Dickens of a Death Read online

  “May I help you?”

  The white-haired granny didn’t look like Shorter’s romantic ideal, but possibly she knew him. Ginger answered with the pat line we’d agreed upon during our drive.

  “Good morning. We drove over from Granville Falls for the day.”

  The storeowner shook her head. “You had that trouble over there. Such a shame.”

  Ginger nodded. “Now that Richard Shorter’s store is closed, we’ll have to complete our shopping here.”

  “We deal in death, but we never think it’ll happen to us.”

  Huh? Oh, she must mean she bought from estate sales.

  “I know. We’re all invincible until we’re not,” Ginger said. “You didn’t happen to know Mr. Shorter, did you? Being in the same business and all?”

  “No, dearie.” She gestured toward her store. “My inventory is not in his league.”

  “Oh, but you have such lovely things,” Ginger said. “These are Victorian, aren’t they? I’ve been looking for some German mercury glass ornaments to give my mother.”

  They chatted for a few minutes. Ginger pulled out her credit card and purchased two ornaments for a price that made my head spin. Although this store was more crowded, featuring glass rather than large furniture, I saw little difference in prices between Shorter and this woman.

  “You come back any time,” the sweet-looking woman with the business sense of a tycoon said. “I’ll be happy to conduct special searches on ornaments for you.”

  Back on the sidewalk I said, “At those prices, she should hand-deliver.”

  “Actually, I saw one of these ornaments in Shorter’s inventory. He’d priced his twenty dollars higher and this one is in better shape.”

  I shrugged. Antiques were not my thing. Most of my belongings were heavily used twentieth-century American Attic/Yard Sale.

  We continued through five more stores with no luck. “This is the last antique store on the square,” I said. “Let’s have a bite and head back home after we finish here.”

  A bell tinkled as we entered. I groaned under my breath when I saw the clerk. She was young, with light brown hair piled into a squirrel’s nest arrangement. Her eyes were closed, and she swayed to the sounds of music only she heard through ear buds. She must have owned a sixth sense because she opened her eyes and removed the buds when we reached the counter.

  “Help you?”

  Yes, I thought. You can stop cracking that gum in my face.

  Ginger smiled. “We’re just visiting from Granville Falls. Finishing up last minute shopping here now that Shorter’s antique store is closed.”

  “Him.” She grimaced. “Gramps says he got what was coming to him.”

  I stepped back in surprise. Luckily Ginger kept her cool.

  “Really? Both my mother and I shopped there. I heard even Jansen Buchanan bought from Shorter.”

  “Too bad for you. Shoulda come here.” She cracked her gum, but this time her action didn’t bother me. “Plus, Buchanan deserves to get ripped off.”

  “Why is that?” Ginger kept her voice even.

  “We sell the real deal for less. Gramps said it was only a matter of time before that Shorter jerk got caught peddling fakes. And Buchanan is an idiot. Thinks he knows everything.”

  I checked the edges of my mouth for saliva. This was good info.

  “And you think someone killed Richard Shorter because he dealt in questionable items?”

  She shrugged. “Good enough reason for me. This business is tough enough without peddling fakes. Scams keep people away. Say, you buying something or you just here to talk?”

  “Do you have any Victorian blown-glass ornaments?”

  The clerk pointed toward the back corner but didn’t get off her stool. “Some good ones. You break, you buy.”

  She looked at me when Ginger moved off, leaving me with her shopping bag. “You looking or just nosy too?”

  I held up my empty hand, palm out. “My taste runs to newer items.”

  “Yeah, me too,” she said. “I hate sitting in this dump.”

  “I know what you mean. Family stuff.”

  We shared a friendly grimace, though I had no idea what it meant to work in a family store. After my parents died, no one in my extended family wanted me around, much less helping with their business.

  I put my hands in my pockets and rocked on the balls of my feet. “So, how long are you stuck filling in for your gramp, um, grandfather?”

  “Couple of days. He’s up in Virginia for an estate sale.”

