Make, Take, Murder (18 page)

Rita Romano, one of
our long-time croppers, handed me a Cricut cartridge. “Is this yours? This doesn’t make any sense. Your inventory sticker is on it, but I bought it online. I would have gotten this from you, but you were out of this particular model.”

I stared at the cartridge with the sick realization that it had probably been shoplifted from our store.

Rita handed over all the transaction details from Mommy’s Memories to Go. I photocopied them, thanked her, and gave her a $25 Gift Certificate.

“Don’t, please! I should have asked you to order this for me. We all need to support our local small businesses, especially our local independent scrapbook retailers, so I feel a bit silly. In fact, I debated about whether to bring it in, but I used to work in retail, and I figured you needed to know about it. I’m not sure what it means, but it can’t be good news.”

I pressed the gift certificate on her. “You don’t realize how much money you’ve saved us.”

Rita wouldn’t take it. “Do you really think I could live with myself knowing I purchased stolen goods?”

Clancy shook her head. “I put a call into Detective Hadcho earlier.”

I nodded. The Richmond Heights P.D. is small, so I wasn’t surprised that he’d be handling a case of theft as well as checking up on our stray body part.

“I’ll try Hadcho again now. Clancy, can you start setting up for the crop?”

_____

Bama showed up at the same time Detective Hadcho did. He held the door open for her, but she didn’t bother to thank him. “What is it with you and cops?” she muttered darkly. “You have some kinky thing going on? You get off on the uniforms? Handcuffs? The guns? Or the violence?”

“We think we found our shoplifter.” I was not going to let her bait me into being nasty. Not today. On the spot, I decided to wait until after the holiday season and then confront her. I just wasn’t up for a confrontation, not now.

“Really?”

Detective Hadcho cocked his head. “Why don’t we go in the back? We can talk privately. I can take all this down.”

“Bama, can you get the supplies out for the crop? Laurel left five minutes ago. She carried all the boxes up to the front. I only need help setting things at the stations.”

She grunted at me. I took that for a yes.

Hadcho declined a cola, requested coffee, drank the murky instant with resignation, and whipped out a Steno pad. I handed over the cartridge, plus its paperwork, and pointed out our sticker.

“First of all, how does this gizmo work?”

I explained that the Cricut was a die-cutting machine. Each cartridge held a library of fonts and shapes. I handed over the information Clancy found as well as everything Rita Romano had given me.

“We’ve got someone who can trace the URL for the website. Should be able to shut this down quickly.”

“Good. I appreciate the help.”

He grunted. “That’s my job. By the way, thanks for keeping Detweiler in the loop with that stuff about Gambrowski. You get an idea about what that message in those books means, if it is a message, you let us know. You going to the memorial service?”

I nodded.

“You got plans for tonight?”

“I’m working here until eleven and then going home. My daughter’s at a dance, and then she’s spending the night with a friend.”

“A few of my friends are getting together over at Lumière Place. What do you think about going over there?”

I didn’t catch his drift.

He added, “With me.”

I picked my jaw up off the floor. Hadcho was asking me out to the newest, hippest casino in town! Wow. His steady dark chocolate eyes stared at me as he waited for my answer.

What could I say? I’m dating Ben Novak, but I’m madly in love with your married co-worker? I sometimes go out with my best friend Mert Chambers’ brother, who happens to be a convicted felon?

Hey, with a love life like mine, the producers at the Bachelorette should be knocking down my door.

“I know it’s last minute. Just a bunch of friends hanging out,” he repeated. “Tell you what. Why don’t I swing by the store and pick you up? Quarter after eleven? That way I can also keep an eye on you. You probably shouldn’t be wandering around in the parking lot here alone.”

It didn’t sound too daunting. ’Tis the season and all that. Wasn’t like he called ahead and asked me to get gussied up to go to a nice restaurant. His invitation was spontaneous. Last minute. I hesitated. He just wanted company. Didn’t want to walk in alone to a gathering of his friends. It wasn’t about me. Really, it wasn’t.

And why shouldn’t I say yes?

Anya was off at CALA’s holiday dance. A pang reminded me I hadn’t even gotten to see her all dressed up. Sheila had picked my daughter up after school, helped her get ready, and done taxi cab duty. More and more, my mother-in-law was my stand-in, my parenting partner. I couldn’t decide whether to feel lucky or miserable about that.

