TEN

  

The front doors to the cropping area were still open, allowing the last hour of sun to trickle into the room. The foyer already looked darker and more sinister with the waning sunlight. My fingers itched to turn on all the lamps in the multiple living room cluster set-ups. Knowing Morgan was lurking about made me want to have light filling every possible space, especially dark corners and hallways.

I stepped into the cropping area and saw a pool of layouts behind Pauline and Ellie’s vendor’s space. The women were frantically picking them up. I rushed over and helped. “Looks like an album exploded.”

“Something like that.” Ellie cast a quick glance over her shoulder. “I want to get these up before the owner returns.”

Pauline placed a handful on the table. “This is why I told you to only accept the covers and not the entire album.”

“The woman’s arthritis was acting up.” Ellie flipped through the stack pages and rearranged them. “I hope I’m putting these in the right order.”

My heart went out to her. It was hard running a small business. Any mistake, even when trying to be helpful, could result in bad press. But even worse than the mistake, was fixing the issue and creating a worse mess. “It might be best to let her know the pages fell, so she can organize the pages.”

Ellie sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“It’ll be okay,” Pauline said. “If she gets upset, we’ll offer a discount on the embossing service.”

“I should’ve listened to you.”

Pauline hugged her friend. “Sometimes the heart needs to win out over the business.”

“Pauline’s right.” I handed her the pages I picked up off the floor. “Sometimes doing the kind thing is the best decision, even if it goes against policy.”

“I just hope no one else asks for us to take a strap-hinge album apart.” Ellie scanned the room. “It was a pain.”

I looked at the stack of covers placed inside clear plastic bags beside the embossing machine. “Looks like business is booming.”

Pauline smiled and picked up the first sleeved cover. She pulled out a form and a large wooden tray from what looked like a mechanic’s tool chest. “We’re going to need to buy some hunting dies. I never knew so many croppers had albums dedicated to that sport.”

“If you’d like, I can send a list of what themes sold the most this weekend,” I said.

Ellie beamed at me. “That would be great. It’ll help us decide on the priority of new dies to add to our business.”

“We small businesses need to stick together.” I picked up a business card and one of their forms. Maybe, we could have them come out to the National Scrapbook Day crop at Scrap This next year. I had a feeling Cropportunity was going to be short lived. I looked over the embossing options Ellie and Pauline offered. Vacations. Sports. Wedding. Anniversary. Seasons. Beach. Mountains.

A stack of albums with order sheets were piled up on the table. Would they tell me if Violet was getting an album embossed? Or, I could just take a peek for myself and not have them wonder why I was searching out information on one cropper.

“Mind if I take a look at the completed ones? I’m trying to decide what I’d like to put on an album.” I wandered over and stood in front of the finished section. I couldn’t think of any reason why I should ask to go through the pending orders.

“Sure,” Ellie said.

Pauline settled into the chair behind the embosser and changed a die.

I looked at the top album. It had a picture of a sandcastle and the year 2009 with no name. I guessed a vacation album. I gently lifted it and placed it on the side. The next one was a diploma with the name Mandy in a cursive font. The order sheet slipped out. I scanned it before putting it back in. Violet didn’t order this one. It seemed the only way to know if an album was Violet’s was to look at the order sheet. This method wasn’t as subtle as I wanted.

“Time for a scavenger hunt!” Marsha bellowed. “If you have the item, or a picture of it, bring it over to Scrap This and collect a ticket. Write your name on the back of the ticket then place it into the basket in front of the prize you’d like to win. Scrap This will show off the baskets now.”

She felt better real quick. Or else wanted to prove to me she wasn’t drunk…or was trying to pretend she wasn’t. She spoke louder than needed and her walk had a little sway to it.

Croppers looked around room. I followed their gaze, trying to see what they were staring at. Had Detective Bell walked back into the room, or was Lydia standing in a corner glaring at her partner? I saw neither.

Ellie lightly bumped her shoulder into mine. “I think your man is trying to get your attention.”

I glanced over. Steve looked a little annoyed with me. I wasn’t sure if it was because of something I had done or something I wasn’t doing—managing the store. Someone should be helping croppers, and someone else needed to trot around the baskets.

I skedaddled over. I felt a heated gaze on me. Looking over my shoulder, I meet Lydia’s hard stare. She had materialized near the entrance to the hallway for the kitchen. “I’m going,” I mouthed, hoping it cut down on her ire. It wasn’t my fault I wasn’t ready. Marsha hadn’t given me a heads up when the game started.

Or maybe Lydia was upset that my “keeping an eye on Marsha” had been an utter failure. The woman had managed to get drunk and then made her way back downstairs to boisterously start the game. I told her I had too much on my to-do list and couldn’t really add on another item.

