Old Maid's Puzzle (9 page)

"Can you drive anyone home?" I whispered.

"On my bike?" Vangie laughed, and started humming the music to The Wizard of Oz. "That would be a sight."

I had the last laugh. "Isn't your bike part of the crime scene?"

She stopped humming. "Damn"

Ten minutes later, I was out on the sidewalk in front of the store. Vangie and I had carried out sewing machines and schlepped bags and rulers. Most of the students had gotten rides home from family members. Ina was dropping off the remainder.

Only Tim Shore was taking me up on my offer of cab money. I held out the petty cash. Tim plucked a twenty from my fingers, like I'd told him to Go Fish.

"I live in Santa Cruz," he said.

After a moment's consideration, he pulled out one more.

I saw Vangie roll her eyes. This was money I could ill afford to give away. I bit back a retort when he came back for one more. My heart sank, but I gave Vangie a brave look.

He walked away, saying he would get closer to downtown to catch a cab.

Vangie and I didn't wait for him to get out of sight before we locked the front door. The store was quiet, serene even. It was hard to believe what was going on in the alley.

There was a loud rap. Vangie and I jumped. The rap came again, and I could see Buster standing in the front window, fist raised, college ring tapping on the window. I was so glad to see him, I covered the distance in a few steps and flung open the door.

"Are you okay?" Buster said, gathering me in his arms. I let myself rest there a moment. "Sorry, I just got your message. I had my cell off," he said, and greeted Vangie.

She acknowledged him with a nod and a grin. She was glad he was there, too.

"I can't compete with laundry, I know." I managed to stick to a teasing tone, but I was a little peeved. It had been only an hour since I'd called him, but it felt like forever.

"Do you know the vic?" he asked.

Vangie shook her head vehemently.

I said, "He looked sort of familiar, but you know how it is in this neighborhood. There are tons of people that I say hi to on the street, but I don't know them."

I moved Buster over to the cushy chair in our book section. A hand-me-down from my parent's den, it was a well-broken-in leather recliner. Buster sat, and I perched on the arm. Vangie leaned on the book rack.

Buster was dressed in a sky blue SJPD Pistol Range T-shirt and navy sweats. I looked down at his feet clad in leather moccasins. He had rushed out of the house. He was practically in his pajamas. For him, going out in public in sweats was akin to being naked.

"You know I'm in for a long night," I said to him. I'd been through this before. The police would take their time processing the scene outside. "I haven't given my statement."

"Are you okay with that?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I just want them to do what they need to do. I don't need a homicide investigation going on all week. How would it look like if my parking lot had crime scene tape roping if off on Saturday?"

Buster took my hand and kissed it. I slid into his lap. "They're not going to leave the tape up forever. As soon as the coroner takes the body away, they'll be done. You'll have your lot back by the morning. Mid-morning the latest."

Vangie said, "They'd better. The sale is only three days away."

"And you don't need to stay here the whole night. There's nothing you can do. Who's the detective in charge?"

"Zorn," I said. I was surprised when Buster pulled a face. He clearly didn't like the man. "What?" I asked.

"Ms. Pellicano?" We were interrupted as Zorn and the other homicide detective came in from the back hall. Buster stood abruptly, nearly dumping me out of his lap. The police department was as fanatical as a gang about showing respect. A gang or a family of baboons.

Buster walked toward the pair, hand out. "Zorn. Peters," he said, with a nod to both. He rubbed his hands on his sweatpants. I hid a smile. Not being dressed in his detective drag, a suit and tie, was killing him.

"The ME pulled the driver's license. We've got an ID," Zorn said. "Frank Bascomb."

Peters and Zorn watched for a reaction. I didn't know the guy. I looked at Vangie who shrugged, and studied the book in her hand. I made a mental note to check my database.

The other detective said, "The address is in Milpitas. I' going over to his place." She said her goodbyes and left.

