You Better Knot Die Read online

  “Now, Logan was always trying to sell me on Bradley’s business. He’d go on and on about what a genius Perkins was and I ought to think of investing some money with him. I never bothered with exact details of what Perkins was doing, but Logan said he’d made a bundle with him. Logan was like a one-man advertising campaign for the guy. You’d think he was making a commission or something.” I just nodded and listened.

  “Then you didn’t join the investment club?”

  Commander looked at me like I had asked him an absurd question.

  “Nope. Call me an old fool, but when it comes to money, I’m conservative. Federally insured savings accounts are the way I go.”

  I told Commander about Bradley’s suicide and his expression grew grave.

  When I mentioned the note saying he’d gotten into some kind of trouble, Commander looked even graver.

  “Makes me glad I never let Logan talk me into anything. Who knows what happened to all that money. I know what’s what with mine, which is why I can easily afford this trip.” He nudged the papers in Dinah’s direction again.

  Before I could find out how my friend was going to answer, our cashier Rayaad came in from the bookstore and interrupted. The UPS guy was there with a delivery and needed a signature. I didn’t get a chance to see Commander’s expression when I walked away and the kids stayed behind.

  The UPS guy was shifting his weight and glancing toward his truck. He swatted his electronic signing pad against his leg. A dolly with a stack of brown boxes stood next to him. He smiled expectantly as I approached and held out the pad for me to sign.

  “What is all this?” I said, eyeing the boxes. Rayaad shrugged and said that was why she’d gotten me. She wasn’t going to take the responsibility for signing for them. I looked at the return address on the boxes and hesitated. Mrs. Shedd and Mr. Royal had left without mentioning a delivery. I was considering what to do when Joshua Royal came back into the store. He saw the boxes and his face broke into a happy expression.

  “Good, the things I ordered have come,” he said. The UPS guy straightened and handed him the signing thing. No hesitation here; Mr. Royal signed quickly and the UPS guy pulled the dolly out from under the boxes and left.

  Mr. Royal lifted the back of his leather jacket, exposing a knife holder hanging from his belt. I stifled a gasp as he pulled the knife out of the case. I wasn’t expecting anything so long and lethal looking. I suppose it was a leftover from all his adventuring.

  “Would you clear off that table,” he said, pointing to the best seller table that was adjacent to the display of Anthony books. Rayaad and I did as he asked, while he used the knife to split open the box tops.

  I was surprised to see the content was all Anthony accessories. “Does Mrs. Shedd know about these?” I asked, lining up the Anthony action figures. I had to admit they were appealing and very detailed. The figure wore Anthony’s trademark black turtleneck top and black slacks and had a crochet hook in one hand and a ball of yarn in his pocket.

  “I don’t need her approval,” Mr. Royal said. I listened to see if there was an edge in his voice, as if to say he could do whatever he pleased, but there wasn’t any. I took it to mean that they were really partners. Apparently his days of being the silent one were over. The other boxes had mugs, tote bags, key chains and tee shirts—all with Anthony likenesses. There was still some space on the table when we finished putting everything out. He gestured toward the back of the store and the yarn department. “Why don’t we bring some crochet hooks up here and a few balls of yarn. Let’s do some cross marketing,” he said. There was something charismatic and fun about him and we all headed toward the back.

  As we were setting up a selection of crochet hooks and skeins of yarn next to the action figures, I mentioned Elise’s vampire scarf to Mr. Royal.

  “Do you suppose we could offer copies of her scarf pattern? Complimentary, of course,” he said. He held up a female action figure wearing a trench coat and carrying a laptop bag. “Who is she supposed to be—another vampire?”

  “That’s Colleen. She’s a reporter—a human reporter. She’s been bringing Anthony’s story to the world since he decided to go mainstream in the first book,” I said. Rayaad obviously hadn’t read the books, nor cared to. The little shake of her head was filled with distaste, and she headed back to her domain at the cashier stand.

