Bodice of Evidence (3 page)

“Pepper Pomeroy,” I said. He took a second swab out of his kit, then gently took the glass of water from me and carefully placed it on a coaster on the white-painted occasional table beside me. He took my hand and turned it palm up and mirrored the swiping he did on my right hand.

“You found the body?” he asked without looking at me.

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry for that. She died very quickly. Like I said, there really wasn't anything you could have done.” He sat
back on his heels, bagged swabs, and marked them with my name, the date, and his initials. “I have a good friend who's a trauma counselor.” He reached into his open jacket and pulled a card from his shirt pocket. “Give her a call. These things can sneak up on you. When they do, she's a good one to go to.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at the card. It said Judith Miller, Trauma and Grief Counselor, and gave a phone number. “I handled the last dead body I found pretty well . . .”

“Keep the card,” he said as he stood. “Nice to meet you, Pepper.”

“Nice to meet you, Blaine.” I shook his hand and he moved off to whatever other duties he had. I turned to Detective Murphy. “Do you know her name?”

“Who? The victim?”

“Yes. I feel like I will carry her with me for the rest of my life. The very least I should do is know her name. Was it Eva?”

He raised an eyebrow questioning my guess.

“Our appointment was with an Eva,” I explained.

“Right.” He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “We don't have an official ID yet.”

“What about the woman who came back from getting coffee? She obviously works here. It sounded like she recognized her. Didn't she call her Mom?”

“I can't give out the identity of the dead woman until we follow proper channels.” He raised his right eyebrow. “You're going to have to wait for the details just like everyone else.”

“Of course.” I stood. The earth tilted a little as I got that woozy feeling from standing up too quickly. Detective Murphy's hand was out of his pocket like a shot and cupping my elbow. “I'm good,” I lied, and stepped away from his touch. “Do you need anything else?”

“I need to get a statement from your mother and your sister. Then you can go.”

“Great.” I moved to the salon door where my family was stashed. “I'll send Felicity out next.”

“Thanks.” Murphy sent me a curt nod. “It's best if you don't discuss what happened until we let you go.”

“Right,” I put my hand on the doorknob. “Thank you, Detective.”

“We'll talk again.”

“I'm sure we will.” I opened the door to see Felicity resting her head on Mom's shoulder. My sister's face was blotchy from crying. “Felicity, Detective Murphy needs to ask you a few questions.”

My sister sat up. She pulled a tissue from a paper box, blew her nose, and stood. “That poor woman.” She shook her head. “Who does such a thing to another human being?”

“I don't know,” I said, and held open the door. “I trust Detective Murphy will find out.”

“I certainly hope so.” Felicity walked through the doorway and I closed the door behind her.

“What a terrible thing,” Mom said, and blew her own nose. My mother's eyes flashed with anger as quickly as they welled up with tears. “No one deserves to die like that.”

“The med tech said there was nothing we could have done to save her.” I took a seat next to Mom. “Did you call Dad and let him know we were going to be late coming home?”

“Yes, the officer here let me make the phone call as long as I didn't mention details.”

“What did Dad say?” I took Mom's hand and her fingers were cold as ice, so I rubbed them between my hands.

“He wanted to come straight down, but I told him we were fine.”

“We're all pretty shaken up,” I said, and glanced at the officer. “Maybe you should have Dad come down and drive us home.”

“What about my car?” Mom asked. “I refuse to get another ticket.”

“I can have someone drive the car to your home,” the officer said. “Your daughter's right, it would be safer.”

“Fine.” Mom waved her hand. “Call your father.” She sighed and shook her head. “This can't be good for Felicity.”

“What can't be good?”

“Murder,” Mom said, and turned her wide brown gaze on me. “This is the second murder to get in the way of our planning your sister's happy day.”

“I'm sure it doesn't mean anything.” I patted her hand. “This has all been so random.”

Mom pulled her mouth into a thin line. “These things come in threes, you know. I'm praying that the next one killed is not a member of our family. It can't hurt, right?”

I had to agree. “You're right,” I said. “A prayer or two might be fitting right now.”

“I'll call the church group and get them praying around the clock that you and your sister don't have to witness another murder ever in your lives.”

Now that was a wish I could get behind.

“I'm glad you called Warren.” Mom patted Dad's knee as he drove us home. “Felicity needs her fiancé, just like I need you, dear.”

“I'm glad my girls are safe.” Dad glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do they have any idea why that poor woman was killed?”

“No.” I leaned forward as far as the seat belt would let me, which was pretty far. Dad had an old Buick with enough space in the back to sleep ten. I kid; it would sleep four. “Detective Murphy said it may have been a robbery gone bad, but at first glance it didn't seem like anything was taken. I do know some of those designer dresses are worth a quarter of a million dollars or more.”

“Who spends that much on a dress you wear for a few
hours one day of your life?” Mom shook her head. “Ridiculous. That's a nice down payment on a condo or a town house.”

“They are designer dresses with hand-sewn beading and crystals,” I said. “You don't expect to be paid 1980s wages. Therefore, you have to be willing to pay today's prices.”

