CHAPTER 17
V era leans toward Georgie and me, right here in front of their booth inside the Crafters Warehouse.
“You know that old saying? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer ?” Vera asks. “Well, too bad for Magda she didn’t know she had an enemy infiltrating her ranks—and sleeping with her husband. It turns out, Blythe and Beau were having an affair. It went on for two years, right under Magda’s nose, until one day— Well, we don’t want to get into the gory details, but let’s just say, Magda found them in a compromising position.”
Georgie and I groan in unison.
“Come on, Toots.” Georgie tips her head toward Vera. “Don’t stop now. This is just getting to the good part.”
I poke Georgie in the ribs with my elbow.
What? she muses internally. You and I both know it’s true.
She’s not wrong, but I’m not about to admit it either.
“It’s okay,” Claudia says. “She’s right. It’s quite the titillating tail. Blythe destroyed that marriage.” She cringes for a moment. “Well, I guess you could say Beau did as well.”
Vera nods. “They both took down that union.”
“Magda was devastated, as were their kids,” Claudia goes on. “The kids took sides—Magda’s side, as they probably should have. Anyway, it destroyed their family. And despite Blythe’s incessant bid for forgiveness, Magda never forgave her. In fact, she often said Blythe was dead to her.”
“That’s right,” Vera continues. “And on more than one occasion Magda said that she would kill Blythe herself if she knew she could get away with it.”
Claudia shakes her head as if she wishes Vera didn’t say those words out loud before thinking to herself, All we need is Bizzy thinking that poor Magda is behind this. Hasn’t Magda been through enough?
I’ll say, I muse to myself.
“Wait a minute,” I say as I look to the women. “But I distinctly saw Magda speaking to Blythe the night of the Friendsgiving dinner.”
Georgie gasps again. “I bet she was plotting that woman’s murder and that’s why Blythe ended up dead in the water.”
“On the beach,” I correct.
“But dead in the water is so much more fun to say,” she’s quick to protest and I avert my eyes before offering a meager smile to the women before us.
“Well, they did seem like they weren’t exactly having an amicable conversation. It looked rather tense,” I say, “But I hardly think she was plotting to do the poor woman in.”
“I agree.” Vera lifts a finger. “We all know what happened to Blythe, and that probably explains why she did the deadly deed to begin with. The poor thing was filled with nothing but guilt and shame right to the bitter end. For all these years, she’s carried that with her. I told her she had to let it go, to forgive herself, that what was in the past was in the past. That she couldn’t change any of it.”
“But I think it only added to her paranoia,” Claudia says.
Vera shakes her head. “Her paranoia was very much real. She thought someone was after her. Her tires were slashed. But then, Beau said it was all in her mind, so I guess we really don’t know what was going on.”
“We do know she bought that gun,” Claudia mentions. “She wanted to be safe. She wanted to protect herself. She was convinced someone was after her.”
Vera nods. “And I guess after Magda tore into her one more time at the Friendsgiving dinner the other night, poor Blythe felt so guilty, she went off into the sand. And, well, she just lost her mind—as it happened, she lost her life, too.”
Both women sniff as they look at one another.
A customer comes up and asks a question before Vera excuses herself to help the woman out.
Claudia leans in. “You know, Blythe had a rough upbringing. She never felt worthy to be loved. She often flocked to whoever showed her any affection. Actually”—she glances over her shoulder—“Vera is the same way. That’s initially what bonded the two of them together. They both had disastrous upbringings. And then there’s Beau. What can I say about the man? He’s your standard predator.”
“You know what they say”—Georgie lifts a finger and a chill races up my spine because, face it, we never know what Georgie is going to say—“a cheater never changes his spots.”
Claudia gives a mournful laugh. “You can say that again.”
“That’s too bad.” I sigh. “Jasper is just buttoning up the case on his end. I suppose if he really wanted to speak to someone else about Blythe and her life, the only logical answer would be to speak to Beau.” I lean toward Claudia. “I know the man is grieving, but Jasper does need to close out the file. Do you perchance know where Jasper would be able to find him?”
