EMBELLISHED TO DEATH (4 page)

“Um hmmm.” Lydia tapped the toe of her high heel on the carpet.

“I got a text…” Marsha fumbled her hand around in her oversized tote bag then withdrew a smartphone. “Some of the cropping ladies have already arrived and are setting up. I need to make sure they're at the right tables. If people come later and can't sit with their friends as promised, I'm afraid there will be trouble.”

“It's in the briefcase with all of the registrations, and also on the computer. I made sure only four documents are on the computer. Don't tell me you left the computer in Ohio.”

“No. I have it. I just couldn't get into the computer.”

“Let me guess, for some reason you couldn't remember the password.” Lydia narrow-eyed her partner. “You promised there'd be no drink—”

“You really think this is a good idea now?” Marsha flung a glare at me. “And for the record, I'm not drinking.”

It sounded like the car accident wasn't the only thing encouraging Marsha to head for the ledge. Perfect exit time.

“I need to go set up the store.” I had a particular set up in mind so the attendees had plenty of space to shop and we didn't encroach into the cropping space. Plus, I didn't want to be a party to the drama between Marsha and Lydia. I had one potential drama to stop, and listening to them was keeping me from helping Bob find the identity thief.

The hotel manager walked toward us. “Ms. Clement, I need to speak with you about the retreat account.”

“Do you mind if we go somewhere private?” Lydia smiled at the man. “Croppers have already arrived. I'd rather not discuss business in front of them.”

The man bounced the back of a clipboard off his palm. “For now, no. I also need to check on the catering for dinner, we can talk in the kitchen area. The kitchen staff won't arrive for another two hours.”

For now?
My interested piqued. No. No. No. Sometimes I wished I could turn my questioning brain off. I had a criminal to find and I didn't need to add Lydia's financial woes onto my list of items to worry about. Of course, her financial troubles might affect Scrap This and might be the result of the thief having found a victim. I'd let Bob know. He could work on that angle. He had sources and ways to get financial information.

Lydia elbowed Marsha. “Finalize the seating chart while I talk with the manager.”

Marsha stepped away and rubbed at her side. She watched her business partner and the hotel manager walk away. “I told her I was. Some people hate letting go of any amount of control.”

“With this being the first retreat you all are putting on, I can see why she's a little jumpy.” I glanced up and down the hallway. “I saw your abandoned car…”

Marsha played with the ends of damp hair. “How do you know it was my car?”

“A friend looked at the registration. I gathered up a few items that had fallen onto the road.”

“Thanks. Did you get everything out?”

I shook my head. “My friend and I were afraid to stay there long. Our trailer was creating some rubbernecking.”

“Thanks for grabbing what you did. I'll go get the rest of the stuff right now. I'm sure it's important.”

“If you need some help…” I trailed off as Marsha already headed for the door. I couldn't help but wonder how long it would take Marsha to realize she needed a ride to her car. Oh well, if a partner couldn't loan you a car, who could?

FOUR

  

“Faith, I need a favor. I need your room,” Bob jumped right into his request.

No finagling. No sweet talk. So, the brothers shared some characteristics. “My room?”

“Yes. Your room.” Bob glanced around then drew me to his side. “I have strong reasons to believe the woman I'm looking for will be attending this event.”

“She's not the accident victim?”

“Still don't know. At least that's what I heard from my sources in the ER. They'll call me if that changes. I have to operate like they're separate people.”

“What does the thief look like?”

A pained expression crossed Bob's face. “Not sure exactly as she has as many appearances as she does names.”

“What makes you think this woman will show up here?”

“I've told you more than I should already. The resort is booked. I need to stay here. Can I have your room?”

“You should tell Lydia and Marsha what's going on. I'm sure they can get you in.”

Bob shook his head. “The less people who know, the better. After three months, it looks like I've finally caught up to her. Once I know it's her, I'll notify law enforcement. I can't have her run again.”

A metal clang caught my attention. I watched a vendor wrestle a large luggage cart through the doors. The boxes had labels of a well-loved stamp company, and clear boxes were filled with patterned paper.

Croppers used these products to turn their stories into fully embellished pages showcasing their lives for their family, friends, and others scrappers to enjoy. Lives were being displayed this weekend. Names. Hometowns. Families. Anxiety rippled through me. Crop retreats were a time for women to let loose and have a weekend focusing on a hobby they enjoy. We had to find out who this woman was before someone at the retreat had their life snatched away and used.

Bob touched my elbow, drawing my attention back to him. “Your room?”

“Where would I stay?”

“With Steve. You have a room. He has a room. If you guys room together then it frees up a room for me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know Steve and I have separate rooms?”

Bob shrugged and offered a sheepish smile.

