Nickeled-And-Dimed to Death (2 page)

Elise frowned, then shrugged. “Eight hundred, but I want cash.”

Since so many people used credit and debit cards, I wasn’t sure I had that much money in the till. “Eight fifty if you’ll take a check.” I was willing to pay fifty bucks more to cinch the deal.

“No.” She shook her head. “Cash, or I take these to the pawn shop at the edge of town.”

“Let me see what I have on hand.” I went behind the counter and opened the register. As I added up the contents of the drawer, I held my breath. I really wanted those molds.

“I don’t have all day.” Elise tapped her foot. “Do we have a deal or not?”

“One second.” I dug in my jeans pocket and pulled out a twenty, two fives, and a single. “Here you go.” Adding them to the stack in front of me, I handed the pile to Elise.

She counted the money, nodded, and stuck it in her Dolce & Gabbana handbag, then turned on her heel and marched toward the exit. I followed her and unlocked it. She hesitated halfway through, and I nearly hit her with the door I was already closing.

Elise took a swift step to avoid the collision, then said over her shoulder, “Do me a favor and don’t tell anyone where you got the molds.”

“Why?” I called after her. A sinking feeling made my stomach clench. “They were yours to sell, weren’t they? You are the owner, right?”

But it was too late; she had already gotten into her red Lexus and was backing into the street. As she sped away, I noticed her license plate read
WUZ HIZ
. Damn! I knew that had been too easy. Why hadn’t I asked more questions? Had I just committed a felony?

*  *  *

After hastily sticking the chocolate molds into my safe, I finished locking up the store and jumped into my sapphire black Z4. It was one of the few possessions I had kept from my old life—the one where I earned a six-figure salary as a financial consultant employed by Stramp Investments.

I’d allowed myself to hang on to the BMW by rationalizing that in this economy I’d never get what it was worth if I sold it. However, the truth was, I loved that car, and I knew there was more of a chance of me winning the Miss Missouri contest than of ever owning a vehicle like it again.

Chuckling at the thought of being a beauty pageant queen, I put the Z4 in gear and headed home. I lived with my grandma, Birdie, just outside of Shadow Bend on the ten remaining acres of the property my ancestors had settled in the 1860s.

Because of the three generations before me that had produced only one child each, relatives who had moved away, and several Sinclair men who’d died in various wars, Gran and I were the last of our clan in Shadow Bend. My grandfather’s death fifteen years ago had forced Gran to begin selling off the land surrounding the old homestead to pay the taxes and support herself and me. Piece by piece, my heritage had been stripped away, and I treasured what we had left. Just as I cherished my grandmother.

It was when Gran had started to have some memory issues that I had quit my job in Kansas City and purchased the dime store. Going from a sixty-hour or more workweek to a little over forty had given me the time I needed to be there for her. As had swapping my two-hour round-trip commute for a twenty-minute drive.

Gran had taken me in thirteen years ago when my parents deserted me. Although my father hadn’t had a choice about it—he’d been sent to prison for manslaughter and possession of a controlled substance. My mom didn’t have any excuse.

She had dumped me on Birdie’s doorstep with a suitcase and a fifty-dollar bill and run off to California. I was sixteen at the time, and even though Gran had showered me with love and attention, I never got over my mother’s actions or the feelings of rejection and abandonment they instilled.

Which is why when Gran’s doctor had informed me that she needed me to be around more, I hadn’t hesitated to find another way to earn a living. I put in my two weeks’ notice at Stramp Investment as soon as the deal for the dime store purchase was complete. Some people thought I resigned from my job because I found out my boss, Ronald Stramp, was a crook, and that he paid for my silence. But I’d been as surprised as the rest of the world when his Ponzi scheme was revealed.

Just as my father had claimed he had been set up and was as innocent of committing manslaughter as he was of the bank embezzlement of which he’d also been accused but never convicted, Stramp also maintained his innocence. However, unlike Dad, the jury at my boss’s trial acquitted him—a fact that the people Stramp had bilked out of millions still resented.

Unfortunately, most people blamed me for the not-guilty verdict that freed him. I hadn’t been able to testify about Stramp’s scam because I hadn’t been aware of it. I don’t know which I felt worse about: that my ignorance allowed him to get away with his crime or that I was so dumb I never noticed what he was doing. My only defense was that Stramp was an extremely secretive and clever man.

