Pearls Gone Wild Page 3

  “We try to cover the whole mall, but with that party at the other end, there’s a chance someone could have gotten past us. Or maybe they hid in the store after it closed. Were you the one who locked up?”

  “No,” Cat said. “I didn’t even think of what time it was. It’s the holidays and since I wasn’t the one to lock up, I wanted to check on the store before I went home.” Cat sat up and stared at the shattered jewelry case and the broken glass on the carpet. “What do we do now?”

  “As long as I’m here we might as well fill out the report.” He pulled a radio from his belt and told somebody to override the lights in the rest of the mall. “Show me where this happened.”

  “I’ll go.” I stood up and held the puffer jacket closed with my fist. Cat moved from the floor to one of the ottomans that were positioned around the store for customers who needed a rest. Officer Aguilar followed me through the store.

  I stuck to the aisles between fixtures. In the darkness, I felt the crunch of broken glass under my feet before I saw it. I grabbed a trash bin from the aisle behind the counter and then stooped down and collected some of the bigger pieces of glass, careful not to cut myself. The lights came on and I blinked a couple of times while my eyes adjusted.

  I wished the lights had stayed out.

  Because the smash and grab was no longer the issue. Sometime before Cat and I had returned to her store, before I’d ducked into the fitting room for after-hours shopping, before I’d interrupted a robbery in my underwear, Cat’s husband the rat had been strangled by a pearl necklace and his body had been left behind the glass case that normally held her jewelry display.

  As far as Cat’s problems went, this one was on a whole other level.

  5

  FRIDAY NIGHT: PAST CAT’S BEDTIME

  It was a much more official team that worked in Cat’s store while we sat, wrapped in blankets, on a nearby ottoman. Emergency technicians had arrived shortly after my call to the police, but there was no urgent pace to their task. George had long since been dead.

  By the time the police arrived, I was back in my sweater, camo pants, and proper undergarments. I’d convinced Cat to leave the broken cases as they were.

  I knew a few things about crime scene investigation: one, don’t touch anything. Fingerprints cast suspicion where I least wanted it. Two, considering my presence at the store, I would be questioned whether I wanted to or not. If lucky, questioning might end up giving me a detail or two. Third, be patient. Eventually, my old pal Detective Loncar would show up. After we caught up on each other’s respective lives (“Hi, Detective. Is your wife speaking to you yet?” “Ms. Kidd. Keep out of my investigation.”), I’d sit back and watch the routine: bagging evidence, collecting statements, photographing the surroundings.

  It was safe to say we wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

  A red-headed young man in a navy blue suit, white shirt, and pink tie approached us. “Which one of you is Catherine Lestes?” He asked

  “Me,” Cat said.

  “I’m Detective Madden. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Where’s Detective Loncar?” I asked. Madden seemed surprised by my question. “We have a…history,” I added.

  “Tahiti.” He looked at his notebook and then at Cat. “Are you comfortable? Can I get you a cup of water or something before we get started?”

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide and red. “Water would be great. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be right back.” The detective left us sitting on the ottoman. I was so surprised by his act of generosity that for moment I went blank. And then I remembered it was up to me to coach Cat.

  “Listen. He’s going to ask you a bunch of questions about tonight. Tell him the truth—”

  She interrupted me. “George is gone,” she said. “He’s really gone. Five hours ago I hated him. I threw a drink in his face. And now he’s gone. Forever.” Her peaches and cream complexion turned red, and blotchy patches appeared on her throat. She put her hands on her belly and moved them in a circle.

  The red-headed detective came back.

  “Here he comes. Be cool,” I said.

  He handed her a small paper cup of water. “Are you okay here on that ottoman? Would you rather move to the sofa? You’ll have better back support.”

  Cat sipped her water. “Thank you. I’m fine here.”

  I interjected. “Detective, maybe you should talk to me first while Cat calms down.”

  “Ms. Kidd?” he asked. He looked at his phone. “I’ll talk to you in a moment.” He was quiet for a few seconds. I imagined him gearing up to go in for the kill now that he’d lulled Cat into a safe space. Instead, he kept his attention on me. “Do you think you could give Ms. Lestes and me a couple of minute alone?”

  “I—um—Cat?”

  “It’s okay, Sam.”

  “But don’t go far. I’d like to talk to you when we’re done,” Madden added.

  “Okay,” I said. I stood up and walked away from them, only stopping to turn around and look back twice. Madden sat on the ottoman next to Cat. His head was tipped and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was laying Good Cop on a little bit thick.

  I waited impatiently for my turn to talk to Detective Madden, wandering around the portion of the store that the police had not cordoned off. I bypassed cocktail dresses and headed toward a display of ivory garments. Merchandising an outlet store wasn’t as easy as working with new shipments, because the inventory often came in piecemeal. Cat had an exceptional eye for trends, though, and had learned to cherry pick from her inventory to make strong display statements. In front of me, a wall of pale pink slats had been rigged with silver hooks. The dresses varied from ivory to winter white to beige to the palest taupe. Cashmere, wool, tweed, and silk mixed together to create a luxurious display. A neighboring fixture held strands of costume-grade pearls, perfect for achieving the layered look without the investment. An assortment of pearlescent shoes was set up on the corner. I killed time by trying on the shoes. It paid to have sample-sized feet.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Kidd?” I turned around. Madden stood in front of me with a clipboard. “Before I get your statement, I want to reassure you that we’ve been through the store, and there’s no longer a threat. Did you sustain any injuries tonight? Would you like to seek medical attention?”

