Candy Shop Mystery - Goody Goody Gunshots Part 7

The sound of hurried footsteps reached me half a second before a woman barreled around the corner. I was too distracted to recognize Paisley Pringle, owner of the Curl Up and Dye, until she was almost past me. "Abby?" She stopped so fast I almost expected to smell burning rubber. "Hey! How are you doing?"

Paisley's a friendly woman, if a bit ditzy. She's always trying to convince me to let her "fix" my hair. I don't mean to sound fussy, but if Paisley's hair was any indication of what I could expect, I'd pa.s.s.

Paisley fluffed her short reddish hair with the fingers of one hand. Last time I saw her, she had long, bluish black hair that fell to the middle of her back. Today, her hair was about two inches long. That's not unusual for Paisley. Her hair color and style are different almost every time I see her, thanks to the magic of dye and extensions. Even so, I've yet to see her wearing a combination I'd consider letting her re-create on my head.

That didn't mean I wanted to alienate her, though. Paradise is still a small town, and people here have long memories.

I tried to look friendly back. "I'm fine, thanks. Busy." I didn't want to open the door for a lengthy conversation, but my mother would have killed me if she saw me behaving that rudely. "How about you?"

"The same. Gearing up for the holidays. You know how that is. You're away from the shop early. Taking a little time off?"

"Actually, no." I said. "I'm running some errands, having an early dinner."

Paisley smiled and glanced at her watch, a chunky silver thing that looked as if it weighed about ten pounds. "Are you through for the day? I just had a cancellation. I have time to give you a quick cut and blow-dry if you're interested."

I had no idea how many times I'd have to say no before Paisley realized I meant it, but apparently it was at least one more time than I'd said it already. "No thanks. I'm right in the middle of something."

Paisley bent to scratch Max and ran a glance over the bag I was carrying. "I see you've been to Gavin's."

Paisley has a talent for getting people to spill their guts without asking a single question. I'm not sure how she does it, but I actually felt a twinge of guilt for not telling her what was in the bag. "Yeah," I said. "Listen, I need to get back. Karen's running the store on her own." Technically true. I considered Liberty too new to be of much help.

"Oh. Sure. Of course. I saw your ad in the Post. You're looking for help?"

I nodded, chafing at the delay and trying not to show it. "We decided it's time."

"Any luck so far?"

Since I'd just claimed that Karen was alone, I was hesitant to admit the truth. But Paradise is too small to tell a lie, especially one that could be discredited faster than a kid can eat a handful of gummy bears. "Actually, Karen found someone already, so I guess we're all set. That's . . . uh . . . that's why I have to get back. She's running the store and training the new clerk."

"Well that's great! Who did you hire?"

"You probably wouldn't know her," I said, relieved that she didn't seem suspicious about my conflicting stories. I glanced around again in case the limping man had come back, but I still couldn't see him. In the process, my gaze skimmed across Paisley's eager face, and another twinge of guilt plucked at me. Determined to prove that my mother had instilled a few manners in me, I tried to give Paisley my full attention. "Her name's Liberty Parker."

"Liberty? Of course I know her. She grew up here, you know."

"That's what she said."

"She'll be great. I remember her as being a very friendly girl. Popular. She'll be a good draw for you. If you're hiring, that must mean you're doing well."

"We're doing fine, I think. At least for now."

She smiled, and we shared a moment. Two small business women who understood that life as a shop owner was never stable. Every day brought a new challenge, and nothing was ever guaranteed. "I heard you talking as I came around the corner," she said just as I was about to make an excuse and leave. "You said something about a man with a limp?"

Had I? I dimly remembered talking to Max, but I couldn't remember what I'd said. "I thought I saw someone I know. I must have been wrong."

"The guy with a limp? You know who he is?"

She sounded more than idly curious, which piqued my own curiosity. "Why? Have you seen him?"

She nodded. "He's been hanging around for a couple of days. He never says anything, and he never tries to come inside, but he makes me kind of nervous anyway. But if he's a friend of yours-"

"He's not a friend," I said quickly, "just someone I ran into a few days ago. Do you have any idea where I can find him now?"

Paisley shook her head thoughtfully. "I saw him about ten minutes ago, but I have no idea where he went."

I was disappointed but not surprised. "Is he usually here at this time of day?"

She shook her head again. "No. He doesn't really keep a schedule that I've noticed. He's just . . . there sometimes."

That didn't surprise me either. It would have been nice to know when I could find him again, but I was thrilled to find two other people who'd seen him around town. I'd been standing still so long my fingers were beginning to hurt from the cold. I made a two-handed fist and breathed on it to warm my fingers. "Have you ever seen him with anyone? Getting into or out of a car?"

Paisley tilted her head to one side and thought a bit harder. "I don't remember seeing him with anyone else. I could ask Mom. She's seen him, too. Maybe she's noticed something I haven't."

"Could you ask and let me know? It's really important that I find him. But if you see him, please don't tell him I'm looking for him."

"Ooh," Paisley said with a grin. "That sounds mysterious."