  Ginger set two glass-blown ornaments on the counter. They didn’t appear fancy, but they looked almost new. We’d seen some poor examples of old glass ornaments in other stores today, so I knew these were top-shelf.

  I walked to the door to avoid overhearing the business transaction. Sometimes what Ginger spent on stuff spooked me. Looking out over the square, I saw a hunched-over, hooded someone move away from my car. My vehicle is older, not worth much, but all I had. The action bothered me at an elemental level.

  Ginger stopped behind me. “Ready for lunch?”

  “Sure. Do you mind if we stop at the car first? I thought I saw someone messing around there.”

  “Let’s go. I can leave my bags in the trunk.”

  A luxury SUV and an oversize pick-up truck had blocked me in. I hoped I could squeeze in my car door and decided to eat a light lunch just in case neither vehicle left before us. No broken windows or other damage, though, and that fact made me feel better. Maybe I’d just seen someone trying to wiggle past the crunch. Me? I’d have found another path.

  “Looks secure, Ginger. Let’s eat.”

  We walked to a small café that we’d noticed during our earlier rounds. Customers at a booth in the back left just as we arrived. Within moments, we were seated and had menus and glasses of water.

  “You drove so I’m buying lunch,” Ginger said. “No arguments.”

  I took one look at the price column and agreed to her treat. The price of one entrée would more than match the cost of gas for a roundtrip to Chesterfield.

  “So, what do you think, Ginger? Do we have anything for Dirk and Matt to follow up?”

  She sipped her water. “I think they need to talk with Gramps when he returns.”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  Our waiter brought a small loaf of fresh, warm bread, and we dug in. As we cut, buttered, and chewed, we heard the name “Shorter” voiced from the booth next to us.

  “Jansen, I told you. I’m checking on the provenance for that item you bought in Granville Falls.” The male speaking had a voice that never left the basement regions.

  We gave each other a long look. How many men named Jansen could there be in this neck of North Carolina?

  “What I want to know is why you dealt with that man when Chesterfield is swimming in reputable dealers?”

  “He had a specific item I need to round out my collection.”

  “Yeah, well, you may still be lacking the rounding out piece if my hunch is right. I should have confirmation on the papers tomorrow.”

  “Push your sources. I want to know today.”

  “Why? It’s not like you can go after the guy. He’s already dead.”

  Jansen’s voice could slice glass. “Tough break for him, but no one cheats me. I’m going after his estate and I want to be first in line.” Flatware clattered against a plate. “Everyone else can whistle for their money after I’m through with my claim.”

  I checked Ginger’s expression. Yep. Her eyes were as wide as mine. I edged closer to the end of the booth, hoping to hear more.

  “Are you ladies ready to order?”

  We each requested the daily special to move our server along. No luck. Jansen and his companion left their booth, but were forced to wait as she laboriously wrote our orders on her pad. I almost fell off my cushioned seat when I saw the two men. The waitress repeated our orders, giving me time to survey them.

  One was a well-dressed man who could mode
l for a high-end sporting wear line. He smoothed his dark, silver-threaded hair with one hand while the other hand smoothed his jacket lapels. I couldn’t identify the type of suit he wore, but was pretty sure it had come from a designer, not the big box store just off the interstate exit. He wore a gold signet ring on his right hand.

  What threw me for a loop, though, was his companion. The man was big, bulky, and sported large gold rings on more than one finger. Mona’s bling man in the flesh. Up close, his features were classic, not rough. While his voice was deep, it held cultured overtones. If this guy was a bodyguard, he sounded college-educated, someone who looked more like a former pro-football player than a stereotypical bad guy.

  His eyes narrowed when he saw me checking his bling.

  “I noticed your rings and thought I may buy one for my boyfriend’s Christmas gift. Where did you get that one?” My pointing finger wavered, so it wasn’t clear which ring I meant.

  “That’s a family ring. You couldn’t buy one like it, even if you had the money.”

  My mouth dropped open. Sure, I’d been staring but he didn’t have to be rude. Even if his assessment of my income hit spot-on.

