Don't Take Any Wooden Nickels (13 page)

“The nickel!” she said. “It all started with the nickel!”

“The nickel?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Callie, there was this thing, this little wooden disk, shaped like a coin. On one side it said ‘Don’t take any wooden nickels.’ I think with a picture of an Indian’s head. And on the other side was an advertisement for something. A website, maybe. Something about treasure.”

“Treasure?”

“Buried treasure. I thought it was hokey, but Eddie Ray took the nickel, and then pretty soon after that he started acting all secretive and weird.”

I sat back, stumped. Buried treasure?

“Where did this wooden nickel come from?” I asked.

“From you!”

I pulled back, surprised.

“Me?”

“Yeah, sort of.” Shayna looked down, her face coloring. “In the blazer you gave me, the first time I went to Advancing Attire. There was a little pocket, up here,” she said, patting her chest, “on the inside of the jacket, but I never noticed it. Then Eddie Ray was home when I came back from a job interview one day, and I was still wearing the blazer. About two weeks ago. We were just sitting in the kitchen, shooting the breeze, when I realized there was a pocket there and that something little was in it. I pulled out the wooden nickel.”

“Go on.”

“Like I said, I didn’t think it was anything, but Eddie Ray saw the bit about ‘buried treasure’ printed on it and said he would look into it.”

“Where’s the nickel now?”

“I don’t know. After he took it from me and slipped it into his pocket, I never saw it again. But two days later, Eddie Ray was talking about big money and hitting the jackpot.”

“How do you know the jackpot and the wooden nickel were connected?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t have thought that at all,” she replied, “except for what he said. He told me, ‘Just think, baby. They always say “Don’t take any wooden nickels,” but this one is gonna turn out to be worth millions.’”

Sixteen

I went straight from the police station to Advancing Attire. My mind was racing with all that Shayna had told me, and I felt suddenly hopeful about my pursuit of the case.
Follow the money,
my investigating mentor, Eli Gold, had often said, and that was going to be my approach here. If Eddie Ray had been involved in some big financial scheme, I was going to track it down. The fact that an item of clothing that had come through Advancing Attire might be connected wasn’t a very comforting thought, but still it was as good a place as any to start.

Verlene was busy assisting a client when I arrived, so after greeting them I excused myself and headed straight for the computer. I didn’t think it would take long to track down the blazer and its source, and from there I might be able to find out what the “buried treasure” on the wooden nickel was all about.

“Oh, darling, you are absolutely
stunning
in violet!” Verlene cried. Stifling a smile, I glanced over at the client, an older black-haired woman Verlene had fitted with a tailored Donna Karan jacket and slacks. The woman beamed, admiring her stylish figure in the mirror.

I seated myself at the desk and quickly pulled up the computer records for Shayna. According to them, she had first come to Advancing Attire at the end of August and had received a navy skirt, navy blazer, white shirt, silk scarf, scarf pin, pumps, and a half slip. The skirt and blazer had both been donated by the same person, a woman named Grace Collins. That name sounded familiar. I closed the file on Shayna and went into Donor Profiles, pulling up Mrs. Collins to get a look at her information.

According to the address in her records, she lived about halfway between Osprey Cove and my house, probably in one of the hidden estates behind the plain-looking driveways. She had a long history of donations, about four times a year for the previous three years. Her last donation had been in October, and it was much more sizeable than usual. In fact, the list of things ran down for several pages. I was skimming the items when I realized why her name had sounded familiar to me. Verlene had mentioned her only the day before, saying that Grace had been petite like Shayna.
Now I recalled she had said that Grace Collins had recently died, and her family had subsequently given us much of her remaining clothing.

I scrolled back up to the top of the profile, took out a pen, and jotted down the address and phone number. I was just closing out of the profile area when the black-haired client went into the changing room, and Verlene strode across the room toward the office.

“Callie! Callie! Callie!” she whispered sharply, reaching out to tug at my sleeve. “I’ve been dying to talk to you all day! What’s going on with Shayna? Is she all right?”

I glanced toward the dressing room, hoping the client would soon emerge. I really didn’t feel like getting into any of this now. Still, Verlene deserved to know what little I could tell her, so I explained that Shayna hadn’t been charged with murder yet, but she was still being held by the police.

“The truth will come out eventually, I’m sure,” I added. “You and I know she didn’t do it, but we’ll have to wait and see what happens.”

“What about her new job? Is she going to be fired before she even starts?”

“Again, we’ll have to wait and see. She’s supposed to start a week from Monday, so there’s still time to get her out of custody. Since her job is in Annapolis, they probably won’t even have heard about any of this. There’s no reason they should know.”

Verlene looked toward the dressing room, wringing her hands.

“These girls,” she whispered sadly. “Is all our work in vain? Do they ever really make the kind of changes they need to make to turn their lives around?”

I was disturbed by the despair I heard in her voice. Sure, most of the women we helped had a long, tough road ahead of them—and our informal statistics showed that the majority of them ended up right back where they started, once again jobless and involved with things like drugs or unhealthy relationships or unexpected pregnancies. But for every two women who failed, there was still one who succeeded. It was that one out of three who kept me involved, doing what little I could do to give them a chance.

