Black Thursday (14 page)

Or was the utter lack of information that much more suspicious?

Cathy seemed like a perfectly friendly soul, but her eulogy had her sounding even more sweet and bland than vanilla ice cream.

And that was before the minister added:

In recent months, her interest and success in saving money as a couponer had her donating a variety of low-cost and free nonperishables to local shelters
…

As people turned to smile at me and Frank patted me softly on the back, a pretty, heavyset woman of about thirty-five lumbered up to the stage, adjusted the microphone down, and tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“A few months back, Cathy and I telecommuted together on a project,” she said.

I found myself sitting up a little straighter, hoping for something about Cathy. Anything from
while she could be a little opinionated
to
I can't believe she warned me against going to Bargain Barn Thursday night
.

“She couldn't have been nicer or easier to work with,” the woman said. “Which is why I thought I should read this poem by Maya Angelou in her honor.”

As she launched into a touching reading of “When I Think of Death,” I was increasingly sure Alan was right about everything and Cathy not only couldn't have been CC, but had to have been chosen as an unfortunate pawn simply by virtue of just how bland a person she'd been.

I glanced briefly over my shoulder and noted the cameraman standing a few steps back from the camera.

Seizing the opportunity, I leaned down, planning to fumble through my purse for mints or a tissue and somehow tapping out a quick text to alert Alan.

I rifled past my wallet and gum, located my cell, and turned it over.

There was already a text message waiting for me.

It was from Alan:

Meet me at the stairwell doors at the back north side of the church right after the minister starts his final announcements and the reception begins.

_____

“I found something on one of the store security cameras,” Alan said leading me down a set of stairs toward the basement of the church. “A person stepping down from an upper shelf a minute or so after the pallet fell.”

“That's huge!” I said, feeling my first real sense of relief since that sickening crash on Thursday night. I was also breathless from ducking out of the service, rushing from the front vestibule, through a side door, and down the north corridor to meet up with Alan.

“Except that the tape was fuzzy and came from a perimeter camera in an area that shouldn't have been accessible from where the pallet fell,” he said, leading the way down a darkened hallway across the west side of the church.

“What did the police think?”

“They spent most of the night trying to determine whether someone could have worked their way across the upper shelves of the store and shimmied down in that particular area undetected.”

“And?”

“That it wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't impossible.”

“Which means there's a suspect now, too?”

“Not yet,” he said. “The tape still has to be officially analyzed and all that jazz.”

“Anastasia seemed sure something was about to go down.”

“I bet the big break she was talking about already happened. They just need to process the tape and hopefully we can wake up from this nightmare,” he said, pushing open a door marked
Exit
. “Not that I've had much, if any, actual sleep in the last few days.”

Up close, there was no missing the dark circles under his eyes. “I hope you can get some rest soon.”

“That's my general plan,” he said propping open the door.

I drew in a breath and squeezed my eyes shut to adjust to the juxtaposition of brisk temperatures and bright sunlight.

“So you're leaving for home now?”

“Not yet,” he said, pulling a BMW key fob from his pocket, but looking toward the stretch limo that had ferried the Carter family to the memorial and was parked alongside the back of the church. “I thought I'd follow John home and get him settled first.”

“That's so kind of you,” I said.

“It's the least I can I do.”

“But isn't he inside, at the reception?” Which was where I was supposed to be so Anastasia and I could wrap up by having a word with him. I was now bordering on overdue.

“His aunt, uncle, and brother are going to greet well-wishers, but the poor guy is still pretty heavily sedated and in no frame of mind to talk to much of anyone.”

“I can't imagine,” I said.

The sadness in Alan's eyes had me swallowing back tears.

As we started for the limo, a police cruiser appeared from a side street and pulled into the far entrance to the lot.

“Doesn't it seem like there's an awfully heavy police presence this morning?” I asked, mostly to break the heavy silence. “Despite it all.”

“Until they figure out who killed Cathy Carter, I'm probably the only one who's safe.” He sighed. “And that's only because they're trying to kill my business instead of me personally.”

“I'm sorry to say you may be right.”

“I'm the one who's sorry,” Alan said, his voice teary and sounding oddly reminiscent of Frank. “First I get Cathy Carter killed, then I drag you into this disaster.” He shook his head. “To know I've put you in harm's way …”

“Maddie?” The unmistakable voice of Frank himself echoed from behind us.

