thanks,
” I muttered as she turned and started for another part of the store.

Not knowing what else to do, I headed for the
Retro Metro’s dumpster which, lucky for me, turned out to be a virtual smorgasbord of resalable goodies. Unbelievable what Shep was throwing away these days. I guess his clientele base had moved a little more upscale. Good for me, because my clientele (the Third Saturday Flea Market crowd) wasn’t so hard to please. They were going to jump all over the corner shelf unit I was trying to cram under my passenger seat. Not to mention the CD rack, wooden stepstool, and miscellaneous kitsch I’d found buried throughout the dumpster—my personal favorite being a framed cross-stitch sampler that said: 
Funny, I don’t remember being absentminded
. What a hoot! I’d probably sell it to someone’s grandma for five bucks.

I was struggling to fit my acquisitio
ns in between the packages I still needed to ship when I looked up and saw Sean. He was across the lot, leaning against his car, watching me. I shoved the sampler between some boxes, slammed my back hatch, and crossed the lot with clenched fists.

As I approached
, he held up the sequined purse I’d left behind the night before. “Peace offering,” he said, smiling as if last night’s fight never happened. That’s the thing with guys; they could turn it on and off. Not me, I carried a grudge.

“Thanks,” I said, snatching my purse before he could change his mind. “What are you doing here?” 

“I’m still looking for Shep. Heard from him?”

“No, but I just talked to Pauline and she said he’s taking some time off or something.”

“Really? Did he mentioned this vacation to you before?”

We stood, staring at each other.

“Why are you so stuck on this Shep thing? You can’t possibly think he had something to do with Jane’s murder.”

“I’m not sure wh
at to think. I have to say it seems strange we can’t track him down.” I started to protest, but he cut in, “There’s another possibility, too.”

“What?”

“He could have witnessed something. We have Jane’s phone records and they show that Shep called later that day. Since the teapot was wrapped, I’m assuming he changed his mind about buying it and was going to come back and pick it up.”

“And, you think he came by last night and witnessed something and now he’s in danger?”

“It’s hard to tell. It could be anything. I’m going to talk to his employees now.”

I glanced
over my shoulder at the Retro Metro. “Good luck. I just tried to get something out of Pauline, but she was pretty tight-lipped.”

“There’s something else,” he started as I turned to leave. I
faced him again, noticing his eyes were darting about nervously. “I want to explain… I mean, I feel bad you found out about me getting married. I should have told you the other day…I just…” His voice faded to a whisper.

A thousand ugly retorts popped into my head, but I managed to keep them to myself. “What do you want me to say? Congratulations?” 

“No…I mean, yes. Thanks. I just…well, I wanted to clear the air. Like I said, I felt bad because I didn’t really tell you the other day when we were at the crime scene. I didn’t know
how
to tell you. Then I saw you last night at The Classy Closet, and well…you know how that went. By the way, Sarah said she ran into you at the bridal shop. Why were you at the bridal shop?” 

“Why do you care?” I shot back.

He shrugged. “Just wondered. Are you serious about someone?”

My mind raced. Would he feel jealous if I said yes? Maybe I should make up a fake fiancé and see how he reacted. Then I reconsidered. “No, I’m not dating anyone. I haven’t since…” I let my words drop. “My cousin, Cherry Gallagher,
is getting married a week from Saturday. I’m her maid of honor.”

He smiled. “Well, congratulations to Cherry.” He seemed happy. Was I sensing relief in his voice?

“When’s your big date?” I asked.

“June.”

“Good for you. Hope you’ll be happy.” My voice sounded false, even to me.

I turned to leave, but he gripped my arm and wheeled me around. “
Pippi, I’m sorry.” He paused, searching my face.

“Don’t be. I’m happy for you, really.”

“Really?” he asked, moving in closer. His eyes were half-mast, his lips slightly parted. His breath was coming in short shallow rasps. I was feeling that old familiar tingling I’d always felt right before the onset of a passionate kiss.

We teetered there, suspended in lustful confusion for a few seconds before I decided to make a move. I leaned in, closed my eyes and parted my lips, ready for the familiar warmth I had missed for so long, but all I felt was cold air.

My eyes snapped open. He’d backed up and was regarding me with what…confusion, fear, amusement? 

Then, I did something I’d never done before. I slapped him. I’d seen Scarlett do it to Rhett and Sally do it to Harry. Heck, I’d seen it done a thousand times on
trashy daytime talk shows, but I had never done it. Quite honestly, I shouldn’t have waited for so long…it felt great.

I spun on my heel and walked away. I was fed up with Sean
and all his hormonal superiority.