Designed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) (18 page)

“The layout. You heard about it. Belinda submitted layouts designed by Darlene as her own and became a Life Artist Diva because of them. This news has the potential of ruining the magazine.”

“It’s that big of a deal?”

“Yeah. It’s a huge deal in the scrapbooking industry. Scraplifting is for your own personal fun, not for profiting off of.”

“Scraplifting?”

“Copying someone’s layout. Scrapbookers will use a design they see on the internet or in magazines as a blueprint for a page in their scrapbooks. Sometimes croppers will get blocked and not have an idea for a page so they copy one they like. Not using the same exact paper or embellishment but the placement of photos and the techniques used on the page.”

“And that’s okay?”

“For personal use, absolutely. To submit to contests or design teams, no way.”

“Ms. Johnson stated Ms. Watson stole her pages not scraplifted.”

“Yeah. Belinda seemed to have taken scraplifting to a whole new level and submitted to the
Making Legacies
contest the actual pages Darlene had made.”

“Which Ms. Watson confirmed.”

I nodded. “And for some reason the editor-in-chief of
Making Legacies
believes I was involved.”

“Why would she think that? For the record, the question is not an accusation.” Ted rushed through the last sentence.

“I don’t know the why, just that she does. She’s been going around town linking my name with this fiasco.”

“Hmmm...” Ted’s non-word comment and the unsurprised look on his face told me he already knew about this. “That’s quite an interesting change in direction.”

“I don’t expect you to run out and arrest the woman.”

“I appreciate you not making any demands.” Ted’s lips twisted into a half-sneer.

Sarcasm did not look good on the man. I turned my attention back to the computer. The thread proved someone was out to get me and the fact Leslie Amtower used a doctored account of what transpired instead of the whole thing.

Where was it? Maybe Darlene changed the thread title. I clicked through all the threads Darlene responded to on Saturday and Sunday. None of them was the infamous “livid” thread. My stomach felt like I was traveling at top speed on the down section of a mountain road.

I pounded on the keyboard, adding words I remembered from the thread into the search engine. Nothing. The witch got the thread pulled! I knew it was Leslie Amtower. There was no way to prove it to Ted. He wouldn’t understand the clout an editor-in-chief of a popular scrapbooking magazine would have over the owners of the website.

Maybe Darlene kept...no. Asking Darlene for help was asking for a migraine. I’d owe her a favor and if there was one person in this life I never wanted to owe it was Darlene.

I just had to find different evidence. I threw myself back in the chair. The wheels rolled a few centimeters on the carpet. “It’s gone.”

“What’s gone?”

How in the world did this man ever solve a case when he couldn’t remember a conversation that took place a few minutes ago? “The thread I was going to print out for you proving Ms. Amtower blamed me for Belinda tricking her.” 

“Ms. Amtower posted on this thread.”

I grimaced. “Not exactly.”

Ted shook his head as if to clear it. “You’re saying Ms. Amtower accused you on the internet of being in cahoots with Belinda to pull this layout scam over on her, yet she didn’t exactly say it. If she didn’t say those words, what did she actually type on there?”

I sunk down in the chair. Why did Ted have to make this so hard? “People were saying I was involved.”

“These people were...” He motioned for me to supply the names.

This was going to help me. Not. “Little Lamb. JealousMuch.” I included a few of the regular posters names I remembered.

“Then this should be easy. There shouldn’t be too many people named Little Lamb. A couple of record searches and I’ll be able to round them up.” Ted snapped his notebook closed. “You wouldn’t happen to know any shepherds in this area?”

I glared at him.

“I didn’t think so.”

“You are not amusing.” I shoved the chair back a little bit further and stood.

“I’m here investigating a crime, not for entertainment purposes.” He looked me up and down; a spark increased the green in his eyes. “Though...”

I shoved my hands in my jean pockets to stop from swatting him. “Mind your manners, Detective Roget.”