Alan looked startled as Frank bolted out the back door, ran over to us, and put a protective arm around my shoulder.

“The last place you should be is out here! It's not safe.”

“I haven't let her out of my sight,” Alan said.

“I'm fine, Frank,” I said. “We're just waiting for John Carter. He's not going to the reception and Alan's planning to follow him home to make sure he gets settled in okay.”

Frank nodded his approval.

“Alan also found some incriminating video tape that may be important in—”

Before I could finish my sentence, the police cruiser pulled up and blocked the limo. The driver's side and passenger doors swung open, and none other than Detectives McClarkey and Reed flew out of the car.

“Mr. Bader, put your hands up and lean against the side of the car,” Detective Reed called.

“Me?” he said faintly.

Both detectives had their guns out to show they definitely meant him.

“But I …” he said, turning around and putting his hands against the glass of his otherwise spotless car. “I …”

“Alan Bader, you're under arrest for the murder of Catherine Carter.”

twenty

“I can't believe this
is happening,” I said to Detective McClarkey as Alan Bader was cuffed, read his rights, and loaded into the back of a patrol car by Detective Reed. “He can't be
…
”

“Where did Mr. Bader say he was heading?” Detective McClarkey asked.

“To John Carter's house, so he wouldn't be alone while his family was at the reception.”

“And he asked you to come with him?”

“No.”

“But he did call you out of church to meet him?”

“Yes, but—”

“But it's a good thing your … Mr. Michaels came out when he did,” Detective McClarkey said with a brusque nod of acknowledgment to Frank. “I can only imagine what Alan had planned for you.”

Frank held me that much tighter. “You think he planned to abduct her or something?”

“Or worse,” Detective McClarkey said. “I think she's been getting in the way of his plans.”

I felt ill. “I just can't believe that Alan—”

“Neither could I until all the pieces started fitting together,” McClarkey said.

“Pieces?”

“I began to look into a few things after our conversation down at the station the other day.”

“Like what?” I managed, watching the lookie-loos trickle out of the church, spot the disturbance, and make their way over to investigate the police activity.

“Like why a big corporation would run a single-location family store out of business by resorting to murder in the first place.”

“If you destroy both the reputation and the profit margin of a store like Bargain Barn on the busiest night of the year, and in the midst of media coverage, they're as good as gone,” I said.

“I've certainly seen some crazy things done in the name of greed,” Detective McClarkey said. “But why would a big, deep-pocketed corporation take such a huge risk when they could simply open up near
by and advertise all sorts of specials that would have shoppers flocking to the new store anyway?”

“I don't know,” I said.

“Did you know that Alan Bader is in the midst of a contentious divorce?”

“I knew he was a widower.”

“He's that, too,” Detective McClarkey said. “But apparently wife number two got used to a certain standard of living she has no intention of compromising, and she's rejected any and all reasonable alimony offers.”

“So you think he was trying to devalue his business to keep her from getting her big settlement?” Frank asked.

“It sure looks that way.”

Frank
whoa
whistled. “Not un-clever.”

Detective McClarkey shook his head. “As though there's such a thing as a clever way to get divorced.”

“But if his business dies, then he loses everything too,” I said. “Right?”

“He wasn't trying to kill the business, just suppress profits for a period of time to show his assets were nowhere near what his wife is demanding from him.”

“By playing Russian roulette with Bargain Barn?” I asked.

“Why did he shut himself away in his office with Cathy Carter's husband and leave the fate of the store in the care of an assistant manager?”

“To comfort a man whose pain he understood only too well?” I said.

“Or to hide out while all hell broke loose around him,” McClarkey answered.

“But—”

“But we kept the store open,” Frank said, finishing my sentence.

“And Bargain Barn had the
best Black Friday receipts they've ever had,” I added.

“Which is why an arrest had to happen ASAP,” Detective McClarkey said. “Particularly after the note on your car threatening Maddie.”

Frank glanced into the back of the patrol car at Alan, hands behind his back, awaiting transport to a jail I knew far too well.

“What a sick plan,” Frank said.

I swallowed the giant lump that had formed in my throat. “I still don't get why would Alan stage an accident then insist it was a crime.”

