Dearly Depotted (30 page)

“Mom! No! That’s not it. The bank isn’t foreclosing. I’m holding my own. I just didn’t know if I should send a bill, or call Aunt Corrine to remind her, or write it off.”

My mother held the phone away again and called in a cheery voice, “Never mind, Jeff.” Then to me she said firmly, “Send her a bill.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said. “I’ll see you at seven o’clock tonight.”

“Wear something nice, Abigail.”

Damn! I had been planning to wrap myself in a bath rug. I glanced at Lottie, who was looking rather pleased with herself. “Your mom said to send your aunt a bill, didn’t she?”

“You know she did.”

“And?”

“I’ll send it.”

“Good girl.”

But I hadn’t said when. I decided it might be a better idea to mention it to Jillian first to save face all the way around.

With Grace gone, Lottie and I had to take turns manning the parlor. Lottie took the first shift at nine o’clock so I could call Marco. As it turned out, I could have called much earlier.

“You’ve been up since seven?” I asked in amazement.

“Remember that cease-fire I negotiated?” he said in a quiet voice, as though he didn’t want to be overheard. “It fell through.” In the background I could hear a woman weeping. “So what’s up?” he asked.

“Go take care of your sister. This can wait until later.”

“Sunshine, will you just spit it out?”

I was hoping he’d say that. First, I gave him a rundown on what I’d learned about Richard’s coming and going from the video. As I suspected, Marco didn’t think it would be enough to convince the cops to change their minds. So I went on to describe the little figures in the white coats, and then I told him about my confrontation with Gunther at the banquet center.

“You confronted him alone?” Marco sputtered in disbelief. “What were you thinking?”

“I had to find out who those two figures on the video were. I suspected one was Jack and the one with the garbage bag was Gunther, but I couldn’t see the faces clearly enough to recognize them. Then I thought, what if Gunther was telling the truth? Maybe he wasn’t the one who took the garbage out Monday night. But that raised the question of who did. Which led me to the conclusion that whoever is on that video might be the killer. Anyway, I didn’t go alone. Nikki was with me.”

“Thank God for that. You didn’t tell Gunther about the video, did you?”

I twirled a strand of my hair. “Well, it kind of came up in conversation.”

I thought I heard Marco’s teeth grinding. “I can’t believe you did that.”

“He made me angry.”

“So you just
blurted
it out about the video?”

“I think we’ve already established that.”

There was a long pause, then Marco said in a very controlled tone, “Let me clue you in on something, sunshine. One of the first things you learn in the police academy is to keep your cool and make your suspect blurt things out, not the other way around.”

“I know. You’re absolutely right. I have to learn better control.”

“There you go.”

“It’s just that I get furious when someone tries to push me around.”

“I know you do. That’s okay. You’re learning. Just try not to do it again, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, you have to turn that video over to the police. You can’t hold on to evidence.”

“I’d really like to identify those two faces before I do that.”

“Listen to me carefully. You’ve done enough. Turn it in and let the police draw their own conclusions.” The weeping in the background turned to wails. “I’ve got to go.”

I heard the call-waiting tone and said, “Me, too. I just got a beep. Have fun.” Then I hit the Flash button and said, “Hello?”

“Abby, hey, it’s Joey. Is my mom there?”

“Hold on.” I went up to the front, got Lottie on the phone, and took over for her in the parlor. A moment later the phone slammed and I saw her storm back to the workroom, so I followed to see what had happened.

“I’m going to wring Karl’s neck,” Lottie ranted, grabbing her purse. “He snuck off to the DeWitts’ this morning instead of going to work. Just wait till I get my hands on that kid. I’ll be back as soon as I pick him up.”

“Whoa, Lottie. Calm down. You can’t drive over there in that temper. I wouldn’t want to be in the car in front of you. Let me go. I have to make a delivery anyway.”

I wrapped up the arrangement I’d just finished, hopped in the Vette, and took off. Damn Karl’s teenage hormones. I didn’t have time to deal with his lust. I had a killer to find.

I ran through the video in my mind, picturing quick flashes of Josiah and Jack fighting, Gunther watching the fight from a distance, Jack being assisted to his car, then reappearing later as a waiter. Then I pictured the scene in the ballroom—guests eating, waiters serving, Melanie talking to Jack, her father rushing out soon after. What about the dance scene? What about the reception line? What about when the photographer had run out after Jillian to see the dead body? Had I missed anything?

I pulled up in front of the big DeWitt manse just in time to see Don park his pickup truck at the back of the brick driveway. I jogged after him, into the backyard, and looked around in a panic, but there was no Don in sight. There was no Karl in sight either. I hurried up the wooden steps onto the big deck, where I came to a complete, horrified stop.

Lying on the chaise longue was a discarded white T-shirt imprinted with a rock band logo. Underneath the chaise were a pair of white socks and a scruffy pair of Nikes with no laces. I knew exactly whom they belonged to. But that wasn’t the worst part. On the other chair was the top half of a pink bikini.

At least she still had on the bottoms. I hoped.

“Trudee?” I heard Don call in a voice heavy with suspicion. He must have seen the clothing, too.

I knocked on the screen door, but he didn’t hear me, so I slid it open and stepped inside. “Don? It’s me, Abby.”

“Trudee?” I heard again, from the front of the house.

With my heart in my throat, I raced up a hallway and came out in the foyer. Don stood at the bottom of the stairs, hands on his hips and a murderous look on his face. He glanced at me in surprise. “Abby?”

“Listen, Don, I know this looks bad, but—”

From above there was a heavy thump, then feet running.

“Trudee!” he bellowed, starting up.