“So, wait . . .” Dad made a mad maneuver to pass a slow-moving van. He barely cut back in in time to miss a head-on collision with an oncoming semitruck. The semi honked his horn in anger. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dad muttered to the semi. “What was I saying?”

“You said, ‘So, wait . . .'” Mom patted Dad's knee as if that would help him remember.

“I forget what I was going to say. What were we talking about?”

“The ridiculous price of dresses,” Mom said.

“No, that's not it . . .”

“The murder?” I suggested.

“Close,” Dad said, and hit the blinker and pulled out into oncoming traffic.

“Gun it, dear,” Mom said absently. “There's another car.”

“I see it.” Dad squeezed back into his lane just in time to hit his brakes as the traffic in front of us slowed to a crawl. “What was I saying?”

“You said, ‘So, wait . . .'” Mom repeated, and I swear I was in the middle of some kind of Abbott and Costello comedy bit.

“I was telling you that as far as Detective Murphy could tell, nothing had been stolen,” I said in a desperate
attempt to stop yet another
Groundhog Day
–like repeat of the conversation.

“Right,” Dad said, and squealed the wheels to take the exit off of I-90 to Arlington Heights Road. “So the woman was killed and the shop left wide open, and as best the cops can tell, nothing was stolen?”

“That's right,” I said. “But they need to check with the owner before they know for sure. Turn here, Dad.”

“Oh, right, I'm taking you home. For a moment there the car was taking you back with us.”

“Maybe you should come spend the night at our house,” Mom turned to look at me. “You had quite the scare.”

“I'm fine, Mom. Keep going Dad, I'm a half a mile down.”

“I know,” Dad muttered.

“You shouldn't be alone,” Mom insisted.

“Gage is coming by,” I said. “I won't be alone.”

“How is that going?” Mom asked. “No one thinks it's weird that you broke up with Bobby to start going out with his best friend?”

“Mom.” I had to work hard not to roll my eyes. “I told you, I out grew Bobby. I broke up with him before anything happened between Gage and me.”

“Not that I was ever his biggest fan, but how does Bobby feel about all that?” Dad asked as he weaved in and out of traffic like an Indy 500 driver.

“It doesn't matter what Bobby feels.” I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest like a twelve-year-old. I wondered why being around my parents had us all regressing about fifteen years. “Gage asked me out and I'm willing to
see where it goes. I'm taking it slow. I promise. Right now I need to put every waking hour into my new business.”

“Tell me exactly what you do again?” Dad asked. Whenever I would start talking about the details of my new business, his eyes would roll back in his head and my words would go in one ear and out the other.

“It's called Perfect Proposals, Dad. I plan proposal events and then the engagement party. Like I did for Felicity. You liked my
Great Gatsby
engagement theme, didn't you? I've got this other guy who wants to do a
Serendipity
-themed proposal. His girlfriend loves the movie.”

“See, there's another thing I don't understand,” Mom said, her face to Dad as if she knew I would tell her she was old-fashioned and he wouldn't. “What is the big deal about proposals? In our day a guy asked a woman's parents for permission and then got down on one knee and popped the question. There may or may not have been a ring involved. And marriages lasted. Nowadays you kids have to have elaborate proposals, wear quarter-million-dollar dresses, and spend thousands on a wedding so you can spend an equal amount on the divorce six months later.”

“Not everyone spends huge sums of money, Mom,” I said. “People have budgets they work within. Not everyone is as extravagant as you see on television. And, not everyone gets divorced. There are marriages that last. Probably just as many now as in your day.”

“People had more sense in our day,” Mom grumbled. “If you ask me, anyway. Not that you did.”

“Dad, my place is on the left. On the left!”

He took a left curve into the parking area of my apartment building. Tires squealed and I rolled around the backseat wishing that the big Buick had shoulder seat belts instead of the old-fashioned lap belts.

“There you go.” Dad put the car into park and turned back to look at me. “Be careful with that new guy, do you hear me? Lots of people rebound after a long-term relationship. Don't expect too much.”

“Yes, Dad, I hear you.” I unbuckled and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the cheek and then I gave Mom a kiss as well. “Take care of you.”

I scooted out of the backseat, opened the car door, and stepped out into the cold and dark. The rear door to the complex was brightly lit so I moved toward it. Dad peeled out behind me. My cell phone rang as I entered the building. I pulled it out of my purse and saw it was Gage. “Hello,” I said as I stuck my key in my lock and unlocked the door. “Are you headed over?”

“Nearly there,” Gage said. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine now.” I let the door slam behind me and I tossed my keys in a small basket by the door and slipped my shoes off.

“I heard that you witnessed another murder.” There was sincere concern in his voice. The emotion warmed my heart. I couldn't remember the last time a guy sounded like that when he spoke to me.

“I didn't witness it, exactly.”

“What does that mean?” Gage asked.” ‘Exactly'? Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I'm fine . . . really.”

“I'm in your parking lot. Hang on. I think this is a story I need to hear in person.”

“I'm not dressed for our date,” I warned him as I glanced in the mirror above the entry shelf.

“You're always beautiful to me, Pepper.”

