A Mold For Murder (6 page)

It was the first time I’d ever seen Rufus speechless. After ten seconds, he said, “It can’t be the same woman. It just can’t be.”

“I’m afraid it was,” I said.

“Oh, man, no wonder they want to arrest her. Has she got a good lawyer?”

“I called Kelly Sheer,” I admitted. “She agreed to represent her.”

Rufus whooped with delight. “You’re kidding me, right? Do you have any idea what Diana thinks of her? No, you couldn’t have, or you never would have called the lady.”

“She needed someone good to represent her,” I said. “Listen, we’ve got a truckload of books outside that we’re not going to need. Where can we put them?”

Rufus thought about it a second, then said, “Why don’t you bring them around back? You can stack them near the door until Diana can decide what to do with them. She’s got a little more on her mind right now than returns, you know what I mean?” He handed me a key as he said it. “That will unlock the door.”

“Aren’t you going to meet us back there?” I asked.

“Somebody’s got to watch the store,” he said as he picked his book back up.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to tell Diana that you were the model employee in her time of need.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he said, missing my jab entirely. “I’ve been pushing her for a raise for months, but so far I haven’t had any luck.”

I shook my head as I walked back outside.

Bob was leaning against the side of the truck as if he were guarding the cargo. “What’s up?”

“We need to take these around back,” I said as I got inside. Bob joined me, then circled the block and pulled up beside the bookstore’s loading dock.

“Sorry we’re not getting any help,” I said as I unlocked the back door.

He lowered the truck’s tailgate, then said, “Are you kidding? Carrying boxes beats sweeping up back at the shop. I never have minded a little physical labor.”

After we got the books transferred to the back, I told Bob, “I’ll meet you out front. I’m going to give Rufus this key back.”

“Suits me. And take your time, Ben. I meant what I said. I’m not in any rush to get to the shop.”

I started to walk through the back of the store when I popped my head into Diana’s office. I suppose I was being a little nosy, but I didn’t think she’d mind. There was a new photograph on her desk, one that had just been taken a few days before. We were picnicking out in front of the bookstore, and Rufus must have snapped our picture without me realizing it.

I walked up front to return the key, and as I handed it over, I asked, “Have you been stalking me?”

He looked at me carefully before he asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I went into Diana’s office and I saw a new picture of us together. Funny thing was, I don’t remember posing for it.”

Rufus looked uncomfortable for a second, then he asked, “So what were you doing in Diana’s office?”

I couldn’t admit I’d been snooping, could I? “I had to use the phone.”

“Then why didn’t I see a line light up?” he asked as he pointed to his bank of telephones.

“I was going to, but then I saw that picture. That kind of creeped me out, if you know what I mean.”

When he didn’t answer, I pushed him harder. “I want to know what you’ve been up to, Rufus. If you won’t tell me, I’ll have the police ask you.”

Reluctantly, he admitted, “I just got a zoom lens for my Nikon and I wanted to try it out. You two were over there laughing and having a good time, so I took a picture. I’ve been taking all kinds of shots. Sorry if it bothers you. Diana was thrilled with it.”

That was innocent enough. “Fine. I’m sorry if I overreacted. Just one thing, okay?”

He was expecting a lecture, that much was clear. “What’s that?”

“I’d like a copy, too.”

That surprised him. “Sure thing. I’ve got tons of candid shots, if you’d like to look through the negatives.” He looked down at his hands, then added, “I even took a bunch of shots today before the store opened, but I won’t get around to developing the negatives until later.”

I shook my head. “No thanks. Rufus, why don’t you stick to birds from now on, okay?”

“Spoilsport,” he said, then dismissing me, Rufus went back to his book.

Bob and I drove back to Where There’s Soap, and to our displeasure, it appeared that my family had decided to cut the cake Mom had made for the signing without waiting for us.

“We couldn’t let it just go to waste,” Mom said.

“This is so good,” Jeff said, sticking an entire flower made of icing into his mouth.

