TWENTY-ONE
FROM THE MOUTH AND SHARP EYES OF BABES
, DARLA thought in astonishment as Callie made this pronouncement.
As for Morris, he stood staring at the girl as if he’d been poleaxed.
Composing herself, Darla guilelessly told her, “Why, Callie, surely you can see that Mr.
Vickson is a gentleman, and not a lady.
I’m afraid you’re mistaken, honey.”
“I’m not.”
Callie’s rosebud lips formed a small stubborn line as she studied Morris even more closely.
“You had on a dress and your hair was long, but it was you.
You were the makeup lady.
I saw you get out of the limo, and then I saw you putting lipstick on Ms.
Baylor while I was waiting in line here in the store.”
Setting her book on the counter, she reached into her backpack.
She fished out her phone and pressed a few buttons.
“See, I even took your picture.
It looks just like you,” she proclaimed and held up the phone so that both he and Darla could see the image there.
Darla glimpsed a thin blonde frozen in midgesture as she wielded a bright red lipstick.
She didn’t require a closer look to know the figure was Mavis.
Morris’s suddenly stricken face was all she needed to see.
His lips moved, but he couldn’t seem to summon a protest beyond a bit of sputtering.
Jake, meanwhile, had set down the book she had been pretending to read and was watching him with cool calculation.
Darla knew she should say something, but what?
Admit she’d already guessed Morris’s secret, or once more feign disbelief?
But while she struggled for the right words, Callie again stepped in.
“Don’t worry, I don’t think you tried to fool me on purpose.
And it’s okay if you like pretending to be a lady sometimes,” the girl reassured him.
“My mom says that so long as people don’t hurt anyone, what they do in private is none of our business.
So I promise I won’t tell anyone that you’re really the makeup lady.”
She returned her phone to her pack and grabbed up her book again.
“I have to go now, but thanks a lot for the book,” she told Darla.
“I’m going to start reading it the minute I get home, and I won’t stop until I’m done, even if it’s after my bedtime.
Boy, I sure hope the Janitor is back!”
Callie paused at the door for a final wave at all of them and then skipped out hugging the hardcover to her chest.
As the bells jingled her exit, Darla and Jake turned as one toward Morris.
The composure had begun to return to his face, and his tone was cool again as he said, “Cute kid, but she was obviously having a little joke at my expense.
Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
Jake, however, was not to be dissuaded.
“Anything you’d like to tell us, Morris .
.
.
or should I say, Mavis?”
she asked, subtly positioning herself so that she stood between him and the door.
He blinked.
“ And who are you?
I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“That’s Jake Martelli,” Darla broke in.
“She’s a friend of mine, and she happens to be in charge of security here.
You probably saw her at the autographing.
She’s an ex-cop.”
“Ah .
.
.
‘ex’ being the germane word here,” Morris replied, seemingly in control once more.
“That being the case, you no doubt realize that you have no right to question me, Ms.
Martelli.
And you certainly have no authority to detain me, so please step aside.”
“There’s something you might not know regarding your sister’s death,” Jake countered, holding her ground.
“We found an odd note here in the store that apparently was written during the event.
We think that message might have been used to lure Valerie Baylor outside the store that night.
Funny, though, that the note was written in lipstick the same color as what Mavis was using on Valerie.
Even more interesting, the handwriting on it appears identical to the sample we have of your writing from the business card you gave to Darla.”
Morris gave a hollow little laugh.
“Oh, come on.
You can’t expect to compare lipstick with ink and claim a match.”
“Maybe not,” Darla interjected, “but what about your puzzle ring?
Mavis had on the identical ring the night of the autographing, even down to wearing it on the same finger as you wear yours.”
“Coincidence.”
His tone took on a hard edge, while his normally emotionless face hinted at anger.
“Not that I owe either of you an explanation,” he clipped out, “but the puzzle ring was a gift from my sister.
Perhaps she gave both of us the same ring.”
He paused and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a slim cell phone.
“Now, do I need to call my attorney and tell him that I’m being harassed, or will you let me leave?”
Jake exchanged another glance with Darla and then took a step to the side.
“Of course, Mr.
Vickson.
Our apologies for holding you up.”
Darla, meanwhile, frantically searched her mind for something clever to keep Morris there a few minutes longer.
But nothing brilliant came to her, and she realized in resignation that they had blown whatever chance they’d had to gain a confession from the man.
Hamlet, however, apparently had a few ideas of his own.
Darla had left him peacefully sleeping upstairs.
Yet now, a sharp meow abruptly announced the feline’s presence in the shop.
As Darla watched, he leaped up onto the counter and ran its length, and then sprang off again like an Olympic gymnast performing a vault.
With execution worthy of a perfect ten, he made a graceful four-point landing on the floor right in front of Morris.
Darla gasped, fearing a sudden swipe of paws or gnashing of fangs that would shred clothes and flesh alike.
That definitely would rate a call from Morris to his attorney, she thought in dread.
But to her surprise, Hamlet pulled a trick she had never before seen.
Rearing up on his haunches, he stood with his paws neatly tucked against his chest and his green eyes wide, looking like a begging pup.
