Murder on Consignment (6 page)

Chapter 9

I left A to Z Estate Sales with my tail between my legs and fourteen dollars poorer. The latter really ticked me off. I was a woman used to getting what I paid for, and that guy ripped me off. Although, it might have been money well spent, if what I just learned could help to clear Shep’s involvement in all this.

After a little deliberation, I decided to give Sean a call. Funny how my fingers automatically remembered his number even though I hadn’t dialed it for over a year.

I could barely hear his voice mail message over the nervous thudding of my heart, but at the beep, I cleared my throat and started in, “Hi Sean. This is Pippi. I’m just leaving a place called A to Z Estate Sales in Ridgewood and I think you might want to check it out. The sleazebag that runs the place calls himself Charlie. You can’t miss him…he looks just like Chuck Norris. Don’t let his looks fool you … he’s nothing like the real Chuck—he’s a slime ball. Anyway, he’s got this file that lists the consigners that shopped at the Sokolov estate auction. That’s S…o…k…o…l…o…v.  Remember?  I got that name off the box I saw in the dumpster at The Classy Closet. I definitely think there’s a connection between Sokolov and Jane’s murder. There has to be. I mean, you’re on the wrong track with Shep. I think a guy named James Ferrell might be involved somehow. You see, I stopped by Calina Sokolov’s home and spoke to her neighbor who told me Calina was involved with James Ferrell. That’s Ferrell as in JimDogs. Anyway, the big thing is that Charlie here at A to Z said a lady paid him a thousand bucks for the info in the Sokolov file. So, there’s got to be some sort of connection. You should get a warrant for A to Z Estate Sales right away so you can get that file and a description of the woman who paid to see it. Oh, and while you’re searching the place, see if your guys find fourteen dollars in crumpled bills: two fives and four ones. That’s my money … that guy Charlie practically stole it from me.” I paused, trying to think of anything I may have left out. “Ok, then. Bye, and um … well, sorry about slapping you.”

I felt regret the instant I disconnected. What was wro
ng with me? Not only had I apologized for a perfectly legitimate and well deserved face slap, I pretty much sounded like a babbling idiot.

I shrugged it off. The i
mportant thing was that I turned over the information to Sean. With that done, I decided to let it go and get back to my own work.

*

In warmer weather, I usually spent Thursday afternoons hitting early garage sales, but since October wasn’t a big month for sales, I thought I’d run by a couple of my favorite consignment shops instead. I actually scored big at the Thrifty Kids shop. The owner was anxious to unload a bunch of unsold summer clothes which I practically stole for five bucks a bag. Nice stuff, too. Mostly brand names. Luckily for me, she took a check, since ol’ Chuck had taken my last bit of cash.

A
lthough I definitely needed exercise, carrying my latest acquisitions up all twenty-two steps leading to my above-garage apartment was exhausting. My glutes were starting to burn as I headed out for trip number four and found my mother on the top step. She was holding the two remaining bags. “Looks like you’ve been busy. I’m glad. I always say work is the best therapy.”

I knew she was referring to my troubles with Sean, but I didn’
t really want to go into it again. “Look, Mom, thanks for helping, but I’ve got a lot to do.”

She patted my shoulder and smiled. “Sure, dear. I just came to see if you wanted to eat dinner with us. Your dad’s been cooking all day.”

“Really? Sounds good,” I backtracked without hesitation, my rumbling stomach prompting me to trudge down the steps behind her. My mood softened as I ducked around the hedge, and crossed the backyard toward the warm glow of kitchen lights cast against the increasingly darkening evening. My nose began twitching as soon as I opened the back door—Mulligan stew, my dad’s specialty. Paired with hard rolls and cold Guinness, it was the ultimate comfort food.

“There you are,” my father said, pulling a sheet of oatmeal
cookies from the oven. “Your mother asked me to make something special for dinner. She said she needed an incentive to get you over here to try on the dress for your cousin’s wedding.” 

