Chapter Sixteen

The next day, I zipped through traffic to Wedding Wonderland, cornering the turns. I hated being late, like super late, for work. Wipers swished across the windshield, giving a shoo-shoo, shoo-shoo sound, clearing the light mist. Driving like a maniac could cause an accident with all the rushing and hurrying. I swerved to miss a small, white sedan about to play bumper cars with a monster-sized, red, four-by-four pickup.

Last evening, Mom left a second message on my phone. I didn’t listen because I believed it might be about Tracey, and Allan didn’t need to hear anything right now. I wanted to keep anything related to Tracey private. After Allan exited my place with an unsatisfied look on his face—no first base—I proceeded to my room to return Mom’s call, except little would be said on my side. She didn’t answer. I left a message, saying I would speak with her later.

The hour grew late. I’d bundled myself to bed. However, sleep eluded me. The idea of making love with Allan swirled through my brain.

I rolled to my back, sticking my hands under the back of my head. My ruminations turned to Tracey and how she and my family depended on me to get information for her exoneration. Then flipped back to Allan. When forty winks finally subdued my overactive mind, I missed the alarm.

’Nuff said.

I turned into the retail lot and slotted my car in a spot a few rows away from the store, leaving ample space for customers to park closer to the entry so the rain wouldn’t soak them. Wonderland probably wouldn’t see many patrons today. Nasty weather had a way of discouraging shopping, except for the “bored-out-of-my-gourd,” hardcore shoppers. Rainwater—good for the landscape. Bad for retail business.

Running to the front sidewalk, I splashed through the few puddles from the morning shower, praying I wouldn’t ruin my shoes. A wiser plan would have involved bare feet. I pulled on the store’s door handle and found it unlocked. Miss A. is always on time.

I stamped my feet on the mat and stepped inside. “Miss A.? Miss AAAAA?”

“Back here, dearie.”

I tracked her voice to the office. The door stood open.

“I’m putting away the supplies I bought at the home improvement store the other day,” she said.

“So glad you got the chance to go.”

Miss A. shook her head. “I can’t believe how disorganized I am.”

“You aren’t. We’ll get there eventually. You’ve been running like a madwoman.” I slid my arms in the store jacket. “Did you get a hammer or find the one you lost?”

“I never did find it, but I did purchase a new one.”

She rummaged through a plastic bag and fished out the tool, displaying it for my inspection.

“Nice.” I adjusted my lapels. “I’ll head over to reception and get to work.”

I left Miss A. to her organizing. At the desk, I set my handbag inside a drawer in the credenza, then locked it. “I’ll boot the computer, too.”

“Thank you, dearie.”

I heard a loud clang of something heavy hitting the floor.

“Oops. I’m okay. I’m oookay. I dropped the hammer. Missed my foot.”

I smiled. Miss A. can be funny.

She and I immersed ourselves in our respective duties for a while. I lost track of time. Once I completed the data entry, I took a dusting cloth and brushed it over the tabletops and chairs. Satisfied, I straightened, humming the last tune playing on the oldie station—a sweet love song composed by my mom’s favorite seventies rock band.

I polished the windows and the leaded glass door.

Miss A. joined me. She crooked her head to peer at the dark cumulonimbus clouds threatening to dump buckets of water.

After a long stare, she turned to me.

“Hattie, a reminder. I have a bride scheduled for one this afternoon. Her mother will be with her. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they canceled with the rain and all.”

She tipped her head and looked again at the clouds in various shades of gray.

“As much as we need rain, sometimes, it hinders business.”

I placed my hand on her shoulder. “I understand. Though, we never want drought again.”

“No, indeed. Where I come from, drought isn’t a problem. Lots of fog and mist.”

“Lucky you.” So, maybe Miss A. hailed from a rainy climate. “In some places, a shower falls nearly every day, like Mexico. Puerto Rico. Hawaii. Seattle. And England.”

Miss A. shrugged. “Yes. Carrying an umbrella is a must.”

I didn’t probe for additional information. She always spoke carefully when divulging personal details. Some people kept their mouths closed until they became more comfortable with whom they were sharing. Most likely, she would tell me her story in her way.

“Oh well,” Miss A. said, “we can mega clean the store.”

I lifted my cloth. “Can do.” Then I remembered what I vowed to accomplish today to help Tracey. “Miss A., since we're having a lull, would you mind me taking my lunch now?”

She blinked. “Lunch…now?”

I tapped my wristwatch. “It’s almost noon. We’ve been busy.”