  “Mainstream?” Mr. Royal said, holding up an Anthony doll. “Please elaborate.” Apparently Mr. Royal had no idea of the story line. I had to explain that vampires were supposed to stay in the shadows, out of the public eye, and when Anthony decided to become part of the regular world, it caused a stir among the humans and stirred up trouble with the vampires.

  “You see, Anthony wants to do something for mankind during his immortality. He’s stopped drinking human blood ever since he began to crochet. Now he gets by on blood products from a hospital supply place and fills in with animal blood.”

  Mr. Royal made a face.

  “You eat meat, don’t you?” I said and he nodded. “Anthony just takes out the middleman. But the blood stuff isn’t that important in the story line. It’s really a love story. See Anthony has fallen for Colleen, though to her he’s just a story. You do know that vampires are always very, very sexy and incredibly attractive, don’t you?”

  Mr. Royal said he wasn’t familiar enough with vampires to know that and smiled good-naturedly while I continued.

  “It’s not that Colleen hasn’t noticed him, she’s just keeping him at arm’s length. There’s a really hot scene in the first book. He’s telling her that learning how to crochet has changed his existence and she says she wishes she knew how to crochet. So, he teaches her, but not the usual way by demonstrating. He stands behind her, molding his body to hers, with his arms against hers, guiding her hands with his. Kind of like that scene in Ghost where Patrick Swayze helps Demi Moore with her clay piece.” I looked at Mr. Royal for some kind of recognition. He remembered the movie scene.

  “So Anthony has made crochet sexy,” he said, and I nodded.

  “The promotional material for Caught Under the Mistletoe gives the setup for the book. Colleen takes Anthony home to her family’s house in Connecticut for the holidays. It’s the first time he’s celebrating Christmas since he was turned into a vampire, so it’s a big deal.”

  “I get it and he’s hoping to catch her under the mistletoe and wow her with his hot kisses.”

  “Something like that,” I said. “Oh, and the other vampires are upset with Anthony and they’re supposed to show up at Colleen’s and cause trouble. Did I mention that her family doesn’t know Anthony is a vampire?”

  “Thanks for bringing me up to speed,” Mr. Royal said, handing me the Anthony doll. “Since you seem to be an expert, why don’t you finish the display.” He started to walk away and then stopped. “I heard that neighbor of yours who was missing turned out to be a suicide. Do you know why Pamela was so upset about it?”

  What could I tell him? Certainly not the truth, but I didn’t like lying, either. I was struggling for an answer when Dinah saved me by walking up and interrupting.

  “Well, I told him,” Dinah said. She seemed oblivious to Mr. Royal standing there and after a moment I noticed he’d disappeared. “I don’t think Commander would mind the kids—if their father was someone else. He was kind of quiet after I explained who they were.” Dinah looked down. “I hope this doesn’t turn out to be a deal breaker.”

  I did my best to reassure her and said he probably just needed a little time to process. I hoped what I was saying was true. Dinah noticed the display. I told her Mr. Royal had ordered all the action figures without even knowing the story line.

  “Or so he says,” Dinah said with a knowing nod. “Did you ever think that he was A. J. Kowalski?”

  “Wow,” I said. “I hadn’t thought about him.” I looked in the direction he’d gone. He was helping a customer in the travel section. “Maybe he was just pretending not to know the story line. Havin
g me bring him up to speed was just a cover,” I said as Dinah steered the kids toward the children’s department.

  When Mrs. Shedd returned, her face clouded when she saw the display. That is until I explained whose idea it was. Then she smiled and pronounced it brilliant.

  “I found out some information about Bradley’s business,” I said, checking that no one was in earshot. I told her what Logan had said about the stocks being sold and the money divided up among the investors.