I didn't want to spark a wholesale panic by telling her the truth, but neither did I want to leave her thinking that I was playing some kind of game. "It's not really," I said. "I need to talk to him about something that happened the other night. I think he's trying to avoid me, that's all."

Paisley's smile slipped, and the spark faded from her eye. "Oh. Okay. Well, then, I should let you get back to work, and I'd better do the same."

She trotted across the street, and I went back to trying to figure out where the limping man had gone. I couldn't see anything in either direction likely to interest him, but with dozens of alleyways, parking lots, and miniature parks dot-ting the city, he could be anywhere by now.

Swallowing disappointment, I decided to take the long way back to Divinity and turned south on Twelve Peaks. I still had fifteen minutes left of my break, and a brisk walk to clear my head seemed like a good idea.

Max fell in beside me, and we walked around three legs of a block. We'd just crossed the street and started the long pull up the steep incline that was Grandview Drive when Max's ears shot straight up, and he let out a high-pitched whine.

This wasn't the first time since he'd become my dog that he'd done that, and a warning bell sounded in my head right away. If Max followed his usual pattern, the next step in this dance was taking off at a dead run. I tightened my grip on his leash, but I was a split second too late. His claws scrambled for purchase on the pavement, caught, and he was off.

He darted through the spa.r.s.e traffic and into the parking lot of Walgreens, while I panted after him. I could see him dodging cars in the parking lot, turning, and weaving through the line at the drive-up prescription window.

"Max!" I shouted as I headed toward the drive-through window. I knew it wouldn't do any good. When Max is in this mood, he doesn't pay attention to anything. "Come back. Max!"

Struggling to follow him, I prayed that, since we were just half a block from Divinity, he'd turn up at home if I couldn't catch him. With my lungs burning from exertion, I rounded the back of the building and saw Max straight ahead of me. Miraculously, he'd stopped running, and his attention was riveted on the hedge growing between the drugstore and the stairs leading down the hill I'd just climbed.

Even from a distance, I could see something mounded there, and another warning bell went off in the back of my head. I told myself not to jump to conclusions, but I had the sick feeling that either Max had discovered a hundred-pound bag of kibble, or there was something in that hedge I didn't want to see.

My breath was coming easier now, so I tried calling him again. "Max? Come here, boy." I kept my voice light, hoping I could lure him away, but he didn't even lift his head.

"Max! Come."

He burrowed a little deeper into the hedge, still not interested in anything I had to say.

"Max!"

"Abby?" A man's voice came out of the darkness behind me.

My heart shot into my throat, and I whipped around on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet, prepared to kick the living s.h.i.t out of whoever it was. Marshall Ames materialized out of the shadows, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I'd known Marshall since we were kids in school. We hadn't been friends as kids-he'd been part of one group; I'd been part of another-but we'd become a little better acquainted since I'd returned to Paradise, and he was a familiar, friendly face when I needed one most.

He strode toward me, lamplight gleaming off his blond hair and reflecting off the lenses of his gla.s.ses. "Is everything okay?"

I shook my head uncertainly. "I'm not sure."

"Looks like Max has found something to interest him. Want me to get him for you?" He started forward without waiting for an answer.

I let him take a couple of steps, then reached out and snagged his arm. "No, wait. Don't-"

"Hey, it's okay. Max likes me, don't you boy?"

"It's not that," I said, suddenly aware that a couple of people had paused in the act of getting into their cars to watch us. I dropped my voice and moved closer so they couldn't overhear. "I think there may be something wrong."

"What do you mean, wrong?"

"I mean-" I cut myself off. I had nothing but gut instinct to go on, and not even much of that. And what if my gut instinct was wrong? I'd look like a fool. I shook my head and backed a step away. "I mean he looks pretty intense. Maybe you should let me go up there."

Marshall grinned and shook his head. "What are you talking about? He's fine, Abby. Look, he's even wagging his tail. Just stay there, and I'll bring him back to you, okay?"

I nodded and bit back the rest of my protests. Even if my instincts were right, there was no law that said I had to find the body. Marshall was a big boy. He'd survive the shock.

He crossed what remained of the parking lot and reached for Max's collar. Max looked up at him, his little dog face beaming with pride. Even as Marshall hunkered down beside him, I told myself that I was wrong. Marshall prodded the mound gently, and I told myself that my imagination was working overtime.

But in the next instant Marshall jerked backward, one hand over his mouth. He shot to his feet and tugged Max insistently away from the pile of rags in the hedge. I had to admire his composure. He didn't say a word until he'd closed the distance between us. Then, in a very low voice only I could hear, he said exactly what I'd been expecting.

"We need to call the police, Abby. There's a dead body over there."

Chapter 14.

It took the police a couple of hours to clear the scene and transport the body to the closest hospital. I phoned Karen to let her know that I wouldn't be back for a while, and why. She asked a million questions, none of which I had answers to. When she finally gave up asking, I hung out with Marshall and waited for the police to take our statements.