“Sorry. I got detained with some other matters,” I whispered to Steve.

“I know,” he half-growled.

I held up the first prize collection containing two dozen packages of Thickers. “Here’s one collection of scrapbooking goodies you could win.”

The crowd oohed and ahhed.

I picked up the next basket, tilting my head at the last prize. It was a large turquoise blue tote bag stuffed with scrapping goodies. Ribbons in a cascade of colors dripped over the side of a large tote. “Steve, can you hold that one up? The sooner we show off the prizes, the sooner the game ends.”

He held up the tote.

Croppers craned their necks to get a look at it. While the bag was impressive, it was what was inside that would melt their hearts.

I peered into the tote, calling out the items. “A binder filled with gem embellishments. Twelve small bottles filled with brads. A cup holder to attach to your crop space, along with a coordinating insulated mug. And last but not least, a smaller tote in a coordinating pattern. Great for storing pens or other small items on your table.”

Women placed their purses on their laps and splayed out pictures across their work surface. They were ready for the game to begin.

My gaze drifted over to Violet. With headphones shoved in her ears, she looked at her table top, not interested at all in the game. After placing down the basket of supplies I cradled, I discreetly withdrew my cell phone. If not Violet, someone would be interested in what these women were revealing about their lives and I planned to capture it on video.

“If you have lip balm, bring it to Faith and get a ticket,” Marsha’s half-giggling voice echoed around the room.

Croppers rushed the table.

The error of my plan hit me. I couldn’t film and hand out tickets. I’d have passed on the ticket job to Steve, but he was taking care of the paying customers. I turned off the phone and placed it back into my pocket. I’d just have to make mental notes along the way and hoped I remembered everything. I ripped off tickets from a large roll on the prize table.

“A picture of a car,” Marsha announced the second item, following up with the third. “If you’re married.”

“I’m married and have lip balm.” A cropper waved her cherry-flavored gloss at me.

I handed over tickets.

Marsha continued to add to the list. I was barely able to check items and pass out tickets at the same time. I hadn’t been able to take a look around and see if anyone appeared to be taking notes.

“Band-Aids. Green marker. A picture of a birthday party. Between the age of thirty-five and forty-five.”

“Slow it down,” a cropper said, flipping through a packet of photos with one hand and digging in a large purse with the other.

I glanced at Violet. She continued working on a project, oblivious to what was going on.

“And the last one, which will earn you five tickets, is a layout of an embarrassing moment,” Marsha said. “Remember, you must take it over to Faith.”

Just what I wanted, a front row seat to moment’s best not documented. I watched and waited.

Croppers settled back into scrapbooking. Electronic die cutters chugged. Trimmers whooshed through papers. Tabs on soda popped. No one made a mad dash toward the table with a layout. Either no one documented an embarrassing moment, hadn’t brought the layout with them, or thought it best not to advertise the fact.

Disappointment flashed on Marsha’s face which she quickly covered up with a bright smile. “Stay tuned for another chance to win tickets later this evening.”

“You kind of took a long break earlier.” Steve rang up a customer. “Was something going on?”

“Marsha drama. Garrison and I handled it.” I tore the receipt from the machine, had the customer double-check it, then stapled it to her tab sheet.

Steve studied my movements. “Bob helped here for a bit.”

“That was nice of him.” I turned to help a customer deciding between standard baby blue and glitter baby blue for her background page.

“We had a little down time so he filled me in on some happenings around here.”

The customer decided on using both to make a mix of texture and shades. Steve calculated her total.

“Crops can have some interesting thing happen.” I fiddled with the paper in the racks. “It’s amazing what will cause a drama. Spilling a drink. Sitting at the wrong table—”

“A man accosting a woman in the hallway.”

I knelt and reorganized the trimmers. “Bob needs to mind his own business.”

“From what I’m gathering, it’s Bob’s business you’re minding.” Steve took hold of my elbow and got me to stand.

I blew out a frustrated breath and pushed my hair from my eyes. “He asked me for some help. That’s all I was doing. This other guy, this PI, is possibly here for some totally different reason.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why do you always hide things from me?” Steve dropped into a chair.

“I don’t. Not always. I don’t want you to worry because of your head injury. That’s all. I think Bob has the situation handled.” I gave Steve a one-armed hug. “I wanted to handle it myself. Needed to handle it myself. Okay?”

“Yet, you had no problem going to Bob.” Steve settled a searching gaze on me.

“I didn’t go to Bob. He witnessed the guy bothering me.”

