Designed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) (2 page)

I shuddered. I hoped I didn’t just Beetlejuice the woman by thinking her name. Darlene had been scary quiet the last few months since Belinda’s name was announced. You would’ve thought she’d exhibit a little happiness for her cousin. Then again, she was Darlene so not much of a surprise.

I counted the chairs, then the class kits. I double checked my list. One cancellation. Not a problem. It would be snapped up once I made it known.

Someone cleared their throat.

I carefully flipped through the magazine, trying to find the page which showcased the layout using the technique Belinda planned on teaching today. It wasn’t every day when a teacher requested we order pounds of glitter, pink boas, nails, hot glue sticks, cardboard, and hammers.

The person repeated the grating noise.

Holding in a sigh, I closed the magazine and looked toward the sound.

Annette Holland stood in front of me, a sheet of paper clutched in one hand. The other hand patted the back of her infant son who was attached to her front with a backpack style holder. The strap of a green fabric tote with Eden County Library screen printed on it slipped from her shoulder and now hung from the crock of her elbow. 

Some customers shot an irritated glance her way. If there was one thing mothers didn’t like it was for other mothers to bring their children to an event when they found a sitter for theirs.

“Going to start scrapbooking?” I smiled at Annette.

The paper trembled in her hand. This wasn’t the strong, confident young lady I met a few months back. Then again, her life had changed drastically since she had an affair with Marilyn’s husband Michael. She’d been a suspect in his murder, the grieving girlfriend, the town’s black sheep, and now a single mother trying to raise her child on her own.

“You aren’t letting children in the class, are you?” A customer glared at me from her place in line.

Behind Annette, Sierra clutched a stack of promotional flyers and leveled a hard stare at me. She switched her gaze to Annette and shook her head.

My co-worker and friend Sierra, or former friend if you asked her, glared at me. Sierra wanted the mom and baby gone before a mutiny happened. I felt myself digging in my proverbial heels. I had no intention of letting Annette into the class, but I couldn’t remember if I specifically stated no children.

Sierra tucked the flyers under one arm then scribbled in the class book. “I’ve been dying to take this class. I hope it’s okay I’m signing up. I didn’t want to do it early as I figured we should give our customers a chance first. Unless
you
have a problem...”

I heard the sighs of relief from the customers who waited for the arrival of the diva. The book signing was scheduled first but the class attendees had arrived also, each hoping to get one of the three coveted chairs in the front row.

Annette thrust the paper at me. “Could I sign up for this?”

It was a print out of our Halloween crop. I checked out the last lines. Relief swept through me. I did mention no children at the crop. At least I wouldn’t have to wage that battle after the fact.  

“Sure.”

Annette pointed at the salutation and then a section in the middle of the email. “I wasn’t sure because of this and this.”

I read the email I thought I knew by heart.

Hello wonderful croppers! Get those calendars out and mark this date! As a thank you to our wonderful customers, we’re having an Eve Before Halloween Crop. This is a free crop for all of you! So get those sitters lined up or have those hubbies at home and come join us for an evening of cropping, snacks and special scrapping treats (no tricks, we promise).

From your friendly Scrap This employees and owners!

I cringed. Wow, a little exclamation point happy. Besides that, I didn’t see any problems.

“I’m not a wonderful cropper, nor have I shopped here.” The baby fussed. Annette bounced up and down. “So, I wasn’t sure if you meant me. I figured you must or you wouldn’t have sent me the email...”

Here I thought I did a good job in conveying our message. I spent two hours composing it.  Just what I needed in my life...an email analyzer.

“If you received the email, you’re invited.” I handed the print-out back.

“Oliver said the invitation was specific.” Annette tried hoisting the library bag back up her arm.

I lifted the strap and placed it on her shoulder, spotting a book about beginning scrapbooking. We needed a less nosy librarian. “Oliver didn’t write the email, so what does he know.”

“He knows that invitations specifically worded are meant for the ones invited not just anyone.” Oliver White’s know-it-all voice broke into the conversation.

I wanted to smack the guy. The county hired Oliver White as the new library director a few months ago. He was the straight out of college nephew of the retiring library director, and seemed to be following in his aunt’s footsteps of becoming the town’s Miss Manners. Originally, he had wanted to be a police officer. Some medical issues made it hard for him to pass the physical so he turned his interest in policing onto a different path.

