"Just testing film speed, babe ... just testing my film speed." His voice was too smooth; it sounded like he'd been weaned on Scotch whiskey.
I glared at him, and he backed off. I turned back to Cathy. "Listen, I have a long day ahead of me, and I'd rather pass on the interview. Thanks anyway."
She shifted her weight to her other foot and scrunched up her face in one of those, "yes-but" expressions. "You know, we really don't bite. Maybe if you talked to us, we could help find whoever did this to your shop?" Cathy was doing her best to put me at ease, but she was trying too hard, and it set me on edge.
I leaned against the counter. "I'm not the only person who saw the van that hit him. It sped away so fast there was no chance to catch the license plate or anything. We were all too busy trying to help Daniel."
Cathy flashed me her award-seeking smile, then nodded. "I can see your point, but surely you have some ideas about who killed Mr. Barrington? Did he say anything to you during your conversation that might point to the identity of the killer?"
That's right, just hold on and don't let go, I thought. Cathy had the instinct of a pit bull, I'd give her that much. "I'm sorry, but my readings with clients are confidential. Did you ever consider that this might have been a random hit-and-run, with no premeditation? That some jerk might have been out for a joyride and took the corner too fast, which happens all too often, and Daniel happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
"I suppose that might be the case," she said, conceding my point. She dropped the microphone and motioned to the cameraman. "You might be right, Emerald. Crime in
Chiqetaw seems to have skyrocketed, though. I'm wondering if we don't need a stronger police force? Tad Bonner is a good man, but he doesn't seem to be doing much to lower the rising crime rates. Maybe it's time for a change at the helm." Her eyes flashed with a triumphant gleam, like a cat who was on the verge of catching her mouse. I knew she was up to something but couldn't pinpoint what.
Tired of the head games, I began herding her toward the door. "I really don't know. Maybe ... but I'm not the person you should be asking. You'd be better off asking the police themselves what they think." I shrugged.
She murmured some noncommittal answer and cleared her throat. "Thank you for your time. Maybe next time we can have a longer chat. Meanwhile, are you going to take any new measures to protect your shop? Do you think the vandals will be back?"
Overwhelmed, too tired to fend her off, I told her about my plans for security monitoring and how I wished it wasn't necessary but that under the circumstances, it was the safest thing to do. "As to whether they'll be back, I don't know. I hope not."
Cathy studied me for a moment, then motioned to Royal, turning off the charm like she had a light switch hidden in her pocket. "Okay. Let's go."
I couldn't help myself. My mouth shot into overdrive before my brain could catch up. As she headed for the door, I said, "A piece of advice, Cathy. Don't try too hard. This isn't New York, and you're not Diane Sawyer."
Cathy turned around, her face a blank slate. "Excuse me?"
I gulped. Had I really just said that? "I mean, there's nothing here to use as a stepping-stone to fame." I stopped, suddenly aware that I'd insulted the woman a second time. Month after month of listening to her drone on must have fried a few brain cells.
"You can say that again," she said through a forced smile and clenched teeth. "So, do you have any other advice for me?"
I mentally kicked myself in the shins. Never anger people who can make you look stupid on air. "Noooo," I said, then added, "Have a good day, and come again."
She raised one eyebrow and set her lips in a firm, almost prim, line. "Oh, I'm sure we'll meet again, Ms. O'Brien. You seem destined to land in the news." Her heels clicked against the tile as she quick-stepped out of the shop. Royal broke into a crinkled smile and gave me a thumbs-up and a wink as he followed her.
"I dunno, Emerald," Cinnamon cleared her throat. "There's something about that woman that I don't like. You probably should have stopped while you were ahead."
"You're probably right, but you know what? I don't give a damn. Life seems to be going to hell in a handbasket this week; I might as well pile on the carnage."
Before long, I was running ragged, stock or no stock. All my regulars who had heard about the damage flocked to the shop. I knew full well that Drew didn't need another Limoges box, and that Perky Tremont had all the tea she needed for a good three months, but they filled their little shopping baskets with all the trinkets and tea and packages of English biscuits that had remained intact.
The tearoom was filled, and nobody complained about sitting on folding chairs at the card tables we'd borrowed until I could have the chairs reupholstered. Amanda Wed-dle slapped a stack of paper plates and some Styrofoam cups on the counter for me—a good thing because I'd forgotten to pick any up. I gave her a grateful smile.
As customer after customer traipsed in and found something to buy or to eat, my heart swelled. Each tinkle of the shop bells meant yet another person who'd accepted me into the heart of Chiqetaw. On occasion, I had wondered whether the people here truly liked me. I was a different breed than most of the matrons of this small town. By the end of the day, I had no doubt that they considered me one of their own.
What little stock I'd had left was gone. The cash register was jammed with bills and checks, and Safety-Tech had come and gone, installing our security system. The shop was now monitored constantly. I sighed and asked Cinnamon to run over to the bank with the deposit. After she left, I walked through the shop, staring at the empty shelves. If I'd ever wanted to make changes as to what I sold, now would be the time. But I loved the chintzware and the china, the tradition of teatime, and the delicate porcelain. No, we would restock. The Chintz 'n China would live.
I PUT THE dragon back in the e"tagere when I got home. Too afraid to leave it at work, even though we now had a security system, I tucked it into the back of my cabinet, hoping it would be safe. What the hell was I going to do with it? Finding Daniel's next of kin seemed the logical place to start, and the police were going to be of no help, so that was one more task I had to tackle.
A message had come in from Andrew. I punched in his hotel number and was surprised when he picked up on the first ring. Our first few moments were awkward—they always were after one of our disagreements—but soon he was telling me all about Hollywood and how tomorrow was the first meeting on the script and his agent thought he had a good chance of landing the contract to write the screenplay.
I murmured at the appropriate times, excited for him and yet feeling distant. Hollywood was a world apart from Chiqetaw, and big deals and producers and stars didn't play any part in my life except when I went to the movies.
After he ran down, I told him my own news, that the shop had been trashed.
"Then come down for the week. There's nothing stopping you now!"
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Did you hear what I said? My shop was destroyed. I lost everything, Andrew, including a sizable amount of cash."