Murder for Bid (16 page)

The photo caption referred to them as co-coaches of the track and field division. Co-coaches? Well, how cozy!

Was she the reason that Sean avoided a serious commitment? I scanned for an article date and saw that it was written just this spring. Thinking back on it, I remembered when he volunteered for the event. He seemed so excited about helping the kids, but maybe what really excited him was Sarah. How many late nights had he had at work since then? Was he spending them with her?

I felt like puking.

Instead I took a few bills from my emergency stash, grabbed my keys, and headed out the door. I needed therapy—a bag of chocolates and my best friend, Shep.

*

I was surprised when I found myself pulling into the lot at
The Retro Metro
. I must have gone on auto pilot because I didn’t even remember the drive or eating an entire bag of chocolates on the way.

I parked, scooped up the pile of crumpled blue tinfoil wrappers that littered the floorboards, and started shoving them into an empty grocery bag. Then, I paused and smoothed out a couple of wrappers.

Desperate for advice to sooth my love-torn soul, I eagerly skimmed the tiny messages on the inside of the foil. (One should never underestimate the wisdom that could be garnished from the inside of a chocolate wrapper.) I was full of hope as I read a few:
Start a good habit today.
What? I threw that one over my shoulder. No time now for good habits. I barely had time to keep up with my bad ones.
Enjoy the silky smoothness of chocolate.
Already done that, obviously. I decided to try one more:
Smile, it’s contagious.

I sighed. The chocolate gods were going to be of no help today. Perhaps Shep would have some encouraging words to share.

He spotted me as soon as I walked in the door. “Phillipena O’Brien! Where have you been, girl? How’s business?” He wrapped me in a huge, heavenly-smelling hug. I inhaled his one-hundred-dollar-an-ounce cologne and smiled. I was feeling better already.

“Slow right now,” I admitted.

Shep clinched my forearm with ring studded fingers and hauled me away from a gathering of customers. “Come over here and tell me what’s new. How come I haven’t seen you here lately? I bet that boyfriend of yours is keeping you busy.”

I tensed. “Not really.”

Concern flashed in his eyes. He raised a brow and waved at one of his associates to handle the line forming at the register. “Come back to my office for a cup of tea. Sounds like you need to talk.”

I followed him through the first floor, my head darting back and forth like a tennis spectator. I was especially drawn to a new display room decorated in mod-seventies. Decked out in bold patterns of orange, olive green, and brown, the room boasted some gnarly hanging beads, a funky lava lamp, and a couple of groovy vintage wooden owls. I even spied what appeared to be an authentic
Aarnio ball-chair. It looked like Shep had designed it directly from one of the studio sets of the Brady Bunch, which just happened to be one my favorite childhood shows. I wanted to throw myself down on the orange leather, chrome footed sofa and wait for Marcia and Jan to return.

Shep was a genius merchandiser. Somehow, he had managed to turn a former nuts and bolts warehouse into one of the trendiest consignment shops in the area. Designed like a furniture showroom, the two-story massive warehouse was divided into small rooms, each showcasing a different theme of decorative items and furniture. Besides the groovy seventies room, there was a roaring twenties room, a
rockin’ fifties room, and even a bitchin’ eighties room that made me want to turn on some funky disco music and don some leg warmers.

Shep’s office was in the back of the used book area, which featured a complete coffee shop with several café-style tables. As we passed, Shep waved to a group of chatty teens sprawled out on a couple of scattered sofas drinking coffees. He then raised two fingers toward the barista.

“Pauline will bring back something in a minute. Have a seat.” He held open his office door and motioned toward a red chintz-covered chaise. He settled comfortably into one of the leather club chairs. Like everything else in the store, Shep’s office was exquisitely done.

“It looks like business is good,” I said. For a guy that hadn’t even finished high school, Shep had done well for himself. He had a knack for turning trash into treasure. In fact, just a while back, a producer for HGTV had even approached him to appear as a guest on some redesign show.  

“Yes. Very good. You know my offer still stands,” he prompted.

He was referring to an offer he made last year to make me Head of Acquisitions. A great title as far as Shep was concerned, and the pay he offered was descent, too. “Thanks, but I still want to try and make it on my own.”

“I can understand that.” I was sure he could understand. Shep had been on his own since fourteen, when he narrowly escaped an abusive home situation and took to the streets. He rarely discussed his parents. I wasn’t even sure if he had any contact with them since he was a teenager. I wouldn’t. He had told me a few of the horrors he’d suffered growing up. I’m not sure how anyone could forgive such abuse. Luckily, Shep had escaped the trappings of childhood abuse and made a life for himself. Of course, he had a few quirks, but his eccentricities were what made him who he was.  

Pauline brought in a tray with two steaming mugs and a plate of cookies.

“Try this new blend and tell me what you think,” he said. I’d heard rumors that Shep had once had a problem with alcohol, but all I’d ever seen him drink was tea. In fact, he was a connoisseur, traveling the world seeking out new blends and experimenting with his own blends.

“Amazing, isn’t it? It’s taken me two years to perfect it. I call it Green Passion. It’s quite popular with my patrons.”

“Mmm. Delicious,” I agreed, taking another sip. It had a taste I couldn’t quite place. “It’s blended with passion fruit. An unusual selection for tea, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but good. Really good,” I declared, reaching out to help myself to a few cookies. Why not? I had already eaten seven billion
calories worth of chocolate. “I’m not just here for a visit, Shep. I have a couple of favors to ask,” I said.

“Anything for you, doll.”