“You’re invited, Annette. I can’t wait to see pictures of your little cutie. If you need help with your layouts, pick a spot by Gussie. She doesn’t do much scrapbooking but loves baby pictures.”

Annette crinkled her nose and fired off a “so there” comment with her eyes at Oliver.

“Words are important.” Oliver held a copy of
Making Legacies
tightly in his hands. “You might not respect them—”

“I respect them all right. It’s why I’m careful not to make someone feel unwelcome.” I glared at Oliver. “I meant everyone and anyone who’d like to crop is welcome. Besides, it’s none of your business who we invite to our events.”

“Invite whoever you want,” Oliver said. “But the proper use of language is my business. You should have written what you just said so it would’ve been clear.”

“The line’s getting long. You might want to go stand in it.” I widened my eyes and smiled sweetly. “Was that clear?”

“Customer service isn’t your forte.”

The buzzer by the employee door sounded then stopped. After a gun-carrying criminal surprised me a few months ago, my grandmothers had Steve Davis add a security system by the back door. If the code wasn’t punched in quick enough, a warning alarm went off at the police station and in the prosecutor’s office where Steve―my grandmothers’ appointed knight-in-shining armor for me―worked.

“Belinda must have arrived,” I said.

Oliver drew in a breath and quickly rushed toward the front of the line.

“The end,” I called out to him.

I watched one of our customers snag Oliver’s arm and draw him to her side. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder and flipped through the magazine. No one else in line seemed to care so I’d let it slide, and Belinda had promised not to leave until every magazine was signed.

Cold wind snaked through the building and I fought back a shiver. October could either be an extension of a warm fall or the beginning of a cold winter. Two years in a row, trick-or-treating had to be postponed because of snow. The October breeze swirled around the room and I scrambled to grab the class schedules and other advertisements that tumbled from the heavy plastic tables.

Belinda waltzed into the store, waving like a teenage girl crowned Homecoming Queen. My grandma Cheryl followed after her, doing her best not to roll her eyes. A few customers began whispering, straining their necks to get a good look at the newest Life Artist Diva.

“Please don’t let this title go to her head,” I muttered.

“Belinda, look over here! Over here!” A customer jumped up and down, holding her cell phone out as she tried to snap a picture.

“Belinda, the library thanks you for the generous gift.” Oliver waved his copy in the air.

“I must speak with Faith first.” Belinda gave another queenly wave, blew a kiss at Oliver, then headed for me.

When she spotted Karen and the photographer, she froze for an instant. In that moment, I saw uncertainty cross her face. The shy woman, who needed her mom to book her signings and appearances, shone through the new confident, “celebrity Belinda.”

“Belinda,” I almost screamed her name to draw her attention, “can you give me some pointers on the class?”

Belinda shook her head. “I can’t give out any secrets. Only those who paid for the class will get to learn this technique. I hope you have some way of making sure those who haven’t purchased a spot don’t get a free lesson.”

Did Belinda expect us to empty out the store when the class started? Or put up a huge partition? I cast a glance over at my grandmothers. Hope looked confused by the request and Cheryl beyond annoyed.

I was both, considering I had to figure out how to incorporate this new demand from Belinda. “I’m not expecting any secrets. I just want to know which layout is the inspiration for your class.”

Belinda wagged her finger at me. “No sneak peeks. Not even for you.”

I heard Karen’s unladylike snort from across the room. I refrained from giving her the evil eye, and also swatting Belinda with the magazine.

Yesterday alone, I had spent three hours on the phone making sure everything was just the way Hazel’s “baby” needed it. Talk about helicopter mom. I had been instructed on the noise level permitted in the classroom area, the temperature best suited for Belinda’s creativity, and how instructions couldn’t be included in the class kit because Belinda feared her idea would be distributed without her permission.

Neither my grandmothers nor I liked the last rule but we went along with it.

When Belinda was named a L.A.D., scrappers within a four hour drive-time radius began calling, asking if we had any classes taught by Belinda on our schedule. Everyone considered Scrap This her home store, so they contacted us first and we didn’t want to disappoint them.

“Hard to set up the class properly without the instructions.” I picked up a copy of the magazine featuring Belinda and flipped through it. There couldn’t be too many designs that needed glue, boas, glitter and a hammer.