Then, just to underscore this scene of extreme cuteliness, he cocked his head and gave a series of soft little chirps designed to melt the heart of even the staunchest cat hater.
Morris did not fall into that category.
In fact, Darla recalled Valerie announcing how Mavis adored cats .
.
.
which meant, by extension, that Morris must be an ailurophile as well.
So she wasn’t surprised when this endearing feline tableau drew a genuine smile from the man.
“You must be Hamlet,” Morris said, pausing to reach down and scratch the cat behind one ear.
“What a clever boy.
You certainly are the handsome fellow, aren’t you?”
“He certainly is,” Darla agreed with a small triumphant smile.
“But if you’ve never been in my shop before, how did you know that the cat’s name is Hamlet?”
Morris straightened and stared from Hamlet to Darla and back again, and then gave a helpless shrug.
“I-I’m sure someone told me,” he managed and started for the door again.
Jake called after him, “I doubt Hamlet’s name came up during the memorial service, but Mavis knew it.”
Morris didn’t look back.
Jake went on, “Mavis heard all about Darla’s cat from Valerie.
So why don’t you come clean, Morris?
Just because your sister’s death was ruled an accident doesn’t mean the investigation can’t be reopened if some new evidence shows up.
And all these various handwriting samples floating around are adding up to something interesting.
If you don’t talk to me and Darla now, you’ll just have to talk to the police later.”
“Then I’ll talk to the police.
Good day,” he exclaimed and walked out the door.
Jake waited until the sound of jingling bells faded before turning again to Darla.
“That went well,” she observed with a snort of disgust.
“Hell, Hamlet was the only one who had a handle on things.
I have to admit, that was some clever work on his part.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
Darla agreed, beaming down in approval at the cat.
He had abandoned the balancing act and now lay flopped with careless abandon on one side.
Hearing Darla’s words directed at him, he promptly rolled into a sitting position and flung one leg over his shoulder in his patented kiss-mine position.
For once, though, Darla didn’t mind the insult.
The fact he’d vindicated her theory was enough for her.
Then she sighed.
“I guess I was hoping he’d confess to something, but all we’ve done is tick him off.
I don’t think we’re going to get any more information out of Morris, are we?”
Her friend gave a grudging shake of her head.
“Even with the ring and the cat and the pictures, you’ve pretty much got bupkes.”
Then she stopped short and slapped her forehead with her palm.
“The pictures!
If Callie was taking pictures here in the store during the autographing, maybe she got something useful.
Where did she say she was meeting her mom?”
“Probably Great Scentsations,” Darla replied.
“You’ve seen it.
It’s that new bath and body-lotion place down the block that just opened a couple of weeks ago where the old grocery used to be.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
“James.
I can’t just run off and leave the store until he comes back.”
Fortunately, James chose that moment to walk in, juggling a Cobb salad and an offsetting chocolate shake.
He gave a crisp nod and greeted them.
“Ladies.”
“Thank goodness you’re back!
We’ve got to leave for a few minutes,” Darla exclaimed as Jake grabbed her arm and dragged her to the front door.
“Keep an eye on things, would you?”
Leaving an astonished James to stare after them, they rushed outside and down the steps.
“What are you going to do if we find Callie there?”
Darla asked as they race-walked their way toward the bath shop.
“You can’t just commandeer her cell phone, you know.”
“Hey, I’m leaving that part up to you, kid.
You’re the queen of customer service.
You can charm the mom and get permission for me.”
A glorious waft of floral perfume—gardenia, Darla decided—gently assailed them as they entered Great Scent-sations.
Another time, she would have enjoyed the chance to wander the aisles with all manner of soaps and lotions and candles displayed with a lacy Victorian flair.
She’d met the owners—a stylish middle-aged woman and her twenty-something daughter—in passing, but this was her first chance to visit their store.
Unfortunately, now was not the time, either.
Her only concern at the moment was for a different mother-daughter team.
“Look, Mom, it’s the lady from the bookstore,” Callie piped up.
The girl and her mother stood beside a tiny pink-velvet-draped table where colorfully boxed soaps were arranged on end in a spiral pattern, much like dominoes set to topple.
In fact, the first few boxes lay facedown, as if the display had begun its tumble.
Darla fleetingly wondered how many times a mischievous customer had succumbed to temptation and jostled the first of the remaining standing soaps just to see the resulting chain reaction.
From the way Callie stood with hands deliberately clenched behind her back, it was apparent that she was trying to resist that very temptation.
Making a mental note to try a cute display like that back in her own shop, Darla zeroed in on the pair, Jake on her heels.
“Hi, Callie and Mrs., um, Callie’s mom,” she said with a bright smile, extending her hand.
“We’ve never formally met, but I’m Darla Pettistone from the bookstore.
And this is my friend, Jake Martelli.”
“Sure, sure,” Callie’s mom replied with a small smile, pushing up her sliding glasses with one hand and shaking with the other.
“That was real nice of you, giving Callie the book.
She loves that Valerie Baylor.”
“That’s why I’m here.
We’re planning a, um, memorial display at the store,” Darla improvised.
“I know Callie had some pictures from the event, and I thought maybe she could share a few of them.”