Bath Bombs & Beyond Page 11

  “That so? Myra knew her family?” Anita’s curiosity wheels cranked into high gear.

  “No, I don’t think so. The strangest thing though… let’s go inside. I think a mosquito is nibbling my ankle.” I almost opened a can of worms I wouldn’t be able to crawl out of easily.

  I glanced at the sugary syrup that wept from the pie filling onto the plate.

  Anita caught my signal and grabbed the pie plate. “C’mon. I’m pooped.”

  Standing at the kitchen sink, I continued to tell her about finding the graffiti on the bathroom wall.

  “After Teddy painted the bathroom…” I often shared the day-to-day activities during the remodel with her, including the part about when Teddy pushed out the bathroom window and replaced it. She understood my love for old-fashioned shiplap and had agreed we shouldn’t replace it with sheetrock.

  “The paint cracked. It’s an old signature… you know how people write their names on the bathroom wall?”

  “Disgusting habit.” She leaned against the bar feigning interest, but yawned. It was past both our bedtimes. “What did it say? The graffiti?”

  “Fanny Doyle.”

  “Umm.” Anita scratched her chin. “Fanny Doyle? Interesting name. I can’t recall any Doyle’s offhand. She’s not related to either of us.”

  Naturally, she researched my family history, tracing it back to when Noah ran the Ark aground. Not only had she provided me with enough crochet to cover the earth, she gave me volumes of printed genealogy worksheets in binders. I haven’t read ninety-eight percent of what’s in them, but I would never, ever tell her.

  “I don’t think she’s a relative.” I scraped and rinsed the pie plates.

  “How do you know she died in 1929?” she asked.

  With my back turned, I cringed, waiting for a good lie to pop into my mind. I couldn’t blurt—Yeah, she was shot through-n-through.

  “Oh… oh… Myra told me there was a dress shop where the Row is. A woman made shirts for gangsters.” That wasn’t a complete lie.

  I turned, smiling. “Is that enough information to go on?”

  “I’ll peek around in Find-a-Grave online? Was she somebody’s mother?”

  “Ah… can’t say. If you can’t find anything, it’s okay.” It’s time for Anita to stop asking questions, I’m weary and could start spewing the entire Fanny story, Willie and all.

  “I’ve heard stories about that old building you put the shop in. It’s creepy with those dark windows. If you ask me, every building downtown is full of spirits.” Anita quivered. “Now, if my granny was alive. Eww, I hate the idea.”

  “A séance sounds fun. Do you think a spirit… ghost… could be possible?”

  Anita headed for the door. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, all things are possible. Even the impossible.”

  14

  Headlines

  “Hey.” I slipped into a red leatherette chair near the window.

  Before I got out of bed, Teddy messaged, inviting me to Cassie’s Coffee in the Crown Point center. He helped Cassie with minor carpentry work when she had the space done. With free Wi-Fi, good coffee and comfy chairs the place should be packed, but it was nearly empty. Competing with other coffee houses must be as difficult as competing with Marvell’s Bathhouse Essentials for soaps and bath bombs.

  If Teddy wasn’t careful he’d have so much remodeling work to do, he wouldn’t have time for secret spying side gigs. He looked up and smiled. “Nice to see ya.”

  “This place is cute.” Its ultramodern metal workstations and polished concrete floors looked inviting.

  “Thanks. I like it.” Teddy’s loyalty was charming. If he ever needed a bath bomb, he’d buy it from the Row. Now, he won’t drink coffee anywhere but Cassie’s place.

  Cassie headed toward us, carrying a steaming coffee mug and the morning edition of the Sentinel Record. She’s the daughter of a former Garland County detective, and we’ve known her a long time; the unusual scowl on her face wasn’t her normal cheery expression.

  “Mornin’.” She set the mug and newspaper in front of me on the table between the two chairs. “Y’all want a breakfast croissant?”

  “In a bit.” Teddy gave her a strange look. When she turned, she patted my shoulder and glanced at the newspaper.

  That wormy butterfly in my belly flinched.

  “What’s this?” I glanced at the folded newspaper.

  “You better go slow.” Teddy grabbed my forearm and squeezed. He wouldn’t have done that if the news was good.

