Make, Take, Murder (11 page)

“Get out! Get out!
If you don’t leave, I’m going to sic these dogs on you! They’re trained killers!” Bama yelled.

Fluffy cocked his head at her as if to say, “Who, me?”

As Bama shoved her shoulder against our back door, she hollered, “Out! I’ve got a gun! I’ll blast your heads off! I tell you I will!”

Robbie Holmes pushed me behind a shelf unit. “Is she armed?”

“No way,” I whispered, and I trotted up alongside her. “Bama? You okay?”

“He … they … he …” She shivered and shook. “A photographer knocked on the back door. I thought, I thought it might be that Fed Ex delivery we’re expecting. They called while you were up front. I opened the door. A flash went off. He took … he took … my picture!” and she broke down sobbing.

“Slow down. I can barely make out what you’re saying. It’s okay. Police Chief Holmes is here. Shhhh.” I grabbed her and pulled her toward me like I would my own daughter. Her shoulders trembled as her tears soaked my blouse. I didn’t know what was most shocking: (1) her reaction (2) her letting me comfort her or (3) her allowing us to see that under that Ice Queen exterior was a very frightened and emotional woman. Sobs shook her body. Bama grabbed my sleeve as if she never planned to let me go.

You never really know another person. Oh, you think you do, but all you see is the cold exterior serving as the ice-cutter, the reinforced nose of the ship designed to bully its way through the frigid water. Beneath the waterline, beyond the bulkheads, another world carries on, loving, living, surviving on a more intimate level. A swirling mass of emotions exists beneath our public exterior, a heaving jumble both unseen and unshared. But once the ship hits the ice floe, the battle for survival demands all hands on deck. With so much at stake, pretence is tossed aside. This shipwreck of a woman was the real Bama. We exchanged glances, fractional, lasting seconds only, but an unspoken truce passed between us.

So,
I thought,
that tough, cold exterior is just an act.

“Shhh,” I tried again, keeping my eyes locked on hers. “Calm down and talk to me. I need to know what happened.” I couldn’t imagine why she was so upset. After all, weren’t we in the business of taking and saving photos ourselves?

“He took my picture!” she wailed and pointed at the door, gesticulating over the yelps of the dogs. I could imagine what was on the other side. Photographers. Videographers. Reporters. But that wasn’t such a big deal. Not really.

“Well, see? You’re okay. That’s nothing.”

“They … they’re going to print my picture!” she cried out, pulling away from me. So much for comforting my business partner. My words only encouraged her to toss her head back and howl. She clenched her fists and shook them at the big police chief. “You tell them they can’t. Tell them it’s illegal. Stop them! You have to!”

“I’m not sure I can. You lose a lot of your rights to privacy when you own a business open to the public. And, sad to say, when a crime occurred on your property. Or at least when Kiki found the evidence. Your rights collided with the public’s right to know,” he touched a gruff paw to her shoulder lightly. “Now, it’s not such a big deal, is it? Having your picture taken? Maybe they won’t even use it.”

“What if they do?” she asked him.

“That’s great publicity for us,” I answered. “You represent the store well; you’re so stylish.”

“No! I can’t. I don’t want my picture in the news!”

“Why don’t you get her a cold drink, Kiki?” Robbie suggested. “I’ll take a cup of coffee if you have any.”

The refrigerator and coffee pot were on the other side of the stockroom. It took me a while to mix Robbie’s coffee the way he likes it with creamer and sweetener.

On my way back with the drinks, I paused long enough to check on the dogs. From my spot by their playpen, I could see into the office where Bama sat hunched over with a pinched, pained expression. Robbie squatted next to the desk and spoke in low tones. I caught a few words: “Careful … my number … check on you.” I thought I heard something on the order of “let Kiki know,” but to that Bama shook her head violently.

Whatever. I guess we hadn’t really connected. That moment of comfort I’d offered her must not have been the start of a beautiful friendship.

