My fantasy was short lived. That night, Penny dragged me to the Chamber of Commerce mixer, insisting I needed to meet and greet with the other Wolf Creek business owners. Apparently, the Gazette had a healthy subscriber list. Since arriving at the mixer, I’d noticed three people change course upon sighting me, afraid to come in contact with a woman who, according to the article, was either a psychic nut or a fraud.
“Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”
“You’re imagining things,” Penny said, right before the evening’s hostess, Lucille Hendricks of the Fancy Pants Clothing Boutique, rushed up to greet us. I knew where she worked because she slipped me a business card as I shook her hand.
“You’re the Frankie Chandler?” she cried, smacking her lips together in anticipation of tomorrow’s gossip with favored clients. “Welcome,” Lucille breathed. “So exciting that you’re working with the police. Is there any news?”
“Nothing I can talk about,” I said.
Another member changed direction on hearing my name, and Lucille made a face. “Don’t worry about it if some people are a tad cool. It’s because you gave face time to that little monster, Paul Simpson. He’s had a crack at several of our members. The Chamber considers him Public Enemy Number One.”
“He wrote the article all by his lonesome,” I said. “The only thing I did was shove dog food in his mouth to shut him up.”
Lucille screeched with laughter, and I knew she’d spread the story and save my reputation. She finished writing our names on blue-bordered name tags and plastered one on each of our lapels. I’d dressed up tonight, a black jacket over a white blouse with jeans and black boots.
“Help yourself to snacks.” With a pointed look aimed at me, Lucille added, “Bar is cash, but the wine is free.” A woman after my heart.
A drink sounded wonderful, but too many curious attendees stood between me and the red wine I craved. Instead, I took Penny’s hand and led her to an empty corner.
“This was a terrible idea,” I hissed. “Especially today. I should have waited for next month’s mixer and hoped for a cataclysmic disaster before then to take the attention off me.”
“Don’t be silly. If you want your shop to be a success, you need to network. You need to be a member of the Chamber and capitalize on people’s interest in you from the article.” Penny returned the wave of a slim man who, if his posture meant anything, planned to race across the room to interrogate me.
“I need to get out of here,” I whined as two blond women in suits sneered at me.
“That’s the one I was telling you about,” someone nearby whispered. “The one in the paper.”
I turned toward the voice just as a round woman in a black suit shifted away from me. Her partner wasn’t as quick. Caught between good manners and curiosity, he stared. To put him out of his misery, I grabbed his hand and shook.
“I’m Frankie Chandler.”
“Chet Newly,” he said. He tapped the woman on the shoulder. “And this is my wife, Nancy.”
Nancy spun around wearing a faux surprised expression to match her faux fur-line purse. “Are you the woman from the paper?”
“Guilty,” I said, regretting my word choice as she raised a brow. “And what’s your business?”
Marketing took precedence over gossip. “Bags for Hags,” she said with a grin. “I sell purses designed by local artists, gorgeous pieces that are intended for women old enough to have developed an individual style. The young go for whatever fashion magazines tell them to buy.”
“What a fantastic idea.”
“You know,” Nancy said, lowering her voice, “we’re having a fashion show to raise money to send a couple of children to Happy Days summer camp. We’re looking for celebrity judges. Since you’re going to be working on a high-profile case with the Wolf Creek Police…”
“I’m afraid that’s a misunderstanding,” I said.
Nancy put a hand to her face, her consternation laughable as she tried to figure out how to disinvite me.
“It’s alright. I understand. I wouldn’t know how to judge a fashion show, anyway.”
Penny the Marketer slithered into the conversation. “I imagine you advertise the show.”
“No problem there, thank goodness.” Nancy waved vaguely around the room. “Several local sales papers advertise for free, and many of the businesses put flyers in their windows.”
Penny’s jaw took on a determined set. “Paul Simpson was very naughty printing that article. Frankie’s association with the police is top secret.”
I let out a nervous laugh and grabbed her elbow. “What are you doing?”
She pulled her arm free. Penny’s stronger than she looks. “However,” she continued, “I realize you need a celebrity angle for the judges.” Then she beamed as if just remembering it was Christmas. “Frankie stepped in for Devine at the Pet Expo.”
Nancy reevaluated me. “You mean the Devine? The one from Kibble Talk?”
“She had to cancel at the last minute, and the organizers needed someone of equal stature to take her place. That’s why they contacted Frankie.”
Nancy tapped her chin with her index finger.
“Could we bill her as the pet psychic Devine recommends?”