  “I thought you were giving your sweetie a trip to the Bahamas for the New Year weekend,” Ginger said.

  “Bermuda, and yes, I am.”

  Bling Man snorted and turned away but not before zinging me again. “You planning to find a guy in the Bermuda Triangle? One way to save on airfare.”

  Ginger put her hand on my arm, the only action that kept me from getting up and kicking Bling Man’s butt. Well, that and his linebacker size. Those are my excuses, and they work for me.

  Luckily for Bling Man, the server arrived with our salads. I might have convinced myself I could take him otherwise. I was that angry.

  Given the lousy acoustics, Ginger and I kept our conversation light and social, without using terms or names that could peg us if anyone listened in. For all its wealth, Chesterfield is as small as Granville Falls. Gossips thrive in small towns, and they had relatives where you least expect.

  Ginger talked me into having a mimosa and I agreed, figuring the limited amount of champagne in the drink would get absorbed in no time. My hands shook, and I needed a depressant.

  She leaned closer. “Can you believe our luck?”

  No, I couldn’t.

  Chapter Nine

  We strolled for a half hour to settle our food. I was happy the two large vehicles on either side of my little car had been replaced with normal-sized automobiles. I’d eaten more than I planned. We climbed in and drove off.

  “Ginger, you’d better call your mom and tell her to file a claim against Shorter’s estate. She should warn her friends too.”

  “Exactly my thoughts. She already has proof she was cheated. Her attorney should be able to move on her claim today.” Ginger pulled out her phone. “That Jansen Buchanan is a real slime bucket.”

  “I’ll say.” I listened with half an ear while Ginger made the call. My mind was on more important things, like why Buchanan hadn’t known Shorter was dead yesterday. The dealers in town had heard, but Buchanan and Bling Man had driven to Granville Falls, purportedly looking for Little Dick. Either his information sources were faulty or Buchanan had shown there to make himself look innocent. Or he was checking to ensure Shorter hadn’t faked death.

  I didn’t trust him or my suppositions. Lesson from Dirk: don’t trust anyone or anything but your gut instinct. My gut was busy digesting food and hadn’t left me a message.

  Ginger hung up and stashed her phone. “Do you think placing a claim against the estate makes my mom look guilty?”

  “You mean, she thought she couldn’t get her money back for the fakes so she killed Little Dick to make sure she received remuneration from the estate?”

  She nodded.

  “I just can’t see the sense in that. She had Shorter dead to rights on faked provenance and had a better chance collecting if he remained alive.”

  “At least Mom didn’t buy hot antiques.”

  “Yeah.” What a thought. With faked provenance, Patricia could have unknowingly purchased stolen goods. I hoped all she had in her home were well-fashioned replicas and honest antique purchases. Otherwise she’d be in worse trouble.

  I dropped Ginger off at Winslow House. She slid out then leaned back in her open door. “Katie, you should have your mechanic check out your car. Looks like you’re burning oil big time.”

  Checking my rear view mirror, I saw black smoke billowing from the rear of my car.

  Ginger coughed. “It’s coming out the side now, not just in the rear.”

  I slammed the car into Park and shut off the motor. Smoke tendrils curled from under my hood.

  “Ginger, move away from the car. Right now.”

  I jumped out and hurried to her. We scurried toward the house, me grabbing my phone to dial the emergency operator. Before I’d finished my report, a whoosh sounded and flames licked from under the hood and the undercarriage.

  Crap. I’d just upgraded to a better, though older vehicle. At least this one was new enough that I’d taken comprehensive insurance coverage. Not that I’d really wanted a rate increase.

  Although the fire department jumps when a fire is reported in the historic district, by the time the first engine arrived, flames engulfed my vehicle. If someone had done this, they’d made my permanent shit list.

  An old high school buddy, now fire department lieutenant approached holding a blackened item in his glove.

  “Really, Katie, don’t you know better?”

  “What?”