“Move over, Junior. I want a piece.”

Cindy handed me a sliver of cake and said, “I cut one for you already.”

I looked at it as if it were tainted. “You call that a slice? Let me have the knife.”

Louisa laughed, and I asked her, “What’s so funny?”

“I told her you wouldn’t go for it,” she said. “But she insisted.” Louisa patted my belly, which was a little larger than it needed to be, but not by that much. “She thinks you should start cutting back on your calories now that you’re getting older.”

“I didn’t say that at all,” Cindy protested. Then she added sheepishly, “At least not that badly.”

“You’re absolutely right,” I said. “I do need to start cutting back.”

Louisa’s smile died on her face, and then I added, “And I will, starting tomorrow. Or the next day. Thursday at the latest.”

All my siblings started laughing as I cut an extremely generous slice to accompany the puny offering Cindy had given me.

Bob smiled at me and said, “I’ll take one just like it.”

Kate said, “You know Jessica isn’t going to like that.”

Bob cut a big piece nonetheless. “What my wife doesn’t know won’t hurt me.” Just before taking the first bite, he added, “You’re not going to say anything to her, are you?”

There was a battery of insincere denials, and Bob reluctantly put half his cake onto another plate. “I can’t believe my own family is so willing to tell on me,” he said.

Jeff laughed as he snagged the extra piece. “I’ll take it, if you don’t want it.”

After we’d all shared some cake and punch, Mom said, “Now let’s finish this up. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

We all worked together cleaning and rearranging the store, and the boutique section of our shop was soon neat and organized again. I gathered the posters we’d had made up of the contessa and started to carry them out through the production line in back toward the Dumpsters that were tucked behind a screen near the employee parking area. When the door wouldn’t budge, I remembered the police weren’t finished there and that they had locked us out. As I carried the posters outside along the side of the building where our customers normally parked, I was surprised to see someone getting out of her car in one of the patron parking spaces. I thought all of our customers had given up on us for the day.

Then I saw that it wasn’t a shopper at all.

FOUR

AS
soon as I saw her face, I could tell that Sharon had been crying; the last thing I wanted to do was intrude on her private grief. I tried going back the way I’d come, but she spotted me, and there was no way I could just ignore her.

“Ben, do you have a second?” she asked as she dabbed at her cheeks.

“Sure,” I said. Crying women had always made me uncomfortable. I never knew what to do, but I hated to just stand there, helpless.

After Sharon approached me, she said, “I’m sorry. I just don’t know where else to go.”

“Would you like to come inside the shop?”

“Would we be alone in there?” she asked.

“No, but it’s just my family. Maybe we could help.” If I got her within shouting distance of my mother and sisters, I wouldn’t have to worry about consoling Sharon myself. The female members of my family were adept at dealing with emotion, while my brothers and I, with varying degrees of ineptitude, were not.

“Honestly, I’m not sure I could ever go back inside there,” she said.

I could understand that reaction. “Would you like to sit in the garden and talk instead? There’s a bench that’s perfect for private conversations.”

My family, like most folks who made custom soaps, had its own flower and herb garden. Not only was it a great deal less expensive growing some of our own supplies than buying them, but we were always sure of the quality. My father, a born romantic if ever there was one, had insisted that the garden be laid out with a bench in its center, and he and my mother had spent many pleasant evenings there together, holding hands and laughing on into the night. I missed my dad, but nobody missed him more than my mother did.

She frowned as she stared at the bench. “It’s a little public, don’t you think? We could go for a walk instead, if you don’t mind. It might be easier to talk that way.”

“That’s fine with me,” I said. As I led her down the block past a shuttered jewelry store, I asked, “I never had the chance to ask. Were you and Connie close?”

“I guess I can drop the act of calling her the contessa, can’t I? It won’t be long before the whole world knows. I worked with her for three years,” Sharon admitted. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.” Sharon stopped abruptly and turned into my arms. “Ben, what am I going to do?”