She checked her phone. “Why it is almost noon. Surprising. They say ‘time flies when you’re having fun.’ ”

“I need to run an errand. I wouldn't ask to go now unless very, very important.”

Miss A. flapped her hands in a fluttery manner. “Oh, go on, dearie. Just be back to help with the customers we're expecting in an hour.”

I flew to the desk, unlocked the credenza drawer, and snatched my handbag. I jogged out the front door and dodged raindrops to my car. I started the Jeep and steered my vehicle in the direction of Super Saver Grocery store. Checking the scene of the crime seemed like a numero-uno idea. Cops weren’t perfect, although someone might say they were.

At least, Mr. Perfect Policeman Allan Wellborn would.

****

I turned my car into the Super Saver lot and slotted in a space a few rows from where Jonson had left his vehicle. From Allan’s interpretation of the video provided by the grocery store, Jonson parked next to a light pole. Because I knew Super Saver almost as well as my mother’s little lectures, I knew exactly where to go.

With a glance out the window, I confirmed the rain continued to fall. Opening the car door, I stuck my umbrella through the crack, unfurled it, and exited. I picked my way around puddles in the asphalt until I came upon the spot where Jonson’s car had been located. The crime scene investigators towed away his luxury SUV; however, the tattered tails of the yellow plastic tape emblazoned with Crime Scene in black lettering remained. The colored bits flapped in the cool breeze.

I pictured Jonson’s window rolled down, and the silhouette of the left side of his head down to his shoulder visible.

I pictured my sister walking alongside his car, intent on going inside Super Saver for Stuart’s ice cream, completely oblivious she passed Jonson’s vehicle.

I pictured Jonson’s arm shooting out the open window and yanking Tracey closer, the front of her white suit coat brushing the door panel, her hands resting on the door frame, trying to push away from him.

I pictured the startled look on Tracey’s face when he grabbed her. His dimply grin, which captivated many but raised suspicion in others. His perfectly coiffed hair held in place by hairspray. The starched shirt sleeve monogrammed with Jonson’s initials on the cuff.

My imaginings seemed so vivid, I could virtually feel Tracey’s heart beat faster.

After Jonson propositioned her, Tracey’s disgust morphed into terror. Recollecting his oily words, I shuddered when fury gripped my insides. My hands fisted tightly. Even dead, the creep gave me the willies.

I only wished I’d been with Tracey. Likely, Jonson wouldn’t have touched her. His intimidation tactics didn’t work on me, and I would have defended her. Nothing he said or did could shake me up. And he knew I knew.

Carefully, I dodged puddles as I walked along the driver’s side of the pretend car. I dropped my gaze to the asphalt, looking for any clue the police might have overlooked. After hearing a bump, rattle, and clatter, I diverted my stare to a runaway grocery cart, headed without a care in the world toward the great beyond. I shifted the umbrella to my right hand and held out my left to stop the orange plastic buggy’s great escape.

Dressed in a yellow slicker and resembling a duckling, an employee held his cap’s bill low over his forehead as he ran after it.

He grabbed the handlebar. “Hey, thanks.”

I released my hold. “No problem.”

The Super Saver employee pointed at the parking spot. “Lots of spectators came by.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Maybe because nothing ever happens in Sommerville”—I looked at his nametag—“Elmer.”

Elmer stroked his chin. “Could be.”

I side-stepped a small wet spot. “Anything found?”

“Don’t think so.” He shook his head. “The police canvassed the area.”

Canvassed? Sounded like lousy television terminology.

“You seem way nice,” he said. “The murdered guy wasn’t.”

The kid saw Jonson? I wondered had he seen Tracey, too. “Thank you. I hope I am, at least, my friends say I am. Did you know the man who parked here?”

“Know him? Sure. Saw Mr. Leggett all the time.” The cart retriever pulled the basket toward his hip with his toe. “Didn’t miss the pretty blonde lady in a white coat sock him.”

I gulped. Wow. Elmer might have seen Tracey. Great news. “You saw her?”

He nodded. “I sure did.”

“Blonde nearly white spikey hair?”

“That’s her. I was like ‘you go, girl.’ ” He punched his fist skyward.

Relief hit my body. I felt like screaming and dancing. “How well did you know the man in the car?”

“I helped with Mr. Leggett’s groceries many times. He rarely tipped and griped about how I stacked the bags in the rear. He didn’t like stuff rolling around. I wanted to tell him, ‘Well, why don’t you buy plastic crates to stick your bags in?’ ”

I didn’t use crates either; maybe I should start. “Nice tip.”

Elmer shook his head. “I dunno. People like him would rather complain. Act…superior.”