All of this was on my mind as I made the short drive home. After both my father’s and ex-boss’s scandals, I had struggled to rehabilitate my image. As a teenager, I had shunned any and all controversy—never getting so much as a detention at school or a speeding ticket around my hometown.

And having made it through the Stramp disaster, I had pledged to avoid even the hint of dishonesty. Heck, I had solved a murder in which I was the prime suspect in order to escape being tainted by more gossip. Of course, my fear of being sent to prison might have also motivated me to find the real killer.

Now, as I tore down the blacktop toward home, passing farmhouses, fields, and pastures of grazing cows, sheep, and goats, I wondered if my love of collectibles and antiques had led me to commit a crime. If I had, could I make things right before my reputation was damaged beyond all repair?

Hitting the steering wheel, I groaned.
Great!
My good name was on the line again. And this time, it was my own damn fault.

CHAPTER 2

B
irdie was waiting for me just inside the front door. Her summer tan was fading, and when she pursed her lips as she was doing now, her wrinkled face looked like a half-baked biscuit.

“Sweet Jesus!” She flipped her long, gray braid over her shoulder and demanded, “Why are you so late? He’ll be here in less than an hour, and you’re a hot mess.” She held her nose. “And you smell.” Gran was never one to mince words, especially when she was aggravated.

I discreetly lowered my head and sniffed.
Ew!
Eau de Hard Work wafted from my body. “Thanks so much for the confidence booster.” She might be right, but I didn’t have to like it.

“You’re welcome.” Birdie’s impatient expression intensified. “Now get your rear in gear while you answer my question.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I sketched a mocking salute, then, with Gran in hot pursuit, hurried toward my bedroom. While explaining about the woman selling the vintage chocolate molds, I stripped off my jeans, sweatshirt, and underwear. I didn’t include the information that those molds might be stolen property. Birdie would be mad enough to spit at my stupidity, so why stir up that hornet’s nest?

Gran trailed me into the bathroom and watched as I turned on the shower. Some privacy would be nice, but if I complained, she’d remind me about the diapers she’d changed and the pictures she had of me wearing nothing but Mr. Bubble in the tub.

Instead, while I waited for the water to warm up from frigid to tepid—we really needed a new water heater—I finished up my story about Elise. “So I got the whole boxful, all five molds, for less than what one of them is worth. And they’re fabulous.”

“You should have told her to come back Monday.” Birdie’s pale-blue eyes glinted with displeasure. “This could be
the
night. Jake said he has a surprise for you. You have to look your best.”

Deputy U.S. Marshal Jake Del Vecchio, the guy I was dating, was the grandnephew of Birdie’s old high school flame, Tony. She and Tony were bound and determined to see Jake and me walk down the aisle. I suspected they were trying to consummate their own unfulfilled romance through us, but I’d never had the nerve to say so out loud.

“And you know what Jake said, how?” I asked. It was a purely rhetorical question, because clearly Gran had been reading my text messages again. I needed to remember to lock the screen on my phone.

Especially since I was pretty darn sure that the “surprise” Jake had mentioned had more to do with him finally getting me horizontal and seeing the tiny shooting star tattoo on my hip than with the engagement ring Gran was hoping he had in his pocket, ready to slip on my left hand. Allegedly, we were going into nearby Kansas City for dinner and a show to celebrate our one-month-of-dating anniversary, but I suspected we were really going into the city to find some privacy. A commodity that was difficult to obtain in my hometown.

I stepped into the shower, thinking that maybe Gran would lose interest and leave, but she continued to talk to me through the closed curtain. When she got to the subject of my wardrobe, I cringed. Birdie’s taste in clothing was eclectic at best. One day she’d wear a poodle skirt from her teenage years, and the next she’d have on a Jackie Kennedy suit—complete with matching pillbox hat and pumps.

Turning off the water, I answered her clothing inquiry with, “I’m all set. I have a new dress.”

“Really?” Birdie’s voice held a note of delight. “You spent money on clothes?”