A small crowd of curious onlookers gathered along the sidewalk, and several inquisitive drivers pulled into the parking lot, hoping to figure out what the police were doing there. Red and blue lights bounced off the brick walls of the drugstore, casting eerie shadows all around us. Paramedics and police officers swarmed the scene, talking in solemn tones that didn't carry to where Marshall and I leaned against the trunk of a police car.

I'd had to identify the dead man as the same man I'd seen at Hammond Junction, and images of the times I'd seen him alive raced through my head while we waited. Over and over again, I saw his eyes meet mine through the Jetta's windshield and saw the horror reflected there. What-or who- had he been afraid of? Had someone actually tried to kill him that night?

All things considered, Marshall took the shock of finding his first dead body pretty well. At least, I think it was his first. I guess there's no way to really know something like that.

Once the ambulance carrying the body left the scene, most of those who'd gathered to watch lost interest and wandered away. I'd tried to keep an eye out for anyone who looked more interested in the body than he ought to be, but if the other person who'd been at Hammond Junction was also in the drugstore parking lot, he-or she-hid their interest well.

Once, I thought I saw Karen and Liberty hovering near the edge of the crowd, but the police didn't let anyone get close to the scene or to their witnesses. The next time I looked, they were gone.

Two hours after we found the body, Marshall and I were finally allowed to leave. He walked with me as far as Divinity, but we didn't have much to say. I guess we were both tired of talking about the murder and answering questions, so we walked in silence. Still, I was surprised to discover that I appreciated not having to make the walk alone.

Karen had already locked up the store, so after Marshall and I said good night at the bottom of the steps, I climbed to the third floor apartment and locked myself inside. Questions continued to race through my head while I changed into a pair of soft, warm sweats and the faded Sacramento Kings sweatshirt I'd brought with me from California.

Who was the dead man? What was he doing in Paradise? Why had he been at Hammond Junction on Tuesday night and at the recreation center on Sat.u.r.day?

Eventually, the events of the day caught up with me, and I realized that I hadn't eaten since eight that morning. I dug through my refrigerator, which turned out to be an exercise in futility. I didn't want to open the box of leftover Chinese that had been in the fridge longer than I could account for, and I couldn't think of anything to make with mayonnaise and Mom's strawberry jam.

I wondered if Marshall had gone back to his restaurant. It was late, but Gigi didn't stop serving until nine or ten, and I'm sure he probably had paperwork to do. I decided he was probably back there now, indulging in something rich and hot and French while I tried to decide how old the lone can of soup in my cupboard was.

Yawning, I tried to decide whether I was hungry enough to have something delivered or too tired to wait for food to arrive. In the middle of my contemplations, a knock sounded on the front door. I opened it and found Jawarski leaning against my doorframe, a six-pack of Sam Adams in one hand, a Gut Buster Special from Black Jack Pizza in the other.

He gave me that lopsided smile of his. "Hey, slugger."

My insides did the fluttery thing they always did when he smiled that way. "Hey yourself. You and Sam there at loose ends tonight?"

"Unfortunately. Know anybody who might be willing to let us hang out for a while?"

I wasn't sure which of the three looked best to me. I stepped away from the door so they could all come in. "You must have read my mind. I was just thinking about ordering something."

"I heard you were tied up at the drugstore for a while." Jawarski put the pizza box and beer on my battered old coffee table while I went after paper plates. "How'd you happen to be there when they found the body?"

I found the plates and tore off a few sheets of paper towel so we could pretend to be civilized. "I was taking a walk on my dinner break, and Max got away from me."

"And that's where he went?"

"Not immediately," I hedged. "But yeah. Eventually."

Jawarski slid a look at me from the corner of his eye. "So how did Marshall Ames end up finding the body instead of you?"

I felt myself tensing. "Is this a social visit or a thinly disguised interrogation?"

He had the good sense to look sheepish. "Sorry. Purely social."

"Good." I relaxed again and realized that Marshall had never actually said why he was at the drugstore during the dinner shift. "Marshall was there at the drugstore," I said, caving in spite of my protest and answering Jawarski's question. "He heard me trying to get Max away from the body. Of course, I didn't know it was a body at the time, but I wasn't having any luck, and Marshall offered to get him for me."

The look in Jawarski's eye changed slightly. "And you let him? That doesn't sound like you."

"I'd just run up Grandview. I was tired and out of breath.

Now open up that pizza before I eat right through the box." Jawarski laughed and did what I asked, and we settled like an old married couple on the atrocious plaid sofa I'd inherited along with the apartment. I helped myself to a garlic bread stick first. "So what do you know about the dead guy? Any idea how he died?"

Jawarski put his feet up on the coffee table next to mine and pulled two bottles from the six-pack. "Multiple stab wounds. Nice and quiet. No pesky gunshots to draw a crowd."

I shuddered and uncapped my beer. "Do you know who he is?"

Jawarski took a long pull from his beer, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not yet. He had no ID on him, his fingerprints aren't on file, and we haven't found any record of him at the local hotels. Yet."

"No fingerprints on file means no criminal record, I guess. Did you find any prints on that metal bar I gave you?"