“We should go to your bedroom.”

“What?” I screeched. “I don’t know what type of girl you think I am—”

He rolled his eyes. “I need you to tell me if anything is missing from the bedroom.”

“Oh.” Yeah, I guess he’d want to go there for that reason, and not for the reason his gaze hinted at. Or what I read into his gaze.

Which, I shouldn’t be thinking about in the first place. I had a boyfriend. Or almost did anyway.

“Want me to open the door?”

“Shouldn’t you dust it for prints or something?” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling chilled.

“Jasper and I did it earlier.” Ted pointed at the doorknob coated in black powder.

At least I knew what took them so long. Ted hadn’t been making me sit in the car just to annoy me. “Go ahead.”

Ted opened the door. I braced myself for what I was about to see.

Relief rushed through me. I forced out the breath clinging to my lungs. Everything looked orderly. For me, it gave more credence to the theory Leslie Amtower had been the one going through my belongings.

Another woman would know how much an invasion of privacy it was to search the bedroom. Someone going through my dresser drawers made me a little nauseous. This also said the break-in involved business and not personal.

The places searched were the living room, craft room, and my computer. The places I’d keep proof. Since my job was also my hobby, she looked in my craft area to see if I had kept the items there. Or maybe she thought I was putting together a layout about the brawl and including a print out of the thread into my scrapbook.

Some scrappers believed omitting the painful things in their life made a person dishonest and your memories a lie. I called it self-preservation. Why would I want to have a visual and written reminder of all the horrible times in my life? It was bad enough I couldn’t wipe them out of my head.

“Does it appear anything is missing?” Ted drew me from my musings.

“No. Everything looks pretty much in place. Just the way I left it.” I turned toward the closet and frowned.

It was opened an inch. I always closed it. I walked over to it, telling myself Ted or Jasper left it open. Everyone knew closets were the go-to hiding place for criminals and nosy people when the owner of the residence or the police arrived.

I finished opening the door. A few shirts were on the floor but for the most part everything was in place. A shoe kicked out of the way here and there. The criminal had definitely checked out the closet but hadn’t damaged anything. They had saved their rage for the computer room. The edge of a quilt hung down from the shelf a foot over my head. I grabbed the end and tossed it back up. It dangled back down. I glanced over my shoulder. Ted was pretending he didn’t notice me fighting with the quilt.

Since I didn’t want my skeleton scattering all over the floor, even if Ted knew about it, I hauled out the step stool from the other side of the closet.

I stepped onto it and started tucking the quilt back onto the shelf. My eyes drifted over to the far corner. My breath hitched. A corner of my “skeleton” box peeked from a pile of sweatshirts thrown on top of it. Sweatshirts I hadn’t put up there.

With heart pounding, I inched the box out. The top fell off. No! No! No! I grabbed the container and yanked it down. I and the box crashed to the ground.

Ted said something. My mind refused to process it.

My wedding picture was gone. Along with the folder containing the case the military tried making against me. The newspaper stories from the post newspaper. Notes I had found showing Adam’s deception and intention of using me. My victimization. My vindication. All gone.

No! No! No! Fear and anger raced through me. The blood pounded in my head and grew cold in my veins.

No wonder they didn’t continue their search in my bedroom. They started with the closet and found just what they needed to prove me a murderer—the box holding my past.

EIGHTEEN

“What’s wrong?” Ted knelt down and placed an arm around me.

I shook my head and stared into the almost empty box.

He reached for the box. “I might be able to get prints off of it.”

“No!” I threw myself across it.

The main damage to my life was gone but a few scattered pieces still remained. I didn’t want to have everything out in the open. I should be able to keep a few things to myself.

“What in the world do you have in there?” Ted worked on prying me off the box...evidence. “Naughty lingerie? A skeleton? Evidence of a murder?”

I sniffled. “I have never owned naughty lingerie.”

“Pity.”