  “Molly, I don’t find that very reassuring,” she said. “Or the complete story. Who is handling the business right now? Who is going to sell the stock and divide up the money?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. An image of the man and woman in the suits I’d seen at the Perkins’ came to mind. In all that had gone on, I’d forgotten about them. I repeated what Emily had said about them being from the Securities and Exchange Commission. Mrs. Shedd seemed even more upset when I mentioned they had wanted to have a friendly interview with Bradley before he disappeared.

  “What they call a friendly interview is an investigation, Molly. Bradley must have known and that’s why ...” She let her voice trail off as she wrung her hands.

  Of course what she said made sense. I didn’t know that much about high finance. I was pretty much on the same page as Commander and had all my money in CDs. But the people showing up from the SEC might have been what pushed Bradley over the edge. Mrs. Shedd looked around the store and then at the time.

  “We have to do something,” she said. “I told you if I don’t get back the money I gave him, the bookstore is in trouble. We’re all in trouble.” She sighed deeply and shook her head. “Someone is answering his office phone and taking messages. They must know something. It’s pretty quiet for the moment around here. You know how to do sleuthing. Why don’t you go to Perkins’ office right now and see what you can find out.”

  CHAPTER 10

  THE ADDRESS MRS. SHEDD GAVE ME TURNED OUT to be a high-rise in the Warner Center area of Woodland Hills. I’d often admired the way the all-glass high-rises reflected the sky. The directory gave a suite number on the seventh floor for Perkins Financial. This place looked like high rent to me.

  A woman sat behind a counter in front of a wall of windows with a clear view of the Santa Susana Mountains. I was glad she was on the phone since I didn’t know what I was going to say and it gave me time to think. I wasn’t there just for Mrs. Shedd. I had a personal reason to find her money. I loved my job at the bookstore and didn’t want to lose it.

  The woman went to another phone line. “Pearson Productions, please hold,” she said. A moment later, I heard her answer, “Higgins Insurance.” I stood up, thinking I was in the wrong office, but she answered the phone again and this time she said “Perkins Financial.” I listened while she asked their identity and put them on hold while she contacted somebody and announced the caller. A moment later, she went back to the caller and said she would have to take a message. I thought it was some kind of scam until I realized it was one of those office suite arrangements where you get some office space and services like having someone answer the phone. But even better, I figured out that someone from Perkins Financial was there. The woman clicked off after she’d written down a message. She glanced in my direction and asked if she could help me.

  I didn’t want to tell her I wanted to talk to somebody from Perkins Financial and have her announce me and take the chance of being turned away. Then I had an inspiration. Instead of telling her the truth, I said I was looking for an office.

  “Oh,” the woman said, brightening. She took out a brochure and began to describe what they offered. I tried to appear interested and nonchalantly asked if I could look around. I said I was really checking it out for my husband. Her phone started ringing again and she gestured toward the hallway with a nod. I was in!

  I walked down the corridor and looked in the first open door. The office was so small as to be claustrophobic with the door closed, which ended up working to my advantage. The doors to most of the offices were open. Halfway down the hallway, I caught a glimpse of Emily and the couple in the suits in one of the offices. Before any of them could see me, I took a step back and slipped into the office behind them. The clear desk and empty shelves made it obvious it didn’t belong to anybody. At least I didn’t have to worry about someone coming in and wondering why I was in their space.

  The walls between the offices were paper-thin, and with the door open, it was easy to hear what was going on in the next office.

  “I realize this is a very difficult time for you and we appreciate you cooperating with this informal investigation, but there have to be more records than this,” the man said. “We received a tip from one of your husband’s clients that they were having trouble taking their money out of this investment club. All you’ve shown us is checking account statements and canceled checks. What accounting firm did your husband use? And where did he keep the physical securities he bought for his clients?”

  “I don’t know,” Emily said. Her voice sounded strained. “I helped him with bank deposits and sending out quarterly statements, but that’s it. Who complained?”

  “That’s confidential,” the man said. Emily said something about a box of files that Bradley had taken back and forth to the office with him, but she didn’t know where they were now. The woman asked if they could take an image of Bradley’s computer. Emily gave them her permission.

