Designed to Death (A Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) (6 page)

JealousMuch posted:

You are a real witch.
Trying to ruin this woman’s happiness. You suck.

Darlene defended again:

The assistant manager sat her by me...

A different long-time member popped into the thread.

Same crap different day. When it starts not going your way, you add more details. What’s next? ‘All these people private messaged me and said they agreed with me. They just won’t say it on the board because of all the bullies.’

Snickering yellow heads filled up the first row of the next response.  Even those mocking faces didn’t quiet Darlene.

Believe what you like but I know the truth. Belinda swiped my designs, my pages, and submitted them as her own. I bet the manager convinced Belinda to do it. She doesn’t like me. See if I ever go to another crop there.

Could I get that promise in writing and notarized?

Gee, I wonder why.
JealousMuch shot back.

I’ve always tried to be helpful to her but she’s so insecure, any woman stronger than her is a threat. The girl ran home to work with her grandmas because she couldn’t hack it in the military. And when I asked some simple questions about a store contest, she had to get her grandmothers. I mean really. Not to mention the whole crime thing …

Tears sprang to my eyes. I expected some anger but this type of character-assassination spewed by Darlene slammed my heart.

Not too long ago, I relaxed rules for a contest so that Darlene could keep her ideas protected and now she claimed Scrap This—I —helped Belinda Watson steal her layouts.

JealousMuch asked:

I bet this is some little game between you and Belinda to drum up blog hits. Hoping for a book deal also?

I drew back from the screen. Had Belinda and Darlene created some elaborate drama so they both gained fame and notoriety? I wouldn’t put it past Darlene. Belinda, on the other hand, I wasn’t sure about. Thinking back on the brawl, the only one who seemed surprised about all of it...besides me, my grandmothers, and the class attendees...was Hazel. The necklace did come off pretty clean from Belinda’s neck. Almost like someone undid the clasp rather than ripped it off.

What was so important about this title that Darlene and Belinda went through so much trouble for Belinda to win, and then for Darlene to announce the truth?

It made no sense. Darlene was the one who coveted a title in the scrapbooking world, not Belinda. Why would Darlene give up her dream for her cousin? If those two plotted this out, there was something bigger and more important going on than being labeled a Life Artist Diva by a scrapbooking magazine.

Something involving the store and me. Otherwise, why bring the murder up if it didn’t play into their scheme? Were they trying to bankrupt the store? Take it over?

My breath locked in my throat. A deep rage built in my chest. I clenched my hands, releasing the pressure the moment my nails dug into the skin of my palms.

They wanted our store. My grandmothers store. If they wanted a fight—

No. I slapped the thought away. Not going there. Not this time. The last time I speculated about people, I nearly got myself shot and risked Ted losing visitation time with his daughter. I was not going there this time. A little gossip would not have me opening up another of Pandora’s pretty decorative boxes again.

But, I wasn’t stupid enough not to get some “protection” for my grandmothers and me. I took a couple more screenshots and saved them to my hard drive. One never knew when they needed a just in case pile of hard truth.

FIVE

“Answer me. Answer me.” My phone squawked.

I lifted and dropped my head against my pillow a few times. Not this again. With kids, you’d think Sierra would go to bed at a decent hour. She bashed me about not having a life, how about her spending her nights on the computer rather than with her husband.

I burrowed under the blankets, taking the pillow with me so I could muffle out the sound. Whatever new tidbits of trouble Darlene or Belinda...or Darlene and Belinda...were creating could wait until I felt like getting up. Nothing would get me out of the bed until noon. One eye opened a fraction and focused on the clock. Two in the morning. Sierra wouldn’t be calling me now.

I bolted upright and snatched the phone. My heart slammed against my chest. My grandmothers! Please God, let them be okay. I glanced at the number on the screen. No name registered in my head.

“Hello,” I croaked out. Calls at this hour from unknown people usually brought grief, or started crime and horror novels.

“This is Nancy from Sound the Alarm. There has been a disturbance registered at Scrap This.”

“What happened?” I shoved my feet into sneakers.

“Our system doesn’t indicate details, just that the motion sensors and alarm went off. Should I notify the police?”

