Rosemary and Crime (32 page)

“Well, it’s a darn good thing,” Marcy continued her tirade, “that Danny was so worried ’bout me throwin’ up he’d taken me to the emergency room the night Mr. Barrone got stabbed. A lot of doctors and nurses will swear on a stack of Bibles we were in the ER until two in the morning.”

“I’m sorry if I caused any problems.”

“Hmph!” I heard Marcy’s sniff of disdain. “All this time, I thought you were so nice. Goes to show how wrong first impressions can be.”

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone in dismay. Not only had I just received a dressing-down, but I was still without an able-bodied assistant to man the shop. I suppose, as a last resort, I could close for the afternoon. But what if a new customer waltzed in and placed a humongous order? I stared at the ceiling and prayed for inspiration. God must have been busy elsewhere, however, because none came.

I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and run right over.
Melly’s words came back to me. Not exactly the inspiration I’d hoped for, but left with little choice, I punched in her number. My bad karma persisted. Melly was not only available, she was thrilled at the chance to help.

*   *   *

Melly arrived ten minutes early in her signature pearls and reached for the extra
SPICE IT UP!
apron I kept under the counter, which she was beginning to think of as hers. “I’m so glad you called, dear. The dentist’s office wasn’t happy I canceled my root canal at the last minute, but I explained it was a family emergency.”

I stifled a groan. Melly’s enthusiasm worried me. On second thought, erase “worried” and pencil in “terrified.” Maybe it would have been better to close the shop and not worry about a big spender dropping by.

“Even though this might be difficult,” I said, launching into my prepared spiel, “I need you to promise me that you’ll leave the spices exactly as you found them. Under no circumstances are you to rearrange them. Even though it might not seem that way to you, I do have a system.”

Melly nodded, but looked downcast. “Whatever you say, dear.”

“If you feel an uncontrollable urge to alphabetize, you’re to simply step away from the spice. Understood?”

Melly twisted her pearls around an index finger. “They just looked so terribly … disorganized … your way.”

“They’re arranged according to usage. My way encourages customers to browse. Tempts them to experiment, to try something different in the kitchen.” I picked up my purse and reapplied lipstick. “It’s called marketing.”

“Marketing…?”

She repeated it as though learning a word in a foreign language. I suppressed a smile. “Do I have your promise you’ll leave things as they are?”

“Absolutely, dear,” she agreed, her lined face solemn. “I won’t touch a single bottle or jar, unless of course, I’m ringing up a sale. So clever of you to display your products in such a fashion as to tempt folks into trying something new and different. Who would have thought you’d turn into such a savvy businesswoman? I’m proud of you.”

Both shocked and pleased by the compliment, I dropped the tube of lipstick back into my purse. “Why, Melly, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Melly waved away my thanks. “Well, dear, I knew that eventually you’d be good at something. It certainly wasn’t tennis or bridge.”

“Right,” I muttered as I headed out. Best leave well enough alone.

As planned, I swung by the Klassy Kut, where I found Reba Mae on the phone with a client. When she looked up and saw me, she held up a hand and signaled me to wait.

“I can squeeze you in around four, Mary Lou. Mm-hmm.” Reba shook her head at me and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know, darlin’. You really do need to read the directions on those do-it-yourself kits. I’m sure orange is quite strikin’, but I think I can tone it down a shade or two.” Or three, she mouthed. “Uh-huh,” she continued, “now stop your bawlin’ and leave it to Reba Mae. Just slap on a baseball cap and a pair of dark glasses. If it makes you feel better, use the back entrance.”

“I guess orange isn’t everyone’s color,” I said with a chuckle when Reba Mae ended her call. “Sounds like you just talked a potential suicide out of jumping.”

“Goes with the territory. Bartenders and hairdressers oughta have a degree in psychology. Joannie…” Reba Mae hollered to the young woman sweeping up hair clippings, “I won’t be long, forty-five minutes max. Keep an eye on Mrs. Phillips for me. See if she’d like some sweet tea.”

Reba Mae hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, and we struck out for Cloune Motors on foot.

“How’s Joannie working out?” I asked as I skirted a woman pushing an infant in a stroller.

“Good.” Reba Mae waved to Pete Barker, who stood outside Meat on Main enjoying the sunny afternoon. “She’s willing to learn, follows directions well. Soon as she passes her GED she wants to become a nail technician. Once she gets her certificate, I’m thinking of hirin’ her. Havin’ a manicurist on staff would be good for business.”