I shot my mother a look. I should have known she had an ulterior motive for inviting me to dinner.

I was just about to pop a piece of hot cookie into my mouth when she grabbed me. “Dress first, then food. Come with me.”

I followed her into the family room. She pointed to the dress which was draped over the sofa. The television was tuned into the six o’clock news and the weather girl was promising low
er temperatures and a possibility of rain for the next couple of days.

Mom sighed. “I certainly hope Cherry has good weather for the wedding. It’s risky planning an outdoor event this time of year. Are you excited for the wedding, dear? All your sisters are going to be there, you know.”

“I can hardly wait,” I said with a sigh, attempting to squirm out of my jeans. “I wouldn’t worry about the weather. The only thing that’s going to ruin this wedding is me in this dress.” 

Mom was stooped down, holding the dress open. I rested one hand on her shoulder as I stepped into
it. Amazingly, she pulled it over my hips with no problem.

“That Doris is a miracle worker,” she said, zipping and buttoning my back side. “You can’t even tell this was altered.”

I looked down at my front side, which from my angle, resembled one of the off-color relief maps I would have colored in grade school. I always preferred using my orange crayon for the foothills and mountains. Much brighter and more imaginative than the boring old brown my classmates always chose.

“Run up and take a look in my bathroom mirror. It looks so much better,” she said, pointing to the staircase.

I’d only made it to the second step, when I heard something that made me stop and run back into the family room. “Did you hear that?” I asked, grabbing the remote and turning up the volume on the news program. The anchor was relaying a breaking story. She was standing in front of the Retro Metro. 

I’m reporting live from a popular home décor shop in Westmont, where, less than thirty minutes ago, a 911 call wa
s placed indicating a murder had occurred. Investigative teams are on the scene now, but the police are offering no comments. We’ll keep our viewers informed as new details develop…

Her words faded from my perception. All I could think of was Shep. I ran back through the house and through the kitchen. Ignoring Mom and Dad’s questions, I grabbed a coat off one of the hooks by the door and threw on my tennis shoes. I ran double time up my apartment steps, retrieved my keys, and within minutes was speeding down the road toward the Retro Metro.  

I was about two miles from home, when my cell rang. I almost crashed trying to retrieve it.

“
Pippi, it’s Shep.”

“Shep! Where are you? I was watching the news and they said—”

“I know. That’s why I’m calling. It wasn’t me. I’m at Saint Edward’s Hospital. Can you come over? I need to talk to you.”

“St. Edwards? What’s going on? Are you hurt?” 

“No, that’s not why I’m here. Can you come now? I’m on the fourth floor.”

“I’m on my way.” 

He disconnected, leaving me with a thousand unanswered questions.

I zoomed another block, checked my mirrors, and flipped a
u-turn picking up speed as I made my way toward the hospital.

I grabbed
my cell again just as I was turning onto Ogden.

He answered on the first ring. “Sean. It’s
Pippi. I’m on my way to St. Edwards Hospital. Shep called. He’s there. On the news they said there was a murder at the Retro. What do you know about it?”

“Nothing. I hadn’t
heard about it. That’s out of my jurisdiction, but I’ll make some calls and see what I can find out. Was Shep hurt or something?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” My mind raced. What was he doing at the hospital? “He didn’t say why he’s there. Actually, he was kind of vague about the
whole thing. He just said he needed to talk to me.” I didn’t care. He was alive. That’s all that mattered.

I hung up with Sean as I pulled into a space on the North Parking Deck of the hospital. Ignoring the little white sign that marked my spot for Dr. R. Patel, I hurriedly locked my door and
headed for the walkway leading to the main building.

Th
e elevator doors opened a few feet from the fourth floor care station. An efficient-looking nurse, dressed in orange and black scrubs with miniature jack-o-lanterns, pointed the way to Shep’s room.

