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Authors: Ali Brandon

BOOK: Double Booked for Death
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“This is the number for a criminal attorney who was a friend of Great-Aunt Dee,” she said, pressing the card into the woman’s limp hand.
“If you don’t want to answer the cops’ questions, tell them you have a right to ask for a lawyer, and then call him.”
“Don’t worry, Darla,” came Reese’s dry response from behind her.
She turned to see him hanging up his cell phone.
He added, “I don’t know how they do it back in Texas, but here we’re pretty good about reading people their rights and all that official stuff.
Right now, this is all informal, and Lizzie is coming in of her own free will.
If for some reason we get beyond that point, and she decides she needs an attorney, she’ll get one.”
“Oh, right,” she mumbled, having forgotten for a moment that he was one of the cops in question.
She gave the woman a quick hug and stepped back to let Reese take her by the arm.
His expression had morphed back into the same neutral mask he’d worn while acting as security for the autographing.
His grip on Lizzie, however, was firm, and Darla recalled his comments about not wanting to take part in another sprint.
He nodded in her direction.
“I put a call in for a car.
Take a look outside and see if it’s here yet.”
Darla did as instructed.
Sure enough, a patrol car had pulled up to the curb, and the officer already had the rear passenger door open to the sidewalk.
“It’s here,” she said with a nod and opened the shop door.
Jake had already grabbed up Lizzie’s abandoned cardigan and purse, tucking the former into the latter before hanging the bag from the woman’s free shoulder.
Reese walked her toward the front.
And so the lion captures his prey
, Darla told herself, though the realization brought dismay rather than satisfaction.
Lizzie kept her gaze downcast, not acknowledging her as the pair passed by and then started down the steps.
She waited until Reese had safely loaded the woman into the backseat and then climbed in up front beside the officer.
Then, with a sigh, she shut the door and turned to Jake.
“I still can’t believe it.
Do you really think that Lizzie could shove Valerie Baylor into traffic like that?”
“She admitted to placing the ad, and she disguised herself so that Janie wouldn’t recognize her,” Jake reminded her.
“That’s a lot of trouble to go to, if all she wanted to do was prove a point.”
“But murder!?”
Darla sank into Jake’s favorite beanbag chair and shook her head.
“As far as the protester, I guess that makes sense.
I’m sure she was afraid I’d fire her if she went out and held up the signs herself.”
“And would you have?”
“No .
.
.
yes .
.
.
maybe,” she replied in frustration, realizing as she did so that she was echoing her words to Reese about her little poltergeist problem.
“All I know is that I have to fire her now, damn it.”
“Listen, Darla,” Jake told her, “I’ve seen people kill other people over a five-dollar bet.
I once arrested a guy who stabbed his wife to death because his steak wasn’t cooked right.
They didn’t plan to do it—at least, that’s what they all swore—but their victims were dead, all the same.
Something about impulse control .
.
.
some people just don’t have it.”
Darla frowned, trying to recall if she’d ever seen Lizzie lash out at anyone but unable to think of an example.
On the other hand, Lizzie had been married to a womanizing control freak for twenty years.
No doubt she harbored resentment on that front.
And Darla had seen her flash of anger the day of the ill-fated autographing as they’d watched the Lone Protester doing her thing .
.
.
which had turned out to be Lizzie’s thing.
Given all that, was it possible that she had impulsively taken revenge on her former college classmate when the opportunity presented itself?
The front door jangled again, and Darla realized in dismay that she’d forgotten to relock it.
A customer finally had decided to stop by, with her in no mood to play ye olde shopkeeper.
But it wasn’t a customer after all, she saw as she struggled out of the beanbag’s squishy embrace.
It was Mary Ann.
The elderly woman rushed toward her, her maroon shirtdress flapping about her bony knees.
“Thank God you’re here, Darla,” she gasped.
“I happened to glance out my window and saw Lizzie being put into a police car by that nice Detective Reese.
Why, it looked like the poor girl was under arrest!”
“She’s just going into the station to answer a few questions,” Jake assured her before Darla could reply.
“I’m sure she’ll be home again in a couple of hours.”
“Questions?”
Mary Ann echoed, eyes wide.
“Oh my gracious, surely this doesn’t have anything to do with that terrible accident the other night, does it?”
“We might as well tell her,” Darla said before Jake could toss out another evasive answer.
“It turns out that Lizzie was the one who orchestrated having that girl holding up the signs and protesting Valerie Baylor’s appearance here.
Now the police are trying to figure out if she’s also the one who shoved Valerie in front of the van.”
“Oh my gracious!”