  “I’m not the one who got pushed out of the way of a fleeing murderer.”

  Madden made a note. “Can you tell me what happened here tonight? Just a couple of sentences. In your own words.”

  “Cat and I came to her store so she could make sure everything was locked up properly. You probably know there’ve been some smash and grabs in the mall, right?” He nodded once. “We were already here for a party at the end of the mall, so she thought it was best to check before we went home. I was in the fitting room and I heard a crash. When I came out, a person was in front of the jewelry case with a tire iron. When he saw me, he grabbed the jewelry and ran. The mall security officer must have heard the crash, or me yell, or something, because he came in to see what was going on, and that’s when we found George’s body.” I paused. “That was more than a couple of sentences. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. I want to hear everything you have to say, the whole story. We can take a break if you want.” He made a few more notes. “Finding a body is a traumatic situation. Would you like us to call somebody to come pick you up?”

  “I’m sorry, do you know who I am?” I asked.

  He looked back down at his clipboard. “Ms. Samantha Kidd, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’ll drive Cat—Ms. Lestes—home tonight. You don’t have to make special arrangements.”

  “Would you like some water before you go?”

  I felt like I was out to dinner at the Olive Garden, not giving a statement about finding a body. “No, I think I’d really just like to get out of here.”

  “Fine,” he said. �
�Here’s my card. Call me if you think of anything else. Being present at a crime scene is a traumatic situation,”

  “You already said that.”

  “Oh, yes, I did.” He looked back down at his clipboard. “Thank you for your statement, Ms. Kidd.”

  We walked back to where Cat sat in the shoe department. “Ms. Lestes, I’ll call you when the forensic team finishes up,” Madden said to Cat. “It’s going to take us a while to make sure we collect all the evidence. If you think of anything you want to tell me, call me. Here’s my card.”

  Cat took the card and held it in her lap. She looked at the detective. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll notify my staff not to come in until I hear from you.”

  He nodded at her. “Good night, Ms. Lestes, Ms. Kidd.”

  We walked to the car. Despite the lateness of the hour, Cat called her employees and told them what had happened. It was the worst possible time of the year for a boutique to miss out on business, but the unexpected tragedy had shifted her priorities.

  Detective Madden had our names, phone numbers, and statements. There was always the chance that he’d have more questions in a few days, but we’d been forthcoming with our information. The absence of a lecture about not getting involved felt a little strange.

  “It’s late. Let’s get you home and to sleep,” I said.

  “I can’t go to sleep. I have to call my family, and George’s family, and then they’re going to come visit, and there has to be a memorial, and I don’t have groceries, and—”

  “Slow down. It’s late and you need to go home and try to relax. You can call everybody tomorrow.”

  Cat put both hands up toward her face and swept her fingers under her eyes to wick away the tears that had pooled there. She tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling, and a fresh wave of tears trickled out of the corners of her eyes and dripped into her hairline by her temples. I felt for her. Here was a woman who appeared in charge of most of the time, and in the past twenty-four hours, life as she knew it had fallen to pieces.

  “Sam, can you stay over tonight?” she asked in a small voice.

  I thought about every reason I shouldn’t: I had no pajamas, toothbrush, or change of clothes for tomorrow. Logan, my trusty feline companion, would be left with dry food and day-old water.

  “Of course I can,” I said.

  I borrowed a pair of PJs and made up the sofa. Cat went to bed. Even though my body was tired, my mind was unsettled. I laid on my side and stared at the mantel above the unlit fireplace. It was filled with framed photos on display, pictures of Cat and George from vacations and cozy nights at home.

  There was nothing in George’s expression that indicated his unhappiness. Nothing that hinted that this wasn’t the life he wanted to lead. His broad smile, body language, and repeated public displays of affection with Cat spoke of the opposite of his actions.

  I hated him for tricking her so thoroughly.

  Twenty four hours ago, this holiday season had had all the makings of being my best one yet.

  Not anymore.

  6

  SATURDAY, UNGODLY EARLY

  I’d like to say that I was the perfect houseguest, waking early and starting breakfast for Cat, but even with the best of intentions, that wasn’t the case. Whether or not she was trying to be quiet was a moot point after the shattering of glass woke me from a sound sleep at quarter after five.

  “I dropped the coffee pot,” she said. The puddles of brown liquid on the floor and the scent of freshly brewed coffee were explanation enough.

  “You’re not supposed to have caffeine.”

  “I made it for you.”

  “Then as a thank you, let me clean it up.” She protested but I insisted. “I’ll get coffee from the drive through on my way home. It’s no big deal.”