“Gee, there’s goes my big chance.” I heaved an exaggerated sigh. “If traffic at Spice It Up! doesn’t pick up soon, I thought maybe I’d apply for the manicurist position.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist,” Reba Mae scolded. “We’ll get this figured out.”

“I hope so, but pressure’s being put on McBride to make an arrest, and circumstantial evidence puts me on his persons-of-interest list.”

“Is McBride your ‘person of interest,’ too?” She winked. “Or is it that cute vet who keeps bringing doggy treats?”

Mention of Doug made me smile. “Doug kind of reminds me Taylor Hicks with his premature gray.”

“Taylor who?”

“You know. He’s the guy who won
American Idol
a few seasons back.”

“Oh yeah, him. Funny, Dr. Doug puts me in mind more of George Clooney.”

“Clooney?” I regarded my BFF in amazement, but Reba Mae just smirked.

“Anyway,” I continued, “Doug’s a friend, and McBride’s just a … cop.” I hitched my purse higher on my shoulder. “Don’t need you teasing me, Reba Mae. It’s time to get serious. Are you ready to play Nancy Drew, girl detective, and Bess Marvin, her trusty BFF?”

“What happened to Lucy and Ethel?”

“Time to ramp up our game. Nancy always got her man. I can’t say the same about Lucy.”

We turned a corner. Even from a distance, I could see the garishly painted clown face atop Cloune Motors proclaiming Dwayne didn’t clown around. Strings of red, white, and blue pennants fluttered and snapped in the breeze. I felt a tingle of anticipation as we approached.

The double doors leading into the service bay were raised. Caleb Johnson, a smudge of grease across one cheek, looked up from an engine of an older model Buick and smiled. “Hey, Mama,” he said. “Hey, Miz Piper. What are you two fine-lookin’ ladies doin’ here? Playin’ hooky?”

“We’ve got business with that boss of yours.” Reba Mae gave her son a playful swat on the behind. “Boy, you need a haircut. Don’t tell anyone your mama owns a beauty parlor, or you’ll scare away customers.”

Caleb grinned good-naturedly and went back to his tinkering. We strolled toward the used cars. I meant pre-owned.

“If that child of mine doesn’t get that mop of his cut soon, it’ll be long enough for a ponytail,” Reba Mae grumbled.

“It could be worse,” I counseled. “Instead of long hair, it could be tattoos and piercings.”

“Nevertheless, sugar, I can’t picture your son ever growin’ his hair long enough to touch his shoulders.”

I ran my hand along the hood of a shiny red Honda. “No,” I said. “Chad’s always gone in for the clean-cut, preppy look. He even likes his jeans pressed.”

“Uh-oh.” Reba Mae nudged me. “Put on your game face, honeybun. Curtain time. Here comes the biggest clown in town.”

Dwayne Cloune adjusted his tie as he hustled out of the office, which boasted a picture window with an unobstructed view of the car lot. “What can I do for you two lovelies this beautiful afternoon?”

I bestowed my best fake smile on him. “We’re looking for a replacement for my son’s car. The one Chad has up at school has been giving him nothing but trouble.”

“CJ’s so busy with all the new cases his billboards have brought in that he wanted us to have a look-see,” Reba Mae chimed, right on cue.

“In the market for a pre-owned car, are you?” Dwayne rubbed his hands together in anticipation of a sale. “I’ve got some beauties here on my lot. Low miles on the odometers, easy on fuel. Do you have anything particular in mind?”

Reba Mae linked her arm through his. “Why don’t you just show us everythin’ you’ve got?” she drawled.

I shot my friend a look. Did she have any idea how that sounded? I hoped Dwayne wouldn’t take her literally.

Dwayne’s chest puffed with pride. “Sure thing. Be happy to accommodate.”

We strolled up and down the rows of cars while Dwayne extolled the merits of Car A versus Car B. I hoped I didn’t look as bored as I felt. Quite frankly, cars pretty much looked the same to me. Steering wheel, tires, hood in the front, trunk in the rear. Same basic equipment. Good thing auto manufacturers distinguish their products with readily identifiable emblems so even car-challenged folks like myself can tell them apart.

“Does every car you sell have one of those cute clown decals?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “Have to credit my wife for coming up with the idea. Diane said it was good advertising. She’s the one who came up with the I-don’t-clown-around logo. I’m thinking of putting her in charge of my election campaign when I make a run for senate.”

