Love Stinks Page 2

  "The two of us and about twenty other people, all connected with Kantor's. It was a private luncheon held upstairs in the conference room. I believe it was catered by a local company, but I'm not sure who. We all had the same food. I don't see how someone could have poisoned him. I was wondering if it could be drug-related." she said, thinking back to Anne's comments. "You know those Hollywood types. Cocaine, crack, whatever."

  The man's impassive face reminded Marissa of one of her mannequins as he asked the next question. "Who served the meal? Was it Kantor's employees or the caterers?"

  Marissa moved towards the edge of the platform until she almost touched the tape. She looked up at the younger officer and smiled. At least she knew where she stood with him. "Neither. The food was already on the plates when we arrived. Everything was on a tight schedule today so we had to hurry things along. There was a photo shoot at one and an autograph party for some radio contestant winners at two. Then he was supposed to have a press conference at three to introduce his new cologne in the cosmetics department."

  "Perchance?" The younger man couldn't keep the amusement out of his voice.

  Marissa raised her eyebrows, but bit back a tasteless one-liner. No use making a bad impression on him. Marissa laughed at her own joke, momentarily forgetting the tragedy. "Actually, most of the celebrity scents have names like that, dreamy, provocative with a hint of literary allusion. Steve's wasn’t as bad as Cat Deluxe or Sexual. The TV ads are all about whether she will or she won’t. Advertising has changed drastically — ever since Madison Avenue decided that Madonna could sell soda."

  Gavin shook his head. "I guess it's true that sex sells. What else can you tell us about him?"

  She took a deep breath. Why did everyone assume you became friends with the celebrities who passed through here? "Not much. I got the three line biography of him like every other department buyer. Born in Cincinnati, moved to California after a couple of years of college, made it big as an actor. I'm sure you've read more about him in the newspaper than I have. I don't get to read all that much these days, Detective — ."

  "Sergeant, Sergeant Gavin Tish. I just know that the Sheriff called our captain to make sure this case was high visibility and wasn't bungled in any way. I'm not much of a star follower, so I don't know much about his work."

  Marissa stepped closer to him. "Don't tell my friend, Anne, the manager of the Juniors department. She's a big fan of his, but I thought his movies were like his cologne. They had a lot of sex in them, and they smelled."

  Both men laughed and the one taking notes spoke up. "What did you have for lunch? Where did you sit in relationship to Mr. Douglas?"

  Marissa noticed the other man again. He was much older than Gavin, probably approaching fifty with salt-and-pepper hair cropped closely against his head. Marissa turned to face him. "We had baked chicken, peas, potatoes, salad and pie for dessert. I adore any meal I don't have to cook. Eggnog to drink. Trying to promote those Christmas sales with the holidays coming up and all. We had assigned seating, and I was about as far as you could get from him while still eating in the same room with him. We were at a U-shaped table, and Steve was in the center and I was at the far end of one leg."

  Sergeant Tish scratched his head. "I would have thought that Steve Douglas would have wanted a pretty woman by his side at lunch."

  Marissa smiled again, too tired to have her guard up against flattery. "Normally, the department head is included, but since this is the grand opening of the store, all the big wigs were here. So he didn't decide the seating arrangement. Kantor's management did, and they gave themselves the best seats."

  "That's the way of the world." The older man closed his notebook.

  "The store manager wanted to see you, unless you have any more questions for me." Marissa looked around at the mess in the new cosmetic department and groaned inwardly. She'd be here all night at this rate.

  As she started making a mental list of what to do, a tall man with buzzed blond hair walked by. Adam had been in the military police for five years before entering the security field. He'd moved here from Fort Irwin. Marissa knew this from Anne who had given her a complete dossier on every single man in the store. The head of security was dress in a loud print shirt and jeans. At least some people here didn't worry about impressing management. He marched past Marissa so fast that she had to yell at him to catch his attention.

  "Adam, the police need to talk to Zack. Could you take them to him?"

