Darlene Franklin - Dressed for Death 02 - A String of Murders (4 page)

Reiner and Frances exchanged another look.

“We have to know the truth, Cici.”

Frances’s explanation did nothing to calm my nerves.

4

From: Elsie Holland ([email protected])

Date: Friday, April 18, 9:40 PM

To: Frances Waller ([email protected])

Subject: Disappearance?

You have been missing from your post at the piano at Word of Faith Fellowship and from your normal police beat.

I know what you’ve been doing during your absences.

Expect further communication from me on the subject.

Saturday, April 19

Audie lifted his head. “Can I speak to you privately, officers?”

His response did nothing to dispel my nerves. He refused to look at me. I wanted to put on one of the lace-up boots that stood on a shelf behind the cash register and stomp my foot. What was he hiding from me?

A surprised look flashed across Reiner’s face, and a glint sparkled in his eyes. “Let’s go to the office, then.”

Audie rolled his shoulders and stood. “Don’t worry.” He must have sensed my concern. He kissed my cheek before he followed Reiner and Frances into the office. My office. It felt like someone else had taken over my life. My business, anyway. A slow-burning anger replaced my earlier tears. No one had the right to do this. Not to that poor dead man, Spencer, or whatever his name was, and not to
me.

I couldn’t stay still. I grabbed a broom and started sweeping up broken glass. The bottom half of the numeral
3
from
Established 2003
dangled from a sliver of glass. Someone had brought in the papers scattered on the front sidewalk while I waited in my office. I appreciated the unexpected kindness. Those Bonnie-and-Clyde ads were irreplaceable.

Could I cover the window with something, in case of rain? I wondered.

I could imagine Reiner’s reaction. Don’t touch it!

Instead, I compromised by moving the most delicate clothing items behind the counter, out of harm’s way. I grabbed a notepad and started a list.

Number one: Call glazier about replacing the window.

How long would it be before the police would allow me to start repairs? And how long would it take before I could reopen? I would have to ask Frances. No business could afford to close its doors for long. Today I had received a couple of online orders. Maybe I could take care of those and update my computer catalog while I waited.

Moisture-heavy air swept through the broken window. I decided to move the racks of clothing into the back room. Crowded conditions were preferable to rain damage or burglary. The storage room had a separate lock so I could make it secure. I propped the door open and rolled the nearest rack—the one with Madonna rip-offs from the ’80s—into the back room. Finding something useful to do kept my worries at bay.

I moved to the next rack—tons of polyester from the ’70s—but stopped when the wheels rolled over the white chalk outline of the space where Vic Spencer’s body had sprawled. I stared, transfixed, at the bloody spot where his head had lain.

Questions mixed with revulsion swirled around in my head, and I stopped working. The police probably wouldn’t want me moving things around in any case. I pulled up the chair from the dressing room and took out a notepad. Maybe writing down facts and questions would get them out of my mind. Better yet, maybe they would shed some light on the situation.

Fact: Vic Spencer died in my store tonight. But could he have died somewhere else?

I looked at the floor and decided against it. Someone followed him inside, hit him on the head, and he fell and bled to death on my floor

Question: Why was Vic Spencer at my store?

Fact: Vic Spencer had an e-mail asking him to come to my store tonight.

Questions: Who sent it? And why?

Question: Was Spencer’s death accidental—wrong place, wrong time? Or was it intentional?

Intentional seemed most likely; after all, someone had sent him the email. If it was intentional, what was the reason behind the murder?

Questions outnumbered the facts. The biggest one was why at my
store? No wonder the chief liked Audie as a suspect. He had discovered a robbery in progress and killed the intruder. For them that was the simplest explanation.

Audie, what have you been up to? His recent moodiness weighed on my mind. When I asked him about it, he tweaked my chin and said to let him keep his secrets until the wedding. Since I held onto a few secrets of my own, I let it go.

I flipped the page in my notepad and wrote
Audie’s Strange Behavior
at the top. Last week he disappeared for a couple of days and wouldn’t say where he went. He missed a couple of our nightly telephone calls. And other times he got through a conversation without quoting his favorite playwright, Oscar Wilde. His mind wandered to a place he wouldn’t let me visit.

Wait a minute. Did I suspect Audie of murder? No. I shook my head. He would never kill someone. But he was hiding something from me. And I knew the police would ferret it out.

I flipped the page back and read over my facts and questions. A sliver of excitement pumped into my veins, warming me against the cool evening air. An investigation drew Audie and me close in the first place. Maybe the same magic would work now to lift Audie out of his current funk.

I returned to my task of moving the clothing racks, careful to steer clear of the spot where Spencer had lain. After all the hard work, I’d need to take another shower before bed. I had taken care of two more racks by the time Reiner exited my office, followed by Frances, and then Audie. They were laughing.

Laughing? While I had worked myself into a frenzy during the past fifteen minutes?

“We’ll check what you told us,” Frances said. “But you’re free to go.” She noticed me pushing the rack. “You moved things around.”

I bristled. “I started to move some things to the back room, to make sure they don’t get rained on. But I stopped. I do need to protect the merchandise. Can I at least cover the window with a tarp?”

“That’s fine.”

“When can I call someone to fix the window and the floor?” I decided to strike while she seemed agreeable to my efforts to return to business as usual. I reached for the tarp and tacked it into place.

“We should finish up here tonight. You can probably call on Monday. I’ll let you know.” She glanced at Reiner walking the perimeter of the store, checking for what, I couldn’t guess. “You are free to go. I’ll give you a call. Oh, and don’t tell anybody about the email we found.”

I promised and headed out to my car.

“Cici.”

