“Vera?” I called again. “Are you back there? I have your invoice and I’d also like to buy these turtles here.”
There was no response. I stepped outside and looked both ways down the sidewalk, thinking she might have stopped to talk to another shop owner. I didn’t see anyone so I went back into her store to check that back room. If she wasn’t there, I would leave a note to let her know I would try again tomorrow.
I stepped around the front counter and almost tripped over a pair of fake leopard-skin stiletto heels with bright red soles.
I recognized those flashy shoes. They belonged to Vera. And she was still wearing them.
I shuddered in horror and disbelief.
Vera lay curled on the cold cement floor, her back pressed up against the counter. Her glamorous black bouffant hairdo was indeed a wig and it had been yanked halfway off her head, revealing thin, stringy gray hair scraped away from her forehead and pulled into a messy ponytail.
Vera would have hated to be found like this. I had to physically stop myself from adjusting the wig to fit her properly.
Her left arm extended awkwardly across the floor and her elbow was smeared with the blood that had pooled beneath her. Dark red blood stained her white blouse, too, where a pair of English cutting shears protruded from her stomach.
Vera was dead.
Chapter Seven
I had found another body.
I let that thought go, temporarily ignoring the ugly reality and its emotional effect on my psyche. Instead, all business, I briskly called the police to report the murder. Then I telephoned Derek.
“Vera?” he said. “The woman from the television show?”
“Yes. I came by her shop to pick up a check and found her on the floor.” I sounded calm, even to myself. Was I actually getting accustomed to finding dead bodies? “She’s been stabbed.”
I refused to think of all the blood she’d lost because I didn’t want to faint and end up on the floor beside her. Murder was one thing, but blood was something else entirely, and I doubted I’d ever get used to it.
“Where is her shop?” he wanted to know.
“Derek, you don’t have to—”
“Give me the address.”
So I did.
“I’m finishing something up here,” he said, “so it’ll take me at least a half hour, perhaps longer. But I’ll be there.”
I knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer, no matter how much I protested. Of course, I didn’t protest much at all since things were always a little better when Derek was around.
It wasn’t as if I needed him here to take care of me. I didn’t. Really. But he and I were partners. We worked well together, especially when it came to deciphering the puzzle, fleshing out the motives, and getting to the truth of why someone had been killed. It wasn’t like we were trying to play detectives, but it was a horrible thing to have one’s life touched by violent crime and even worse to be considered a suspect by the police.
Unfortunately, I knew the feeling. I’d been a murder suspect more than once and so had several people I loved. It was always a devastating and confusing and frightening time. So it was especially nice to have Derek around to help figure out what had happened and where to go from there. It also helped that he had an extensive background in law enforcement and security.
And I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I just wanted my boyfriend there with me.
After giving him the address, I hung up and called the studio to tell them what had happened. Tom came on the line and assured me they would adjust the schedule so I could tape my segments later that afternoon.
Two police officers arrived within minutes. After questioning me briefly, they ordered me to wait outside on the sidewalk until the homicide detectives arrived to interrogate me further. I knew the drill, so before leaving the shop, I took off my shoes and handed them to one of the officers. “You’ll want to check these for evidence since I almost stumbled over her. But I’d like them back as soon as possible, please.”
He blinked a few times.
“The detectives always want to take my shoes,” I explained.
His eyebrow rose in suspicion. “Always?”
“I’ve been present at a few crime scenes,” I said, trying for nonchalance. From the way he goggled at me, I was guessing I didn’t pull it off. “Anyway, this time I came pretty close to tripping over the victim, so your investigators might find some blood or other evidence on my shoes. And they’ll also need to use them to eliminate my footprints from the others on your list of suspects.”