"What are you doing here?" Zorn asked Buster.

"This is my girlfriend's store."

Zorn smirked. "Your girlfriend? How cute."

A muscle in Buster's cheek twitched. Buster was always teased about being the youngest homicide detective. Like most bullying, he chose to ignore it.

I was more concerned when I saw Vangie's back stiffen. Zorn's voice dripped with condescension. She didn't care for cops much and any one who put down Buster was doubly bad in her book. I shook my head at her, hoping to avoid a scene.

"Ms. Pellicano," Zorn said smoothly. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Vangie said, "Do you really think the guy was poisoned?"

Zorn looked her over, taking in the nearly faded gang tattoo on her finger and her Dickies jeans and hooded sweatshirt and Doc Martens. We both could see he was making judgments about her. She thrust out her chest. Buster put an arm around Vangie.

"We will be investigating," Zorn said. "He has a nasty bump on his head, but it was probably just a bad burrito."

Vangie snapped, "Those are the best burritos in town. Mrs. Unites' kitchen is spotless." Vangie's loyalty was fierce. She loved our neighbor.

Buster gave her a fond look, and said, "I'm taking this one home. She's already given her statement."

Zorn shrugged. I smiled at him. That was Buster, thoughtful. He knew he was doing me a favor by making sure Vangie got home okay.

"I'll take you up on that," she said.

"I can stay until you finish using my kitchen," I said to Zorn.

"That would be great. Though as homicide, we're used to being out in the cold, aren't we, Healy?"

Buster smiled and walked Vangie out to his truck. I followed them and gave him a kiss. "I can swing back for you," he said.

"No sense in both of us losing a night's sleep."

I wasn't sure I meant that.

I waited until the CSI van came, and made more coffee for everyone, which they accepted gratefully. They brought in large lights that illuminated my parking lot and alley. Neighbors came out of their houses down the street to see what was going on. The police talked to everyone. I waited until the investigation was well underway, and then made my way home.

I opened the door into my tiny galley kitchen. The nightlight over the stove was burning, meaning Buster had made himself a cup of tea. A mug sat on the kitchen counter with my favorite tea bag already in it. I turned on the now-cold electric teakettle. A grilled cheese sandwich was on a plate beside it. Leave it to Buster to use a plate. I swiped the plate with a paper towel and put it back in the cupboard. I took a bite of my sandwich and went to look for Buster. I called his name but there was no answer.

A quick glance in the bedroom showed me it was empty. My guitar was missing from the stand in the corner, though. My heart skipped a beat. I loved to hear him play. Mostly I liked watching his fingers manipulate the strings.

I didn't hear any playing, though. My stomach growled angrily. Standing over the sink, I shoved the sandwich into my mouth with two fingers. I poured my tea. Maybe Buster was waiting in the living room, ready to end our embargo. Anticipation swelled.

I tiptoed into the living room to maintain the mood. But there was no mood to break. I heard a gentle snore.

I'd stayed at the store for about forty minutes, which looked to be thirty-five minutes too long. Buster was laid out on the couch, half-empty cup of tea and guitar on the coffee table, sound asleep. His eyes fluttered when I shook his arm, but closed again. He was a heavy sleeper, I knew. He'd sleep here for a few hours, then go home to get ready for work.

I pulled the flannel rag quilt off the back of the couch and kissed his cheek. He reached up and grabbed my hand, pulling me into him. I tumbled onto his chest.

"You think you're going to get off that easy?" he said, nuzzling my hair.

"You're asleep"

"Wrong. I was asleep."

I laughed as he faded again, his long curly eyelashes fluttering. "You can't keep your eyes open. I can wait. At least until you're awake enough so we can both enjoy it."

He let go of my hand and was asleep in ten seconds. I sighed, the sigh of the sexually frustrated female.

SEVEN

"OVER MY DEAD BODY," Kym said with a hair toss that would snap the wrist of a lesser woman. Vangie, sitting next to her at the kitchen table that doubled as conference table, ducked to avoid being blinded.

