Crushed Velvet (17 page)

Kim's face went
red. “You couldn't know that unless you went through my things!” she said. “You had no right to do that.”

“I didn't go through your things. You dropped a piece of paper. I tried to tell you, but you didn't hear me because you had on your bike helmet.”

“I can't believe you're going to ruin this for me after everything I did to set it up.” She threw her fists down next to her thighs and stormed inside through the back door.

“Kim! I don't know what you're hiding, but I'm going to find out,” I called. Seconds later the front door slammed.

I entered the back door of Tea Totalers and went straight to the desk. Just as I figured, Kim's personal information was missing from the metal tray. I cursed myself for letting that happen and went back out front. She was already down the street on her bike.

“Did that have something to do with the conversation
you were having with me when I got here?” Vaughn asked, surprising me. He put his hands on my upper arms and I tensed. He gently rubbed his hands up and down my sleeves.

“She's hiding something,” I said. A mix of frustration and anger left me in need of an outlet.

“Most people are hiding something.”

I turned to face him. “Are you?”

“No.”

I was aware of how close we were to each other, aware that he smelled like tanned leather and aged oak. Like I imagined a men's club would smell. His green eyes glowed as sunlight picked up the ring of gold around his irises.

“Well, maybe. Nothing serious, though.”

I reached my hands up to his elbows and rested them for a second, then stepped backward. His hands fell from my arms and caught my fingertips. There was something comfortable about standing there with the California sun shining down on us as we stood in front of Tea Totalers. Something that made me feel like I was in the right place at the right time. I didn't know what Vaughn would say if he heard what my morning had been like, or why I'd been arguing with Kim. I didn't know if he'd judge me for getting involved. But for everything I didn't know about how he'd react, I knew—I could sense—that he'd understand whatever it was I felt I had to do. It was an unfamiliar feeling and I needed to test it, to see if it was real.

“Genevieve's in trouble. Sheriff Clark took her to the police station this morning. He said he has enough evidence to get a conviction.”

“What does this have to do with Kim?”

“I think she knows something. She showed up the day Phil died. I think whatever she's hiding has to do with Phil's murder.”

A breeze blew over our heads and ruffled Vaughn's hair. The front of my own hair blew, too, my long bangs coming loose from where they'd been tucked behind my ear, now obstructing my vision. Vaughn reached a finger up and pushed my hair back to the side of my face. He slipped his finger under my chin, tipped it up, and kissed me lightly.

“Genevieve's lucky to have you in her corner,” he said. He rested his forehead against mine and I closed my eyes and relaxed for the first time that day. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don't know yet.”

“If there is, will you let me know?”

“Maybe,” I said. “I wouldn't want you thinking that's the only reason I'm letting you stick around.”

“Aha. So you admit you have ulterior motives.”

I looked at the plastic bags he'd propped against the side of the house. “Sure I do. I need your vinegar.” I crossed the yard to the back door.

He followed. “I guess my mother was wrong about catching flies with honey,” he said with a grin.

“Depends if you want more flies or quality flies.” I looped my index finger through the handles on one of the bags and slung it over my shoulder.

“Should I point out you're the fly in this particular metaphor?” he asked.

“Should I point out you're implying you're trying to catch me?”

“Maybe we should call this a draw.”

I picked up the rest of the bags with my other hand and carried them to my car.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“I'm taking the supplies to the fabric store to work there.” After loading the vinegar bottles in the backseat, I put the rectangles of wood that Vaughn had cut into the trunk. It
took several trips. When I went back inside and looked around, I assessed how much work there was to do. A lot. The project had started out as a reason for Tea Totalers to be closed for the week while I helped Genevieve get her life in order. We were four days into the week and not only was her life not in order, but it was about as far from orderly as it could get. And while I suspected the repetition of decoupaging fabric to the tray table components would take my mind off Phil's murder, I knew Genevieve didn't have time for me to sit around crafting.

And then there was the issue of the fabric store opening in three days. Thanks to the help of my parents, the store had been ready before any of this had happened. At least if you didn't count the sign fiasco. But in three days Material Girl would be open for business. The celebration of reopening the fabric store would be tarnished by sadness if Genevieve wasn't free by then.

I called Charlie. “Have you heard anything from Genevieve yet?”

“No. I can't believe that jerk had the nerve to take her in. He knows she didn't do it. I've half a mind to swipe his distributor cap.”

“I don't think it's such a good idea to tamper with a police vehicle.”

“Just joining you in Fantasyland,” she said.