  The man stopped and looked upset. "C'mon, Riss, cut me some slack. I got a million things to do. Someone left a door to the parking garage open. We only kept about a hundred people in the store and most of those are press. The powers that be only put me on the security duty today with twenty off-duties who want to play Clint Eastwood. One of them had a customer in tears." He scratched his head as he spoke.

  "Can't you get more help?"

  "We called around, but no one's available. Zack promised me a new body tomorrow, but that doesn't help now. Those damn protesters too, but at least, they got locked out when everyone else got locked in. Some church group thinks Steve's movies are the work of the devil and harassing the customers as they come in, giving them tracts about Satan. One man even threw himself down in front of the doors. It's a zoo."

  As the officers waited for the head of security to stop talking, they looked puzzled as to whether to follow him. They hesitated, waiting for guidance. Marissa started back to cosmetics. "It was nice to meet you." She smiled at them again as she turned away.

  "Maybe we'll be seeing you again if this turns out to be poison." Marissa thought she heard some glee in Sergeant Tish’s voice at the prospect of a good killing.

  She made her way back to the department and looked over the mess. The counter where the new cologne had been stacked in pyramids lay bare. "Nicole, why is this counter empty? We could sell all of the Perchance we have today if the sales keep up at this rate."

  Nicole swallowed hard, making a sound loud enough to be heard. "I couldn't find any more in the stock room. I went back to look, and it wasn't there."

  Marissa sighed and picked up the phone, dialing the stock room number from memory. "Mark, this is Marissa. Could you look and find the new Steve Douglas cologne? There should be eight cases somewhere in the store room. It was by the door when I was there earlier this morning." She waited while the phone unceremoniously dropped on the other end, bouncing against the floor. Trying to stifle a yawn, she picked up a brochure for the new cologne and started reading. The adrenalin from the experience of Steve's seizures and the police questioning couldn't fight the thirteen hours of work.

  "Ms. Scott, it's not back here. Are you sure you saw it?"

  "Of course, I saw it. I ordered the stuff myself. I'll be back in a minute." Marissa headed back to the store room, wanting to murder someone personally. This had been a miserable day and it was only getting worse. She brushed the wisps of dark hair from her eyes. Why did she have to do everything herself?

  Twenty minutes later, a dirtier and more contrite Marissa Scott picked up the phone and called the store manager's office. "Zack, are the police still here? Good, I need to see them again. Eight cases of Perchance have been stolen."

  Chapter 3

  "Buy me a present, Mommy?" The little boy sitting in the car seat next to Marissa drove his metal car across the harness. She rumpled her three year old's curly head. With his red haired, fair complexion, he resembled his father more than his mother, but the strong will and easy smile had been inherited from Marissa.

  "Joshua, not even you could get me back into a mall at this point. I'll try to pick you up a new car tomorrow. How's that?" Marissa was driving from the day care center to their apartment in Western Hills, grateful for the quick ride home. The straight shot down Race Road to Glenway from the mall including a stop at the daycare to pick up Josh only took ten minutes. Besides, the ten year old white Rabbit Diesel could only handle short trips. She passed a car dealership tucked amongst the strip malls t
hat lined Glenway Avenue. Westgate had managed to be the only mall on the western side of Cincinnati capable of competing with Cincinnati's spate of renovated malls.

  The car tires squealed slightly as she took a left at the bank and drove along the rutted street. Marissa had chosen the apartment on Parkcrest for its proximity to work, although it was a far cry from the home she had shared with Dan. The cramped two bedroom could barely hold all the furniture she had brought with her after the divorce, a temporary arrangement which had stretched into a year. She took a deep breath as she turned left into the driveway.

  She maneuvered the car into a parking space near the building and pulled herself out of the car. Taking Joshua in one arm and his diaper bag, filled with toys, trucks, and everything other than its intended purpose in the other arm, Marissa trod the now familiar stairs to her apartment. The moonlit shadow of barren maples fell across the beige carpet of the living room as Marissa wove through the room to throw her parcels in the kitchen.