I lingered near a late model sedan. It was big; it was dark. But was it the one? I caught Reba Mae’s attention and wordlessly signaled I wanted to check it out. As BFFs often do, she took the hint.

“So it’s true,” Reba Mae purred, leading Dwayne down another row. “I’m dyin’ to hear how a small-town boy plans to make it all the way to the Georgia General Assembly.”

“I don’t want to bore you…”

“Oh, you wouldn’t bore me. I’m fascinated. Simply fascinated.”

Amazed, I listened to Reba Mae transform into Scarlett O’Hara. The girl was good enough to audition for a role in Brandywine Creek’s newly remodeled opera house. In no time, she had Dwayne Cloune eating from the palm of her hand. The crossover V-neck top she wore that displayed her abundant cleavage didn’t hurt, either.

“Don’t mind me,” I said, waving them off. “I’ll just browse.”

Our preliminary reconnaissance had revealed several vehicles that fit my vague recollection from the night in question. Now that Dwayne was no longer hovering, I was free to examine their bumpers for a scrap of beige fabric. I ran my hand along the front bumper of a Toyota. I honed my technique on a Ford, followed by a Chevy and a Buick. The only thing I came away with was dirty fingers.

Reba Mae managed to keep Dwayne occupied as he talked about his pending political career until I rejoined them. I thanked him for his time and said I’d have CJ get back to him.

“Any luck?” Reba Mae asked once we were out of earshot.

“’Fraid not,” I admitted. “And to make matters worse, I’m more confused than ever. I’m no longer sure if the car I saw was black, gray, blue, or green. McBride was right after all. Memory is a funny thing.”

We walked back to our respective businesses in silence. Before disappearing into the Klassy Kut, Reba Mae gave me a hard, fast hug. “Chin up, girlfriend. Things always look darkest before the dawn.”

“Dawn couldn’t arrive quickly enough,” I muttered under my breath as I hurried along. Just then something shiny caught my attention in the pawnshop window. I stepped to the glass for a closer look and my eyes fastened on a velvet-covered tray holding several items of jewelry. Among them was an engagement ring in a gorgeous old-fashioned setting. A ring I’d seen many times before.

Dale Simons glanced up from a fancy silver tea set he was polishing to greet me. The man was a good hundred pounds overweight with a full beard and a raspy smoker’s voice. He’d operated Dale’s Swap and Shop for more years than I cared to count. “Hey, Piper. You lookin’ to buy or sell? Give you a fair price.”

“Hey, Dale,” I returned. “The ring in the window caught my eye.”

“Pretty piece, ain’t it? One of a kind.” He ambled over, pulled out a ring of keys that must’ve added another five pounds to his weight, and unlocked the display window. “Let me show you.”

“I’ve always admired Vicki Lamont’s engagement ring. She told me it was a family heirloom.”

Dale rubbed a hand over his shaggy beard. “I don’t normally disclose the name of my customers, but since the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, I have to admit it’s a damn shame her havin’ to sell such a fine piece.”

I held the ring up and watched the diamond refract the light before returning it to the pawnbroker. “Let’s hope Vicki can get her finances in order and buy it back.”

Dale replaced the ring in the velvet tray. “Said she’s tryin’ to make things right with her hubby. Until then, things are tight money-wise. Folks gotta do what folks gotta do.”

Dale’s homespun philosophy ringing in my ears, I left the Swap and Shop. Vicki’s diamond accounted for, I eliminated her as a possible suspect. I even wished Vicki well in her attempt to reconcile with Kenny—even though those efforts didn’t start until after Mario’s untimely demise. It was with some trepidation that I entered Spice It Up! a few minutes later. A hasty look around reassured me my spices were just as I’d left them.

Melly, her hands folded in her lap, sat behind the counter. “You’ll be happy to note, I didn’t go near your shelves. Everything is just as you left it.”

“Thank you, Melly. I appreciate you canceling your dentist appointment to watch the shop for me.”

“Happy to do it, dear.” She picked up her pocketbook—for some reason she insisted on referring to the large purse she carried by the old-fashioned term—and was almost at the door before she hesitated. “You know, don’t you, that idle hands are a devil’s workshop?”

“Yes, I’ve heard the phrase,” I answered cautiously.

“Well, I have a confession to make. Instead of sitting around twiddling my thumbs, I made a few changes on your computer program. I’m certain you’ll find the new way much more user-friendly. Much more organized. Bye, dear.”