My mind focused on the ugliness being said about the store on the internet. “Yeah.”

“Yes, ma’am. Please stay on the line—”

I ended the call. Now wasn’t the time for the reminder of how lucky I was to have their service followed by a request for a customer service survey. I learned about their “good-bye” spiel when we first contracted for the service. It took about a week for us to remember we had an alarm.

I raced down the stairs. Yanking open the door, I grabbed my jacket and car keys from a hook by the front door. I was a woman who learned lessons. There was no way I’d show up at Scrap This alone. But there was also no way I’d sit at home waiting for the police to tell me how my grandmothers’ store was vandalized and our livelihood destroyed.

Haziness coated the sky and left the night a mix of inky blackness with wisps of white. The mist coated my skin with dampness. I flicked on the small flashlight attached to my key ring and ran across the front yards. My shoes squeaked on the dewy grass.

I slipped and shot my arms out to keep my balance. I made it to Steve’s house and pounded on the door. Sometimes having a wannabe knight-in-shining-armor living two doors away worked in a gal’s favor.

“Come on, Steve.” Cold air slapped at me. I wrapped my arms around myself and bounced up and down, hoping to get some blood and heat flowing. After a few seconds, I went to beating up the door again.

It flew open.

My closed hand rested on the muscular — and naked — chest of Steve Davis. An anime-style angel decorated the upper half of his left forearm. Something coiled inside of my stomach and blocked my vocal cords. On its own accord, my hand opened. The warmth of his body slowly worked its way through me. All I could do was stand and stare. I’m sure my expression matched the wide-eyed, disbelief playing on Steve’s face.

Steve stood in front me bare-footed, bare-chested, and wearing tight jeans. His hair was mussed. A protective and angry expression replaced the shocked look. He wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me inside.

“What’s wrong?” One strong arm cradled me to him; the other hand stroked my hair. His warmth and care wrapped around me.

I leaned into his embrace. Savoring and falling into the moment. My eyes drifted closed. Why had I been fighting this for so long? This felt right. I sighed.

“Is it Hope? Cheryl?” Steve tipped my chin up. His worried gaze took me in.

Hope? Cheryl? Rational thought returned. My grandmothers. The store. The alarm.

“Someone broke into Scrap This. Or is.” I forced myself from his arms and grabbed his hand. “We have to go.”

“Call the police.”

“The security firm did.” I tugged at him. He didn’t budge an inch. “I need you to come with me.”

He sighed. “I’m not going to talk you out of this am I?”

“No.”

I turned and ran behind him. A good shove in the back should get the man moving. My splayed hands roamed up and down his back as I tried to move him out the door. Another part of my treacherous mind said I was shoving him in the wrong direction with the wrong motive in mind. I ignored my basic instinct. I listened to it once and found myself in a heap of trouble I, with my bordering on conspiracy theory mindset, couldn’t even have conjured up on my own.

“Give me credit for coming to get you,” I said.

“All right. I’ll come.” Steve held his hands up in surrender. “Can I at least put on shoes and a jacket?”

Shoes and something to cover his muscular chest would be good. I didn’t want any distractions and needed to quash the giddiness rising up in me. I was way too interested in what Steve was or— in this case—wasn’t wearing.

“You sure you don’t want to change first?” he asked.

I glanced down.

Drat. I was wearing my turquoise flannel pajamas emblazoned with the phrase
I’m Scrappy and I Know It
across my torso and only the word scrappy across my derrière. I tugged down the hem of the shirt, hoping it covered the word.

I zipped up my jacket. “I’m ready. The longer we wait the more damage they’ll do to the store.”

Steve yanked on some running shoes and a leather jacket. He took hold of my hand. “Let’s go.” He herded me toward his car.

I balked, nearly tripping me and Steve.

“I thought time was of the essence.” He let out another of those impatient sighs I heard a lot when he was around me.

“It is.” I allowed him to lead me to his car.

I didn’t like giving up control, or totally relying on someone else. I did it once and it ended my life...so to speak. I liked helping people but wasn’t fond of accepting it. I knew I could trust Steve, but didn’t want to have to trust him.