Robbie took his coffee with him as he headed back to the station. By the time Bama finished her cola, Her Frosty Majesty was back on the throne.

The rest of the
evening moved along slowly. Most of our customers bought supplies that they intended to use while finishing up holiday cards or special gifts. This worried me. We hoped they would buy gifts for themselves. Or send in family members and friends with instructions to make purchases for them. All along the walls, we draped yards of gold-colored silken cord that Dodie had snapped up from a resale shop for pennies. (Normally we couldn’t have afforded such luxury. That stuff was more per yard than many fine fabrics!) From these “ropes,” we attached festive red and green striped paper cut-outs of stockings. In between these, we tied cinnamon sticks. The air was fragrant with the spicy aroma. Around the “fur-trimmed” top of the socks, customers printed their names. On the various stripes they printed product names on their “wish lists.”

Our idea was to make it easy for customers to shop for each other. Their significant others could also come in and see what they wanted.

But so far, we’d only seen a few of the desired products rung up at the checkout counter. This worried me. We put a lot of money into that inventory.

I concentrated on finishing a holiday e-mail blast while Bama sat in the back and balanced the credit card slips. My computer terminal sat to one side of the front counter. Perched on a stool, I could survey the store as I worked. When Bama came up to do a quick count of Cricut cartridges, I asked, “Did we lose any more?”

“Nope.” Bama’s eye makeup had smeared during her upset, so the woman in my sights looked a tiny bit wonky, like a speckled reflection in an old mirror.

I wasn’t in much better shape. My schnozzle was running like a garden hose. I tried to wipe my nose gently, but the skin was sore and tender. Plus, I was losing focus. After so much dripping and mopping, I gave up and took a cold medicine designed to dry me up. My throat ached and my head pounded. I probably needed to take a sick day but that was out of the question. At least maybe I could sleep in one morning. I asked Bama, “What did you work out with Laurel?”

“She’s coming in to sign paperwork. Maybe even tonight. She’s supposedly been scrapbooking for four years. Knows how to work a cash register. Really, we only need another set of eyes. And hands.”

Bama hesitated. “I need to take off early. We have that special Last Minute Gift crop tomorrow night, and I need to finish my holiday shopping.”

I knew she was lying. She bragged to me earlier in the month about how organized she was, how all she needed to finish was getting gifts wrapped. I thought about calling her on it, but really, I figured she needed a graceful way to end a bad day. I must have waited too long to respond because she rushed in with, “Hanukkah’s only two days away, right?”

I nodded. “Go ahead and leave if you need to. Did you give Clancy a call?”

I could tell Bama was considering refusing my friend’s offer. We’d talked before about the problems associated with hiring good customers. Frankly, I didn’t think we had a choice. I added, “Clancy’s willing to work for free.”

“How come? Nobody does anything for free.”

“She likes to keep busy.” I didn’t divulge my friend’s family problems. They were none of Bama’s business.

Bama chewed her bottom lip. “Clancy would do a good job here in the store. She’s smart, professional, and she catches on quickly. Between her and Laurel, I think we could put an end to our shoplifting problems. But I don’t think we can let her work for free. That’s not right. It’s taking advantage of your friendship. I’m surprised you’d suggest it.”

“I’m not suggesting it. I just wanted you to know how willing she was. I’m thinking we should offer her store credit. She’s new to scrapbooking. That would give her a chance to buy more supplies.”

I guess my tone of voice betrayed my irritation. Bama agreed with the store credit idea on the spot. In fact, she seemed downright conciliatory. I decided to push my luck. “Any idea if we’re ahead of projections? Will there be a Christmas bonus?”

“I’m still working on the accounting. A few of the manufacturers offered discounts if we paid quickly, so that’s my priority.”