Suddenly a door opened in the upstairs hall and seconds later a familiar female head appeared—not a blond, Barbie doll head, but a spiky pink head with raccoon eyes that were wide with alarm. “Dad?” Heather asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Where’s your mother?”

“I don’t know. Shopping maybe?”

At that moment another head appeared, followed by a half-naked body.

“Karl!” I gasped.

“What are you doing up there, boy?” Don demanded. “And where’s your shirt?”

I could see Karl’s throat muscles move as he swallowed. “I was h-hot, s-sir. I left it outside.”

“Dad, chill out!” Heather exclaimed. “I have a test tomorrow and Karl offered to tutor me. Summer school algebra, remember? We were studying on the deck and got all sweaty, so we came inside to cool off. Geez.”

I motioned for Karl to come down. “Your mother is waiting for you. We have to go.”

Karl and Heather exchanged longing looks, then she said, “Call me?”

He beamed happily and trooped down the steps. I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing. I’d thought Karl was hanging around the house because of Trudee, and he’d only been trying to see Heather.

“See there? Everything worked out,” I said to Don.

He motioned me to one side. “I’m sorry for bothering you with this. I feel so foolish.”

I tried to think of one of Grace’s quotes about foolishness, but all I could come up with was
A fool and his money are soon parted,
and somehow I didn’t think he’d find that helpful. “I understand the feeling,” I said and patted him on the back. Then I had Karl collect his clothing and I took him home.

 

When I got back to the shop, the parlor was bustling with clerks and secretaries on their midmorning breaks. I grabbed a coffeepot and for the next half hour we ran our tails off as tables filled and emptied and filled again.

By eleven the parlor had nearly emptied out, so Lottie returned to the workroom and I manned the cash register. I was ringing up the last customer when the bell jingled and Pryce strode in. He had on one of his custom-made suits—a sharply tailored navy gabardine with a white shirt and a red and navy patterned tie. He acknowledged me with a nod, then wandered into the coffee parlor and took a seat by the bay window.

Something was up. Pryce had never stopped in for coffee before.

I glanced toward the curtain, hoping Lottie would sense a disturbance in the force and come to my rescue, but she didn’t, so I had no choice but to wait on him. “Fancy meeting you here,” I said, strolling over. “What can I get for you?”

“How about”—he squinted at the chalkboard above the coffee counter on the back wall—“a decaf coffee with a sprinkle of cinnamon?”

“Anything to go with that? A scone? Chocolate biscotti?”

“What are you doing for lunch?”

“Lunch?” I sputtered.
Stop staring like an imbecile and say something! Tell him you’re not taking a lunch break today because you’re shorthanded.
But all I ended up saying was, “Why?”

“Because I thought maybe you’d want to grab a sandwich somewhere—with me.”

For some reason, the only thing that I seemed capable of uttering was, “Why?”

“Why?” he repeated, looking puzzled. “Because I’m hungry?”

That was Pryce trying to be funny. “No, really,” I said.

“I was just passing by and thought of you.” He tried on a smile that was a little too tight.

I didn’t buy it. Pryce never “just passed by” anywhere. His routes were carefully calculated for accuracy and expediency before he ever set foot on the sidewalk. I pulled out the wrought iron chair across from him and sat on it.

“Okay, that’s it. I can’t stand it any longer. You haven’t given me the time of day for months on end, then suddenly you just happen to pass by my shop and—bingo—decide you want to have lunch with me? What’s going on, Pryce? Are you”—
Did I dare say it?
—“angling for us to be an item again?”

He seemed taken aback. Then he shifted uncomfortably, adjusted his tie, and looked around, as if to be sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “I’d hoped to have this conversation over a nice glass of chilled wine, but since you brought it up, there is something I’ve been wanting to discuss with you. I just wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.”

He glanced around again, then said, “Do you think I could get that coffee first?”

 

 

 

 

I
poured Pryce’s coffee, put a generous sprinkle of cinnamon in it, and took it back to the table. I tried to pretend I was sitting down with a casual acquaintance to discuss a movie I’d seen, but as I put the coffee in front of him I caught a whiff of his cologne and memories came flooding back, reminding me that we had once been much more than casual acquaintances and that what we were about to discuss was a whole lot different from critiquing a movie.

Could he be serious about getting back together?

I sat down across from him, watching as he lifted the cup to his lips. This was the man I’d wanted to spend my life with, have kids with, grow old with. Could I ever feel that way about him again? My mother would certainly be elated. She’d always felt Pryce was the one for me.

Then there was Marco. Just the thought of him was enough to produce a rush of excitement. Did I want to lose him? Did I even have him? Was there a future with him?

“Good coffee,” Pryce said, savoring the first sip.

I folded my hands and put them on the table, trying not to look as edgy as I felt. “So . . . what was it you wanted to discuss?”

For a moment he stared into the swirling depths of his coffee, as if trying to find just the right words, then he put down the cup, cleared his throat, and looked at me. “Do you remember that last Christmas we were together? We were alone in your apartment, you had music on, and I’d brought over that expensive bottle of champagne?”

He had to throw in the
expensive
part. I gave him a shrug, not wanting him to know that every moment of that night was crystal clear in my mind. It just wasn’t something that could be put in a machine and taped over. “Vaguely.”

“You gave me that black and yellow striped T-shirt—” which he’d said made him look like a giant bumblebee, and two days later exchanged for something more to his “taste”—“and I gave you that amethyst and pearl brooch.”

I could see it all in my mind’s eye. It was Christmas Eve and we were due to go to my parents’ house for dinner. Nikki and I had put up a live tree too early that year and the needles had started to drop. Pryce had asked for the vacuum cleaner so he could clean them up. I even remembered the CD I’d put on—
A Rockin’ Sockin’ Christmas
. It hadn’t been Pryce’s favorite.