  Unfolding it, my heart leapt as I read the blaring headline—Singer Found Dead in Bath Bombs.

  “Dang it! Mike!” At least he could’ve used a decent photograph. He snapped my perfect photo—open mouth, spewing vitriol, flared nostrils and a pointing finger. “I look like a deranged maniac. Look at those wrinkles. The Moon looks better than me.”

  Just freakin’ dandy.

  Teddy chuckled, knowing Mike’s reputation for taking the worse possible photographs. “Looks like Mike was snap-happy. I thought I’d break it to you gently.”

  “I hardly felt a thing.” Pangs of panic coursed through my veins. “She was a singer?”

  “Yeah, she sang on Tuesday night… before her fatal bath.” He smirked, adjusting his crotch like his pants were too tight.

  I grimaced at his smirky smile. “Stop laughing. I’m not amused.” This headline was the worst possible news. No telling what the gossipmongers will be tapping across the microwave towers this morning. Visions of Anita dashed through my mind. She will adore this tidbit. I’m surprised she hasn’t called this morning.

  “I am not.” He grinned at my ugly mug plastered across the Sentinel and leaned on his elbow hiding the grin in his palm.

  “Looks like it to me. This is serious.” His sense of humor wasn’t welcome this morning.

  I held the newspaper in the light coming through the window, but my hand shook so hard I couldn’t read the article, so I put it down. Whatever the article said, it wasn’t kind to either me or the Row.

  I had remained calm under the pressure of knocking my head on the sidewalk, Sandy’s opening day jitters, seeing a ghost, and even keeping Dick at bay. The routine investigation by the CSI crew hadn’t completely flustered me, but this… this was the devil’s handiwork and he was named Mike Claiborne.

  “He’s despicable.” I grabbed a napkin and pressed it to my eyelids. My chin crumpled, but I managed to stem my tears. “I’m gonna kill him.”

  Teddy chuckled. “Under the circumstances, I wouldn’t say kill.”

  I gazed into his rummy, hungover looking blue-eyed gaze. If he wasn’t so dang cute, I would’ve… I wouldn’t be here having coffee. For some stupid reason, after I got his message, I thought he was inviting me out, but this coffee meeting was strictly business.

  What a dunce I am!

  “I want a retraction,” I mumbled, resting my forehead in my palm, hiding my eyes and setting my jaw. I couldn’t hide my angst from Teddy, he knew me too well.

  After Anita left, I hadn’t slept well. I lay awake picking the details apart. I went over the scene on the sidewalk between the woman, Spats and the chauffeur searching for something I missed. Spats was pushy and mean, but was he the murderer? If I needed to, I could identify him. I would never forget his piercing glare as he glared at me… and Fanny.

  Teddy stirred his coffee with a finger and licked it. “Sandy’s getting a lawyer.” I looked up. His expression was nonchalant.

  The newspaper lay between us and its wretched bold typeface seared into my flinching butterfly. The headlines were an aside. Sandy sent him to break the lawyer news to me. Hiring a lawyer was normal. The right thing to do after our bombs were implicated in a crime scene.

  I gritted my set jaw. “What for? Why didn’t she tell me first?” If I wasn’t careful, I was going to leave Cassie’s with hurt feelings and a dead butterfly.

  Tsking, he shook his head. “Heck, you know her.”

  I did kno
w her well and every passing day during the remodel she had become testier. I shouldn’t be surprised by anything thing she did.

  Cassie arrived with a decanter to refill our cups. I took a moment to gather my wits, what little I had left. As she left, she squeezed my shoulder, silently offering support. Glad to have something to hold onto, I drank coffee, staring across the parking lot over the mug’s brim.

  Another awful thought popped up. “I bet Myra’s hired a lawyer too.” It made sense that she would want to protect her assets—the shop—from our silly problems.

  Teddy didn’t flinch. “Not to worry. Sandy’s only afraid of tainted product. It could be a big issue.”

  Through Cassie’s sparkling glass windows, I focused on the comings and goings in the parking lot. “Is she going to sue me for mixing tainted bath bombs?” She wouldn’t do such a terrible thing, would she?