I shot him a glare intense enough to roast him alive.

Ted smiled and bumped his shoulder into mine. “Good for you. Keep the spunk going. Don’t let a break-in make you believe your life is gone. I bet your grandmothers have some of the same pictures you did, or your other friends.”

“You don’t understand.” I sat back on my heels, tears dripping down my face. “My life is gone. Or part of it anyway.”

Ted made himself comfortable on the floor. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Did I want to tell him? Could I not tell him? Whoever took those specific items did so for a reason, and it was likely to make me look like a murderer.

“Stuff I had kept from when I was in the military.”

“Okay.” Ted’s brows drew down. “I’m sure you could write to some agency or organization in the armed forces and ask for your records. If it’s other memorabilia, you could ask on some scrapbook boards or military alumni boards and see if anyone can help you find a way to replace them. You’re resourceful. And ‘no’ has never stopped you before from getting what you need.”

I liked how Ted kept stressing “you” instead of using the usual “we” Steve and my grandmother preferred. It made me feel more in control and powerful. I needed those feelings right now.

“It’s not personnel file type of stuff, or ribbons and medals.” My chest tightened. I choked on the words. Taking in a deep breath, I blurted out the truth before it strangled me. “My wedding picture. Articles about the murder.”

“The murder in Germany Adam Westcott tried implicating you in.”

I nodded. “Now you know why I don’t want the rest of this leaving my house.”

“Prints might be on the box.” Ted rubbed his chin and stared at the box. “Okay, how about you let me take the empty box.”

I shook it. “It’s not empty.”

He looked at me like I was a very drunk family member he actually liked who couldn’t see the simple solution in front of them. “Take whatever is remaining in the box and put it in a different container.”

Simplicity sometimes seemed difficult. Like when you’re trying a new technique labeled for beginners and it takes an hour to understand the directions, much less complete the “done in fifteen minutes” page.

I waved my arms around.  “Now I have to find a box in all this mess.”

“You could just let me...”

“Be quiet.” I snapped.

I pushed to my feet and scouted around the house. Ted followed behind me, keeping his opinions about my behavior to himself.

I had a lot of different types of scrapbook storage items in the dining room. I’d borrow something to use for now and get a box from the store tomorrow.

I scanned all the storage systems. I had a nice array...collection...of them. Every time I found the perfect organization system, something cuter came along and I needed the new ones. Right now, my weakness was cute tote bags I could personalize with clever sayings, or Captain Obvious style statements like paper, stamps, flowers, etc.

I pulled out a large pink and white tote from under the table with Crop It embroidered across it in turquoise. “This will work for now.”

I carefully took out the photos, papers, and embellishments I had placed into packets. I put them on top of the dining room table. Hopefully, it encouraged me to get busy scrapping. Maybe tonight once Ted left. I needed something pleasant in my mind or else I’d never get to sleep.

“I’ll be back down with the box,” I said.

Ted nodded as he examined the afghan that had belonged to my grandpa. A lump built itself in my throat. He was looking for damage, probably knew someone who could fix it.

Quickly, I re-housed the items from my “skeleton” box into my crop box and returned downstairs. “Here you go.” I thrust the container at him.

Ted nodded. “I’ll get this back to you.”

Nervousness wound through me. I twisted my fingers together. “What are you going to say if someone asks about it?”

“What I always say to nosy people, I’m conducting a police investigation and can’t answer any question that might hamper the case.”

“I’m sure Chief Moore will accept that answer.”

“The Chief isn’t worried I’m harassing citizens by deeming items evidence and carrying it out of their homes.”

I swallowed hard and brought up the name I was really worried about. “What about Steve? He’s a prosecutor.”

Ted rested the edge of the box on his hip. “One, Davis can’t prosecute this case. Two, if you’re going to date the guy you should tell him.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know if he’d understand. I don’t want—” I couldn’t explain anymore as tears wobbled my voice.