  Marissa had read an article about how people shouldn't move down in dwellings after a divorce, but the author had neglected to say how to accomplish this feat. The magazine had stressed how smaller living spaces added to the post-divorce depression. She could believe that since Dan seemed to have no trouble getting on with his life, and she was still alone and too exhausted to think about moving. He still lived in their house in Wyoming, one of the nicer Cincinnati suburbs.

  In the hall, Marissa flipped on a light switch that illuminated the apartment. The shorter days of approaching winter meant staying inside after work. It was times like these that Marissa missed having a husband, someone to help manage Josh, but she never wanted Dan. There were days when the divorce seemed as fresh as yesterday.

  Marissa stopped at the kitchen counter and remembered the day when Dan had not come home. She had tried calling his friends and family, but no one had heard from him since he had left work. She'd toyed with the idea of calling the police by the time he called her that night. He'd decided to take his own apartment in order to find himself. What he neglected to mention was that he'd already found himself a replacement spouse who was ten years younger than him. Before Marissa knew what had happened, she was divorced with virtually no assets and a son to raise on her own.

  "Mommy," The boy stretched the word into a sentence. "I'm hungry." Joshua's shout brought Marissa back to the kitchen. He ran to his room and came back with a choo choo train, pushing it across the kitchen table while Marissa looked in the refrigerator, trying to juggle nutrition and ease. The latter dominated tonight. The first bowl had mold growing in it. Marissa shoved it back into the refrigerator and tried another. "Juice, juice."

  "Hold on, honey. I'm getting something for you to drink." Marissa pulled out a pitcher of grape juice and poured a glass of the purple liquid into a small plastic cup. "I'm going to set it on the table. You can drink it when you want, but be careful."

  The little boy climbed onto a kitchen chair, still clutching his train. Marissa was inspecting the contents of a Tupperware bowl in the refrigerator when he started to cry. She spun around to see grape juice flowing across the table like Old Man River from the overturned pitcher. Joshua's shirt wore purple polka dots and his train's wheels were gummy. Marissa had been through this scenario too many times to lose her temper. Grabbing a cloth from the sink, she turned the tide on the liquid, but not before it cascaded over the edge of the table and into her purse. The canvas soaked up the juice so quickly that Marissa could almost hear it slurp.

  "Mommy, I sorry." Joshua looked at the woman with tears in his eyes. Marissa's face softened as she stroked his cheek and gave him a kiss. How could anyone as rude as her ex-husband have ever created someone so wonderful? She picked up the boy, trying to hold him at arm's length from her silk blouse as she carried him to the bathroom. She glanced at her bag again as she left the kitchen. A huge dry-cleaning bill was the last thing she needed on her salary, if she could even get it cleaned.

  "Joshua, wait here." She deposited him on the toilet lid and returned to the kitchen.

  The little boy didn't speak as Marissa ran back to the mess in the kitchen. She pulled a dish cloth from the drawer and tried to sop up the puddles of juice. The cloth grew purple as she wiped it across the floor. Three towels later the tile didn't feel like purple glue. With the floor clean, she threw her grape purse into the sink and headed back to the bathroom.

  While the water ran for his bath, she found a plastic bag for his clothes. Returning, she stripped the child and dumped him in the tub. He splashed merrily, forgetting about the grape disaster in the kitchen. He ran his train through the water, loosening the sticky mess from the wheels.

  In less than five minutes, she had the boy dried, dressed, and watching a cartoon video. She returned to the kitchen and tried to decide how best to attack the mess. "You're getting water for dinner."

  Marissa pulled the purse from the sink and opened it slowly. This probably meant buying a new wallet, too. She pulled out Steve's jacket. The afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago, and she puzzled over it a minute before remembering where the silk blazer had come from. Marissa moaned, "This will never come clean. These expensive fabrics never do. They're going to kill me."

  Joshua looked up from the television, not realizing his part. "I'm hungry, mommy."