“I’d have to clear it with Devine’s publicist,” Penny said. “You know how protective they can be, but I’m sure Devine wouldn’t mind.” Listening to her, you would have thought Penny lunched with Devine every Wednesday.
“Let me think about it,” Nancy said.
Penny went in for the kill. There’s nothing more tempting to a shop owner than a potential sale. She nudged my brown discount store bag. “Can you help someone who has no sense of style?”
“I have a Laura Birch at home,” I protested. “It just didn’t go with this outfit.”
Nancy sized me up. “I’ve got just the thing. It’s brown and white, so it goes with many things. It actually resembles a Pinto, and the clasp is a silver horseshoe.” Off my look she said, “It’s not gaudy at all, just slightly Western in style. You could wear it with jeans or a nice outfit.”
She hadn’t mentioned real leather, so I remained hopeful the bag would be in my price range. Right now, I was alternating between my brown bag and the Laura Birch. It would be nice to have something fitting for dress up and casual, so I wouldn’t have to keep switching over the contents.
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have a look at your purses.”
Nancy beamed and handed me her business card. “You’re in. I’ll call you later with the details on the show. Can I have your card?”
I retrieved one from my shabby brown bag and handed it to her. She looked it over and raised a brow.
“These are my temporaries. My real cards are on order.”
Nancy’s smile returned, and she made me promise I would stop by soon for a new purse.
“Hey.” Penny pointed. “There’s the trainer I told you about.”
Across the room, a group of men surrounded Seamus McGuire. They were filling the room with loud male laughter.
“We’ve already met.”
“Details.”
I eyed the bar and decided to brave social rejection. By dancing my way through the packed room, turning sideways, scooting, circling and shuffling, I finally got close enough to order two red wines from the bartender.
After the first soothing sip, I said, “I don’t want you to make a big deal out of this—”
“You had sex!” Penny clapped. “I knew you two were perfect for each other, though it would have been better to wait for marriage, or at least until you knew each other’s phone numbers by heart.”
“Bedding a man I just met makes me a tramp.”
“How was it?”
I stared. “You think I’m a tramp?”
“Well. You haven’t been to Mass in a long time, and then there was Jeff...” Finally, Penny let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Fine. You’re not a tramp.”
“I met him at Dot’s.”
Penny knew about Dot and had asked repeatedly for an invitation to meet her, but I was afraid bringing a friend along would destroy our delicate pretense that I was there on business.
“I sort of recommended him to the Barden’s, so he’s taking me to dinner tomorrow night as a thank you.”
Penny grabbed my arm and squealed, nearly spilling my drink. “Call me as soon as you get home.”
I held back a smile. Her enthusiasm was contagious. “That won’t be necessary because you’ll be there.”
“We’re invited? I’ll have to check Kemper’s schedule—”
“We’re dining at the Prickly Pear.”
Her unadulterated joy took a dip. “He’s taking you on your first date to my restaurant?”
“It’s not a date. It’s a thank you. And what’s wrong with the Prickly Pear?”
“It’s not very romantic.”
I let loose an unladylike guffaw and several heads turned. “And you think I need to brush up on my sales skills!” Putting on a serious face and tone, I said, “It’s not that my restaurant stinks, but it’s a terrible choice for a date.”
“I could set out candles and dim the lighting.” A thoughtful Penny was a dangerous Penny.
“Don’t you dare change one thing. Your place is perfect. And it’s not a date.”
“Have you told him about your talk with Sandy and what happened at the Peters’ house?”
“Why would I do that? I hardly know the man, and I don’t want to broadcast that I’m a weirdo.”
“If you want to start dating on the right foot, you should tell him all about your gift.” Penny frowned. “Of course, you don’t really tell me much about it. You really should share with your best friend first, don’t you think?”
“Share what?”
“Like, how does it work?” Penny closed her eyes and a dreamy smile crossed her lips. “Do you get all tingly and then feel the presence of your spirit guide? Can you see her? Is she beautiful? Or in your case, is it a friendly St. Bernard puppy?”
“I get blindsided and then hope I don’t make a fool of myself.”
“You could get Seamus’ sympathy if you told that story.”
I shot her a warning look. “Not a chance, and you’re not going to tell him either. He thinks I have cool spy training, like his dad. I’m not about to spoil that impression. And for the record, we’re not dating.”
I noticed two of the men in Seamus’ group were the same two Hispanic men I saw at his booth at the Pet Expo. The shorter of the two said something, Seamus chuckled, and they exchanged manly pats on the back. The third man stood by, unemotional as ever. Seamus caught my eye and headed our way. If the sullen guy was muscle, maybe I could hire him to break Paul Simpson’s legs.