She watched the store while I took my small, mobile canine herd around the block for peeing, pooping, sniffing at, and general overhauling of the neighborhood landscape. That airhead Fluffy must have tangled her lead five times in the first five minutes alone. At one point, I could have doubled as Gulliver after being tied down by the Lilliputians, I was wrapped so thoroughly in leashes. With a lot of hopping and tripping and ducking under and over the cords, I managed to get back to the store so Bama could leave. She was on her cell by the time I put my charges in lock-down mode. Okay, call me a bad person, but I eavesdropped. I overheard her say, “I don’t know … don’t panic … think of something …”

Not very interesting stuff.

The next few hours dragged on and on. My eyes drooped and I actually almost fell off the stool once.

At 6:20 I closed out the register. Laurel hadn’t stopped by. I worried a little that she changed her mind about helping us. Maybe after hearing about our garbage fiasco, she decided ix-nay on the impromptu anatomy lesson we might offer. I couldn’t blame her.

When I checked the numbers on our cash register reconciliation form, the paltry sales figures concerned me. Where were all our customers? Had they all been scared away?

I started to awfulize, to think of the worst possible scenarios. Maybe the rest of Cindy’s body had been found. Maybe she’d left another missive pointing to me. Maybe we were the lead story on the evening news. Ho, ho, ho. That sure would put a kibosh on the old holiday spirit.

Discouraged and exhausted, I loaded up the dogs, popping Izzy into my purse and carrying him to the car over my shoulder. His apple-shaped head bobbed along as I walked.

It wasn’t until 6:35 that I pulled out of the store parking lot. It took me a few minutes to wipe all the dog slobber off the inside of the car windows.

I managed to catch the end of the half-hour newscast on the local radio station. The broadcaster repeated the story about Cindy’s disappearance, the body part, and the bloody car. Fortunately, the reporter left out our store’s name and substituted “a local merchant.” Fine by me. I got the dogs settled at the house. It was nearly seven by the time I drove over to Sheila’s house to pick up Anya.

I guess it was too much to expect that my mother-in-law might go easy on me because I’d had a tough day.

As usual, Sheila had her own agenda.

“She’s not studying her
Hebrew. At this rate, Anya won’t be ready for her bat mitzvah. By the way, where’s her coat? She told me she was fine in that jacket, but she couldn’t possibly be. What about her footwear? She’s going to need boots. She can’t be wandering around CALA without something besides those silly Birkenstocks all the children wear. The very idea of slapping around in clogs. Without any back to them. And thin socks! How could you let her leave the house like that? You know she’s just courting a bad cold.” Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of colds, you have one? Stay away from me. Go wash your hands. Did you take any of that Airborne stuff ? It works. I take it all the time. Here, I bought a couple canisters and I don’t like the grapefruit flavor.” She shoved a tube into my handbag.

Over my shoulder, on my way to her bathroom, I called out, “Anya’s bat mitzvah isn’t until next May. That’s a year and a half away. She’ll buckle down. I’ll talk to her.”

I locked myself in and slumped onto the closed toilet seat. I leaned my head onto a stack of guest towels. Maybe I could close my eyes for a bit, and Sheila would go away.

Bam, bam, bam.

“Kiki? You in there? Anya asked me if you two were going to buy a Christmas tree tonight. You know I don’t approve. Not in a Jewish household. That’s just not … not …”

“Kosher?” I asked as I flushed the toilet twice. That forced her to yell over the noise. What she was saying, I couldn’t make out. Nor did I care. Instead I slowly mopped my nose and pressed a damp cloth to my eyes.

Giving her grief seemed fair enough. Sheila always seemed to know exactly when to turn the thumbscrews on me. In fact, I bet she installed an internal alarm system in her brain that buzzed loudly when my mood hovered near rock-bottom. Without fail, she’d choose the worse possible times to climb on my back, ride me around the block, and use her words to beat me senseless.

“Christmas trees aren’t … You shouldn’t … The very idea …”

I kept hitting the toilet handle and turning on the tap.

Wow. This was certainly the day for Morse code conversations. I only caught every third word, but I didn’t need to hear more. I opened the bath door and Sheila nearly toppled over.