I hoped Sheila would remember to take photos. Too late for me to call and remind her.

I wouldn’t see Anya after the dance, because she was having a sleepover with Nicci Moore.

I was going home to an empty house.

Detweiler wasn’t going home to an empty house.

It was the holidays, after all. Other people were having a good time. Why should I go home and dog sit? Why should I spend my evening doing laundry? All I ever did any more was work, work, work! Why not go out with Hadcho?

“That’d be nice,” I said.

I didn’t have to
phone Mert in a panic about my decision, because she came to the crop early. She pranced in wearing black tights and boots, a tiny black skirt, and a tight red tee-shirt with the words “Ho, Ho, Ho” printed across the bust in sequins. I wondered if she saw the irony. I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“How’s Laurel doing?”

“Best gift you ever gave me. You just missed her. She even apologized because she couldn’t stay longer to help.”

“Yeah, she’s pert near terrific, isn’t she?”

I nodded. “I need to talk with Mert, the agony aunt, please.”

She grinned. “Mert’s Advice to the Lovelorn at your service. What’s wrong? Has the season got you all mushy? Johnny gave me a piece of mistletoe to tack up over your stockroom door. But I bet you ain’t thinking about my brother. You pining for that married detective? Mind you, I owe him one. Thanks to him, I won my court case.”

Great. Here was a good reason to stall instead of spilling my news. “Tell me about it!”

Mert chewed on a piece of celery as she explained, “Seems my customer, one Sandra Franchino, was breaking stuff and turning in claims for the insurance. Other stuff, she done took and hocked it. When her hubby noticed all his toys was missing, he started to get suspicious-like. That’s how come she blamed me. But Detweiler hooked me up with a pawn broker who testified how Sandra was this regular customer. He had video from his CCTV and ever thing. Paperwork, too. See, they gotta keep really accurate records of what comes in ’cause they don’t want to be accused of fencing stolen goods. So we nailed her. That old Sandra was just lying like a cheap hairpiece.”

“How come? Why’d she do it?”

“Cause she needed herself some spending money.”

“I thought Nick Franchino owns that big car dealership over on Olive.”

“He does. But he don’t give her a cent. Makes her perform certain marital duties in payment for whatever she wants.”

“Eeee-uck.”

“No kidding. She ain’t nothing but a high-paid prostitute, and she knows it. Heck, now the whole world knows it, too. In fact, as her sad story all tumbled out I felt bad for her skinny white butt. She started talking about how he wouldn’t let her visit her dying mother, and she begged him to let her go. How he monitors her phone calls, got this high-powered monitoring system on their Internet. Even reviews the security cameras in their home.”

“Why?” I straightened after slipping two dozen deviled eggs into their perfect plastic cradles. I make a mean deviled egg, even if I say so myself.

Mert continued to press cookie cutters into the soft sandwiches that Clancy had brought. The resulting star-shaped treats were absolutely adorable. Especially since their filling alternated egg salad, ham salad, and cucumber with cream cheese, and the bread alternated whole wheat with white. I unpacked a tri-level
petit
four
serving tray and carefully transferred the delightful tiny treats that Mert’s brother Johnny had baked.

“Did you know French bakers created
petit fours
as a way to use leftovers?”

Mert never ceased to surprise me. Most people never guessed she graduated cum laude with a degree in history from Southern Missouri University. When I asked her why she chose to clean houses, she answered, “I set my own hours and my own pay. If the boss is an idiot, I tell her off, and she straightens out.”

I steered us back to the subject at hand. “You never answered me. How’d her husband react when she told the court all this? About keeping her under his thumb?”

“What do you mean?”

“Wasn’t he embarrassed?”

“Heck no. He’s a Bible thumper who thinks women ought to be punished for what Eve did.”

“Talk about holding a grudge.”

“You got that right. It’s enough to make you swear off of applesauce forever. And he has to pay her court costs and everything. I’m just thankful my reputation was cleared.”

“So am I.”

“Now what’s worrying you, girlfriend?”

“Um, Detective Hadcho dropped by. He’s meeting some friend over at Lumière Place, and he asked if I’d like to go with.”

“And you’re asking me what?”

“Do you think I should?”

“You got a reason not to? Sounds like a good time to me. Heck, if you don’t want him shoo him my way, won’t you? Those pretty brown eyes of his’n make me want to melt like a candle on a birthday cake.”