The locks on the door clacked as Steve reached for the driver’s side door. “Jump in.”

I raced over the passenger side and slid in. I kind of expected Steve to open the door for me, but the man knew I craved independence and was trying to stand back and give me the space I told him I needed.

Poor guy. I still could not figure out why he didn’t run in the opposite direction. He wanted a real relationship while I was content with banter, flirting, and just knowing Steve cared about me.

I glanced over at him. The lights from the streetlamps played across his strong profile. Stubble dotted his cheeks and the top of his head. My hand itched to feel the texture.

I knotted my hands and pressed them into my lap. He’d do anything for me and that reality terrified me because I could easily see myself reciprocating. I could never put myself in the position again of giving my all to another man.

Not after Adam. The man I married ‘til death do us part, which turned into until he accused me of a murder that he committed, and I got an annulment to set me free. If not for one MP who believed me when I said I was innocent, I’d be sitting in jail instead of Adam.

No one but Ted knew about my sordid past, and I planned on keeping it that way.

“You all right?” Steve threw me a quick glance.

“Yes,” I said through my clenched teeth.

He cast another look in my direction. Nervous. His gaze wandered to my fists. “You sure?”

I flattened my palms onto the soft fleece of my pajama pants. “Yep.” I grinned.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Maybe I should’ve driven as Steve seemed half-asleep.

He shot another look at me. “You keep staring at me and it usually means you want to say something but are censoring yourself.”

Just admiring. I kept the thought to myself. Now wasn’t the time for any confession, mundane or common knowledge. “Wondering why you keep your tattoo covered up.”

“I’m a prosecutor.”

“It’s not like the angel is naked. She’s wearing pants and a long sleeved shirt.”

Steve’s jaw tightened.

Was he afraid others in the community might think of him differently? Some could be a little high-strung and a breath away from the line of holier-than-thou. “It’s tasteful. Beautiful. Maybe the sword might not be so good when you’re trying cases but—”

“It doesn’t lend to a professional appearance.”

“So you don’t flash it at work. Interesting, I’ve never seen it up close before now.”

“You’ve always had the option.”

That shut me up.

“Someone is trying to break into the store. How about we concentrate on that instead of the other topic?” Steve flicked on the blinker.

“Other topic? You can’t even say tattoo.”

“Drop it, Faith.”

What in the world was going on with him? Why was this off-limits? “What is with you?”

“Long story.” There was a gruffness to his voice I never heard before.

“You won’t tell me.”

“Not a story for now.” Steve pulled into the back of the shopping complex and headed for Scrap This. The employee parking lot was in the back lot and where we had the motion detectors.

I placed my left index finger on the button to undo the seat belt and my right hand on the door handle.

Steve’s headlights flashed onto a figure crouched by the door. “Don’t get out of the car.”

Anger flipped through me at the order. “I’ll do what I want.”

“Faith—”

I shoved the door open and bolted from the car. “The police are on the way!”

The figure didn’t budge at my threat. Good or bad, I wasn’t sure. I took a few steps closer.

The motion detectors sprang on. Dark hair tumbled over the woman’s face. Limp hands rested by pants decorated with pink scissors. What was Hazel doing at the store so late at night? And why was she cuddled up to the door? Was she drunk? Hazel had been known to overindulge on occasions.

I knelt down and shook her shoulder. “Hazel...”

The head lolled to the side and I got a clear view of the person’s face. Blood coated the side of Belinda’s face, streaking down from a large gash going from temple to her cheekbone. What was she doing here? This time at night? Tears filled my eyes. The scream I wanted to release came out a gurgled sound of pain.

A hand gripped mine. “My phone’s in the car. Call an ambulance.”

“But—”

“Let me do this.” Steve’s gaze met mine.

“It’s my grandmothers’ store. Mine.” I squared my shoulders bracing myself for what I needed to do. See if Belinda was alive.

Steve rested a hand on the small of my back.

My hand shook as I went to place my fingers on the pulse point on Belinda’s throat.

Steve drew in a sharp breath. A whispered curse told me Steve knew what I did.

What I learned when I finally registered Belinda’s wide and unblinking stare. She was dead.