Cropped to Death (Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) (22 page)

Sierra and Linda were on their way, but until they arrived, the contest participants, sales, and clean up rested on me. Sighing, I unlocked the door and the people poured in. Darlene walked inside and her gaze fixed on the display area.

“Where are they layouts? I thought the customers were going to judge them this morning?”

Other women murmured their agreement and confusion.

“They were damaged,” I said, motioning to the mess on the floor.

Questions erupted from around the room.

“All of them?”

“Damaged?”

“How?”

“Why?”

My head pounded. I rubbed my throbbing temples and felt someone step beside me. I glanced and saw Darlene.

She raised her hands into the air and clapped. “Let’s give Faith a chance to explain.”

“Someone broke-in, destroyed the layouts. All of them,” I said.

Hands fluttered toward mouths as the group sounded a collective gasp.

“The police are investigating,” I assured them. “If you hear anything, please tell Detective Roget or Officer Jasper.”

Darlene rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Another woman lifted her purse into the air. “Just going to run this to my car, then I’ll help, too.”

The anger and tantrums I expected didn’t come, instead offers of help and total understanding from the women. I knew how much effort and love scrapbookers put into their layouts, and now those creative works were destroyed.

The phone rang. I snagged the receiver from its base. “Scrap This.”

“Hi, honey, it’s Grandma,” Cheryl said. “Is everything okay at the store?”

“It’s actually really good. The contestants have been very understanding.”

“We have good people in Eden.”

We did indeed. “How’s Hope?”

“She’ll be fine.”

“You both keep saying that, but she hasn’t felt well all week.”

“Hope is a natural worrier and the accounting has stressed her beyond her limit. After today, I’m handling the finances. She’s much better at the promotion stuff.”

After assuring Cheryl that I was truly fine, and that no, I didn’t need Steve’s help, I hung up. A little less worried, but still sad.

My attention kept slipping from managing the store and volunteers to wondering who could’ve destroyed the layouts. If it wasn’t about winning the contest, then what was it about? The only thing that made sense was the Art Benefit Show. All the pictures on the layout centered on that day. The day Michael Kane was murdered.

Had someone accidentally captured something that maybe gave away the killer?

Like something to disprove someone’s alibi? The only person with a solid alibi was Annette Holland. And Hank freaked when I mentioned him being in a picture. He had access to the Scrap This keys. Could he have done this?

There was one person who could find out. I prayed Sierra would forgive me.

“Detective Roget.”

“Have time for lunch?”

“Who’s this?” His voice was suspicious.

Gee, he really did have a thing for me. I hunched over the receiver, whispering into the phone, “Faith.”

“For you, yes.”

“How about I pick you up in front of the station and we eat at the park?” I asked.

“That’ll work. I’ll be out front in an hour. And try to stay out of trouble until then.”

Now what did I do?

I ordered two turkey sandwiches with all the trimmings, minus the mayo, two bags of chips, two large coffees and a large piece of chocolate cake to go. I hoped Ted would share the dessert. I left Home Brewed and walked around the back of the building so Linda and Sierra didn’t spot me through the display windows.

I got into my car, eased from the employee parking spaces, and headed for the police station. When I reached the station, I slowed down and craned my neck, trying to spot him. I really didn’t want to go inside and find him.  The door of a cruiser opened and Ted stepped out. I stopped.

He opened the passenger door, carrying a white sack, and settled into the seat. “Let me guess, you want to make a citizen’s arrest.”

I ignored the sarcasm and held out the brown sack with Home Brewed splashed across it. “I brought lunch.”

“So did I. Annabelle brought chicken and waffles.”

The smell filled the car. My mouth watered. “Let’s go with yours.”

“We’ll go with yours. I’m saving this for dinner.”

“What if I don’t want to share?”

Ted buckled up. “No problem. You eat your lunch and I’ll eat mine. Whether for lunch or dinner, I’ll still get chicken and waffles.”

“Tease.”

“I try.”

I jerked the wheel and got the car back on the road.

“Someone needs a safety course in driving.” Ted reached for the radio.

“Someone needs to stop distracting the driver.” I swatted his hand.

“I’m a distraction. Not sure if I should be flattered or not.”

“Not. Definitely not.”

“So what kind of sandwich? Or is that a distracting question?”

“It might be if I decided to shove you out.”

“That would fall under assaulting a police officer.” Ted held on tight to the chicken and waffles.

“Might be worth the consequence.”

“Come on, Faith, we both know you’re not that type of girl.”

I flashed him a wicked grin. “You have no idea what type of girl I am.”

“I’d be willing to find out.” His tone grew huskier and darker.

Why had the tempo of my pulse increased? I did not like Ted. He was aggravating.

I found a space near the park and pulled into it.  “Stop messing with me or you can eat lunch by yourself.”