“It’s not like that. It’s just a friendly invitation.” My face grew hot.

Mert crossed her arms over her chest. Only one little “Ho” was visible. She tilted her head and a tiny jingle bell tinkled. But her expression contrasted with all this merriment. Her brow puckered and her mouth went flat. She might seem all girly-girly to outsiders, but I knew her to be a tough-skinned survivor with a keen understanding of human nature. She proved this by pinning me to the wall, figuratively: “You been sniffing the Copic markers?”

“Copic markers?” I struggled to act innocent. Copic markers are alcohol-based, but sniffing Sharpie markers is even more of a trip.

“He’s a man. You’re a woman. An invite to drinks is a date in my book. Should be in yours, too.” She narrowed her eyes, and I got real interested in arranging napkins. “We need to have ourselves a conversation, girl. How many men have you dated?”

“That’s none of your bees-wax.”

“Right.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I was dating a guy before I met George.”

“So one boyfriend, one husband, and two on the fence? I ain’t sure how to count Detweiler and Ben Novak.”

“What’s your point? That I’m lucky to have a guy interested in me?” I rearranged the napkins for the umpteenth time.

“I hate to think where that comes from. I surely do. My point is simple: You ain’t had a lot of experience. Ain’t nothing wrong with taking a car for a test drive before you buy. Provided, of course, you don’t head out on the highway and act like a crash dummy.”

I wasn’t sure how to feel. Protected? Loved? Nurtured? Angry?

“Lookie here. I think that dating is a good way to learn about yourself. You learn what you like. What you don’t like. You learn how people make you feel. Good, bad, or indifferent. And you ain’t had much chance at an education, girlfriend. Taking this guy up on his offer to get together don’t obligate you to nothing. Nothing. That’s important to know. So what can you lose, huh? You might discover that Detweiler ain’t the only tool in the shed. Or you might discover that he’s the best fit for you. But you cain’t know that from sitting around at home, can you?”

I nodded, slowly, as I raised my eyes to meet hers. Compassion was there, bright and shining with a full measure of honest caring that eased the tension in my shoulders, the tightness in my jaw. “I guess.”

She smiled. “If you want to believe it’s not a big deal, you go right ahead. That way you don’t have to get all nervous-like. But you need to get honest with yourself.”

“I am honest with myself. I’m not the kind of woman men find attractive. I’m not tall, I’m not thin, and I’m not young.”

“Oh, really? That so? Then somewhere’s along the line, you must have gotten bird poop in your eye.”

“Bird poop in my eye?”

“That’s right. Because the rest of the world sees a good-looking, single woman. Even iff’n you don’t.”

Johnny’s Simple
Petit Fours

For cakes:

1 box Betty Crocker super moist cake (or any other cake mix)

For icing:

1½ c. confectioners’ sugar

1 tbsp. light corn syrup

¼ tsp. vanilla extract (clear is best)

2 tbsp. whole milk

Food coloring

Hershey’s chocolate syrup

Bake cake mix according to package directions in a 9 x 13 inch pan. After it cools, turn the cake out onto a flat surface. (A piece of corrugated cardboard covered with tin foil is perfect.) Using dental floss, cut the cake into 24 rectangles.

For icing, mix together confectioners’ sugar, corn syrup, vanilla and milk, alternating sugar and milk at the end to get proper consistency. Divide icing into as many bowls as you want for different colors and add one drop of food coloring, then mix.

Spear each piece of cake with a wooden skewer and dip into icing. Drizzle top with Hershey’s chocolate syrup or add sprinkles.

Kiki’s Deviled Eggs

One dozen eggs (at least two weeks old)

Honey mustard

Mayonnaise

Bacon (at least 3 pieces, maybe more like 6)

Green onions (1 or 2)

Olives

Put eggs in large pot and cover with cold water. Bring to a rolling boil. Cover the pot, turn off the burner, and let sit for ten minutes. Meanwhile, fry bacon to a crisp. Let it cool and crumble it into small pieces. Remove eggs from burner. Rinse eggs well in cold water. Crack shells by rolling under your palm. Let eggs cool, then cut in half and scoop out yolks.

Mix yolks with honey mustard and a dab of mayonnaise to desired consistency. Add crumbled bacon to desired consistency. Spoon yolks into a zippered plastic bag. Cut one end off of bag. Squeeze yolk mixture into eggs.

Decorate eggs with sliced green onions and olives.