Not that I plan on telling Jasper anything about this. The holidays are upon us. I need that man in a good mood.
“Oh yes.” Claudia nods. “He’s working at their store down on Main Street, Memories and More. It’s a scrapbooking shop.” She cringes a moment. “Vera and I were going to step in and help as soon as we could, but it’s the busiest time of year for us all. And when we spoke to Beau yesterday, he said that working down at the shop helped with his grief, so he’s keeping the doors open and working the registers just like the rest of us. He says it’s the only thing that’s keeping him grounded, and that without the shop, he would be losing his mind. He also mentioned that he plans on taking a few days off after the holidays to grieve properly.”
“That’s probably wise,” I say.
Another crowd pushes in and Claudia takes a deep breath at the sight. “Here we go again. But I’m not complaining. Our shop had such a rough go of it this last year. If I only knew the key to keeping our head above financial water would be found in these silly hats.” She holds up a knitted turkey and shakes her head. “I suppose it’s better than taking out a loan from the mob.” Or from someone you love. “Excuse me.” She takes off and Georgie and I exchange a glance.
I’m about to say something when I hear Fish scream my name just as she darts by, and on her tail is what looks to be a giant black and white Great Dane.
Don’t worry, Bizzy! I’ll save her! Sherlock barks as he bullets after them. And, sure enough, Chestnut and Acorn are on the chase, too.
Soon, the entire warehouse fills with screams, barks, and a few stray yowls .
“I’ve got this, Bizzy,” Georgie shouts as she runs over and jumps onto one of those lime green electric scooters and takes off after them at top speed.
“Oh, good grief,” I mutter in horror.
“Hey?” Georgie shouts. “Where are the brakes on this thing?”
Georgie screams and hollers and the entire warehouse is in a tizzy.
Mom runs my way. “Bizzy, we have to stop her before she breaks her neck!”
Georgie starts to drive in circles as shoppers and canines alike hop out of her way.
Fish runs right into my arms just as my three cute pooches land at my feet and I quickly snap up their leashes.
The owner of the Great Dane comes over and quickly nabs him as well.
But poor Georgie can’t seem to stop spinning in a circle, looking like a human tornado while she’s at it.
A security guard tries to jump in front of her, and in an effort to avoid barreling right through him, the scooter wiggles out of control.
I scream.
My mother screams.
And, well, just about everyone in the vicinity joins us in the vocal effort.
“ Everybody look out ,” Georgie howls as she manages to straighten out the wheels, and just our luck, she’s headed right in our direction.
Mom grabs me and pulls me out of the way just as Georgie plows into the Quirky Crafters’ booth. She flies right over the table and lands headfirst into a box full of turkey-shaped beanies, with her legs sticking straight up into the air.
A couple of security guards run over and quickly pluck her out, landing her back on her feet.
“Am I dead?” Georgie asks the crowd that’s amassed while that turkey beanie she’s wearing sits askew on her head. “Is this the afterlife?” She staggers forward like a zombie with her arms stretched out, and a few errant screams go off in the crowd.
“Yes,” my mother snaps. “This is the afterlife, where we all turn into a bunch of turkeys.”
“Just our luck.” Georgie makes a face. “Thanksgiving is just a couple of days away.”
“Now that is our luck.” Mom laughs as she goes over and helps Georgie this way. “Let’s get you some water, and maybe a body cast while we’re at it.”
The crowd quickly disperses and I glance out at the open maw of the warehouse doors as the sky turns a violent shade of purple.
Thanksgiving is just a couple of days away, and someone out there is feeling mighty thankful they’ve gotten away with murder. Or at least they think they have.
But if I have anything to say about it, the only thing they’ll be stuffing is themselves into the back of a patrol car.
No, they won’t be feasting on their freedom for long.
And there’s not a wishbone on the planet that can save them.