“Verlene,” I said, reaching out to take her hand in mine. I wasn’t really one for sentimentality, but I sensed she needed to hear some encouraging words right now. She looked at me, and I was surprised to see tears brimming in her eyes. The dear woman really did care. “You know you’ve made a huge difference in a lot of women’s lives—”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. You give them some wonderful tools and send them on their way. It’s up to them how they use those tools. You can’t hold yourself responsible for what happens after they walk out of the door.”

She blinked back her tears and attempted a smile.

“Come on, Verlene,” I said. “If Shayna—or any of these ladies—messes up, that still doesn’t change the fact that they are responsible for themselves. You can be comforted in the knowledge that you did everything within your power to help them succeed.”

“I suppose so,” she sniffed. “It’s just all so upsetting.”

“Of course it is,” I replied, remembering how shaken she had been the day before in the midst of all the trauma. Things I took in stride—murdered corpses, police interrogations, arrests—weren’t the norm for most people, and especially not for a sweet, sheltered woman like Verlene Linford. I felt a surge of sympathy for her.

“Maybe you should’ve stayed home today,” I said gently. “I’m sure this place could survive a day without you.”

“I had to come in,” she replied. “There’s this whole lease thing to worry about, plus this other organization is pressuring me to hurry up and make a decision—”

“What organization?”

“I was starting to tell you about it yesterday, when we,” she paled and lowered her voice, “when we discovered the, uh, the body.”

“What organization?” I repeated, hoping to keep her on track.

“It’s one of those big companies—a big nonprofit, to be exact—that handles peripheral operations for small charities. If we sign on with them, they’ll take over our accounting, our payroll, our fund-raising, things like that. Then that frees us up to concentrate on serving our clients. Gosh, for the small fees they charge we get a lot in return, including the opportunity to expand. The woman I spoke with on the phone said that they could provide funding for the bigger space right away. But we’ve got to make a decision.”

“Why are they pressuring you?”

“They’re not, really. It’s just that we need to work fast if we want to be able to move on the building next door when it becomes available.”

“When do you think that will be?”

“Soon. The owner gave me a heads up because he’s an old friend of mine. But he said I’ve only got about a week’s jump on everyone else, and then he’s going to list with his Realtor. You know how storefront property is in this part of town. That place will be snatched up before you know it!”

“What does one thing have to do with the other? Can’t you go ahead and lease the extra space and then worry about this national company later?”

“I wish I could. But without their assistance, Advancing Attire can’t afford the extra space. It’s just not in the budget.”

“I see.”

“On the one hand,” Verlene said, holding out a palm, “it’s almost like the Lord provided an opportunity and the means for that opportunity all at once.”

I nodded. I had been thinking the same thing.

“On the other hand,” she continued, “I certainly don’t want to be hasty. Affiliating ourselves with another group, no matter how successful they are, may not be the best move for us. I just don’t want to make a poor decision based on our immediate need.”

I looked around, thinking it was no wonder Verlene had come looking for me yesterday in search of a little advice. As an investigator of nonprofits of all kinds, this type of thing was right up my alley.

“Have you spoken to your board of directors?” I asked. “What do they say?”

“The board president called a special meeting night before last,” Verlene said. “They agree we need more space, but they were a bit split as to whether this was the way to go about it. They’ve left it to me to gather more information about this company and get back to them by the end of the week.”

She looked at me, her eyes wide, and I quickly realized that she was asking me a question.

“Let me guess,” I said slowly. “You want me…”

“…to look into the company!” she finished. “To see if this would be a good thing for us. That is what you do for a living, isn’t it? Investigate nonprofits?”

I took a deep breath and let it out. Leave it to me to saddle myself with not one but two cases—all during a week that I was supposed to be off from work entirely!

She took my hesitation as an assent and immediately began gathering papers and shoving them into a manila file folder.

“All I ask is that you look this stuff over,” she said eagerly. “Just in your spare time. Get back to me in a few days and let me know what you think.”

Before I knew it, she had shoved the file into my hands and was stepping back, a look of great relief radiating across her face.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed. “You have no idea what a big help this will be. We’re changing lives here, Callie. We always have to keep that foremost in our minds.”

As if on cue, the dressing room opened, and the client who had just a few minutes before looked elegant in Donna Karan now came out wearing a pair of hip-hugging faux leopard-skin pants and a short red T-shirt advertising a rock band. A roll of flesh hung
out over the pants, and her pierced belly button sported what looked like a pewter skull and crossbones. The contrast between that and the outfit she had just changed out of was startling, to say the least. Verlene shot a pointed look in my direction, as if to say, “You see?” before putting a smile on her face and turning around to help the client.

I grabbed the opportunity to slip away, tucking the file under my arm. As I went out the door, I fingered the paper in my pocket that held the address for the home of Grace Collins.

Okay, Verlene, you got me,
I thought.
But first things first.

Seventeen