  “When your brake line separates, get it fixed by a mechanic. Using vise grips to hold the line together is beyond stupid.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He opened his fist, displaying the object he held. “One set of charred vise grips. We found them clamped to your brake line.”

  “I’m not an idiot. I didn’t do that.”

  “Well, that’s good news, because I’d have to kick your butt if you’d pulled such a stupid stunt. But now we’ll have to call in the police.”

  Great. Wouldn’t take long before Dirk heard about the fire. I couldn’t wait. Oh, but we weren’t officially talking, so he couldn’t get upset, right? Right. Hope springs eternal and all that crap.

  I remembered the feeling that someone had been hanging around my vehicle. Not much I could do besides call my insurance agent and go looking for a new car. “So, the line could have been cut and hobbled together here in Granville Falls and the friction of driving thirty miles twice finally set off the brake fluid?”

  He tipped his head to the side. “Where did you drive and for how long?” After I told him, he whistled. “Yep, you were lucky.” That’s what I thought.

  My phone rang later that night. Dirk’s name showed on the display. Right on time.

  “What have you and Ginger been up to today?” Dirk’s growl sounded in my ear and not the good kind of growl, either. He has a whole range of snarls, and I plan to document them someday. With audio and visual detail.

  “Nothing much. Shopping and lunch out. Oh, and hello to you, too. How are you? How was work? Did you have a good day, honey?”

  “Hello.” His sigh echoed over the phone line. “I’m sorry I blew up. Now tell me what the hell you were doing in Chesterfield and why someone cut your brake line.”

  “I told you. Christmas shopping, and Ginger bought me lunch because I drove.”

  “Oh, and looking for gifts at the local mall just won’t cut it with you two? Come on. Give.”

  “Oh, I’m giving all right. I saw something you’d love for Christmas.” A thought struck me. “We are exchanging gifts, right?”

  “Katie.”

  “Even though we’re publicly on the outs?”

  “Katie, stop.”

  “Maybe I should return what I got you. Good thing no one around here saw me buying something for you.”

  “Katie, enough.”

 
His irritation factor had grown as I kept speaking, but I couldn’t stop babbling. I didn’t want him examining our actions today, even though I felt confident we’d uncovered an important clue. Ginger could tell Matt, instead. Yeah, that would work.

  “So tell me your impressions of what you overhead at the café. Ginger told Matt you were sitting closer than her.”

  Yeah, so best laid plans don’t always make the grade. I repeated the conversation I’d heard.

  “I hate to say this, but you heard some good stuff. Blind luck, of course.”

  “I prefer the term lucky in love. People talk, and I tell my lover.”

  “Lucky in love? What are you, kidding? I haven’t laid eyes or hands on you in two days.”

  “Not my choice.”

  It’s always nice to know that your feelings are reciprocated. Then you can push the envelope that little bit further and drive your loved one totally crazy into lust. Or send them somewhere else. It’s all in the timing.

  “So, what are you wearing?”

  His intimate tone warmed my G spot.

  I looked at my penguin pajama bottoms and one of Dirk’s black tees. “The black teddy you like.” Yeah, I know I’m a brat.

  He groaned. “Didn’t I rip that the last time you wore it?”

  “I basted it back together.” I leaned against the pillows. “There’s a shredded part directly over my left breast that I couldn’t fix, though.”

  “So will you put your finger through the hole for me? Maybe play with your nipple?”

  “Hold on, big boy. You haven’t told me what you’ve got on.”

  “Not much and not for long.”

  “So if I ask you to rub those flat nipples I like to lick, you’d do it, right?”

  He sucked a breath. “Yeah, but let me repeat myself with a different meaning. Not for long. Other parts of me are demanding attention.”

  “Oooh. Could it be your long-barreled revolver? Well, you’re just gonna have to wait on pulling that bad boy out of your holster. I want you to rub yourself all over before you even touch your gun.”

  “You dictating terms to me? Because if I had you here, I’d flip you over and make you negotiate while rubbing my cock between those sweet cheeks of yours. Remember what that feels like?”