Ted had a big mouth. And so did I for hinting around the status of my relationship when Ted asked how things were going with Steve. I should've stuck with “none of your dang business.” I wanted to get advice, yet didn't want to get advice from Ted, as it seemed like a betrayal. I had little option for whom to confide in as Ted was the only other person – besides me and Adam – who knew about my previous marriage.

“From what I know, Steve is a standup guy.” Bob patted my shoulder. “I'm sure he'll behave himself. All the rooms have two double beds.”

“How am I going to explain this to him? He'll need to know what's going on.” I crossed my arms and tilted my chin up.

“Fine, you can tell Steve. We'll just go have a chat with the clerk and settle this matter.” Bob draped an arm around my shoulder and led me into the hotel.

It might be settled for Bob, but it would be the beginning for me. I still had to explain the situation to Steve.

I had to make sure Steve understood why I needed to get involved. He didn't approve of my ventures into sleuthing, but this time was different. I wasn't trying to outwit a murderer, interfere in a police investigation, nor would I hide my involvement. There had to be some way we could use Scrap This as a way to ferret out the thief before she did any damage. This time, I needed and would ask for his help.

“After we're done here, I need to finish setting up my cover,” Bob said. “I need to be in the cropping area along with my life partner. I know nothing about scrapbooking but he does.”

“There might be a spot or two left.”

“What do you mean left?”

“There are only a certain amount of spaces available for cropping. These retreats sell out all the time. With the Cropportunity retreat being new, they might have room for you and your partner.”

Bob groaned and switched directions, herding me toward the convention center side of the hotel. “I need two spaces. If I can't get those spaces, I don't know how else I'll explain my presence.”

A perfect idea slipped into my mind. “You could work for me at Scrap This. We're vending here.”

“That'll be my last resort. I need to be able to move around the room and being tied to the store won't allow it.” Bob pressed the lever on the door and held it open for me.

The carpet switched from deep red to beige, leaning toward brown, with a black filigree design. I wondered if the carpet people ran out of the original selection when they finished with the huge convention center foyer. Or, if an owner of the Eagle Mountain Estate liked the red better and agreed to a compromise of using it just in the connecting hallway. That deep red would've been overwhelming, bordering on creepy, if placed in the large foyer.

Conversation areas were staged throughout the large foyer. The sofas and arm chairs were a mix of olive green, mauve, and mustard yellow. Coffee tables acted as the grounding piece for each set. Light poured through the windows framing the front of the building. Raised wood blinds let their cords dangle into the dirt of the large potted plants guarding the windows. Our trailer was still out front, a large toilet displayed to the world and all the croppers. I needed to unload and move it. We didn't want other arrivals to think the resort had plumbing issues.

Three sets of large double doors were braced open. A trickle of wind found its way inside. Vendors volleyed for possession of four luggage carts. Thankfully, Steve had rounded up a few handcarts before we left Eden so we had our own. Sometimes it was best not to use community property items, especially when they were in short supply.

“The registration desk is by the door.” I maneuvered myself between two women tugging a cart and walked into the cropping room.

The vendors were placed like a corral with all the cropping tables in the middle of the room. An identity thief would occupy one of those tables. I hoped the set-up didn't make it harder for Bob to investigate. He wouldn't be able to search totes and bags without a vendor spotting him. Then again, a vendor could be the thief—what easier way to get information from a person than providing a service to them.

“I'm going to help them move the machine.” Bob leaned his head toward the left.

Pauline and Ellie struggled with centering their embossing machine on a table. They'd be the least likely ones to use the retreat as a means to get identities. Croppers brought their albums with them to the retreat and handed them to the embossers, picking them up later. There would be no reason for Pauline and Ellie to collect addresses. There wasn't a scrapbooker I knew who'd send their album through the mail to get embossed, even if all the layouts remained at home.

The other vendors were from direct sales companies: a simple scrapbooking business, stamps, totes, and locket-style jewelry. I had met the other two owners of the crafting businesses. Nice ladies with established reputations in our little area of the crafting world. I crossed them off the list. I'd pick up a business card and catalog from the other two vendors and pass them to Bob.

The resort had pushed partitions into slots in the wall, opening up three small areas to make one big cropping space. Lydia stood in the middle of the cropping floor, running a French manicured nail against her bottom lip and scanning the large area created for the croppers. The issue with the crop retreat account must've been easy to solve.

Picture windows along the back of the building showed off the mountain range across the highway to perfection. It was a beautiful sight.

I gazed at the mountains, taken in by their beauty. As a teenager, I had run from the mountains in hopes of finding something more and better, and returned as an adult knowing everything I held near and dear was here. It wasn't the state that held me back, but my idea of what made life perfect, adventurous, and worth living.

