Diane Davidson - Chopping Spree

The first was a list of the Twelve Steps, but something about it was different. I read, We admitted we were powerless over our spending, that our lives had become unmanageable. I turned to the second sheet. Shopaholics Anonymous Meeting Times , the heading announced. Hmm. I’d heard of Debtors Anonymous, but not this. Meetings were held at two times, on two days—ten o’clock in the morning and seven in the evening Mondays and Thursdays, in the—I had to read this part twice— shoppers’ lounge at Westside Mall? Hello? Would you have an AA meeting in a liquor store?

Hearing Liz approach, I shoved the book back into its spot, then scrambled off the chair.

“Ten more coffees, two more teas,” she announced, giving me a quizzical glance as I shoved the chair back into place. “Want to refill the coffeepot?”

“I already did, and it’s percolating,” I replied. “I’m going to the little girls’ room,” I added.

Liz bustled around, working on the hot drinks. Meanwhile, I sprinted down the hall, turned on the fan in the peach-colored bathroom, and, still standing in the hall, shut the door hard. Then I whipped into Page Stockham’s room, aka Page’s Place.

Unless I was very wrong, I’d glimpsed something here, too. Something—no, make that things —that I’d seen before, but in a wholly different context. If I was right, these items were of interest not only to me but maybe to law enforcement. I tiptoed over the clothes-strewn floor, bypassed the chaise lounge with its multicolored array of bras, and only cast a cursory glance at the armoire with its jumble of jewelry. As quietly as possible, I eased the bifold closet door to its fullest open position, then flipped on the light.

I had not been wrong. There, on Page Stockham’s closet floor, was a jumbled mountain of shoes and shoe-boxes. Red, pink, black, navy, beige, and white pumps spilled from cardboard and tissue. Each and every one was of the same style, featuring a cutout toe.

The last time I’d seen this style shoe, hundreds of them had been littered around the body of Barry Dean.

CHAPTER 15

Damn, I thought as I stared in astonishment down at the footwear. What exactly did this mean? That Page Stockham was the Imelda Marcos of the Rockies?

Logistics: Page hadn’t physically attacked Shane; she’d acted in self-defense. She must have rejoined Marla after being hauled out of the lounge, because I knew that Marla, Ellie, and Page had been shopping together, even buying shoes, at that mammoth sale. But how could Page Stockham have bought so many of one style, and not seen Barry Dean Monday night? Forget seeing; could she have done something else? Was it possible that Page had stolen my knife, and in that corner of the shoe department that the cameras couldn’t see, killed Barry herself? Maybe she hadn’t quite succeeded in eliminating her husband’s financial enemy, but had shoved him into the cabinet still moaning, then come back to finish the job, and bop me in the process?

I squatted down and stared at the shoes, thinking hard. What had Marla told me? That she, Page, and Ellie had left the mall together Monday evening, just before nine. I’d found Barry just after nine. In the nightmare that followed, I’d ruled each of the three women out as being the person who deserved to be behind bars, instead of Julian. Where had the women gone when they left the mall? Had they been together? I doubted the police had even questioned them, because they hadn’t been in the shoe department when Julian found me. I doubted I’d find a receipt with a “time of sale” in the jumble of footwear. How long had Barry been in that Prince & Grogan shoe cabinet, anyway?

My cell phone bleated in my apron pocket. I leaped up and almost careened onto Page’s chaise lounge. I grabbed the phone and turned off the power. If Page or Shane or anybody , for that matter, found me snooping around in a client’s closet, my catering career would be over.

Strolling officiously down the hall to the kitchen, I popped back into the bathroom. There I turned the fan off. Back in the kitchen, I leaned against the side-by-side refrigerator, repowered the cell, and checked the incoming calls. Apparently, somebody at Hulsey, Jones, Macauley & Wilson wanted to talk to me in the worst way.

“Liz,” I said when she came in with an empty cobbler pan, “how’s it going? Sorry to have been gone so long.”

“They love it.” When Liz’s eyes twinkled, her face seemed to light up, too. “They’re demanding the recipe. With Page gone, it’s a real party.” She began filling the sink with soapy water, and I realized how much I appreciated one particular perk of success: being able to delegate to a trustworthy lieutenant. I said impulsively: “Liz, I’m very thankful we’re working together.”

She smiled. “Me, too. I haven’t received any calls on my cell since we started over here. But… was that your cell phone I heard?” she asked, lifting one of her silvery eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me you heard it.”

“It wasn’t for me, was it? I mean, just on the off-chance.”

Of course, I knew what was worrying her. “No,” I replied. “It wasn’t about Teddy. It was… my lawyer.”

“Everything’s all right?”

“Oh, yeah.” If it wasn’t, I’d probably be the last to know. I checked my watch: one-thirty. While Liz whisked back into the dining room, I began rinsing out and packing up our containers. The window over the sink revealed that the thickening snow was coming down at an acute slant. This was a sure sign of a fast-moving storm. Liz reappeared, her eyes alight with laughter.

“Two of those widows are under Shane’s spell. He looks like he’s in a state of sexual ecstasy, just waiting for those checks to roll in.”

I smiled. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hold on to Page’s ring for very long, after all. Just don’t ask me to contemplate the safety of those infatuated widows’ investments. In any event, that was beyond my control. What I really needed to know was what was going on with Steve Hulsey, Esquire.

“Look, Liz. As I said, that message was from my criminal defense lawyer. Can you handle clearing while I give him a call?”

“Of course,” she replied cheerfully, as she placed a stack of dirty dishes beside the sink. “I wouldn’t want to miss the widows writing those checks. Fifty thou each.” She glanced outside, then added, “Listen, Goldy, why don’t you let me finish up everything here? It’ll provide some distraction from obsessing about Teddy. Anyway, aren’t you chaperoning a school field trip today?”

“I’m picking Arch and his pals up at their school at four.” I sighed, dreading another chilly encounter with my son. “Thanks for reminding me. Maybe I better see if the attorney wants to huddle before then.”

She nodded and moved back into the dining room. I dialed Steve Hulsey’s number.

“He wants you to meet him at the jail as soon as possible,” his secretary informed me, her voice crisp, efficient, and not at all friendly. “He needs to speak to you about Julian Teller.”

“Why does he need to talk to me about Julian?”

“Mr. Hulsey has taken on his case. Mr. Hulsey is down at the jail now. Mr. Hulsey needs to see you.”

I couldn’t count to ten, so I counted to three. “I’m catering way up by the Aspen Meadow Wildlife Preserve.” I could hear the secretary tapping away at a keyboard. Clearly, my answer wasn’t worth her full attention. I raised my voice a bit. “The snow’s coming down pretty hard. It’ll take me at least half an hour to get down to the jail. Can’t you please tell me what this is about? Can’t I talk to Steve over the phone?”