“Don't make me have to prove your innocence, too.” I told her about my conversation with Big Joe and my argument with Kim. “I doubt she'll follow through on his offer, but if she does, he'll keep an eye on her.”

“Good.”

“Call me if you hear anything, okay?”

“Sure.”

I hung up the phone and tapped my fingers against it. After all of the evidence that had turned up, it was the
appearance of an insurance policy that had led Clark to arrest Genevieve. But she claimed they didn't have a policy, and if that was true, then where did this one come from?

Outside, Vaughn was stacking scraps of wood into neat piles. I suspected it was a made-up task to keep him occupied while I was on the phone.

“What do you know about life insurance?” I asked.

“A fair amount. Why?”

“That's what finally got to Clark. He had all this evidence against Genevieve, but when he found out Phil had a life insurance policy in her name, he took her in.”

“She should have told him about that up front.”

“She and Phil didn't have life insurance. His brother is an agent and kept trying to sell to them, but she said they always said no.”

“Money's been tight for the Girards, but maybe they changed their minds.”

“How do you know about their money problems?” I asked.

He looked embarrassed. “I'm sorry. It's confidential.”

“But it has to do with Genevieve and Phil?”

“I don't think I should be talking to you about this,” he said. “I'm sorry, Poly.” He watched me for a few seconds and I stared back at him. I expected him to say
Just kidding
, or
On second thought
, but he didn't. Instead, he turned back to the workbench and covered it with a large gray tarp that had been sitting on the ground next to him.

I hadn't expected Vaughn to hold out on me after I'd confided in him. I went back inside, through the kitchen, to the front of the café and sat along the wall under the one window that didn't have brown butcher paper covering it. I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried to think. Outside, an engine started. Gravel kicked up. A car pulled out of the lot and drove away. I didn't bother looking to see if it was Vaughn. I already knew it was.

I couldn't just sit here. I had to do something. I went to the computer, cued up a search engine, and typed in “San Ladrón life insurance.” Several possibilities showed up. I added the name
Girard
to the end of my search terms and found a Samuel Girard connected to a local branch of a major insurance carrier. I called the number and a woman answered.

“San Ladrón Insurance,” she said.

“Hello. I'm trying to reach Samuel Girard about an appointment.”

“Sure, let me get his calendar. How is next week? Tuesday?”

Tuesday was too late. I changed tactics. “You misunderstood me. I have an appointment today but I'm running late.”

“That's not possible. Mr. Girard had a death in the family and I moved all of his appointments to next week. Unless you arranged to meet him at his home office?”

“I did, but I think I wrote the address down wrong. Can you confirm it?

“Sure.” She rattled off an address. “Are you familiar with San Ladrón?”

“A little.”

“Do you know where Gnarly Waves, the water park, is?”

“Vaguely.”

“Head south on San Ladrón Avenue, cross the highway, and turn right at the first street. His office is on Thicket Road, your first left. It's a light green bungalow with white trim. Sam has a sign in the yard out front.”

“Where does the water park come into play?”

“If you reach the water park, you've gone too far.”

I thanked her and hung up before she could ask my name or offer more assistance. It was after four and I was about to pay a surprise visit to Genevieve's brother-in-law. I grabbed the address I'd scribbled down, locked up the front and back doors, and left.

On the way to Sam Girard's house, I stopped at Rosie's Posies. It was a freestanding florist located in a small shack
by the side of the road. Sam Girard's brother had been murdered. I didn't know if they had been close or not, but family was family. Regardless of what I hoped to gain by talking to him, I wanted to show respect.

The structure, not more than ten feet square, had been painted a cheerful yellow with soft green trim. Tall forest-green buckets sat around the exterior of the building, holding cuttings of colorful long-stemmed flowers. A sign advertised
Message to Heaven
bouquets for five dollars, and a hand-painted arrow directed me to an entrance in the back. I followed the perimeter of the building and found a pretty woman in a straw hat and gardening gloves standing outside, trimming the branches on a small topiary.

“Hi,” she said. “I'm Rosie. Are you looking for some flowers to brighten your day?”

“Not really. Something more somber, I'd say.”

“Are you on your way to the Hi-Ho Cemetery?”

“The what?”

She looked embarrassed. “I meant no disrespect. The Hickman-Howard Memorial Park. It's about a quarter mile down the road, and a lot of people stop here to get a Message to Heaven bouquet on their way. Rumor has it Grumpy from
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs
is buried there, or at least the person Grumpy was based on. He supposedly haunts the place, so people started calling it the Hi-Ho Cemetery. Is that where you're headed?”

“No, but I am here because of a death in the family.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” she said quickly.