I couldn't help the smile that lifted the features of my reflection. The sound of the front door buzzer jerked me from my warm and fuzzy thoughts. I pressed the button to let Gage into the building. Then I quickly fluffed my wild-child red hair and bit my bottom lip to bring some color to it. There wasn't any time to fix my face. We might have known each other for ages, but Gage and I had only just started dating.

He knocked at the door and on instinct I peeked through the peephole. Gage was a handsome man. He wore his dark brown hair short and well styled without being fussy. His nose was straight and his jawline chiseled. Gage was one of the few men I knew who didn't have that thirty-something softness in his face. Maybe because he worked out regularly. Something I couldn't seem to find the time to do.

I opened the door. “Hey.”

“Hi.” His dark blue gaze lit up at the sight of me. It was enough to give a girl a shiver.

“Come on in,” I stepped aside and he wiped his shoes on the rough mat outside my door and entered. His hands were in the front pockets of the leather jacket he wore. It wasn't a biker's jacket like my ex-boyfriend Bobby loved
to wear. Gage worked a nice Italian leather jacket cut to show off a man's shoulders.

“Wow, you've really done the place up.”

I colored at the praise. “I know, right? After I got rid of Bobby's stuff, I realized I didn't have much of my own. I started picking up whatever appealed to me.”

“Well, you have good taste.” The blue of his eyes darkened and my brain fell out. I stood there like an idiot, staring, until he winked.

“I don't know what's wrong with my manners.” I stepped over to the coat closet and opened the door. “Let me take your coat. It's going to be a while before I'm ready to go out.” I held out my hand and he shucked the leather coat in one quick movement of his wide shoulders.

Gage was six foot two and toned. He never had any trouble finding a date. Women had a tendency to trip over each other to get to him. It made his attraction to me seem all the more incongruous.

Tonight he wore a barely pink long-sleeved dress shirt, without a tie. It was open at the collar, exposing the strength of his tan neck. I happened to know that he never went near a tanning salon. So how he managed to stay tan in Chicago was beyond me. I could only speculate that he did enough outdoor work that he didn't need to go the artificial route.

The shirt was tucked into dark dress slacks, highlighting his narrow waist.

“Okay, so, you look nice and I'm not even close to ready to go out,” I worried out loud as I hung up the coat.

“No problem. After I heard about the murder, I called and changed our reservations to nine.”

I caught myself looking at him as if I'd never seen a man before. “You made reservations?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head slightly and smiled. “It's what a guy does when he takes a beautiful woman out on a date.”

“Huh,” was all I could say. Bobby never made reservations. In fact, our last Valentine's Day date had ended up at the bar across the street because even Denny's was packed full.

Gage reached over and lifted my chin with his index finger. “Are you still up for going out?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “If a man makes reservations, I'm so there.” Thankfully I had a little black dress in the back of my closet. I'd bought it for one of Felicity's dinner parties. “Let me pop in the shower.”

“A woman says ‘let me pop in the shower' and I'm unbuttoning my shirt,” he teased and pretended to unbutton the second button on his shirt.

“Oh, no,” I said and wagged my finger. “We have reservations.” I scooted to the bedroom. “Make yourself at home. There are glasses and a variety of drinks in the antique liquor cabinet.” I waved toward the corner of the living area that didn't contain my home office.

“Nice,” he said. “Where'd you get the cabinet?”

“It was a flea market find,” I said as I rushed into my bedroom. I slipped off my socks and shoes, grabbed clean, date-appropriate underwear, and my brand-new silky robe. “I won't be too long.”

“Take your time,” his voice trailed behind me. “I like the idea of being here when you get ready for a date.”

Wow, why did that sound so darn sexy? When did getting ready for a date become romantic? Bobby and I had dated since my sophomore year in high school. It occurred to me that I had missed out on a lot of things normal women experienced.

I was in and out of the shower in record time. The humidity of the bathroom had my hair curling in mad ringlets. I figured why not go with it. Gage didn't seem to mind that I didn't wear the latest straight style. I had tried it once, but after ninety minutes spent with a straightening iron in my hands, I took one step outside and my hair bounced right back to its frizzy self. I wrapped the robe around me, spritzed curl spray in my hair, and let it do its thing while I applied makeup.

There was a knock at the bathroom door. “Are you decent?”

I laughed. “Now that's the real question, isn't it?” I opened the door and enjoyed the way his pupils widened in his dark blue eyes. Did I mention that he had the longest, thickest black lashes? Something any redhead would give her eyeteeth for. It took me five coats of mascara to achieve his natural look.

“Nice.”

“Thanks.” I saw that he held two glasses of white wine. “Is one of those for me?”

“Yeah.” He passed one my way. “I thought maybe you could use it as you got ready.”

“Thanks.” I took the glass from his hand and sipped the cold wine. “Okay, I'm closing the door. A girl needs to work her magic far from a man's watchful gaze. It's too early in this relationship for you to know all my secrets.”

Gage chuckled as I reluctantly closed the door on him.

Ten minutes later I scooted from the bathroom to the bedroom, threw the dress over my head, put on earrings and a necklace, and tossed back the last of my wine. I walked out in the living room to find Gage staring out the window.