  “No! What made you think that? She doesn’t think you did anything.”

  “Good.”

  Teddy added. “She hasn’t heard from Myra, either. Have you?”

  “No, I haven’t. That’s odd.” Why hadn’t I heard from Myra before now? I introduced her to Sandy, but my long-term friendship with Myra was the reason she rented the space to us so cheaply. Myra was happy to have us as a tenant in the unfinished building, and she had grand plans for it, but this disaster might squash those plans. Would she kick us out before our lease was up? We had worked so hard on the renovations and spent boocoo bucks, and now, assuming we weren’t in jail, we couldn’t afford to start over in another location.

  I squeezed the bridge of my nose, pinching back a growing painful throb.

  “Listen. Let’s not panic. Wait for toxicology. They know their stuff.” Teddy talked over his mug, before he took a sip.

  Panic. That’s all I have.

  Toxicology sounded dreadful. When I was experimenting with the bath bombs, never would I have dreamt CSI would be testing them for contamination.

  Teddy mushed his lips together. “I’m thinking, she’s thinking your headaches might be from the products. You have spent a lot of time mixing bath bombs with your bare hands.”

  “No.” My head throbbed. “It isn’t the product. It’s my fall. Besides, I wore gloves.” I wasn’t about to share the intensity of the pain behind my eyes. Telling him about seeing Fanny was the worst possible idea. He’d never believe such a cockamamie excuse for my behavior.

  “You shoulda gotten your head checked. You didn’t, did you?”

  I frowned and blew over the top of the hot coffee. They both think I’m nuts.

  Teddy nodded, affirming his suspicion but waited for me to speak.

  “I didn’t go. I didn’t think I was hurt bad enough.” I couldn’t justify my actions enough. An MRI wouldn’t prove Fanny’s existence; if anything, it would disprove everything.

  My skull is completely empty.

  “Right. Sandy said even if you had a concussion there wasn’t anything to be done. The symptoms will ease.”

  “She’s right. I researched online about concussions. There’s nothing much to do. Time will heal me.” I sighed, not saying what I was thinking.

  I was torn between enjoying Fanny and being annoyed by her sudden outbursts. Time would heal my concussion, but would I lose my ability to communicate with her? In many ways, it was bad to have a ghost for a friend, besides making me act and sound crazy. Fanny had grown on me. Like Etta, she completed the Row’s team. I’d miss her, if she wasn’t around anymore.

  Besides, I had a mission to accomplish. I wanted Anita to find out more about the Doyle family. What if Willie was still alive? He’d be an old man, but we could solve the mystery of what happened to her child. That wasn’t a difficult request to fulfill.

  Teddy looked at the newspaper as if he was drawing information from the black type. “Listen, I’ve been doing some snooping.”

  He has never stopped poking around for information. Once a detective, always a detective. He looked me in the eye, wanting me to ask questions. “Like where and about what?”

  “You know, everywhere. I know the girl’s name.”

  I fiddled with my dirty napkin. “It wasn’t published?”

  Intuitively, Teddy folded the newspaper over. “No, not until next of kin are notified. Might take a few days.”

  “What’s her name?” He wanted me to ask, and I wanted to know.

  “The woman’s name was listed on the hotel’s registry as Veronica Lake.”

  My head grew heavy and I cradled my forehead my palm. I’m in dire need of ice, ibuprofen and a psychiatrist.

  “Oh, C’mon? Really, Teddy? Are you dumb or what?”

  “What?” He squinted and sat back looking confused.

  I waited, hoping he’d figure it out, but was fresh out of patience.

  “Veronica Lake is a pseudonym for a movie star. Like… Who was the woman who had her head chopped off by a truck?” I snapped my fingers, biting the inside of my lip to come up with the name. “Yeah… Jane Mansfield.”

  “You think it’s a fake name? Wasn’t Jane the one with those big…?” He cupped his hands at his chest making suggestive breasts.

  “Stop it. Don’t be annoying.”

  “I’m an expert in annoying. My best attribute.”

  “Err. You!” He wasn’t taking any of this seriously.

  Veronica Lake? Who would check into a hotel under such obvious false pretenses?