“You should have told me.” Steve looked so despondent. “I just can’t figure out why you wouldn’t.”

This was the opening I’d been telling myself I was waiting for, but I couldn’t tell Steve about Adam in a room full of people. I needed some place quiet and private but with the crop in full swing, and Darlene and Gussie in the scrapping zone, now wasn’t the time.

Chicken.

The concern still showed on Steve’s face. The last thing he needed was to worry about me.

“I knew you’d protect me. I didn’t want you going after the guy because you were injured earlier.” I kissed him.

“That’s the only reason you didn’t tell me?”

No one was in the store. I sat on Steve’s lap and draped my arms on his shoulders. This was the opportunity to broach the truth without hammering Steve with it all at once. “No. Morgan—”

“Morgan?” Steve tightened his arms around me.

“That’s the name of the man Bob saw harassing me. The guy is a PI. He said he was going to tell the police the reason I solved murders was because I committed them.”

Steve cradled me to his chest, caressing my back. “Don’t worry about that, darling. The man can’t prove you’ve ever done anything wrong.”

Someone nearby cleared their throat. Reluctantly, I left Steve’s embrace and helped the customer find embellishments and the perfect color cardstock to complement her pictures. More croppers trickled into the store.

Steve manned the register, scanning the items then stapling the print-outs to the ledger sheets, unless the shopper preferred pay-as-you-go instead of all the purchases hitting their pocketbook at once on Sunday.

Violet picked up a bottle of glitter glue and stood in line at the register. No browsing. No comparing colors. She was either a woman who knew what she wanted, or really didn’t care what she bought as long as it fit into her cover of being a scrapbooker.

The woman in front of Violet placed down an armload of pattern paper, cardstock, and letter stickers.

How could I get Steve away from the register so I could ring up Violet? I had suspicions on Marsha and Violet and this was a perfect way to take Violet off my list. If I could confirm she was Violet Hancock, my attention could turn fully to Marsha. Though, I didn’t know how Marsha planned on pulling off any “thieving” when she kept hitting the bottle. Maybe her conscience was getting to her and Bob and I could get her to crack before she victimized another person—if Marsha was on the prowl for another identity. The only hang up with that theory was Lydia. How couldn’t she know her partner wasn’t on the up and up?

“Excuse me.” A customer tapped me on the arm. “Can you get down that packet of stickers for me?”

Perfect. “Let me get my helper. He’ll have an easier time reaching it.”

The woman smiled. “I can wait.”

I hurried over and scooted myself between the register set-up and Steve. “I’ll finish ringing up these customers. A cropper would like some of the product hanging at the top of the wire display. Neither she nor I can reach it.”

“Sure. These have already been put into the sales system.” Steve moved the products he rung up to the far end of the table. “There’s only a few left.”

“I’m on it.”

He looked at me strangely then went to the woman near the sticker display.

I zipped through the remaining items. I didn’t want Violet to put back the glue and leave. This was going to the easiest way to find out who she really was. “Here you go.” I thrust the scrapbooking goodies at the current customer. “Next.”

Violet handed me the bottle of glue.

“Was there anything else you’d like but couldn’t find? There might be a box or two that hasn’t been opened yet.” I scanned in the bar code. “This is a great orange. There’s a green in the same vibrant shade that would go fantastic with this.”

“Just that.”

“I just need to get your tab sheet filled out.”

“Just need that.” She pulled twenty dollars from her front pocket.

Scrap it all. Now, I’d need another plan. I put the twenty in the register and handed the change to Violet. I was no closer to finding out who Violet really was, or why she was here. Maybe, Morgan was innocent of trying to kill the identity thief and this woman was the one sent to do her in. Men were a novelty at crop retreats and stood out. A woman would blend in perfectly. If I was going to send someone to hunt down a woman at a mostly women’s event, I’d send another woman.

Not that I’d ever send someone to hurt another person.

“You forgot to give her the receipt.” Steve’s voice drew me from my supposing.

I blinked and turned toward him. “What?”

He nodded at my hand. “You forgot to give that cropper her receipt. You’re still holding it.”

I glanced down and grinned. He was right. Now, I had a perfect excuse to go visit Violet at her table and see what she was working on. “I’ll take it to her.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be long.”

The man knew I was up to something. Tonight when we were alone, I’d fill him in on everything. Okay, maybe not everything, as depending on what might happen once we were finally alone I didn’t want to ruin the mood with talk of my ex-husband.

Chicken. Oh shut up, I told myself.

I passed by Gussie, Darlene, and Garrison, ignoring their pointed stares, and made my way to where Violet sat. I stood beside her. “You left your receipt.”