Gazing at my hands, Belinda offered me a smile and patted me on the shoulder. “Silly me, I should’ve guessed. Of course I’ll sign a copy for you. Would you like me to personalize it?”

I stopped my eye rolling in mid-roll when I noticed Sierra leaving her spot for the class and coming toward us.

Belinda whipped out an acid free bubblegum pink pen from her bubblegum pink and lime green Vera Bradley purse. The sleeve of her oversized coat covered her hand and hid the pen.

“Would you like me to take your coat?” Sierra asked. “I brought a quilted hanger today just for you.”

“How thoughtful of you, Sierra.” Belinda beamed at her and held out her arms, waiting for Sierra to remove the garment.

With only a slight hesitation, Sierra slipped the beige coat with a chocolate brown faux fur collar from Belinda’s shoulders.

I pressed my lips together to stop from gaping at Belinda. I was a pink loving girl, but even for me this was overkill.

Belinda’s purse was the perfect color match to the bubblegum pink and lime green t-shirt she wore which had “Life Artist Diva
”
embroidered across her ample chest. The tiny rhinestones strained to pop off. She paired the shirt with a pair of bubblegum pink jeans with tiny lime green scissors embroidered all over the legs and backside of the denim. Belinda pulled out a tiara made with lime green and bubblegum pink stones from her purse and delicately placed it on top of her head. The tiara was almost hidden by her mass of dark-brown curly hair.

Leslie stared at her diva with a look of utter amazement...and not the good type of amazement.

Sierra hid a snicker behind her hand cupped around her mouth.

“Faith...” Belinda cocked her head to the side and looked at me. Confusion twisted her features as she stared at the magazine I still held.

“Yeah, sure. I’d appreciate it.” I held the magazine out to Belinda.

Belinda gently placed her hands beside mine and lifted the pristine issue of
Making Legacies
from my hands as if we transferred a baby between us. With careful turns of the glossy pages, Belinda stopped at the section that highlighted her artist biography and displayed a large glamorized photo of her. The right-hand side of the feature article showcased a featured artwork of hers.

The layout was breathtaking. As the magazine order had only arrived that morning, I hadn’t had time to look at the pages featured in the special issue. Belinda surprised me. The introduction layout of hers had layers of embellishments artfully arranged around an Andy Warhol style portrait of Belinda.

A monochromatic color scheme of green circled the picture and helped pop the picture from the page. Usually, a large amount of embellishments overpowered pictures but Belinda’s design of keeping the decorative elements in a muted shade of beige helped keep the focal point on the beautiful photo.

“This is great, Belinda.” I tapped the photograph of her work. “I didn’t know you’d been working on changing your style.”

Belinda blew on the inscription and handed me back the magazine. “It’s always good for an artist to test their skills. I never would’ve been inspired to stretch my creative wings if it hadn’t been for your classes.”

“Thanks.” I peered at the note Belinda wrote.
To one of my favorite scrapbook store employees. Keep encouraging the love of art to all those who wander into the store.

One of. Well, I guess if Sierra flipped through my copy and read it, Belinda didn’t want her to think I was the favorite.

A thump sounded at the backdoor. I shot a look at my grandmothers. They both frowned. The thudding grew louder.

Belinda sighed. “I guess my mom is finally here. She promised to come and be my page turner.”

“Page turner?” Did I really want to know the answer?

Belinda nodded, arranging ten bubble gum pink acid-free markers on the signing table and shoving off the ones my grandmother had placed there earlier. “My mother said the line would go quicker if she turned to the correct page and all I had to do was sign.”

Cheryl paused at the maroon curtain that separated the store area from the stock room and flicked a glance over her shoulder. I knew that look. It had been given to me quite a few times growing up...the girl-needs-a-reality-check stare down.

Tapping an index finger on her bottom lip, Belinda studied the placement of the signing table. “Should my back really be facing the large picture windows? Passersby might be interested in stopping to get a quick peek at a celebrity.”

Hazel rushed past the rows of pattern paper and beelined to us. She had bought, or made herself, a similar outfit to the one Belinda wore. Instead of bubblegum pink being the major color it was lime green with the pink shade as the accent, and her claim to fame stated “Mother of Life Artist Diva.”

“This won’t do.” Hazel tsk-tsked. “The lighting here is too harsh for Belinda to deal with all morning. The table should be angled away from the windows. This just won’t do at all.”