As she started sobbing again, I did my best to comfort her. Finally, the wracking tears subsided.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I’m such a girl. That’s two crying jags in one day. Normally I can go months without shedding a single tear.”

“You’re allowed,” I said. “You’ve had a rough day.”

We started walking again, and she dabbed at her cheeks as she said, “Breaking down right now isn’t going to do anyone any good, is it?” She sniffed a few times, then said, “There. I’m better now.”

“Are you sure you feel like talking? I understand if you’d rather not. It’s a nice day. We could just walk around town and try to forget about what happened today.”

“No, I need to say this out loud so I can accept it. I’ve been trying to think about who had reason to want Connie dead, and unfortunately, there’s a bigger list than I wanted to admit at first.”

Our conversation was suddenly getting very interesting. “Did you say anything about your suspects to Molly?”

“Who’s Molly again?”

“The police officer you talked to earlier,” I explained. I wanted to hear what Sharon had to say, but I knew how Molly would react if I didn’t suggest the assistant speak with her first.

“Oh, yes, I know who she is. I plan to talk to her the next time I see her,” Sharon said, “but I wanted to get my thoughts in order before I did. She’s intimidating, isn’t she?”

“She can be,” I agreed. “We used to date.”

“Oh, Ben,” she said, pausing to touch my arm. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Please, you’ll have to try a lot harder than that. There’s nobody in Harper’s Landing who knows just how scary she can be better than me. I’ll be happy to act as your listening board as you organize your thoughts, if you’d like.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

As we walked on, she said, “I guess the first place to start is with Barry Hill.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” I admitted. “Who is he?”

“Barry is, I guess I should start getting used to saying
was
, Connie’s fiancé. It ended badly last month, and he refused to accept it. Lately he’s gotten kind of dark in his phone messages to her, and to be honest with you, he scares me.”

“Is there any chance he’s in town right now?” The man certainly sounded like a viable suspect, and at the moment I was in dire need of one or two that weren’t my girlfriend.

“Who knows where Barry is at any time of the day or night? He’s independently wealthy, so he comes and goes as he pleases. That’s one of the reasons Connie broke up with him.”

“Because he was rich?” I’d heard a lot of excuses in my life, but never that a prospective spouse had too much money.

“No, because he had no purpose in his life.” She stopped a second, then added, “You didn’t know Connie, and I’m willing to bet she made a horrid first impression on you.”

“I thought she was a little self-aggrandizing,” I admitted. “That sounded harsh, didn’t it? I shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead like that.”

“She wouldn’t have minded, believe me. Connie was always a straight talker. I’m willing to bet that what you took for arrogance was probably just that she was always a nervous wreck whenever she had to speak in public. She hated it, to be honest with you.”

“Then why did she agree to come here?” I’d heard Diana tell enough stories about authors with tremendous stage fright, but that always centered around folks who wrote fiction. This woman was a soapmaker who happened to write books, so giving demonstrations while she spoke should have been second nature to her.

“She came to Harper’s Landing for a particular reason,” Sharon admitted. “And it wasn’t just your Soap Celebration. But I’m not ready to talk about that yet.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Ben,” she said as she stopped and stared at me, “there are some secrets I won’t divulge, not until I truly believe it is the last resort.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to push you about it,” I said. “Who’s on your list besides Mr. Hill?”

“There’s a woman named Betsy Blair I think the police should investigate. I happen to know she’s in town, and she certainly thought she had reason to hate Connie, though it was all in her head.”

“Why did she hate her?” It amazed me that so many people had the energy to hate this woman so passionately, and yet Sharon kept defending her; I had to believe there had been at least some good in the soapmaker.

“She claims Connie stole her latest book out from under her. There’s no merit in the accusation. This Blair woman sent Connie a manuscript, and somehow she managed to do it without going through me. I would have thrown it away in a heartbeat without replying, but Connie made the mistake of sending an encouraging letter back to her. She hated to snuff out a fellow soapmaker’s hopes.