I winced at Kym's words. I had yet to address the possibly murdered man in the alley at the staff meeting. I'd met Jenn's earlier questions about the story in the paper by promising to give everyone the full scoop at the end of the meeting. I had an agenda that we had to get through. I couldn't allow even a man dying in my alley to get in the way of this sale.

"I'm not wearing pajamas to work. That is tacky," Kym said.

I hadn't realized Kym objected to tacky. I didn't want to remind her that calling it The Butt Crack of Dawn sale had been her idea.

Vangie muttered, "I bet you have a pair of pink bunny slippers you're just dying to show off."

I was afraid that just the opposite was true. Kym's pajamas were probably all silk and lace. Red teddies. Black negligees. Since she was married to my brother, I struggled not to picture the possibilities.

At least the silly problem of what not to wear was enough to keep us off the subject of dead men.

I said, "Customers get a deeper discount if they show up in their pajamas. From six to seven, the discount is 30 percent to anyone wearing their pajamas, 25 percent until eight a.m. Then the discount goes to 20, and stays there the rest of the day. By eight o'clock, everyone will be in street clothes," I said. "I just thought it would be fun if we were dressed in our nightclothes, too. At the very least, wear your QP T-shirt."

Kym looked somewhat mollified. I knew she would bedazzle her store shirt and pair it with a fringed skirt. She liked to look fashionable. I didn't understand who she was dressing for at the quilt shop.

"Let's get back to the agenda. We need to work on..." I didn't get to finish my sentence.

"The favors," Kym interrupted. "Work on the favors."

I swallowed a reprimand. Kym saw no problem in blurting out her every thought as it arose. Decorum, rules of order, agendas were meaningless to her. Like many of the changes I'd instituted, she ignored the ones she didn't want to participate in.

Some of the changes had cost money. Money I hadn't quite made back yet. This sale could turn that around in a weekend.

It had to.

None of the people at this table, especially Kym, had a clue what this sale meant to Quilter Paradiso. My new accountant pre dicted we had about three months left unless we had a large infusion of cash.

I looked around the table for support. Ina smiled at me, giving me the resolve to stand my ground. "We're not handing out favors, Kym."

"Of course we are," Kym said. "Remember I told you about those adorable lapel pins that looked like palm trees. Just like our logo. I made six in under an hour, so I'm sure we could make plenty by the weekend."

I tried to appeal to her inherent laziness. "I'm expecting hundreds of people through those doors on Saturday. We'd go crazy trying to make enough favors for each person."

"I'll make them," Kym said.

"I'll help," Jenn said. She smiled at Kym as though the two were curing cancer.

"You don't have time." My jaw ached from holding back my anger.

Vangie tapped her pen on the paper in front of her impatiently.

"That's not for you to say, Dewey," Kym said. "We have time."

Not for me to say? If not me, than who? I was the owner of the store. My cheeks reddened as I realized I'd given Kym the upper hand again.

Fighting back the exhaustion I felt, I put more force behind my words. "You do not have time. It's Wednesday already. Did you even look at the whiteboard in the classroom?"

I ticked off on my fingers all the work that had to be done before Saturday.

"Number one, we've got to clean the store from top to bottom. Number two, package the QPO kits. Number three, more fat quarters need to get cut between now and then." I could hear my voice rising, but I couldn't stop myself. By the third to-do on the list, I was practically yelling.

I took in a deep breath, trying to hold myself together. I continued, "We've got a huge shipment of notions that will have to be put out. Displays have to be made. We have to hang all the QP Originals."

"We used to have favors," Kym said.

The lament of the left behind, "We used to." All I could think of were the things that wouldn't get done because Jenn and Kym were making silly pins that would end up in the bottom of our customers' junk drawers.

"I forgot," Kym said. "Things are being done differently now."