“I can’t stay. Got things to do. Thanks for picking up Anya. I’ll come get her tomorrow night after seven. You have a date with Robbie this week, don’t you?” Oddly enough, her tirade had energized me. If Sheila didn’t like an idea, I was all over it. No way was she going to tell me what I could or could not do with my own daughter. Or with my life. Or my holiday plans.

I beamed what I hoped passed for an embarrassed smile. “I think I clogged your toilet,” I lied.

I took great satisfaction in watching her turn pale.

Once I stepped out into the foyer, I hollered up the stairs. This sent Sheila right over to the dark side. She hated and feared plumbing problem, and she absolutely loathed with a passion having people yell to each other in her house. Unless, of course, the yell-ee was her.) “Anya? Yo, Anya? We need to go!”

My kid galloped down the stairs. She’d borrowed a knitted scarf from Sheila and wrapped it tightly around her throat. She also had on one of Sheila’s old coats. It nearly fit her. That stunned me. My, how my baby was growing up.

“See you, Nana,” said Anya as she scooted past Sheila, who was giving Linnea detailed instructions about unclogging toilets.

Linnea raised her hands in surrender. “I don’t do plumbing, Miss Sheila. You know that.”

Sheila stamped her foot. “Get me that plunger, right now!”

Ha, ha, ha. Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas,
I snickered.

Anya must have read my mind. “To the Lions Club Christmas tree trailer?”

“How’d you guess?”

But I didn’t move quickly enough.

“What about that leg you found?” Sheila stomped over to me, waving the plunger. It was dripping all over her floor. Two paces behind my mother-in-law, I saw Linnea rolling her eyes and shaking her head with dismay.

“Hey, you’re going to splash that on your clothes,” I told my mother-in-law. “Shouldn’t you be wearing rubber gloves? It’s more sanitary.”

Sheila tossed down the plunger and erupted with a string of curses. Very unlady-like. We both watched it bounce along the hallway.

“Now you’ve got, um, whatever all over your nice floor.” I pointed out helpfully.

I could see Linnea standing behind Sheila, and her shoulders were shaking with mirth. While Sheila jumped back to inspect the wet spot, Linnea and I exchanged winks. I just loved Linnea. She was such a hoot.

Sheila raced around to block my egress. One foot slipped, and I instinctively grabbed her before she hit the ground. She brushed me off and struggled to regain her dignity.

“Kiki, I demand to know about that part of a person you found. What on earth were you doing in the trash? Did you take total leave of your senses?”

“Anya, go get in the car.”

“Geez, Mom. You aren’t seriously trying to keep this a secret, are you? Everyone is talking about it. Three of my friends phoned to get details.”

Sheila blanched. “Your friends? People are talking about this? Anya, go get in the car now!”

“Not my fault,” I said when my daughter was out of range of hearing.

“Of course not,” said Sheila. “But you did happen to be at the epi-center, didn’t you? My granddaughter is at risk! Robbie told me they suspect murder. That poor Cindy Gambrowski. Murdered and dismembered. You need to be careful, Kiki. I know all about Ross Gambrowski.”

“You do? What do you know? Fill me in.”

“Everyone in town knows about Ross.”

Well, la-di-dah. I hated this. The “Old St. Louis” grapevine regularly sent messages to its members. What was my mother-in-law going on about?

From the driveway, Anya honked the horn on my Beemer.

Sheila leaned out her front door to shake an angry finger at my child. I was fast on her heels. What a sight she made in her gabardine suit, her pearls and a plunger for a scepter. Queen of All She Surveyed.

Sort of.

“Everyone knows what about Ross Gambrowski?” I prompted.

“He put Cindy on a pedestal. One she couldn’t get off. Set her apart. Kept her under a long protective arm. At least that’s what he called it. Had high expectations. His love for her is—”

The horn honked again. This time more impatiently.

I’d had enough. “I’ll catch you later,” I told Sheila.

What the heck did she know about love?