Mary Ann clutched the bodice of her dress in the clichéd be-still-my-heart gesture that Darla had always associated with old ladies in television melodramas.
Mary Ann, however, appeared genuinely distressed, so much so that Darla pulled out one of the stools from behind the counter and set it beside her.
“Sit down a minute,” she urged, helping the woman onto the seat.
“The police haven’t arrested her—”
“Not yet anyhow,” Jake interjected.
“—and it’s probably all a formality,” she finished with a dark look at her friend, who merely shrugged.
“That whole protest thing was pretty darned stupid on her part, but it doesn’t mean Lizzie is a cold-blooded killer by any stretch of the imagination.”
Then another thought occurred to her.
“Mary Ann, you were there at the counter the entire time.
Do you recall seeing Lizzie leave the store, especially when Valerie disappeared that last time?”
The old woman gave her hands a helpless flutter.
“Lord, there was so much going on at the register, I didn’t have time to keep up with everyone else.
I know I looked over at the signing table a couple of times and saw her helping James, but that doesn’t mean she was there every single second.”
Then, with a hard look at Jake, she added, “And it doesn’t mean she wasn’t, either.”
“You’re right, Mary Ann,” the ex-cop agreed, “and that’s what Reese is trying to find out.
And like I told you, they only took her in for questioning.
She’s not under arrest.”
Yet.
Though the qualifier was unspoken this time, it seemed that everyone still heard it.
They exchanged uncomfortable glances before Mary Ann stoutly declared, “Well, you won’t convince me that she’s guilty.
After all, what motive could a girl like her possibly have?”
Darla fleetingly considered explaining about Lizzie’s plagiarism claim but thought the better of it.
No reason to give Mary Ann something else to worry about.
Instead, she smiled and said, “I’m sure the truth will come out soon enough.
Why don’t you go on back home, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”
“You’re right.
No sense borrowing trouble,” she agreed, but without returning the smile.
Brushing aside Darla’s attempt to help, she stiffly climbed off the stool and shook out her skirts.
“I’d best go back to the store now.
I left Brother all alone there.”
Appearing far older than Darla recalled ever seeing her look, Mary Ann made her way out of the store.
Darla followed, locking the door firmly behind the woman.
“I’m officially calling it quits,” she declared.
“I’ll let you out the side door, Jake, and then I’m going to go back to the apartment to eat ice cream and watch awful movies for the rest of the day .
.
.
or, at least until lunchtime.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me.
If you feel like company later on, let me know.”
“No offense, but I probably won’t.
But do me a favor and call me when you hear from Reese about Lizzie.
I have a feeling she won’t be calling me.”
They were headed for the side door when Darla heard what was becoming a familiar sound now: the unmistakable splat of a tossed book landing on the floor.
“Damn you, Hamlet,” she muttered.
To Jake, she said, “Ever since that little devil learned how to pull books off the shelf, he’s been making a game of it with me.”
Darla sought out the source of the sound, and found Hamlet lounging in the drama section near a slender volume facedown on the floor.
Turning it over, she glanced at the cover so she could return it to the correct spot on the shelf, and then promptly wished she hadn’t.
For, just as with some of the other novels that he’d snagged in recent days, Hamlet had pulled down a book that seemed eerily appropriate to the situation.
With an uncertain glance at the cat—what, was he Mr.
Psychic Cat now?—she hurriedly shelved the book in her hand, which had just happened to be a copy of the famous courtroom stage play,
Twelve Angry Men
.
TWENTY-FOUR
“ONE NEVER KNOWS ABOUT THESE THINGS, DOES ONE?
AH, well, I am certain you will find an appropriate replacement for Ms.
Cavanaugh.”
James shook his head and took a contemplative sip of coffee.
As always, he’d brought his own brew in a thermos from home and drank it from his personal china cup that he kept there at the store.
The only proper way to drink the beverage
, he had told her early on in their acquaintance, not hesitating to inform her about his disdain for the ubiquitous lidded paper cups of the local coffee chains.
It was midafternoon, and the store manager had just arrived for his shift.
As threatened, Darla had retreated to her apartment for a couple of hours to indulge in triple-dip ice cream therapy, but by noon she’d grown bored with her bout of self-pity and returned to the store.
Now, she barely waited for the door to close behind him to give James the heads-up as to all that had happened that morning.
Though genteelly stunned by the turn of events, he had seemed less dismayed by Lizzie’s actions than Darla had expected.
Perhaps the recent enmity between them had been more serious than she’d thought, as James seemed well prepared to paint the woman a villain.
Even so, he had expressed polite relief to learn that Lizzie in fact had avoided arrest and returned home around lunchtime.