“I know the kind you mean.”

He shielded his mouth with his cupped hand and checked over each of his shoulders. “None of us liked him, just tolerated his sass. Kinda loud.”

I knew the Super Saver kid was bang on—Jonson always spoke loudly. Deafeningly.

Elmer rolled the cart back and forth.

The wheels squeaked like nails on a chalkboard, and the right front one wobbled. I suppressed the urge to cover my ears. I couldn’t while holding my umbrella anyway.

“You know, whatcha call obnoxious. The manager said the ‘customer is always right,’ but the boss was all show. He didn’t like the, uh, dead guy either.”

Elmer glanced at me.

“Sorry,” he said.

When a gust lifted one side of the umbrella’s canopy, I regripped the handle.

He tightened his grasp on the cart’s handlebar, the blast weaving the rain poncho he wore around his thighs.

I tilted my head. “Did he stay in the car?”

Elmer wiped the water from his face. “No, ma’am, I’m pretty sure he went inside. And I’m pretty sure he bought an ice pack, you know, the kind for a cooler.”

“Okay.” I considered why Jonson needed an ice pack. Maybe because of Tracey’s punch. “But a cold pack is important because…”

“When I rolled a cart by his car a little bit later, he was holdin’ it…”

Elmer demonstrated how Jonson pressed the cold pack above his eye.

Now, all made sense. Tracey hit Jonson right above his eye. And regrettably, I hadn’t given it to Jonson. But my sister did. Bully for her. Wonder if the police studied his face?

“I’m bettin’ he got a nasty bruise,” Elmer said.

And something nice to share with Detective Wellborn. “Sounds about right.”

“Need anythin’ else?” he asked.

“No. Wait.” I raised a hand like a rent-a-security guard at a concert event. “Did you tell the police what you saw?”

“No, ma’am.”

Ma’am. I must look one hundred five years old.

“My shift ended 'fore they came.”

If Elmer hadn’t been interviewed by the police, his news needed to be shared. “Would you do me a favor? Would you call the Sommerville Police Department and ask for Detective Allan Wellborn—”

His mouth drooped as he shook his head. “Don’t want no trouble—”

I knew what Elmer told me needed to be passed on to Allan ASAP. “You won’t get into trouble. I promise, Elmer. The detective’s a great guy. Truly, one of the good ones. Please ask for Detective Allan Wellborn. Please. He needs to hear your story. My sister, the one who punched Jonson, is in trouble.”

Elmer dipped his chin, then raised his head. “Your sister’s the woman in the white coat?”

“Yes.”

He dropped his gaze to the pavement.

When I saw he lifted his head, I knew he would help me.

Elmer thumbed his chest. “Sure. You can count on me.”

“I appreciate it and here”—I dug a precious twenty out of my pocket—“have a pizza. My treat.”

With a smile, Elmer stuffed the bill inside his pants pocket. As he walked away, he saluted. “I’ll phone now. My break’s comin’. See ya, and thanks.” He corralled another wayward cart and combined it with two more, rolling them to the store and shoving them in their designated spot by the entrance.

I stood for a long time, watching the young man work and thinking about what he said. The rain splattered lightly on my umbrella. A drop slid along the shaft and onto the back of my hand. I looked up and found a hole at the apex of the canopy. Great. A glance at my watch indicated my lunch break ended, and I better fast-track to Wedding Wonderland.

As I turned toward my car, the stores in the retail strip across the street from Super Saver Grocery hooked my eye, one being Little Egypt, a pizza joint, although the name implied something different and exotic. Joe Josephson’s Jewelry—I wonder if crime is up. He added burglar bars to the front windows. And Dee’s Delicious Donuts. Dee has a new window display of stacked confections. An imaginary fried dough scent wafted my way, making my mouth water. Donuts rocked.

No time to stop at those businesses now. I promised Miss A. I would return in an hour. Perhaps, a visit to Dee’s in the morning would be a most excellent idea.

So would buying donuts.

****

After work, I tossed together lettuce, tomatoes, and feta cheese to make a salad for dinner, adding a buttered and toasted ciabatta roll to the plate. I set my food on the coffee table where I propped my feet on top, put the plate on my lap, and tucked a napkin in my collar.

Between bites, I scrolled through the contacts on my phone. When Stuart’s name popped up, I paused and considered my promise to Mom and Dad. Conversations with Stuart were never normal. He was easily distracted. But I swore I would speak with my future brother-in-law to determine the status of his relationship with Tracey, ask about the wedding, and any other little ol’ thing.

I exhaled a long breath. Is meddling anyone’s forte?