“It's not my family. I'm visiting someone whose brother recently died, and I wanted to take him a plant or something.”

“You must mean Sam Girard,” she said. “I heard about his brother Phil on the news. They say his wife killed him, but I don't believe it.” She set her clippers on a concrete step. “Follow me.”

The interior of the small building had been divided in half thanks to a counter that held her register, a helium tank, and an assortment of foil balloons with colorful expressions on them. The right side of the building included a wall of refrigerated cases that housed buckets of roses in peach, pink, yellow, red, magenta, and white. In front of the refrigerated cases were small potted plants. They all looked either too feminine or too familiar for me to buy a stranger.

“How well do you know Sam?” she asked.

“Not well. He's a business associate,” I added quickly.

“How about a topiary?” She bent down behind the counter and stood up with a small tree shaped like a ball. There was a green ribbon tied around the trunk of the tree, which couldn't have been wider around than a D-cell battery.

“It's perfect,” I said.

I paid her what seemed like too low of a price for such a pretty plant and drove to my destination.

Sam Girard's house was in a residential community of flat-roofed ranches in various pastel shades. I parked along the curb under a tree that was just starting to show signs of life thanks to the gradual temperature shift that comes to California every April. I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, reapplied my lipstick, and tucked the loose hair that had blown around my face back behind my ears. I wished I'd worn something nicer than a sweater, leggings, and high-tops to work, but that couldn't be helped now.

A small rectangular sign mounted to a wooden stake announced Sam's business. The stake stood in the front yard a few feet back from the mailbox. The house was mint green with off-white trim. Delicate lilac flowers surrounded the base of the house, their pastel shade of purple complementing the mint green siding. In front of them, blooming groundcover in a deep purple alternated with thick fern-green leaves. The house looked warm and welcoming.

I approached the front door with the plant under one arm. As I pressed the doorbell, a series of chimes sounded on the other side of the door, followed by footsteps.

The door opened and I found myself face-to-face with Kim Matheson.

The young blonde
took one look at me and slammed the door in my face. Startled, I stepped back and readjusted the plant that was balanced on my hip. I pressed the doorbell again and waited. Her footsteps hadn't receded and I suspected she was still standing directly on the other side of the door. After thirty seconds of waiting, I rang the doorbell again. She yanked it open immediately.

“This is borderline harassment,” she said. “How did you find this place? I didn't give you an address.”

A man stepped into view at the end of the hallway. Although the light was dim, I could see a facial resemblance between him and Phil. This man's hair was darker than Phil's but had the same unruly curls.

“Kim, who is it?”

“Nobody.” She slammed the door on me a second time.

On the other side of the door, footsteps approached. The man opened the door. “May I help you?” he asked.

“I'm here to speak to Sam Girard about an insurance matter,” I said.

“I'm Sam Girard.” He held out his hand. I readjusted the plant against my left hip again and shook his hand.

“I'm Poly Monroe. I'm sorry for your loss.” I held out the plant. “This is for you.”

“Thank you.” He took the plant and set it on a table inside the front door. When he turned back, he looked confused. “Your name doesn't sound familiar, but I admit I'm off my game this week. Did we have an appointment?”

“No, we didn't. I'm sorry to show up like this, but I need to talk to you. May I come in?”

“Sure.” He stepped to the side and I entered.

A formal dining room sat to my left, furnished with a dark wood table and a matching hutch filled with crystal stemware. To the right was a living room. An overstuffed beige chenille sofa lined one wall and faced a brick fireplace. Dark, polished hardwood floors anchored both rooms, along with the hallway. The interior of the house was colorful. The dining walls were lavender, the living room yellow. The hallway was taupe.

“I have to apologize for my niece,” Sam said. “She's going through a phase.”

“Your niece?” I was confused for a moment. “Kim is your niece? But Genevieve and Phil don't have a daughter.”

“My other brother. Kim's been testing her boundaries lately.” He looked surprised. “You know Genevieve and Phil?”

“I'm friends with Genevieve. In fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Come with me to my office.”

As we walked down the hallway to his office, I wondered why Kim had lied about her relationship with Genevieve. From the very first day that I'd met her at Tea Totalers, she had pretended that she was a new employee who hadn't met Gen. Turns out, they were related. Why the secret?

We reached a small room at the back of the house. The
walls were dark hunter green. A worn cognac leather sofa sat along the wall under a hunting painting. Behind the desk was a brick fireplace with a wooden mantel filled with framed photos, diplomas, and awards. Sam's desk sat to the left of the office and faced the sofa. An oriental rug in shades of green, white, red, and blue covered much of the hardwood floor.