Penny was already three steps away by the time Seamus arrived. She called over her shoulder, “I’ve got to talk to…someone,” and she gave us an impish grin.
“Hi,” he called to her retreating back. Then he turned and gave me a lingering look, one that seemed to cover me from head to toe. He quietly said, “Hello.”
It had been a long time since anyone had looked at me that way. I covered my embarrassment with, “You guys were certainly having a good time.”
Seamus searched the room. “You mean me and Carlos?” When he found his quarry, he nodded in his direction. “That’s Carlos Rodriguez. He owns a pest control company.”
“Who’s the guy with no sense of humor?”
“Pedro Castilla is Carlos’ brother-in-law,” Seamus explained. He lost some of his smile.
“So, what were you guys laughing about?”
“Carlos has some crazy stories. The things he sees at client’s homes could fill a book.” He glanced sideways at me. “A comedy. Not smut. I wouldn’t embarrass you that way.”
I wasn’t exactly a delicate flower, but having a man consider me one made my toes curl. And then I thought about what he’d just told me. Service providers see what’s going on in their client’s homes. I wanted to grab Seamus and hug him. In fact, I was so excited by a plan that was snaking its way into my brain I almost missed what he said next.
“Could you repeat that?” I said, a bit dazed.
“You and Carlos. You both know the Peters. Carlos is their bug guy. Don’t repeat that. He really hates the term.”
Of course! The Peters, like so many homeowners in the area, had pool guys and landscapers walking in and out of their houses all the time. Maybe Carlos had seen something, someone who didn’t belong, or someone lurking in the neighborhood. But first, I needed to make his acquaintance, and I could do that through his friend the dog trainer.
“This is my first Chamber meeting.” I smiled at Seamus and slipped my arm through his. “Could you introduce me to some people?”
His pleasure showed as he escorted me around the room. I should have paid more attention to the various business contacts he introduced me to, but I had my sights on Carlos Rodriguez. When we finally made it to the far side of the room, Seamus said, “Carlos, Frankie. Frankie, Carlos.” We went through the ritual exchange of business cards.
I didn’t waste time. “I understand you do work for the Peters, too. Tragic what happened to their maid.”
His expression of sympathy seemed genuine. “Margarita was a nice girl, one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. I enjoyed talking with her.”
Pedro Castillo wandered closer. He had a mouth full of stuffed mushroom, one of many he had piled on a plate, but he grunted something at Carlos who swatted at his arm.
“Not that kind of conversation. She was a nice kid.” Carlos nudged Pedro. “I’m married to his sister, Martha.” The way Carlos’ eyes lit up on his wife’s name told me infidelity was not one of her worries.
“You and Margarita talked a lot?” I asked.
Carlos shrugged. “We had things in common.”
“I was wondering if there was anything different in her manner before she died.”
His eyes opened wide. “You mean she saw it coming?” Pedro snorted, and Carlos turned to him. “Seriously. My abuela used to talk about things like that. You never met her, but if you had, you wouldn’t laugh.” Turning the conversation back to me, he asked what I did for the Peters.
“I helped them with Sandy over some problems he was having.”
Carlos wiggled his fingers at Seamus and joked. “The competition. Look out, brother.”
“She’s not a trainer,” Seamus said. “She’s a pet psychic.”
Pedro’s eyes just about popped out of his head and he stopped chewing.
“I prefer animal communicator. It doesn’t sound so hocus-pocus.”
“How does it work? I mean, do animals talk directly to you?” Carlos eagerly waited for my answer even as Seamus hid his smirk. I hadn’t really thought about how to explain, now there was something to explain.
“It works in different ways for different animals, just like people.”
Carlos got it right away. “I speak Spanish for some conversations, English for others, and when it’s my wife,” he clasped his hands over his heart, “I need only to use my eyes.”
“It’s getting a little thick in here,” Seamus said. The conversation turned to general things, though Pedro continued to stare at me. Psychics might have freaked him out.
Carlos knew Margarita, so the other service providers did too. Maybe one of them had seen something. When Carlos responded to something Seamus said, his dark head thrown back in a full belly laugh, I had the unsettling thought that one of those same service providers might also have killed her. I couldn’t very well walk into the Peters’ home and demand to talk to the hired help, but I could invite them to come to me. Under what pretext would a bunch of business owners agree to talk to a stranger about a murdered girl?