Stuart proposed to Tracey, albeit they hadn’t known each other for an extensive amount of time. But he did, and they seemed pledged to one another.

Strange things did happen, and her current predicament could be one. If Stuart was aware of her side of the Jonson story—and I hoped beyond hope Tracey had told him everything by now—they should have a happy ever after. After all, as my mother often said, “Honesty is the best policy.”

Before I could stop myself, I hit the green button to connect with Stuart. While the phone buzzed one-two-three times, I readied myself to leave a message. Tracey said the accounting firm had assigned Stuart to an out-of-town oil and gas audit. Reaching him might be…iffy.

Before I could state my name and phone number, I heard a brisk, “Stuart Steems.”

The epitome of professionalism. “Hey, Stuart. It’s Hattie.”

“Hi, Hattie, soon-to-be my favorite sister-in-law.”

Favorite—ha! “’Cause I’m your only sister-in-law?”

“True and a nice surprise. By the way, how are those tango lessons going?”

The nerve. The vision of Stuart’s shoulders shaking with laughter got under my skin. “Fine. They would be a whole lot better, bub, if you hadn’t paired me with you know who.”

Stuart chuckled. “As if I could’ve paired you with anyone else. The other couples are dating or married. You and Allan are the only two who aren’t, except for Trixie. Besides, he paid me.”

Paid? Shocked, I bit my lower lip. Definitely puzzling. “Allan paid you?”

“Paid. Coffee for life.”

I twitched my nose. “I get it. However, I still don’t have to like it.”

“You’ll get over being embarrassed.”

I swear Stuart borrowed a page from Allan’s phraseology book—“Gotta go.” “Tell me about it.” “You’ll get over it.”

Stuart blew his nose. “Sorry, allergies. He asked me to—” He blasted another sneeze.

“He—who—Allan? Allan asked you what?” I nearly screamed.

“God, Hattie, I’m gonna lose the hearing in my left ear.”

“Sorry, Stuart. Allan asked you what?”

A loonng pause of nothingness.

“Stuart.” Nothing. “Stuart,” I said louder. “Talk now, or I’ll stick my arm through the phone line and grab you by the throat.”

“All right already. Allan called after Tracey and I announced our plan for the reception dance and asked if he could be paired with you. I was being nice, you know, like your mom’s little speech on ‘Being Nice to Other People.’”

Oh my God, has my mother brainwashed Stuart already? He isn’t even family yet. “It’s okay, bud. Her talks tend to—”

“Hattie, I hate to cut you off, but I need to get back to work, especially if I want to come home soon. Tracey needs me.”

“About Tracey…” As I crumbled the roll, I let a space of silence blanket our conversation. “I don’t know how to say this; I’m just blurting it out. Are you okay about my sister?”

“What do you mean by okay?”

An image of Stuart with his close-cropped black hair, him wiping his nose with an over-sized hankie, his white button-down shirt, and ugly green tie formed in my head. “Well, I, er, we, er, the family is…uh, wondering if you plan on going forward with the, uh, marriage, you know, in light of the, uh, murder?”

“Of course,” Stuart said. “The ex… Well, I can’t use profanity in mixed company.”

“Don’t worry, Stuart. We all have the same thoughts.”

“He and Tracey were an item long ago and have nothing to do with us today.”

I forked a piece of tomato. “True.”

“I’m sorry she went through what he did the first time. Who can imagine him as a”—Stuart harrumphed—“gentleman?”

Very true. “Unlike you, my friend.”

“Thank you. You know Jonson sent an email and propositioned Tracey? That’s the reason she went ballistic at Wedding Wonderland the other day.”

Casually, I let the fork drop. Yup, she did act unnerved. Deservedly so. “Can you tell me what he said?”

“It’s not…nice.”

“Nothing about him ever was,” I said.

“Let’s just say if I had socked him, he’d be sporting more than one black eye.”

Oh, the visual. I giggled. “Stuart, you’re so…dangerous. How attractive.”

“I know you’re kidding, Hattie. But I honestly believe he took advantage of Tracey. A part of me feels sorry for his fiancée—what’s her name?”

“Barbie.”

“That’s it.”

“I know what you’re saying, but don’t worry about Barbie. She’s not nice either.” I sipped some water.

“Oh. I do have one question—”

Lordy. “Yes?”

“About my tux—”

Here we go. I threw my napkin on the table and let my gaze drift to study the ceiling. Stuart rattled on with a few choice “ums” interspersed before he paused for a breath.

Shouldn’t talking fashion with Stuart be Tracey’s job?