Darla had been equally thankful when Jake called to give her the news.
“That doesn’t mean she’s off the suspect list,” the woman had reminded her.
“It just means there’s not enough evidence against her right now to issue an arrest warrant.
But Reese did find out something interesting when they did a background on her.
While Lizzie was still married, the cops went out to her place on a domestic disturbance call.”
“Lizzie already told me about that,” Darla had replied.
“She said she and her husband fought all the time in the six months before they separated, and that one night things got so out of hand that a neighbor called the police.”
“That’s pretty much what the record says .
.
.
except that it was Lizzie and not her husband who got hauled down to the station that night.
The report mentioned something about her threatening him with a big-ass butcher knife.”
Jake had rung off after that, leaving a shocked Darla to wonder what she was going to do about her employee now.
No way could she risk keeping someone who had no qualms about sabotaging a store event.
And with what Jake had just told her about Lizzie’s apparently violent history, who knew if her behavior might one day escalate—if it hadn’t already?
But given all that, what would Lizzie’s reaction be when Darla told her she was fired?
She had phoned Jake back a few minutes later for advice.
The other woman’s response had been blunt.
“Does she have a key to the store?
Okay, don’t worry about trying to get it back,” she’d said when Darla nervously answered in the affirmative.
“Ted’s brother, Barney, is a locksmith.
I’ll give him a call and tell him you need him out there before end of business today.
Wait until the new locks are on before you call Lizzie to tell her she’s out of there.
I doubt she’ll be too surprised, but this way, she can’t come in after hours and trash the place or anything.”
“But what about when we’re open?”
Darla had asked, feeling suddenly vulnerable.
She’d heard Jake’s humorless chuckle on the other end.
“Don’t forget, kid, I’m still your official one-woman security firm, plus you’ve got all the cameras hooked up to record any problems.
Call me as soon as you’ve told her, and I’ll come up to keep an eye on things.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she’d replied in true relief.
“And, yes, send Barney over as soon as possible.”
Recalling that conversation now, Darla told James about the locksmith.
“And Jake will be hanging out here the next couple of days, just in case.”
“Sensible precautions on both counts,” he agreed, downing what remained of his coffee.
“And now, I had best finish fronting the shelves.
That last gaggle of old women wandering the mystery aisle were little better than barbarians.”
As James left to tidy the books, the bells at the front door jingled.
Darla gave a reflexive start, visions of a knife-wielding Lizzie springing to mind.
No weapons were in evidence, however, only a blond bulldog who, judging by his resemblance to Ted the security guy, had to be Jake’s locksmith.
“Name’s Barney,” he said, introducing himself, “and it’s your lucky day.
You need it picked or changed, I’m the guy for you .
.
.
except when it comes to noses and babies.
Badda boom.”
Unlike his brother with his finger pistols, Barney punctuated his bon mots with a bit of air drumming.
Despite her unsettled mood, Darla couldn’t help but smile back as she took him on a brief tour of the store and showed him the various doors needing attention.
Barney completed the job far more quickly than she had expected, though not without sharing additional cringe-worthy jokes.
He tested all three doors a final time and then handed her a set of keys and a bill that made her gulp only slightly as she reached for her checkbook.
“Pleasure doing business, ma’am.
Tell Detective Jake hello for me,” he said with a tip of his ball cap.
He pocketed her payment and left whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like “Jingle Bell Rock.”
“Seasonally challenged and desperately in need of new material, but efficient,” was James’s conclusion as the door shut behind the locksmith.
Then, with a wry look at her, he added, “Under the circumstances, I will not be offended if you prefer to keep custody of all the keys .
.
.
at least, for a while.”
“Thanks, I think I will.
And now, I’d better make that call to Lizzie.”
She carried the cordless phone upstairs to the break area for a bit of privacy.
James was far too polite to stand around and listen to the call outright, but she knew he’d have an ear cocked in her direction.
It was going to be hard enough to conduct her first official firing without her remaining employee silently critiquing her performance.
Like the lock changing, however, the call went better than she’d anticipated.
Lizzie answered on the first ring, as if she’d had her hand on the receiver all afternoon.
Before Darla could get more than a “hello” out, the woman sighed and said, “I suppose you’re calling to fire me, aren’t you?”
“I am,” she admitted, relieved not to have to beat around the bush.
“I’m not saying I think you’re guilty of anything beside really crappy judgment, Lizzie, but I can’t have you work here anymore after what you did, trying to sabotage the signing like that.”
“I understand.”
Another sigh.
“Sorry I was such trouble for you.
And thanks for the attorney’s name.