  I trusted Teddy, and now was the time to confess my sins. “Listen.” I wasn’t about to tell this part to anyone else, not Sandy or Dick.

  “I saw a man with her. He shoved her into the backseat of the Lincoln. That’s when Mike snapped the awful photo.” I pointed at the newspaper, taking a deep breath. Confession felt good, cleansing like an enema. “Mike was outside the shop stalking the woman. Guess he knew she was singing at the Arlington. There was an altercation between her and the men she was with.”

  Teddy leaned in. “And?”

  “Mike took photos of them. And me. I threatened him, but backed off. There was too much happening.” I sat back, relaxing somewhat. Just knowing Teddy was willing to listen helped immensely.

  “Oh, really?” Teddy narrowed his eyelids. “Why didn’t you tell Dick?”

  “Must you ask?” He knew I didn’t trust Dick. Besides, it’s best not to blab every cotton-pickin’ thing you know, not until the time was right.

  “I gotta go.” I drained my coffee and grabbed my bag.

  “Hey, wait a sec. Where are you off to?” He knew I didn’t have anywhere to be. “I thought…”

  “Don’t think. I’m going to worry about paying our bills.” I chuckled, but it was no laughing matter. Every day that went by, we were losing sales and the bills from our suppliers, the utilities and rent mounted. Myra was in the business of collecting rents, and I don’t expect her to cut us any slack, because someone died in our bath bombs.

  “You gonna open up shop?”

  “Pfft! Of course not. Go against Dick’s ten commandments? I’m not that stupid.”

  “Ah. C’mon. I know you better than that. You’re dying to break Dick’s rules.” He stood and laid a tip on the table. “Want me to tag along, look for clues with you? I’ve got time to kill.”

  I stopped and gave him a good once over. “You warned me about saying kill, maybe we shouldn’t hang out together. We’ve got too much murder on our minds. Maybe another time. I need time to think.”

  He followed me and opened the car door for me.

  “Thank you.” I started the car, closed the door and rolled down the window.

  He leaned onto the door looking through the open window. “Where are you going?” His gaze sparkled and I had to look away. If I didn’t, I might let him tag along and keep me company.

  “To the building department. I want to find out if Fanny Doyle really existed.”

  15

  Two Picassos

  At the building department, I recognized the girl manning the front counter.

>   “Hey, Patti. How are you?” My desk nameplate at the sheriff’s department had Patti engraved on it, instead of Pattianna. Everyone who met me through the department called me Patti.

  Huffing, I set my purse upon the counter. “Hey, Jeanine. Fine. Fine.”

  Hot Springs is a hilly little town. After parking two blocks away downhill, the uphill trek left me breathless. My whims had gotten me into trouble before, hopefully, this lark wouldn’t give me a coronary.

  “How are those boys?”

  "Still in the military.” Jeanine grinned. She looked ten years younger than when I last saw her. “What can I do you for you?”

  Jeanine had two unruly teenage sons who thought spray paint turned them into a pair of Picassos. Twice, she visited her sweet darlin’s at the county jail. Judge Mayhew did Jeanine the biggest favor, giving those boys an option. After one imaginative night, the judge offered the darlin’ artists either jail for vandalism or the military. Since they were still in the service, they had put their creative juices to better use elsewhere.

  “I’m searching for building records. Old ones, maybe 1920s.”

  Jeanine cocked her heading thinking. “Hmm. Turn of the century, huh? Those records are in ledgers. Basement. Third door on the right. Door’s sticky; you might need to shove it open.”

  “Ledgers?” Sounds dull and dusty.

  “Records that old haven’t been digitized. No funds.” Jeanine shrugged, reaching underneath the counter.

  I unclasped my purse. I could pay to snoop. “I see. How much?”

  “There’s no fee to poke around.” She laid a rusty keyring on the counter. Fingering the keys, she said, “This is it. I think. You might need to try more than one. I haven’t opened that door in a couple’a years.”

  She set a dusty tissue box in front of me. “Here. Take some tissues. You’ll need them.”

  “Okay, thanks.” I pulled tissues until I found the less dusty ones and crammed them into my pocket.

  As I took the two flights of stairs down, I listened to my cell phone ping messages. I didn’t read them.