  "I know, honey. I have dinner in the microwave." She slipped the bowl from the refrigerator into the microwave and started ripping lettuce for her salad. As she ripped, Marissa wrestled with the temptation to throw the jacket away. "Who would I give it to? The police? Only if it's really murder. Besides, it's just a jacket. His manager? Why would he want it? He's probably back in California by now. Zack? I don't want him to see that I destroyed a celebrity's property." When she saw her son standing in the doorway, Marissa realized she had started talking out loud.

  "Sorry, Josh. Mom's had a tough day." She started to move the jacket and she heard a rattle from inside the coat. Slipping her hand into the pocket, Marissa pulled out a prescription pill bottle. She turned it over in her hand, looking for some identification, but found nothing, no paper to tell her what the drug was. The bottle was slippery in her fingers as she clutched it.

  Putting the pills on a high shelf to keep them away from little hands, Marissa reached in the pocket again, but found nothing. She dipped her hand into the left pocket and another empty space. She started to lift the jacket and realized that it had inside pockets. Sliding her hand into the inner receptacle, she pulled out two pieces of paper. The first was a small scrap that had missed the flood of grape juice. Seven digits had been written across it, 4896262.

  Marissa placed it with the pills and surveyed the remains of the other piece of paper. The handwriting on this piece seemed different and more cramped. The grape juice had caused the felt-tipped ink to spread out over the paper like a spider's web and had soaked parts of a single page letter. She held up the paper to the light, but the stains had blocked any hope of seeing portions of the note.

  Marissa placed the paper on the counter as she opened the microwave and dumped the weiner and cheese concoction that Joshua liked into a bowl. She set the two bowls on the table and called to him. Waiting for the boy, she picked up the paper and started to read.

  "Steve,

  It's important that I get a chance to talk to you while you are in Cincinnati. I know it's been a long time since we . . ." An ink blot had erased the next two lines. Marissa wondered if this was how psychologists got their start. ". . something that can't wait any longer. I think you'll want to hear what I have to say." Marissa turned the note over, but there was no signature. She placed the note on a dry paper towel and threw the wet jacket over the back of one of the unused kitchen chairs.

  Putting the day's events out of her mind, she tackled her salad. She ate quickly, amazed at how hungry she was. It was almost seven o'clock now, and she hadn't eaten since the catered lunch. Josh slipped down from his chair and went back in the living room to watch a video on television. Sh
e could hear the cartoon voices in the background. Finishing the salad, Marissa placed the dishes in the sink and picked up the phone.

  A woman's voice answered on the other end. "Anne, this is Marissa. I have a problem." Marissa quickly explained the situation about the jacket and what she had found.

  "How do you do this? The most interesting thing I had all day was this woman with a mustache who wanted me to give her a discount because her third cousin worked for Kantor's. You get to meet Steve Douglas, get his jacket, and have a possible murder in your department. What else is in his pockets?" The woman's voice radiated with excitement. Marissa would have killed for her friend's life, and here Anne envied her.

  "I don't want this kind of thrill. In case you've forgotten, I need this job desperately. I'm having enough problems just making ends meet at this point." Marissa worried without a financial safety net, especially when the courts haven't set a date for her hearing on late child support. She caught her breath, trying to stem the momentary panic she felt. "I was hoping for some advice on what to do with the jacket. I can't exactly take it to the store like this."

  Anne's voice took on its practical tone. Behind the hero worship and naiveté was an astute person who amazed Marissa sometimes. "There's a one hour dry-cleaning place in the mall. I'm not sure what they can do for it, but it's worth a try. Just drop it off there, pick it up later and give it to Zack. Before you give it all back to him, make a copy of those notes for me, please. I'll never be able to see Steve Douglas again, and this will be a last memento for me. Something for me to tell my children about one day." Marissa wondered if Anne would frame the notes along with her autographed picture of the star she had received just before his death. At least it wouldn't be as tacky as a black velvet painting of Elvis.