If Detective Reese ends up arresting me, I’ll give him a call.
I don’t suppose I can come by later for my check?”
“Well—”
Remember, they found her with a butcher knife
, she told herself as she felt her resolve momentarily waver.
That mental image was enough to restore her backbone.
“Not a good idea.
I’ll have it in the mail to you today.
Good-bye, Lizzie, and good luck,” Darla finished and hung up the phone before her guilt over canning the woman got the better of her.
Then, as instructed, she promptly dialed Jake.
“Good job, kid,” Jake said once Darla recapped the brief conversation for her.
“It sounds like she took it okay, but I’m still going to hang out with you for the next couple of days.
How did Barney work out for you, changing those locks?”
“Easy as changing a baby.
Badda boom.”
Her reply drew a commiserating laugh from the other woman.
“Yeah, he and his brother are something, but believe me, the guys know what they’re doing.
I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
The rest of the day proceeded without incident.
By the time Darla closed the store at her usual time, she was satisfied that, if she hadn’t made a profit, at least she’d covered the electric bill for the day.
“See,” Jake proclaimed from the beanbag.
“I told you things would get back to normal soon enough.
And even Hamlet behaved himself this afternoon.”
“You’re right,” Darla answered in a wondering tone.
In fact, she hadn’t seen whisker nor tail of him since his little book snagging incident that morning.
Was he still lounging in the apartment, or had he snuck downstairs and tucked himself away in one of his favorite hiding spots?
She only prayed that his absence didn’t mean he’d been off playing more cat tricks on her.
“So, wanna grab a bite at the Thai place again?”
Jake asked.
Darla considered the offer a moment and then shook her head.
“Thanks, but after this whole thing with Lizzie, I don’t think I’ll be good company.
I’ve got a date with a container of yogurt and my pillow.”
“Suit yourself, kid.”
Then, turning to James, who was packing up his coffee thermos, she asked, “What about you, James?
Care to go Dutch over some pad thai?”
Darla waited for him to dismiss the invitation in his usual aloof manner, but to her surprise, he said, “I shall go you one better, Ms.
Martelli, and purchase dinner for you.”
To Darla, who was staring at him in amazement, he added by way of explanation, “My auction last night ended quite favorably, and so a small celebration would not be amiss.”
“Well, let’s not let that cash burn a hole in your vest pocket,” Jake declared with a toss of her frizzy hair.
“Darla, if you want to hand over one of your new keys, I’ll give the store another look when I get back.
And then I’ll check in with you, if you think you can keep your eyes open that long.”
“Believe me, the idea of you and James out on the town together is enough to keep me awake all night again.”
Darla saw them off at the front door, feeling curiously like a parent seeing her daughter off on a date.
She resisted the impulse, however, to suggest that Jake take a sweater with her.
Instead, she locked her new lock after them; then, finishing the last of the closing process, she set the alarm and went out the side door.
Hamlet was waiting for her behind the newel post at the foot of the stairs.
This time, he let her get halfway to the first landing before he rocketed up the steps, using her as a human croquet wicket on his way to the top.
“Damn it, Hamlet,” she called after him.
“Someday, you’re going to trip me, and Jake will find my broken body lying at the bottom of the stairs.
And then who do you think will feed you your kibble?”
Hamlet made no reply to this dire prediction, for he was already sitting at the apartment door waiting for her to drag herself up the final flight.
As soon as she reached that spot, however, she wondered if she should have had Jake check out her apartment, too, beforehand.
Of course, Lizzie didn’t have a key to either the downstairs door or this one.
But with all that had been going on, Darla decided to let Hamlet enter the apartment first.
He charged inside before she could get the door open all the way.
Darla moved more slowly, poking her head around the edge for an experimental look.
No hideous caterwauling ensued, and all the books appeared to be in their proper places.
So far as she could tell, it was safe to enter.
As always, the first order of business was to feed Hamlet—that, or listen to his official starving-kitty lament that could go nonstop for a good hour (once, feeling in an evil mood, she actually had timed it).
That accomplished, she nixed the yogurt and instead made a veggie omelet for herself, which she ate while watching her favorite weekend cable news host expound on the day’s issues.
She managed to get through almost the entire hour show before the host gave a recap of the Valerie Baylor saga.
He mentioned that the private service had been held a few days earlier, and to Darla’s surprise she saw a bit of video that obviously had been taken with a long-distance lens.
“No escaping the press,” she muttered, scanning the footage for a glimpse of herself .
.
.
or, more likely, her hat.
She didn’t see either, but the camera had captured a clear view of Morris escorting out his parents.

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