Diane Davidson - Chopping Spree

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Shane bellowed, using the same tone of voice I’d heard so many times when he disagreed with lacrosse referees. “You’re lucky you get anything!”

“You tightfisted asshole!”

“You bitch !”

Shane lunged forward and slapped Page in the face. My stomach turned over. Page responded by kneeing her husband in the groin. When the two backed away from each other, the crowd parted to give them space.

At that moment, the security guards reentered the lounge. Dumbfounded, they looked to see what the new disruption was about.

I knew what it was about, having had lots of experience in the domestic violence department. I jumped off the stage and pushed through the throng toward the warring partners. The Stockhams had stopped screaming obscenities. Shane was trying to slap Page again. She was fending him off. I tensed my biceps, stepped up next to them, and grabbed the right arm of Page and the left arm of Shane. Using all my strength, I pulled them apart.

“Guards!” I yelled. “Come here now, please! Come take Mrs. Stockham out , now! Now! Please!” I glared at Shane Stockham and said tersely, “You need to back off, Shane. Right now.” I continued to grip his left forearm. Shane was a well-muscled man, with slicked-back brown hair and a handsome baby face. He had that young, all-powerful movie star look. “Stop this,” I said in a low voice. “A piece of jewelry isn’t worth a fight.”

The security guards reached for Page. She yanked herself away from me, then hopped quickly behind one of the jewelry display cases. Shane, meanwhile, also pulled out of my grasp. He turned his back and walked toward the stage, away from the exit doors.

“Hey, Shane! Cheap bastard!” Page taunted. “Business failure! Come get me now!”

The guards, upset at being foiled, lumbered a bit more quickly on either side of the case, trying to apprehend Page. Again she was too quick for them. With a few agile steps, Page danced back out by the buffet table, not far from me, but probably twenty yards from where Shane was walking away.

Shane turned slowly. His furious eyes fixed on his wife.

Page hissed something incomprehensible. Shane, in turn, raced back in her direction. Page neighed in triumph.

Shane was charging toward his wife. There was just one thing in his way: me. A warning chill raced down my spine.

“Security!” I squealed.

Shane kept coming. My mind conjured up Shane as the hot-tempered lacrosse coach and Arch, my little Arch, who was trying so hard to become a tough athlete. If I just stepped out of Shane’s way, he’d hit Page. Do what Arch does , I thought. Pronto.

I’d seen it over and over. Arch set his position against the attack man, then used his body weight to send the attacker in the opposite direction. When Shane was a yard from me, I placed my shoulder at right angles to his chest. Then, just as he was about to slam into me, I jerked up and under his chest, and whacked him with such force that he reeled upward. The muscled poundage of Shane Stockham went airborne. I staggered backward. Outstretched hands couldn’t prevent me from falling. I thudded to the floor, landing with a jolt of pain on my shoulder.

The security guys, who’d called for help, finally forced their way forward. Two of them manhandled a shrieking Page toward the exit. Three guards seized Shane and pulled him upright. When they tried to march him out behind his wife, I noticed that he was limping slightly.

“You nosy bitch!” Shane yelled at me, his face scarlet with fury. “What do you know about anything?”

I rubbed my shoulder. For the second time that day, I wondered if it was broken.

CHAPTER 5

That was pretty awful,” Marla commented as she escorted me to the kitchen to tend to my shoulder. “Is somebody going to call the cops? The guards shouldn’t be the only ones dealing with Shane.”

“I’ll call the cops,” Julian assured us. He asked if he could check my shoulder; I said yes. “It’s not broken,” he reported, after gently poking the shoulder blade and asking me to move it in a circle. He frowned, pulled out his cell phone, and punched buttons. “I’m going to run down to the parking lot, see if I can snag a cop who might still be there. I’ll let the sheriff’s department dispatcher know what’s what, too. Where would those guards have taken Shane, the mall security office?”

“Probably,” I replied weakly. What was going on with Shane Stockham? Did he dare think that I’d still be putting on a lunch for him day after next? At that moment, I couldn’t ponder anything that was two days away. I did want to know the reason for the fight among Liz, Barry, and Julian. Julian had taken off, which only left one person to ask.

“Liz,” I began, “I need to know why you and Julian—”

“Please,” she said in a low voice, as she bent over the sink, where she was washing platters. She would not meet my eyes. Marla, all interest, leaned in. Liz said stiffly, “I promise to tell you later, Goldy. My son should call me soon. Then I’ll know more.” She turned the water off and lifted her chin. Tears spilled as she faced me. “Look, I’m sorry I argued with Barry, but he started it. If you could just trust me to help us get through this party, I promise I’ll tell you the whole story later.”

I gnawed my lip. Liz had become invaluable to my catering business. I simply could not, would not force her to explain herself in front of Marla. Teddy had been hauled out; the Stockham crisis had erupted right after that. And Liz had apologized. I murmured that it was fine for us to talk at her convenience.

Liz nodded her thanks, then worked silently drying the platters and assembling new trays. Marla filled a dish-towel with ice and lightly pressed it into my shoulder. The events of the day filled my mind. First the truck had almost mowed me down, then Shane Stockham had almost mowed me down. And, as Liz had reminded me, we were in the middle of an event….

Marla murmured in my ear, “You should have stayed in bed.”

The band burst into “The Emerald Isle.” After a few moments, against Marla’s stern advice, I tentatively lifted a tray. I ignored stares as I transported it out to the buffet. Marla bustled along beside me, tossing smiles at the gawkers. When the guests realized no new crisis was brewing, they turned their attention back to the jewelry cases and continued trying on glittering necklaces, earrings, and bracelets. The videographer slithered through the crowd, occasionally asking women to pose for him. When Marla insisted he follow her to a jewelry case, I wondered fleetingly if the videographer had caught the Stockhams’ conflict on tape.

A few moments later, Marla magically reappeared at my side. She stepped back for me to admire her newly rented double strand of pearls with diamonds. Brilliant matching earrings and tiny barrettes wreathed her pretty, plump face in twinkles. I gave her a thumbs-up.

She said, “You don’t want to know what these cost.”

“You’re right.” I straightened platters and stirred the meatballs in the sauce. “So,” I asked her, “ do you have any idea what Barry and Liz and Julian were fighting about?”

“I can guess,” she said. “You don’t need Liz to tell you the whole story; I can fill you in on most of it. Don’t you know that little Teddy’s had a few shoplifting incidents here at Westside? More than a few, if my sources are correct. Julian must know about Teddy’s problems, because he was in on the argument. When he comes back, I can cross-examine him.”

I groaned. “Well, then, what was Shane and Page’s fight about? Do their spending disagreements often turn violent?”