Ted held up his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll even share the chicken and waffles.”

I grabbed the coffee and shut the door, following a few paces behind him. He kept glancing over his shoulder at me, the expression on his face unreadable. My nerves bounced. Was I walking into a trap? Enough with the paranoia, I scolded myself. If someone planned to do me in, they wouldn’t do it in the middle of the day in plain view of the courthouse.

Ted sat at the first bench and I dropped down beside him. Behind us, I heard children laughing and arguing while women gossiped, the topics ranging from the new pastor and his fashionable wife to Michael Kane’s murder.

“We could go somewhere else,” Ted said, casting a sympathetic gaze at me.

I shrugged and wriggled a little further away from him, the woodsy scent of his aftershave created a roller coaster effect in my stomach. Dizziness washed over me, I really should’ve eaten something. I took a sip of coffee and it landed in my empty stomach like a rock.

Ted handed over a piece of chicken. “You feeling okay?”

I nibbled at the chicken. “I’m great. Just got busy and skipped a meal here and there.”

Anger seeped into his gaze. “How hard did Hank shove you?”

The chicken slipped from fingers into my lap and I stared at him.

Ted settled back against the bench. “Linda told me. I interviewed all the employees this morning. She said Hank cornered you in the backroom. He shoved you. What the hell was that about?”

This was the second time I heard Ted curse. Both times when he thought someone physically harmed me. I gave him the brief version.

“I’ll have a talk with him. You should have told me.” Ted bit into a chicken leg.

“I was planning on telling you during lunch.”

Ted chewed and eyed me, doubt on his face.

“I was going to tell you about Hank getting upset, the layout I saw him in, and that he had access to the key, but not the other thing.”

“It’s not another thing, Faith, it’s a threatening action. Just because it’s not a punch, doesn’t mean you accept it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes.

“You’re not going to tell my grandmothers or Steve, are you?”

“No,” Ted said. “I don’t want another murder in this town. I don’t think we have enough room for the three of them in the jail.”

“Bobbi-Annie would let them out.”

“The chief would let them out. He has a soft spot for Hope.”

That was new. Chief Moore’s wife died three years ago from cancer. He was a kind and fair man, two years older than Hope. I should send him an invitation to the next crop mixer.

“What are you plotting now?”

“A date for my grandmother.”

Ted smiled. “Give it a few more months and there’ll be no reason for plotting. The chief is a take charge kind of guy.”

“What kind of guy are you?” I couldn’t help asking.

“Patient.”

I returned to the store with Ted’s comment floating in my mind. What had he meant by that, or did I really want to know. I went with not. There were some items better left in the realm of the unknown.

“You okay?” Sierra asked.

“Peachy as can be.” I picked up a few remnants of a layout and tossed them into the trash.

“The customers were asking about the contest.”

“Customers or Darlene?” I knew the woman’s compassion couldn’t last too long.

“Darlene and others. They spent a lot of time and money on their layouts.” A grimace twisted Sierra’s mouth.

I joined Sierra behind the counter. “What?”

“I hate to say this.”

Groaning, I leaned over and placed my forehead on the cool surface. “Just say it.” How could the day possibly get worse?

“Darlene is convinced this vandalism was an inside job.”

I had my answer, the day could get worse. I thought like Darlene.

“She thinks we didn’t want to award the die cut machine so—”

“We destroyed the layouts ourselves. Because everyone knows that would help our business.”

Sierra rested a hand on my shoulder. “No one is going to believe her.”

I stared at her.

“Okay. Not for very long. By Monday, this conspiracy theory of hers will bring us sympathetic shoppers and nothing more.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Right now people are in shock and want to be a part of something scandalous.”

Only those never involved in a real “scandal” wanted one popping up in their life. “And that will change by Monday.”

“Absolutely.” Sierra grinned. “They’d all have sitting in a pew on Sunday.”

“Or they’re going to announce it during prayer request time, then everyone will join in.”

Sierra lightly swatted my arm. “Stop being pessimistic. Have some hope, faith and patience.”

I narrow-eyed her. “Really? You’re going to go there?”

Sierra pressed back a smile and nodded. “You aren’t a caver-under. I know that.”

“A what?”

“That’s what Harold calls a person who quits because something looks hard. Don’t give up, Faith. We’ll get through this.”

I just hoped it was all in one piece.

TWENTY-SIX

Sierra’s words had helped and for the first time this week I slept soundly. The weekend was off to a good start, even though I did have to field calls about refunds. The conspiracy river was flowing fast and wide, but at least the newspaper ignored Darlene. Not that she hadn’t tried, but even Karen England had standards.

I was feeling stronger until Hank stormed into Scrap This.

Sierra blanched and ran toward her husband. “Is it the boys? Did something happen? What did they do?”