As I entered, an older couple stood and walked out. They didn’t bother to introduce themselves, but I knew who they were. I also knew if they were
there, something bad was going on.

“Hey doll, come over here,” Shep beckoned from his bed.

I hesitated, taken back by his appearance. I’d just seen him a couple of days ago, but today his normally coffee and cream complexion was a sickly, milky color; his eyes dull; his lips dry and cracked.

I slowly approached and took his outstretched hand. His fingertips felt ice cold against my skin.

“What…,” I started, my voice catching in my throat.

“I know you’ve been trying to reach me and I should have called earlier. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Although I already knew.

He smiled, a small painful-looking smile. I’ve been sick for a while, but I was trying to keep it from you. Don’t worry, though. This is just a temporary setback. I’m going to beat this thing.”

I swallowed hard and nodded my head as tears spilled down my cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“Cancer. It spread before I recognized the symptoms. Now it’s pretty far along.”

“I knew you’d been sick here and there. I thought you were having trouble shaking a virus. We were just out together the other day.”

“I know. It’s the effects of the chemo. I have good days and bad days. The last couple of days have been bad. Real bad.”

I started shivering even though the room was stifling hot. My lips twitched, but for some reason they wouldn’t form any words.

Shep continued, filling the silence. “Those were my parents. We’ve reconciled. Can you believe it? How many years has it been? Twenty at least.”

I was trembling now. “You’ll beat this. I know—” My words were choked out by a sob that broke loose and then turned to full-on cry fest. He pulled me close, patting my back, comforting me. Which made me feel horrible. I should be the one comforting him, but I couldn’t help myself.

He let me carry on for a while before getting tough. “Okay. That’s enough now. It’s going to be alright. Really.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re going to beat this,” I said again, this time with more conviction. I sat up, grabbed some tissue from his bed stand and started blowing and wiping. Each time I got my face dry, new tears would start again.

“You’re a good friend,
Pippi. You’ve always been here for me. I’m going to need you now, doll. I’m going to need you to help me with something important.”

I nodded. “Sure, anything.”

“It’s about what happened at the Retro this evening. You saw it on the news?” he asked.

“Yes. Who—”

“It’s Pauline. Her boyfriend found her. He called me right after he dialed 911.”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, Shep.” My words sounded empty,
even to me. The truth was, I was so numb about Shep I could hardly feel anything for Pauline. I knew her. I liked her. But I was already full of sorrow; there wasn’t any room left in me to grieve for her. The news of her death seemed to hover over me without sinking into my conscious.

“I want you to keep an eye on the investigation. Make sure the cops don’t push it aside.”

I stared at him, unable to answer.

His eyes darkened. “I asked her to stay late this evening. I asked her get some paperwork done for me. It was my fault that
she was there, Pippi. It’s my fault. She didn’t deserve to die. She was young, good, healthy…”  His voice trailed off with an echo of gurgling. He hacked a few times.

“Her boyfriend found her?” I asked, trying to keep my mind clear and stay on task.

“He didn’t do it. I know the kid,” Shep said, squelching any accusations I might make. “He found her … body…you just have to trust me on this. The cops are wasting time on him.”

I waited for a minute, caressing his hand and giving him a chance to regain his breath. The silence was punctuated with the beeping and whirring of machines.

“It should have been me,” he finally continued. “I’m sick anyway. What a waste and just ….”  He shook his head as if trying to shake off the horror of it all. “She was a runaway. That’s why I think the police won’t put enough effort into finding her killer. She was really into the drug scene at one time; but, her past doesn’t have anything to do with this. She was getting her life back together. Taking classes and everything. She wanted to major in business. She was only twenty years old.” I watched as he reached for his water bottle. His hand wobbled as he drank. Water dribbled out the side of his dry lips. I grabbed a tissue to blot it for him, glad to feel of help. “I want you to promise me that you’ll do everything you can to make sure the police find the person who did this. Don’t let them give up.”