  Cat looked at me for a long moment, and then started to cry. Small sobs at first, which grew into bigger ones. She didn’t even bother wiping the tears away this time. Her face turned a shade of red I’d previously only seen in radishes. I scanned the floor for my shoes and pulled them on, and then crossed the floor and hugged her. This time she held on like Molly Brown with a life preserver before climbing aboard Lifeboat No. 6.

  We stood like that through the microwave timer and the tea pot whistle. At each domestic sound, I patted Cat on the back and tried to pull away. She gripped me closer.

  Seventeen minutes later (microwave clock), she relaxed her arms. I stepped back and appraised her condition. She grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped her face, and then balled up the towel and carried it out of the room leaving dark, coffee-colored footprints in her wake. Good thing she had hardwood floors.

  I followed her to the living room and guided her into her favorite chair. “Sit. Relax. I’ll take care of the kitchen. You should call your family.”

  After cleaning the kitchen, resetting the microwave timer, and fixing Cat a mug of green tea, I drove home. I had no problem temporarily moving in with Cat, on one condition. Logan, the most faithful companion a girl could ask for, would move in with me. And assuming I’d woo him with treats, he’d probably agree.

  On the drive home, I started a mental list of reasons why George might have been murdered. As morbid as it sounded, it was my way of trying to control an uncontrollable situation. This wasn’t the first time I’d found a body. Not even the first time I’d found the body of someone I’d known. But this time, the victim was tied to someone in my life. No matter what the outcome of the ensuing investigation would be, the fact remained that Cat was a widow about to become a single mother.

  The first thought to pop into my head was that George had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But besides that being the answer with the least amount of closure, it also didn’t fit. George had gotten into a fight with Cat earlier that night and he’d told her he was leaving her. So what had taken him to her store? Was there more to him leaving her than an untimely mid-life crisis? If it was merchandise he was after, he had access to far more valuable pieces through Kenner & Winn.

  Did George have enemies? Or was there a secret that drove him to put distance between himself and Cat in the first place? And the scariest question of all: did his murder have anything to do with Cat, and if so, was she now in danger?

  I’d gotten to know Cat over the past two years since first moving to Ribbon. We hadn’t been instant friends but a friendship had grown out of our mutual love of clothes. Over that time I became a regular customer of her boutique, and she became an example of what normal people were like. I’d learned early on that her husband’s job as a sales rep kept him on the road for about half of the year, which made girl-time the norm.

  But for as much time as I’d spent with Cat while George was traveling, I hadn’t spent much time with the two of them together and barely knew him at all. The only thing I did know was that Cat hadn’t taken his last name when they married. It was a decision that had less to do with independence than practicality: George’s surname was “Stevens” and Cat preferred not to be confused with the artist formerly known as Cat Stevens.

  Traffic around Ribbon had been thinning out gradually as we got closer to Christmas. This morning, the highway was light and I made it home in under the usual twenty minutes. I pulled into my driveway and let myself in.

  Logan stood next to his food bowl. He’d tipped the scales at fifteen pounds a few months ago and the vet had put him on a low cal/high fiber diet. When that hadn’t worked out, Logan and I reached an agreement. He could have the kind of cat food he wanted, but only a half portion. In a show of solidarity I did my best to do the same, but between you and me, eating half a pizza isn’t all that different from eating the whole thing.

  I scooped half a can of high protein fish parts into Logan’s bowl and called my best friend Eddie at Tradava, the local department store and our joint employer. Eddie was a surfer-dude type who maintained a go-with-the-flow vibe on most occasions. He was as at home on a skateboard as he was in his VW Bug, but I’d never seen h
im as stressed out as he’d been during the holidays. For the past month, his vocabulary had more expletives than Scarface.

  According to the clock, he’d be somewhere between his second and third cups of coffee. “I shouldn’t even take your call,” he said in place of hello. “Vacation the week before Christmas while I’m stuck here round the clock. Last night a tree fell over and pinned Santa. Destroyed three of the elves. I had to replace them with garden gnomes. If the store manager sees that, I’m done.”

  “Good morning to you too,” I said. “Have you heard from Cat?”

  “No. Why? She didn’t go into labor early, did she?”

  “Her situation is a little more dire than premature labor. Her husband was murdered last night.”

  “I have seven minutes. Talk fast.”

  I told Eddie everything I knew. “He left her yesterday. Like—left her, left her. Said he couldn’t do the whole start-a-family thing, that he wasn’t ready. She was freaking out, smashing plates, full on Connie Corleone from The Godfather. We crashed his party at the mall and they fought, but then later when we went to her store he was there. Dead. Behind a jewelry case with a strand of pearls from her inventory tied around his throat.”

  “I think I missed something. He had a party last night but was dead in her store? How’d he get from the party to her store?”

  “You told me to talk fast so I edited.”

  “So you don’t know how long he was gone? Or when he left? Or how he got there?”

  “We don’t know anything except the fact that he was in her store, strangled with a strand of pearls.”

  “Whoa. What did Detective Loncar say?”

  “Apparently he’s on vacation. It was weird. The detective we spoke with was named Madden. He acted like everything was routine.”

  “You found the body and called 911?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds routine to me.”

  “It’s not like I expected a gold star but a little positive reinforcement wouldn’t hurt.”