“They’re less trouble than your so-called ‘friend.’” Hank glared at me and tried stepping around Sierra.

She slipped back in front of her husband. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s worried about Marilyn, and what being labeled a murderer will do to her and her family, but not about you.” Hank clenched and unclenched his fists. “Great friend she is. The only reason Faith agreed to watch our boys was to see if she could find herself another suspect since blaming Annette didn’t work out for her.”

“What are you talking about?” Sierra looked at me, confusion tugging down her brows and mouth.

“Why don’t you tell her, Faith? Or do you only stab people from the back?”

Apparently Ted talked with Hank. “I’m not the one who’s been hiding something. It’s not my fault you got called out on it.”

Sierra pivoted and faced her husband. “What is going on?”

“Ask Faith.”

Sierra pointed at her husband. “I want you to tell me.”

Hank took in a deep breath. The anger evaporated and he looked at his wife with hurt and sadness in his eyes. “I asked Faith the other day if she’d quit talking about me borrowing her car. I didn’t want you to know I was going out that night. So I lied and told Faith the boys tampered with ours and needed hers.”

Sierra bit her lip. “Why would you lie about that?”

“Because I didn’t want you to know I was signing up for the cage match they’re having at the high school tonight.”

“What?” Sierra and I both said.

“I should be the one supporting my family, not my wife.” Hank looked at the ground. “If I win, I’ll make five hundred dollars for one night’s work.”

Sierra’s hand fluttered to her mouth. “That’s not work. That’s dangerous. “

“What choice do I have? No one would hire me,” Hank said. “It might be easier now that Michael isn’t around.”

“Michael got you fired?” I asked.

Hank’s eyes turned cold when he looked at me. “Yeah. Want to run off and tell that to the Detective? Michael enjoyed sharing our exploits as kids. Except he’d leave out the kids and him part from it. I showed up the morning of the art show, but the security team leader told me they didn’t need me anymore. Heard about my ‘brushes with the law.’”

I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I didn’t know he had brushes with the law. Hank must have guessed what I was thinking because he rattled off the details.

“There was hiding our third grade teacher’s purse. Of course, I only buried it under the beanbag chairs, but Michael told it as if I stole it and only returned it when the authorities were called. Then there was the stolen county vehicle. Michael’s dad was on the school board and put a huge magnetic sign on the driver’s side door. Michael and I borrowed the car one day and his mom reported it stolen.”

I remembered that car. It was a big joke among the students at the high school. We always wondered if Michael’s dad had a badge and a uniform to go along with it. Michael had always been a good storyteller, weaving tales that had everyone rolling with laughter, especially the ones about his and Hank’s recreational activities.

“Faith, thought since I didn’t tell her the real reasons I borrowed her car, and since the boys saw someone who looked like me in a photo, that I’m the murderer.”

“You told the police that Hank killed Michael?” Sierra gaped at me.

“I didn’t say that! I just told them about the inconsistencies in what Hank said—” I started explaining.

“Don’t forget you said I had access to the store key and a motive for destroying all the layouts,” Hank finished.

Sierra tossed her hair over her shoulder, anger smoldering in her eyes. “Is this your new way to get Marilyn off the hook, pointing the finger at Hank?”

“I’m not pointing the finger at anyone. I told Detective Roget the truth, just like I did with Marilyn. You told me I did what I had to do and shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Now it changes because it’s Hank coming under suspicion?”

“It changes because you’re using bits and pieces of information, not the whole story, to find someone else to blame. If Hank being in a photograph, having access to the store key, lying about why he needed a car, getting fired from a job, all adds up to his guilt, then why doesn’t the evidence found by the police add up to hers?”

That was a good question. And I didn’t have an answer.

I tried sleeping, but the distant and near past collided in my head. Pictures of the day Michael died, the crop where Marilyn whacked away at her husband’s image, Adam’s court-marital, my near court-martial, the betrayal on Sierra’s face, the fact I did to Hank what others had done to me. I assumed his guilt on random details that pointed to what I wanted to believe rather than the truth.

Pushing myself up on my elbow, I looked at the clock on my bedside table. Midnight. For two hours, I re-lived my life and my mistakes and each time arrived at one conclusion: if there was a way to miss the obvious, I managed it. Tossing off the covers, I stood and pattered barefoot down the stairs. The only way I would clear my head was shake off the unhappiness swirling around me.

I needed to scrapbook.

Working on layouts reminded me of the pleasant times of my life. I saw the love of my grandmothers in the photos. Some people scrapped the good and bad times in their lives, but I was strictly a “happy” scrapper. The photos of shameful and painful times were kept locked in the closet. I relived them enough in my mind, I didn’t need them documented in an album. But for the happy moments, I needed a physical reminder to prove they occurred more often in my life.