I decided to take care of essentials before pouring out my love-life woes. “My parents are expecting me to attend the Community Union Library Gala with them on Saturday. I know this is short notice, but I’m going to need an outfit and an escort. I thought you could help. It’s black tie.”

“It’s funny you should be in need of some nice clothes,” he said, fidgeting with a little silver hoop that punctured his eyebrow. “I just got a fix on a couple of beautiful vintage pieces. They’re classy, timeless …real Jackie O’, you know? They should be coming in this afternoon.”

“Perfect,” I exhaled a sigh of relief. I knew I could count on Shep. I also knew that I’d love the dresses. Shep and I shared a mutual affection for Jackie Kennedy’s style.

“I’ll have one of the kids deliver them to your place tomorrow.” He was referring to one of the many student workers he employed. “Now, tell me why would you need me to escort you? Did you and that police officer break up again?”

“You mean Sean. Yeah, we’re going through something right now. You know how it is with us,” I was trying to keep my emotions in check.

Shep eyed me curiously. “Yeah, I know. You two have more issues than most of the guests on Dr. Phil.”

“We’re just not meant to be, I guess. I think he’s seeing someone else.” 

“Really?
He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy that would play around.”

“It’s not like we have a commitment or anything.” I sounded a little more than bitter.

“Who’s the woman? Do you know?”

“Some lawyer.
He probably met her at work.”

Shep nodded. “Sorry, hon.
That’s gotta be hard.”

I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “Actually, there is another guy that I’ve been sort of seeing.”

“Another guy? You
have
been busy, girl! Who’s this new guy?”

I was surprised to find out that he’d already heard of Greg Davis.

“How’d you ever get involved with him?” he asked. “He doesn’t seem to be your type.”

I tried not to look ticked. How many more people were going to tell me that?
“Oh, yeah? Well, I must be his type. He took me to out for dinner and the theater.”

Shep whistled. “Wow! Where was dinner?”

“At The Peak,” I bragged.

“
Your old stomping ground, huh? And afterwards? Was it just dinner and a show, or was there more?”

I paused. Good question. How was I going to explain it? “There was a kiss, but...” I shrugged.

“That was it?”

Only Shep could ask such prying questions and get by with it.

“It was a little weird at the end, I guess. But, I’m glad nothing happened, sort of. I’m not sure how I feel about Sean and…”  I hedged.

“Never mind,” Shep waved it off before I had to explain any further. “Your love life is a mess. I can see why you need someone neutral to go to the benefit with you.”

“So you’ll go?”

“Yes, I’ll go. What are friends for? Besides, you’re going to need help getting ready.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you need some serious glam help and glam is my specialty. I’ll be by at 4:00.”

“We don’t need to be there until 6:30.”

“Believe
me, we’ll need the extra time. Now tell me about business.”

We talked shop for a few minutes and then finalized our plans for Saturday. I wanted to tell him about Amanda’s murder, and how I felt compelled to prove that her husband had murdered her, but I had taken
up so much of his time already. Planning to fill him in later, I let him get back to work while I went on to spend another hour or so wandering the showrooms. If I ever had my own consignment shop, I would want it to be just like
The
Retro Metro
.

After I was through, Shep joined me out on the back loading dock and directed me to two giant contractor-size dumpsters. “I have a new girl working for me and she’s been bringing in a bunch of junk. You’ve got a lot better imagination than me, so if you see something, take it. It’s all just waiting for the trash man. If you need help loading, just holler. I can have one of the guys come out and help.”

I thanked him and we hugged goodbye. I braved the cold drizzle that had begun again, and spent a while rummaging through Shep’s discards. I found a ton of resalable relics including a couple of vintage wooden window frames. One would be perfect painted white and distressed to match the dresser I had just finished. I could fit a mirror between the frame and the wood that divided the panes, making for a great set. I also found several discarded wood stair spindles that paired with the other old window, and a glass insert, would make for a fabulous table top. I sighed with satisfaction, and headed back to my car in a much better mood.  

*

By the time I reached home, I was chilled and exhausted. All I wanted was a hot shower and a quiet evening of television. Unfortunately, the pounding began just as I had stepped into the shower. I tried to ignore it, but whoever was at the door was relentless. I threw a towel around me, slid wet-footed across the floor and flung the door open. I found myself face to face with the largest flower arrangement I’ve ever seen. Behind it was my mother.

“There you are, Phillipena! I’ve been knocking for a long time. Have you ever seen such beautiful flowers? They arrived earlier today; the delivery man left them with me. I’m dying to see who sent them.”

“Come on in, Mom,” I said to her back as she made her way through my living room.

Shoving a couple of days’ worth of mail out of the way, she rested the vase on the kitchen counter. “Well? Open the card,” she insisted.

I struggled to remove the card from its holder while using one hand to keep my towel in place.

“Here, I’ll do it.” She ripped the card from the holder and opened it. I held my breath. There were really only two options here, Sean or Greg. I knew which one I hoped it was from.

“Yes!” My mom did a little happy dance and shoved the card in front of my face. “It’s from Greg Davis! Things must have gone really well last night, huh?” she implored.

“Let me get dressed, Mom. I’ll be right out.” I ducked into the bathroom, taking an extra-long time to pull on some sweats and a T-shirt. Mom was waiting on the couch for me.

She patted a cushion next to her. “Come, sit. Tell me all about your date. I’ve been dying to find out how it went.”

She looked at me with such expectation, such eagerness in her eyes that I almost hated to disappoint her. “It was nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yes, nice. We ate at The Peak. The food was great. The wine was great. Then we went to the show. It was great.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I don’t want to hear about that stuff! Tell me about Greg. Did you two make a connection?”

“A connection?”
What exactly was my mother asking me?