“Easy,” McClarkey said. “Remember what I told you about the flood of negligence lawsuits he'd be facing?”

“If it's a murder, then Bargain Barn isn't at fault,” Frank added.

“Exactly.”

“But what about the tape?” I asked.

“Alan couldn't prove when it was made. He claimed it was from right after the accident, but that particular security camera was older and the date stamp hadn't been programmed in. Besides, the image was too grainy to tell who the person was.”

A police officer emerged from the door where I'd exited the church. Behind him, and flanked by two additional officers, was John Carter. His expression was equal parts deep distress and sheer confusion.

I had a feeling it matched mine.

“Did you know Alan not only organized, but underwrote the memorial today?” I said as Anastasia and the cameraman appeared in the doorway and began to film John and his small entourage of family members being led over to the waiting limo.

“Even more interesting,” Detective McClarkey said as John paused to look over at the patrol car where Alan awaited transport, shook his head, and slipped inside the limo. “Did Alan tell you how his first wife died?”

“I didn't get a chance to ask,” I said.

“An accident,” he said.

“What kind of accident?” Frank asked as I fought back tears watching the vehicles take off together, each man headed toward his own personal hell.

“An accident in the warehouse of Bargain Barn,” Detective McClarkey said.

“At the store?” I heard myself ask.

“She was
accidentally
pinned beneath a front loader.”

“Seriously?” Frank asked.

“The file's been sitting in our cold case cabinet for years,” Detective McClarkey said.

“Meaning you have evidence tying Alan to both crimes?”

He nodded. “We do now.”

twenty-one

“I'm just glad Maddie
is safe and sound,” Joyce said as we filed from our various cars back into the house. “Thank goodness!”

“Why is it always the nice ones you have to watch out for?” Barb asked.

Frank sniffed. “Never trusted the guy.”

“I don't think I've ever watched someone I know get arrested,” Trent said, tugging off his tie.

“You weren't there when Toby Torrance got caught with booze after the football game last year?” FJ asked.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”

“Now that there's nothing to worry about, can I have a car?” Eloise asked. “I really want to see my friends for a couple of hours before I leave tonight.”

“Shouldn't we have a proper goodbye supper before we send you back to all that dorm food?” Joyce asked.

“That would be great,” Eloise said. “But I don't want you to go to any trouble.”

“Maybe we can order pizza or something?” FJ asked.

“That way no one has to cook,” Trent added.

“I do have a coupon for twenty dollars off any order over fifty at Leonardo's.”
31

“All I know is we need to eat early,” Frank said. “Say, five thirty, so we have time before I take you to the airport?”

“Perfect,” Eloise, the boys, and I all said in unison.

As she accepted Frank's car keys, the boys headed toward their never ending, purportedly ever-evolving Xbox game, and the rest of the family began to disperse throughout the house, I made my way into the entry hall. The realtor had jotted a note on the comments pad I'd left on the front table.

Thank you for opening your lovely house on such short notice, but the buyers have decided to go in a different direction.

“Everything's coming up roses,” Gerald said from the kitchen to Joyce or whomever it was he was talking to.

His words seemed to hang in the hallway as I went into my office, powered on the computer, turned on the TV to drown out the family noise, and closed the French doors behind me.

Cathy Carter's killer was behind bars.

We were all out of harm's way except for the one person who, by his own admission, was safe in the first place.

My marriage was no longer on the brink of collapse.

Other than a still-necessary offer on the house, everything
was
coming up roses.

I sighed.

If only the roses didn't feel quite so thorny.

My situation with Frank, while on a better track, had a long way to go to be called ideal again. We needed to sell the house and soon, so the buyer's pass was a disappointment. What bothered me most though was I hadn't even for a second considered that Alan Bader could be anything more than the victim of horrible bad luck or—if his sleep-deprived, distress-induced theory had proved true—the target of corporate evil doing.

But a double murderer?

I still couldn't believe the kind, sensitive man I'd been working alongside was not only a cold-hearted sociopath, but one with Oscar-worthy acting skills.

Could he really have had plans to do me in next?

I logged on to my computer and found myself scanning through the growing messages and sharing the shock, outrage, and general horror about the arrest. Ditto on my emails, where, mixed in with the mounting
How could he?
notes was a message from Anastasia.