At the sound of Audie’s voice, I whirled around to face him. A hangdog look clouded his features. I had to know the truth.

“What did you tell the police that you couldn’t tell me?”

He blinked, shutters that closed the window to his thoughts. Whatever had happened, he wouldn’t tell me. Then he smiled and dug out an Oscar Wilde quote. “‘One should always play fairly when one has the winning cards.’”

I fumed. Cards, was it? I guess he didn’t want to invite me to join his game. Before I could retort, I tugged my car door open.

Audie caught the door and looked at me over the window. “You don’t think I had anything to do with the murder, do you?” Audie studied me, his blue eyes dulled by fatigue.

“Of course not!”

He smiled at that and came around the door to take me in his arms, his hands rubbing slow circles on my back. My head rested against his shoulder. It felt so good. The light glinted on my engagement ring. I looked at it now, the symbol of our present love and promise of our future. Audie had shared its history with me: the European cut diamond set in an art deco platinum band originally belonged to his great-grandmother. It passed to him and held special meaning for us, a celebration of his heritage and my special interest in all things historical.

I relaxed. Whatever happened, I knew things would be okay between us.

“Don’t worry,” Audie whispered, his voice a low croon. “We’ll figure out who did this. And I’ll tell you everything. Soon. It’s a good surprise. Really.”

When he kissed me, I could believe anything. He drew back, and we stood, hands clasped between us.

“Proverbs says that ‘He who covers over an offense promotes love, but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends.’ Think about that before you go to sleep.” Audie kissed me again briefly, and left.

Food for thought. Love, not spite, lay behind Audie’s silence.

~

The next morning I slipped on one of my contemporary outfits, a denim skirt and a short-sleeved sweater and added a scarf with spring flowers around my neck. I laughed when I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Add a pony tail and I would almost be a poster girl for ’50s chic. With a poodle skirt, of course. Even if memories of last night’s disaster weighed down my heart, I could at least look cheerful.

I puttered around long enough that I missed Sunday school. I can’t say that I was sorry; I didn’t want the murder to take the place of the Bible lesson in the adult class. But I did make it to Word of Fellowship in time for the worship service. I was right. News of the previous night’s events had preceded me. However, before the vultures could sweep me up for details, Enid Waldberg, the pastor’s wife, rescued me. She planted herself by my side.

“Would you sit with me today?” She swept me past the questioning eyes to her usual place near the front. Dear Enid. She was as sweet as her husband was brusque, and they made a good team.

Her request was unexpected; in most churches I had visited, people sat in the same pews week after week, almost as if they were assigned seating. Taking someone else’s spot could earn you glares. My family sits in the third row from the back, on the pianist’s side. I had been watching Frances Waller play hymns ever since she started at the tender age of eleven.

Frances wasn’t at the piano today. I wondered if the investigation had taken her away or if something else had happened.

The investigation
.
I didn’t want to think about it. Instead, I listened to soft organ music and studied the new banners hung on Easter Sunday earlier in the month. An empty white cross, a dark thorn of crowns, stood on a gold quilted banner. Red silk letters formed the words H
E
I
S
R
ISEN
. I sent up a belated prayer for Vic Spencer’s family and trusted that whatever his faults, he had gone home to be with the Lord.

Someone called my name, and I glanced over my shoulder. Dina stood by our usual spot, surprise written on her face. She had recently dyed her short hair bright pink in honor of spring. I waved. The budding reporter would get her chance to question me later.

“Mind if I join you?” Audie looked more handsome than ever in a cadet blue linen jacket and navy slacks.

We slid over in the pew moments before the music director announced the first hymn, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” The familiar words trickled over me and through me, reassuring me of God’s care. The praise team sang “I Am a Friend of God.”

Pastor Waldberg preached from John 15: “I have called you friends. . . . ” In step with his usual style, he focused on the conditional clause, “. . .if you do what I command.”

Every week after church, Audie and I ate dinner at the Crazy W, my family’s ranch. We rode together in his Focus. Dina bounded out to greet us. I shook my head. Her pink hair contrasted poorly with the orange T-shirt she had changed into after church. All in all, I preferred the Christmas-red color she sported last fall.

“Come in and tell us all the news! I’ve been dying to hear all about it.”

No surprise, Dina pounced on last night’s events.

“And the editor promised I could write an exclusive interview with you about the break-in!”

I smiled at that. Although I didn’t want to relive the events of last night, I had expected the questions. I was glad for Dina’s opportunity.

She took my sour cream pecan pie from the trunk and ran up the steps. “I’ll take care of this. Dinner’s ready.”

Audie took my hand in his and squeezed it. He seemed to take the Wilde sisters in stride. At least Jenna, my older sister, only came to town for fleeting trips. She was actually Dina’s birth mother, but Mom and Dad adopted Dina at birth. The resemblance between my outspoken, outrageous, adorable sisters grew with every passing year. At least in part, I took to wearing vintage clothing to stand out from my two larger-than-life siblings.

A few minutes later, we were seated around the table, crisp salad and sizzling steaks teasing our appetites. Dad opened his Bible and read the verse of the day, something he had done at every dinner I had eaten in this house for as long as I could remember. “He who trusts in himself is a fool, but he who walks in wisdom is kept safe.” Dad stared at Audie, his eyes challenging him to identify the reference.

“Proverbs 28:26.” Audie came through, as usual. He seemed to have memorized the entire book of Proverbs, as well as most of the works of Oscar Wilde. “That’s a good one.”

Dad led us in prayer, thanking God for keeping us safe and bringing us together another time. His words triggered thoughts of last night. I was ready to tell the story to my family.