“Can I get you a drink? Scotch, brandy”—he looked at his watch—“sherry?”

“How about water?”

“You sure you don't want something stronger? This has been a heck of a week.”

“Water's fine for me,” I said.

He emptied a small bottle of club soda into a glass and handed it to me, and then fixed himself a scotch and soda. “I can't begin to imagine what Genevieve's going through.”

“You haven't talked to her?”

“She's not returning my calls. I know what people are saying and I—we—want to help. Kim said Genevieve hasn't been at work all week and that's not like her. We can't help her if she won't let us.”

“Sam, the sheriff picked up Genevieve and took her to the mobile unit. I don't think he arrested her, but I think he's close. He said he has enough to get a conviction. I know she didn't have anything to do with your brother's murder, but there's a lot of evidence against her.”

He shook his head. “Genevieve couldn't harm a fly. My brother was lucky to have her. I wish she would have listened to me about the insurance policy. Now she's got nothing except the shop, and she's probably going to lose that.”

“See, that's just it. There
was
a policy, a recent one.”

“There was? Who drew it up?”

“I don't know. The sheriff found it this morning. Genevieve says she didn't know anything about it. And if you've been trying to convince them to get one, why wouldn't they go through you? It doesn't make sense.”

“No, it doesn't. Especially since
I
have a policy all drawn up for them. All it needs is their signatures.”

“Where is it?”

“I keep it in the safe.” He downed his scotch and soda and stood up. I thought he was going to make himself another, but instead he walked to the hunting painting and removed it from the wall. Behind it was a safe. He spun the lock back and forth a few times and opened the door. I watched his back as he rooted through a small stack of papers. “Here it is,” he said. He pulled a manila folder out of a stack. He flipped past the top pages to the back. “Wait a minute—that can't be.” He flipped to the top page again and looked at the writing. “This isn't possible.”

“What is it?”

He sat back down at the desk and laid the document in front of him. Starting slowly, he flipped through the pages one by one, scanning the text. When he reached the last page, he slowly shook his head back and forth.

“What is it? What's wrong?”

“This document is signed, that's what's wrong.”

“How could the document be signed and put into your wall safe without you knowing? Who else knows your combination?”

“My wife knows. It's our anniversary date. Same as the alarm code on the house.”

“Who else knows that code?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

“Mostly family.”

“Did Genevieve know it?”

“She might have. Phil did. I know I should change it more frequently, but it's easier this way. One of the kids house-sits for us when we go out of town, and they know it, too. I lock the office, so the safe's never been an issue.”

“When's the last time you went out of town?”

“We were supposed to go a couple of weeks ago, but a
family situation came up and it didn't seem like a good idea to leave. It was just as well that we canceled.”

I didn't miss how his eyes cut to the door. “Does Kim ever house-sit for you?”

“She has,” he said.

“Tell me again how Kim is related to you.”

“She's my niece. My other brother, Jim, is a traveling salesman. He's on the road fairly frequently. Has been since Kim was a girl.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

He looked at me sharply. “Kim's family and she's had some hard times. I told you she's going through a phase, but that's all I'll mention.”

I understood where Sam was coming from. Family was important to me, too. As an only child, I didn't have a large circle of relatives around me. I had my mom and dad. When I came to San Ladrón after inheriting the fabric store, I'd gotten into some trouble, and my parents had been there for me. I knew no matter what happened, I could count on them.

“Did Kim have access to your safe?” I asked softly.

He nodded. “My business involves a fair amount of confidentiality. I'm going to have to talk to the sheriff about this, tell him what I found. I don't know what it means.”

There was a tap on the door to the office. “Uncle Sam?” said Kim's voice from the other side of the door. “I need to talk to you.”

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened and she came inside. She was dwarfed by the darkness of the green walls and the heaviness of the wood beam ceiling. She shoved her hands into the kangaroo pocket of her pale pink sweatshirt. Her shoulders were slouched and her eyes were red.

I stood up. “Thank you for your time, Sam. I can show myself out.”

“Don't leave, Poly. I want to talk to you, too,” Kim said.

I sat back down. Kim walked over to the desk and played with a clear globe paperweight on the corner. “I heard you two talking. I know what you think,” she said to me.

“Kim, I haven't broken any confidences here,” Sam said. “You don't need to tell Poly anything if you don't want to.”

“But, Uncle Sam, I did something really bad,” she said. Her eyes grew wide and bloodshot. “I forged Aunt Genevieve's and Uncle Phil's signatures on that insurance policy. I'm the reason the police are after her!”