“That’s a sample,” I said quickly. “I’d have to order them for you.”
“That’s fine. I have a couple of weeks.”
“Great. Let me check for more Coneheads.” I moved the remaining two boxes off the dolly and wheeled it toward me. The wheels locked up. I moved it back and forward to no avail.
“It’s caught on something,” Willow said. “Hold on.” She bent down and picked up a chain with a shiny round medallion hanging from it. “Does this go with one of the costumes?” she asked, holding it up.
Ebony’s lost medallion! I glanced at the ceiling and gave a silent thank-you to Saint Anthony. “That’s Ebony’s favorite necklace,” I said, forgetting that Willow didn’t know who Ebony was. “She said it was missing. I guess it fell off when we unloaded the boxes.”
“She’ll probably be happy to get it back. I don’t think that’s just any old necklace. That looks like a talisman.” At my confused look, she continued, “A good luck charm or, more likely, something that comforts her.”
“That’s exactly what it is to her. How’d you know? Most people think it’s just a necklace.”
“I can tell from how the brass is shiny at the base of it that she probably rubs it regularly. Most people who have a favorite piece of jewelry become so accustomed to it that throughout the day they take a subconscious inventory to make sure it’s where it should be.”
“I’ve never heard that before,” I said.
She blushed. “It’s my theory.”
“Do you always make up theories about people and what they wear?” I asked, wondering what she thought of my tuxedo T-shirt.
“It’s kind of my job. I’m a counselor,” she said.
“Like a shri—psychologist?” I asked.
“I’m not licensed like that. But sometimes people need people to talk to, and I try to provide a safe, confidential place where they can.”
“Do you have a lot of clients?”
“I don’t have any,” she said. “I moved here from Texas, where I lived for the past twenty years. Time for a fresh start,” she said. I sensed that there was more that she wasn’t telling me, but it felt too personal to pry. “I rented a small bungalow at the edge of Proper City where I’ll meet with clients.” She pulled two textured, dirt-brown business cards out of her wallet and handed them to me. “Word of mouth helps, so if you know anybody who wants to talk, give them my card.”
I ran my thumb and forefinger over the texture and read the lettering. WILLOW SUMMERS, read the card, and underneath, in italics, it said TALK IS CHEAP. A phone number followed.
“Thank you. I might,” I said, and tucked the cards into the pocket of my trousers.
“If you don’t, then plant them.”
“Excuse me?”
“The cards. They’re made from recycled paper and they’re infused with seeds. Bury them in the dirt and you’ll get the beginnings of a houseplant.” She smiled. “Some people might prefer to talk to a houseplant than to talk to me. I figure it’s good to have options.”
Willow Summers had such a pleasant disposition that I was tempted to tell her all about Ebony on the spot. But I didn’t. Instead, I wheeled the cart into the stockroom and loaded it up with three more boxes. We had to open only two to find the remainder of her Coneheads.
She reserved the heads for rental and ordered several of the blue plastic suits for pickup. I made a notation and promised to call her when they were in. Already the alien costumes were proving to be a nice addition to our collection.
As soon as she left, I called Ebony’s cell to tell her that I’d found her medallion. She didn’t answer. I tried the landline at Shindig, but I already knew that she wouldn’t be there. Which meant Detective Nichols might be closer to getting that arrest warrant than I thought.
*
BY the time Kirby showed up at three, I was eager to leave the store. In addition to Willow’s rental, I sold a dozen boas to a group of ladies who stopped in after a luncheon. I’d long ago learned never to underestimate the shopping power of a group of women who were powered by champagne and shrimp cocktail.
“Hey, Margo, any word on Jerry?” Kirby asked.
“He’s coming home tomorrow,” I said.
“That’s great! That means things can get back to normal around here.”
“Normal, right.” If normal meant Ebony in jail for a murder she didn’t commit and my dad selling the store so he could travel the country.
“Are you going to leave when he comes back?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. He has to learn to take it easy.”