She twisted off the cap of the glue and drizzled it across the top of a notebook.

The work area contained no layouts, pictures, or even scraps of paper or leftover sticker sheets. She wasn’t going to make finding out anything about her easy. I hoped I was up for the challenge.

“Your receipt.” I held it off to the side, hoping she’d catch it from the corner of her eye.

“I’d just put it down on the corner,” Amanda said. “She’s not much of a talker.”

Amanda’s two friends nodded in agreement.

“We tried chatting with her and making her feel at home here but she isn’t interested.” The well-endowed blonde at the table placed a completed layout into a twelve-by-twelve plastic box then started cleaning up her scraps.

I watched her like an endangered species. The clean-as-you-finish-a-page scrapper was a rare breed in the cropping world. Most croppers, me included, waited until the end of each cropping day to clean up our scrapping zone. There were more scrapbookers who waited until the end of the entire weekend to clean than ones who tidied up after each completed layout.

“Is there a problem?” Violet’s earbuds dangled over her shoulders.

“I forgot to give you your receipt.” I placed it near her project.

She rolled her eyes. “I won’t need to make a return.”

“I love the cover of your book. Is it a day planner?”

“This is May. I’d be way behind if I was working on one now.” Violet capped the glue and pushed back from the table.

“They make lovely Christmas gifts and now is a good time to start,” I rambled. “I always wait until November to start my holiday crafting and never get around to completing everything.”

“Then you should work on that.” Violet placed the buds back into her ears. Using a black marker, she added doodles to the cover. A few of the glitter glue trails smeared.

Odd. Most crafters would do the pen work first and then layer on the glue, not the other way around. Suspicion jumped up and down in my head and waved its arms. Something was telling me Violet was not a crafter.

I scooted away from the croppers and went toward the back of the room. I glanced up and down the service hallway. Empty. Hiding in a shadowy corner, I took out my cell phone and opened up an Internet browser. The light glowed in the darkness. The last bit of sunlight leaked from the sky as the sun slid behind the mountains.

I typed in Violet Hancock and waited for results to pop up. That wasn’t going to work. There were a lot of Violet Hancock’s out there; I’d be holed up in the corner all night if I went that route. I narrowed the search results to her name and West Virginia. None.

I tried another search engine and came up with the same results. Nothing. I needed to tell Bob my suspicions about Violet. I had a feeling she found her next victim: Marsha Smith. If I was going to steal a name, I’d pick one that would have hundreds of results if someone looked me up.

Loud music boomed through the area. Two great-looking guys in security uniforms bounced into the room, twirling handcuffs above their heads. What in the scrap was going on?

“Heard there are some naughty ladies who need arresting!” One of them bellowed, moving his hips in sequence with the beat.

The croppers all froze. Some glared at the men with disgust; others looked on with extreme interest. I searched the room, hoping Lydia had the answer to this new puzzle.

A giggling woman, near the dancers’ entrance point, brandished a bottle of champagne from a thermal tote and another pulled out a tiara and placed it on the red-head beside her.

“It’s party time!” One of the other tablemates of the woman stood on a chair and waved her arms in the air. “Show us what you got.”

The dancers, shimmying and swaying, headed their way.

The queen for the night squealed.

Another woman walked up behind her and wrapped her friend in a hug. “You really think scrapping was the only thing we’d do for your bachelorette party.”

Even from where I was standing, I saw the queen turn four different shades of red.

Gussie snapped some pictures using her phone. Darlene turned her chair around and settled in to watch the show.

“Best. Crop. Ever.” A woman dropped the merchandise in her hands, deciding instead to wave her bills in the air. “Never been to one with hot men stripping.”

Lydia climbed onto the chair. “No stripping. Just dancing.”

A few women snarled at her, one of them being Gussie.

“If you can’t do it on network TV, don’t do it here,” Lydia added to the rules.

That didn’t put much off limits, but enough that I didn’t think we’d get in trouble with management. Mr. Anderson was annoyed with us already. We didn’t need to get on the wrong side of the night manager. I was glad Marsha and Lydia were present so I wouldn’t have to deal with the man. Though, Mr. Anderson was probably off duty so now some other manager had to deal with this issue.

Marsha rushed out of the room. Either she didn’t like the show, or all the swaying and spinning made her nauseous.

“Did you know about this?” Steve looked shell-shocked, either from the bump to his head earlier or from the men entertaining the ladies with some seriously provocative dance moves.

“No. And I’m thinking Lydia and Marsha didn’t either. I’d think they’d have given a heads-up earlier so those that weren’t interested in this entertainment could take a break. Now would be a great time to try out the pool, hot tub, or fitness center.”