“Well . . .”
Oops!
I hadn’t meant to admit that to Gran. It was the first new item of clothing I had purchased since quitting my job and buying the dime store, so she’d know I was excited about this date, too. “It’s no big deal. It was on sale on Overstock.com.”

“Uh-huh.” Gran’s expression said she knew this date must be important to me if I was willing to spend hard-earned cash on a new dress.

“It’s true.” Obviously, my excuses weren’t fooling her, but I gave it one more try as I stepped out of the shower. “And I had a coupon and shipping was free.”

“No need to explain.” Birdie smirked. “I’m thrilled you finally bought something nice for yourself.” She paused. “It is nice, right?”

“It’s hanging on the inside of my closet door.” I’d toweled off and now picked up my blow dryer, gesturing toward my bedroom. “Go ahead: take a look.”

I smiled. Her oohs and aahs were loud enough to be heard over the noise of the turbo stream of hot air I had aimed at my head. If Gran was happy, maybe she’d let me finish getting dressed in peace.

Or not.

As I was winding my hair around hot rollers, Birdie darted back into the bathroom and asked, “What shoes are you wearing?”

“My T-strap peep-toe sandals.” Although I had sold most of my designer clothing, especially the suits, when I quit my city job, I had kept the shoes since I was reasonably sure the market for used footwear was fairly limited.

Birdie nodded and disappeared, muttering to herself about sexy heels helping my too-curvy calves.

I hollered after her, “What time is it?”

“Five ten.”

Crap!
Jake was picking me up in twenty minutes and I still had to put on my face, brush out my hair, and get dressed. I dug through my makeup case, searching for my seldom-used base. It had been so long since I’d applied it, I had almost forgotten the swirl, tap, and buff method that bareMinerals recommended. For a second, I was afraid I would have to dig out the instructional video.

I hadn’t bothered with much more than lip gloss for a long time. For special occasions, I slapped on some concealer and brushed on a little bronzer, but I hadn’t put on the whole shebang since working in the city. Luckily the technique came back to me, and ten minutes later my eyes were shadowed, my lashes curled and mascaraed, and I was done.

Running into my bedroom, I nearly tripped over Gran’s ancient Siamese cat, Banshee, who hissed and clawed at my leg. I loved 99.9 percent of all animals, but not Banshee—and the feeling was mutual. Our war had started when he ate my pet gerbil. Considering his stealth attacks on me from the tops of bookshelves and around corners, there didn’t appear to be any truce in sight.

Gran had laid out my best bra and panty set on the bed, along with a pair of sheer, lace-topped, thigh-high nylons. Where had she gotten those stockings? And when had my grandmother turned into my pimp?

On the other hand, as I smoothed on the filmy hose, I had to admit they did wonderful things for my less-than-perfect legs. Taking my new dress from its hanger, I stroked the pale-pink fabric. It was strapless with a sweetheart neckline and had embroidered butterflies scattered randomly on the bodice and the above-the-knee skirt.

After putting on the dress and slipping on my high heels, I turned to look in the mirror. Surprised, I turned all the way around, then did it again. Yes, the girl in the glass really was me. It took a few seconds for me to realize that I felt young and pretty and hopeful—emotions I hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

With my thirtieth birthday looming at the end of the year, I had been feeling old, and I rarely thought of myself as pretty, but the sensation of optimism was what really astonished me. I couldn’t remember feeling that way since before my dad went to prison.

Fifteen minutes later, as Gran and I stared out the front window of the living room, I fingered the silky material of my dress and wondered why Jake was so late. He was almost always on time, yet there was still no sign of him. Why hadn’t he called?

“Sweet Jesus.” Birdie popped out of her recliner. “Where is that boy?”

“I’m sure he’ll be here any second,” I said, keeping my voice as nonchalant as possible. If Gran knew that I was concerned, she’d leap to the conclusion that I was in love with Jake. And since I’d known him for only six weeks, that couldn’t be true. Right?

“Humph.” Birdie paced from the sofa to the TV and back again.

“I’ll text him and see what’s up.” While I searched for my cell phone, questions ping-ponged through my mind. Had I misunderstood his original message? Had something happened to him? And although I told myself over and over again that arriving late for a date didn’t mean he was dumping me, a little voice in my head kept suggesting that was exactly what was happening.