The subject line read
Cyber Monday:

Maddie,

Can you believe this day? Just when we thought things couldn't get any more shocking or sensational
…
wow!!!

Sorry we didn't get to talk in the midst of everything, but since Cyber Monday is meant to be a day to stay at home and shop, I was thinking that I'd really like to tape tomorrow's segment from your house. I'm planning to have the crew there tomorrow morning at ten a.m. to tape us talking online tips. We'll run the segment on the noon news in conjunction with any updates on the Bargain Barn story. Sound like a plan?

Still reeling from this morning,

Anastasia

Reeling
was the key word, all right.

I hadn't expected to have a camera crew traipsing through my house, but given the weekend had been nothing but a series of unforeseeable and unexpected events, why not tape from the comfort of home?

I sent Anastasia a confirmation email and then tried to distract myself by jotting Cyber Monday bullet points for both the Mrs. Frugalicious blog and my morning interview:

* Make a list: It keeps you on track and prevents unnecessary impulse buys like accessories or add-ons that eat into your discounts.

* Do your research in advance: Many merchants announce their online offers ahead of Cyber Monday. Check top coupon sites for a
roundup of deals
available as well.

* Pre-shop: Some marketers will try and make a regular price look like a bargain so before you start loading your cart, do some comparing at sites like pricegrabber.com, eBay, and local stores—particularly when you're shopping for high-priced items with options and features.

* Find free shipping: Steep shipping and handling costs quickly cut into your cyber savings.

* Read up on returns: Return shipping and restocking fees can be an unexpected and unwelcome expense, so know the policies for sending things back.

I managed to stay semi-distracted with the task at hand—but only until I wrote the next bullet point:

* Practice safe shopping:
Don't be fooled by a deal that seems too good to be true. Do a search on the name of a particular website to see a record of prior consumer complaints.

Somehow, I couldn't imagine feeling entirely safe about shopping ever again.

I'd certainly been fooled by Alan and his best advertiser and friendly client act, both online and in-person.

*Check the Better Business Bureau to see if the site you want to visit is accredited. The National Retail Federation's
CyberMonday.com
also has a list of legitimate retailers offering Cyber Monday discounts.

Detective McClarkey was right—a legitimate retailer might not be above an elaborate scheme to depress Bargain Barn's profits so they could be acquired at a low price—but why resort to murder?

*Secure your purchase by only entering credit card details on pages that use SSL security. To make sure you're on a secure page, check that the URL for the page begins with “https://” and not “http://.” That “s” lets you know the site is secure.

Bargain Barn sold all types of high-tech equipment, from televisions to video cameras. What were the chances that they didn't know how to set the date and time on their own store security camera?

Setting aside the Cyber Monday tip list I'd started, I turned back to my computer and opened the
Questions & Answers
spreadsheet.

The spreadsheet I'd made specifically to share with Alan.

Alan, who insisted we not bring the police into it until we had enough information for them to believe our story.

His story.

My first question,
Was the accident really an accident?
had apparently been answered.

As was
Who killed Cathy Carter?

I created a new tab, titled it
Alan Bader: Guilty As Charged
and began to list every suspicious thing I could think of about our interactions over the past few months.

Contacted Mrs. Frugalicious, invested in advertising, and established a preferred customer relationship for the purposes of manipulation.

Made too-good-to-be-true Black Friday deals to entice Frugarmy to his store.

Sweetened the deal when he learned Channel Three was coming but made sure to stay out of the spotlight himself.

Created deal maps to get shoppers into a certain organization and order.

Snuck away at an opportune moment, climbed into the rafters in an out of the way corner of Bargain Barn, scrambled across the store, and pushed pallet off upper shelf.

Disappeared into his office with victim's husband after the pallet fell.

A: To comfort John Carter in light of the tragic loss of his own wife?

B: So he wouldn't be available in the aftermath of the incident and Bargain Barn would necessarily have to close?

Somehow, both options still stumped me for some reason.

So did the news report that then preempted the all-in-one-weights-and-cardio-training-system infomercial that had been droning away on my small office TV.

Not surprisingly, Anastasia Chastain appeared on the screen.