Scrap This was located near the windows. I grinned and refrained from doing a snappy little cheer. I got the space I wanted. Finally, something was going right this morning. Scrap This was placed “sideways” so we didn't block the light coming from the wall of windows, and had use of the permanent wall for our paper racks. With one sweeping glance, I could take in the whole room without having to leave my seat, a helpful placement for keeping an eye on any suspicious behaviors.

Even better than our location was the fact that Darlene and Gussie had arrived and had started setting up the store. Gussie must've had a key for her sons' trailer. Even with her boys approaching thirty, Gussie still liked knowing what they were up to. Wayne and Wyatt were the act now, think later type. And unfortunately, their actions usually resulted in misdemeanors and time spent behind bars—sometimes for their own protection.

Two hotel employees were helping Darlene center and brace the last shelving unit. My friends had arranged all the tables and some of the items were out on display.

Gussie was going through a box in a haphazard fashion. Not like her at all. Was something missing to put up the last shelf? Or had I forgot a scrapbooking line I promised to bring?

A vaguely familiar attractive blond man walked up to me. He smiled and held out his hand. “I'm Garrison. I'm assuming you're Faith. I saw you walk in with the Bob.”

He must be Bob's significant other. About a year ago, I went to Bob's office in Morgantown to get some information and saw a photograph of Bob and a friend on vacation. I shook his hand. “Yep, I'm Faith. My friend looks like she needs some help.”

“If you need anything, let me know. I'm going to go let Bob know I'm here.”

Lydia stormed over to a woman arranging items on the newly placed check-in table, and had a few choice words with her. I couldn't hear the conversation, but the helper turned about three different shades of red. Her lips looked shoved into her mouth as, I assumed, she refrained from telling Lydia off. The woman at the check-in spot was probably one of the “free registration and board” workers. If she told off Lydia, she'd have to pay the three hundred dollars for the retreat rather than just putting up with a cropzilla.

I hurried over to Gussie. She leaned over a box, bubble wrap and brown wrapping paper littered the floor around her. “Is something missing?”

Gussie startled, nearly ramming her head into my chin. “There you are.”

“Thanks for all the help. Things got a little hectic this morning.”

“When we pulled up and saw the police out front then noticed the empty space, we figured we should unload the trailer. Thought you might be a little busy.”

I pushed down the lump building in my throat. “Some reckless driver killed a woman and almost hit me. Steve got me out of the way and hit his head on the asphalt. He's resting in the room for now.”

Gussie hugged me. “That's horrible. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Did I forget something? You seem to be on a treasure hunt.” I pointed at the mountain of packing material beside her.

“My gift album. I know I brought it inside and now it's gone. I'm afraid someone accidentally put it in the recycling stack.”

“Where was the last place you had it?”

Gussie pointed to a small table placed in the corner of the retreat Scrap This. “Your mock-up plan showed you wanted the point of sales system there, so I figured my album would be safe beside it. Since we were almost done with everything else, I went to move it and noticed it was gone.”

“Did you find it yet?” Darlene walked over to us.

Gussie shook her head. “Where could it have gone off to?”

“It's somewhere in the store. Once we get everything set-up, we'll find it.” I hoped my words brought some comfort to Gussie. She looked so sad.

“Faith's right.” Darlene patted Gussie's shoulder. “Who would want to steal a scrapbook?”

An identity thief.
We needed to find that album before someone else did. “What does it look like? Is there anything embossed on it?”

“It's a buttery yellow fabric covered album. I was going to get it embossed this weekend. It's a friendship album I was working on for your grandmothers,” Gussie said. “This weekend was perfect to finish it up. They aren't here, and you are. There are just a few stories of theirs I don't have.”

“Their story?” I fought back the tremble in my voice.

Darlene beamed and nodded. “Your grandmothers have been best friends for over sixty-years. That's amazing. They do such much for everyone else, Gussie thought an album celebrating them, made with love by their friends and granddaughter would be perfect as a Mother's Day gift. Gussie and I have collected stories and memories from everyone in town.”

Oh God, no! Not my grandmothers. They had lost so much already. Their spouses. Their children. Now, someone wanted to take and claim their memories and identity. I wouldn't let it happen.

“Where's Marsha?” Lydia hustled over to us, cell phone clutched in her hand.

“She went to pick up the items she left in her car,” I said. I needed to get a hold of Bob. We had to find that album before the thief did—if they didn't already have it.

A nerve in Lydia's jaw twitched. “She has the credit card reader with her. I have a few onsite registrants that want to use a credit card.”

“They could use a cell phone or tablet to Paypal the amount to you.”

Lydia tapped the phone against her chin. “That could work. The connection down here isn't that good.”

“It's just as likely to interfere with the card reader as it would using Paypal.”

“What are you using for credit card sales?” Lydia asked.

“We have a mobile point of sale system. Eliminates having to do inventory before we leave the retreat or once we get home.”