A crazed banshee…
Amanda hated herself. Except for the astonishing good fortune of her Wells Fargo commission, she never should have visited Metrolina today. She should have kept hiking with her mother, Ginny and Ursie. At least then, removed from civilization, she couldn’t hurt anybody. So far she’d managed to make a fool of herself over a scrap of cardboard. The Harrises were already pissed because the Lincoln-Davis frame had been discovered in their Dumpster. Amanda and Detective Russell had pushed their way through the back door of June’s booth, infuriating the woman. And now Amanda had all but accused Jack of smuggling the stolen letter out in a mailing envelope.
Like Rachel always said: “Amanda, you sure know how to lose old friends and make new enemies.”
So be it. After all, what if June Harris had indeed stolen the letter? She gazed across the gloomy hallway to the Thigpen booth, which was lit up like a birthday cake. Michael Thigpen’s sister Maribelle and her husband Carlson were taking inventory. Without his HMS Pinafore sailor suit, and she without her World War I nurse’s uniform, the couple looked almost normal, and younger somehow. Amanda detected a harmony between them that had been missing when the formidable Michael Thigpen had been present.
Still, in light of the theft and Mr. Thigpen’s heart attack, it seemed odd that the pair was working so diligently when their issues remained unresolved.
Not your business, Amanda firmly told herself. In spite of an urgent need to pee, she was unwilling to walk through the Thigpen booth to the private bathroom. Fortunately, the public restrooms behind the café were open to accommodate the continuing police presence, so Amanda availed herself of those facilities and felt much better.
When she returned to the Orlando booth and started to sit down, she realized she could camp out there all day but that wouldn’t make Marc appear. Indeed, being there only intensified her worries about Sara, so best she get busy and do something. Yet she knew she’d be unable to concentrate on her own inventory, so maybe she’d done enough for one day—all of it counterproductive.
She decided to go home.
Keeping her head down, she walked up the center of the hallway, but could not ignore the angry shouting from Jack Harris’s booth, where Jack was being grilled by Detective Russell. She was almost home free when June Harris sprang forward like a crazed banshee and latched onto Amanda’s wrist.
“How could you do this to us, you little bitch? We thought you were an ally, but now you’ve told that policeman my husband stole the letter!”
The woman was out of control and Amanda was truly alarmed. June’s face was a shade of apoplectic purple, and when she cocked her elbow and drew back her opened hand, Amanda closed her eyes and prepared to be slapped.
Instead, she heard a short scuffle, and when she opened her eyes, Jenny Monroe had grabbed June’s arm and wrestled her a few paces down the hall.
“Calm down, Mrs. Harris!” the girl shouted. “I’m sure Amanda never told the policeman any such thing.”
“No, I didn’t. I promise. He just jumped to the wrong conclusion,” Amanda blurted in self-defense. She was ashamed of allowing a teenager to fight her battle, yet she was thrilled by the support. “I’m sure your husband will be okay,” she finished lamely.
“You’re gonna be sorry, Amanda Rittenhouse!” June shook a fist in her face. “If I were you, I’d watch my back.”
June jerked free of Jenny’s grip and stomped into her booth, noisily closing her blue curtain behind her.
“What a witch!” Jenny huffed. “Long as I’ve known her, that old lady’s had a burr up her ass.”
Amanda was still shaken. “Thanks for your help, Jenny, but now I better get going—”
“No, wait! I really need to talk to you. Can you come into our booth a minute?”
Now what? Amanda longed to be gone from this place, yet she owed Jenny. When they stepped inside, the first thing she noticed was that so many pots had been sold during the show, the shelves were depleted. The second thing she noticed was that Jenny’s mom was nowhere in sight.
“I’m really glad that your father was cleared of all suspicion,” Amanda began as they both took seats in the corner near Jenny’s display of fantasy animals.
“Yeah, me too.” Jenny’s broad smile showed off her sparkling braces. “Daddy’s a mess, but he’d never steal that dumb letter.”
“So, how can I help, Jenny?”
The girl was suddenly shy, twisting her fingers as she searched for the right words. “Well, I’ve heard what they’ve been saying about you, Amanda. Everyone thinks you left your freight door unlocked, and that’s how the criminals got in.”
Amanda wondered who all had been talking, but waited patiently for Jenny to continue.
“That’s not right, and I feel bad because I think it’s all my fault.” Jenny picked up one of her pieces, a little pink unicorn. “See, I’ve been sneaking out your door to smoke. I use that little piece of cardboard you found to keep the door from locking until I get back in, you know?”
Amanda did not know. She also wondered how everybody knew about her cardboard clue. “I don’t get it, Jenny. How come you don’t use your own freight door?”
“Are you kidding? Mom would find out. She’d find my cigarette butts, or something. I used her key to open your door.”
Amanda stared at the pink clay unicorn as all her carefully deduced theories went up in smoke. She didn’t know what to say to the kid.
“Hey, do you like this crazy critter, Amanda?” Jenny handed her the little figurine. “I want you to keep it. A gift. You won’t tell Mom about the cigarettes, right?”
“Right. I won’t tell her.” Amanda tried to smile. “Don’t you have your own set of keys to our workspace?”
Jenny moaned. “I, like, lost my keys about three weeks ago. Mom would kill me if she found out.”
God damn! Amanda’s theories flushed all the way down the toilet. Now she knew that somewhere in the big bad world, a killer was walking around with his own set of keys. He had no need of a cardboard scrap, thank you very much, because he could come and go freely.
“I don’t suppose you know where you lost them?”
Jenny scratched her head. “I think I lost them here someplace, maybe even left them in the keyhole. But I can’t be sure.”
Amanda felt like crying. “Well, don’t worry about it, Jenny. I’ll make you a copy of my key when I get a chance, and your mom will never know the difference. But listen, you need to tell the police you lost the key.”
Jenny nodded solemnly.
“I love my unicorn, by the way. Thanks.” Amanda smiled.
“You’re welcome.”
One minute later, Amanda ducked into her booth, emotionally exhausted. She headed directly to her desk, to unlock her purse and get out of there. But when she bent over her desk her entire body recoiled in horror. The bird lying on its surface was deader than dead. The dove’s little legs stuck straight up in the air and its beady eyes stretched wide open in surprise. Worst of all, its head had been neatly cut off its body.
Amanda screamed bloody murder.