  “What do you know about these checks?” the man said. “They’re all written to casinos.” Emily sounded confused as she said she knew nothing about them. She insisted she’d never seen Bradley gamble or even heard him talk about gambling. She finally excused herself to go to the restroom. I slid behind the door until she’d passed.

  With her gone, the SEC pair began to talk. Their investigation was by no means finished, but they’d come to several conclusions. Even though it was questionable that there was no body, they believed that Bradley was really dead because there was still fifty thousand dollars in his checking account. They reasoned that if Bradley had been trying to fake his death, he would have cleaned out the account. The second part made me shudder. The couple, who I now knew were a lawyer and a forensic accountant, were going to investigate further, but they thought Bradley had committed a blatant fraud and never bought any securities with the money his clients had given him. Instead he had used the money to gamble. Judging from all the checks written to the casinos and the lack of deposits back into the account, they guessed he’d lost all the money.

  Poor Mrs. Shedd. Poor all of us.

  “Do you think the wife was an accomplice in the fraud?” the woman said.

  “Hard to say. It’s not as if he left her a hunk of money,” the man said.

  “That we know about,” the woman added.

  “And the whole episode of fainting at the mailbox could have been staged to buy time so she could hide whatever she did have.” The man paused. “Still, I tend to think she was just another of his victims. Everything she has is going to end up being seized. Too bad since it’s around the holidays.”

  I waited until Emily came back from her bathroom stop and then slipped out of the empty office. The receptionist had a hopeful expression, which I quickly dashed when I told her the office wasn’t quite what my husband was looking for.

  Mrs. Shedd was pacing across the front of the bookstore when I returned. “Well?” she said. I think my expression gave away the fact that I didn’t have good news. I put my hand on her shoulder for support and then told her the SEC people thought Bradley had gambled all the money away.

  “Oh, no,” she said as the color drained from her face and she slumped against one of the bookcases. “We can make it through the holidays, but after the first of the year I have to pay the bank back.” She glanced around the bookstore and her eyes grew watery. She loved the store and didn’t want to lose it. “Let’s try to make the holiday season our best ever, since it might be our last.” We hugged on it.

&nbs
p; I didn’t tell her, but I wasn’t giving up. There had to be something I could do to save the bookstore.

  It was dark when I headed home. The bookstore had gotten crowded and I’d spent the rest of the evening helping people choose gift books. There hadn’t even been time to go back to the yarn department. I patted the tote bag on the passenger seat. It overflowed with yarn that needed swatches and the elephant in progress. I was also hoping to make some more snowflakes to add to the ones Adele had made that were still sitting on my dining room table. At least my street was quiet, the way it was supposed to be. As I drove past the Perkins’, I automatically looked over, wondering about Emily. What a day she’d had—from the morning in Long Beach, seeing Bradley alive for the last time as he got on the ferry to being grilled in the so-called friendly interview with the SEC people.

  Her driveway was long like mine and at the end curved toward her garage door. The motion-sensor light came on and I noticed a gray cat running across the driveway. Then something else caught my eye. A wheel or a portion of one showed beyond the bush that obscured the area in front of the garage. Before I could make out what it was, the light went off.

  My only excuse was extreme nosiness, but all things considered I wondered what was in her driveway, particularly since it seemed hidden. After pulling into my own driveway, I cut across my lawn toward her place. I didn’t want my nosiness to be obvious, so I crept up the edge of the driveway, hoping to stay out of the range of the motion sensor.

  My best of intentions failed and I got in the path of the sensor and the light flipped on. I dropped next to the bush to avoid being seen. The light stayed on long enough for me to get a good look at what was behind the bush. A motorcycle? Emily hated motorcycles. She’d said more than once that she thought they should be banned from the road. So what was one doing hidden in her driveway? Or more importantly, who did it belong to?