“I'm here in front of the South Metro Police Department, where local businessman Alan Bader of Bargain Barn is being held at this hour on suspicion of murder. His dramatic arrest took place earlier this morning in the midst of the memorial service for his alleged victim, Mrs. Catherine Carter … ”

Tape rolled of the arrest scene itself, including me in conversation with Detective McClarkey amid the gathering crowd. The clip ended with John Carter, his face a mask of confusion and distress, as he stopped to glance at Alan in the back of the patrol car.

The news report went live again outside the police station.

“We were all shocked by Mr. Bader's arrest, none of us more so, I'm sure, than the Carter family.” The camera angle widened as Anastasia turned to a familiar gray-haired lady standing beside her. “With me is Cathy Carter's aunt, Louise Carter.”

“We came straight from the memorial down to the police station,” said a stoic, but clearly angry Aunt Louise. “How could Mr. Bader have done such a horrible thing?”

“A question I think we're all asking right now,” Anastasia said.

“If only John and Cathy had headed home from Thanksgiving at our house like they'd planned.”

Like they'd planned?

“They weren't planning to go shopping?” Anastasia asked as though reading my mind.

I upped the volume on the television.

“Cathy said she was tired from eating too much turkey and they were turning in early. I can't imagine why they decided to stop by one of those wretched, crazy sales instead …”

Instead of heading straight home, Cathy Carter—who wasn't and couldn't have been CC since Alan was, but coincidentally happened to have the same initials as CC—suddenly happened to decide, for no particular reason, to go shopping on Black Friday at none other than Bargain Barn?

That, or Cathy
was
CC and had spent months writing nasty posts saying she wasn't coming to Bargain Barn, and had gone so far as to announce she was headed straight home after Thanksgiving dinner, then just showed up at Bargain Barn anyway? Not to mention proclaimed she was a big fan and wanted her picture taken with me when she got there?

I turned to my spreadsheet.

Were Catherine Carter and CC (Contrary Claire) the same person?

1. Yes.

If so, then Cathy had been my online heckler. Alan had to have decided she was in the way and enticed her to come to the store for a different kind of Black Friday special. Then, after killing her, he pretended to be her via email, to make it look like she was a victim of the unnamed corporate killer?

2. No.

Then Alan, who coincidentally started advertising at about the same time as CC appeared, had posed as CC all along, heckling and writing from various emails, while Cathy Carter was a random innocent person who happened to share the initials of my online stalker? And happened to change her mind about going to Bargain Barn at the last moment … ?

3. Maybe?

Alan had to be CC or was tracking CC.

In any case, why did Cathy end up at the store when she wasn't planning to go?

Furthermore, how did Alan know who she was or what she looked like when she got there?

The front doors to the precinct opened behind Anastasia, and Aunt Louise and John Carter emerged with Louise's husband and the other male relative.

All were still dressed for the memorial service in dark suits.

“First a funeral, and then having to spend the afternoon answering questions at the police station,” Anastasia said as they made their way over. “I can't imagine what a difficult day this has been for your family.”

“Unbearable.” Aunt Louise shook her head. “Can you believe Mr. Bader was planning to head to my nephew's house and keep him company when they arrested him?”

“Truly shocking,” Anastasia said, quickly pointing her microphone at John Carter. “Mr. Carter, I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he croaked in a gravelly, anguished voice, and looking like he'd rather be anywhere than on camera.

“You have to be relieved the police made such short work of such a terrible situation.”

“Very,” he managed.

“How do you feel knowing Mr. Bader was heading to your house at the time of his arrest?”

“I just can't believe the deception.” Tears now welled in his eyes. “He put himself out there as a comfort and a true friend.”

“Devastating insult to injury,” Anastasia said.

“I just want my wife back.” John began to sob.

“If you'll excuse us, we really need to get him home,” the younger of the two men said, putting an arm around John Carter.

As Anastasia attempted to summarize the story with some sort of
justice served despite it all
spin
I watched, once again, as a slump-shouldered John Carter slipped into the limo Alan had rented for them and headed off toward a future of loneliness, sadness, and the certainty of uncertainty.

I was outraged by the idea that Alan Bader could have blindsided both of us with what could only be sheer cold-hearted cruelty. I also couldn't help but feel that if it weren't for me and my discount shopping call to arms, the Frugarmy wouldn't be short one nice, kind, bland member.