My grandmothers might regret deciding to stay home for this crop. Though, a few women looked like they wished they had. A few shielded their eyes as they fled toward the doors, Violet being one of them.

“This music is giving me a headache. I’m going to the room. Want me to take the cash with me?” Steve placed a hand on our cash box.

“That’s a great idea.” I tallied up the amount, made a note in the binder of the amounts in the box, then handed it Steve. With Steve and the money box gone, I wouldn’t need to worry about the money box getting lonely and going off with someone else when I wandered over to Violet’s seat. Right now, Gussie, Darlene and Garrison seemed preoccupied as did the majority of the croppers in the room. I didn’t want to ruin the show-watching experience for them and ask them to keep an eye on things. And now, with everyone’s attention on the dancing duo, I had the perfect opportunity to dig for some information on Violet.

Lydia slipped out the door. Either she was bailing, going to explain things to the manager before the person came to her, or make sure Marsha went straight to her room and didn’t make a stopover at the bar.

Steve dropped a quick kiss on my lips. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Once it clears out some more, I’ll head up.”

I doubted the women abandoning the cropping area would venture back down after they got comfy in their rooms. I’d rather go upstairs with Steve, as I had no interest in the entertainment, but I needed to do a little snooping, have a chat with Bob, and give him my room keys. I still hadn’t told Steve he’d have a roommate this weekend. I figured it would be easier to explain when I joined him tonight.

All of the women’s eyes were riveted to the guys at the front of the room. Gussie and Garrison moved some empty tables and seats from the front of the room so the “guards” had plenty of space for shimmying, shaking, and thrusting.

Croppers had left cast-offs of paper, empty packages, and embellishments all over the floor. Normally, this kind of crafty messiness left all over Scrap This brought out my inner sassiness. While I’d never voice my opinions to our customers, I said plenty to them in my head. Tonight the litter thrilled me. I had a perfect reason for hovering around people’s work spaces and even peeking into a bag or two. I could say I was trying to return items to the proper place.

Props. I pressed my lips together to stop my grin. I hurried over to our store, gathered a few items, snapping some pictures with my cell phone so I knew what I “gifted” later. After snagging a couple of pens, in case I needed something to chase down, I returned to the vast sea of totes. If someone caught me, I’d just say I noticed they dropped a package of embellishments and wanted to secure them in their bags before someone else snatched them off the floor.

Most scrapbookers wouldn’t turn up their noses at free embellishments or a nice journaling pen. I shoved the pens into my back pocket and set to work uncovering who was Violet Hancock.

Amanda still sat at the table so I couldn’t go over yet and root around in Violet’s belongings. The best way to learn about Violet was in her stuff. I hoped she had brought some pictures or mementos to scrap this weekend. The only thing I’d seen her working on was a cover of a journal.

I hoisted an empty box onto my hip, marked it “Lost and Found,” then wandered around the room collecting the castoffs from the floor. I placed a roll of decorative Disney tape I found on the ground at a scrapping space that looked like advertisement for the vacation spot. There wasn’t one thing on the table without a Disney related icon on it. Even the cup and trash bag had Disney characters all over.

The dance beat changed to a faster tempo.

“Come on ladies, we need some dance partners.” A dancer motioned for croppers to come to the makeshift dance floor.

The men and ladies started rocking it out. The men switched dance partners as fast as the beat. It looked like they planned on dancing with every woman. Amanda decided to join the dance party.

Slowly, I made my way over and continued scanning the room. Violet had left a small cropping tote and a utensil organizer on the table and a turquoise rolling tote by her chair. I glanced into the slots. Markers. Ruler. Pencil. X-acto knife. Embellishment packages.

I looked around. No one paid any attention to me. I knelt down and unzipped the tote and looked inside. Disappointment swelled. Cardstock. Pattern paper. Large sticker sheets categorized by theme...and packets of photos. I slipped out a pack of photos and placed them underneath the table.

If anyone caught me, I’d say I saw the pictures on the floor and was picking them up—unless Violet caught me, then I hoped Bob showed up because I’d be in real trouble.

I nudged the pictures apart, creating a fan shape. The first photos were grainy and blurry pictures of a townhouse complex. My breath caught in my throat. Three townhouses decorated for Christmas. The middle house had a reindeer barn blow-up, the one to the left had a Santa blow-up and the house on the right had Mrs. Claus. Why had Violet taken pictures of where I lived?

I shoved those photos aside and looked at the other ones. Scrap This. The courthouse. My car. Steve’s car. A picture of Steve and I walking down the street holding hands. The last items were index cards filled with notes about my grandmothers.