Larceny and Old Lace by Tamar Myers

Author:Tamar Myers [Myers, Tamar]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

14

Greg Washburn was waiting for me when I got to the shop. He looked as cool as a cucumber and as dry as toast. I would have eaten him, had I not just had breakfast.

“He didn’t do it,” I said, “and I have proof.”

He smiled. “Tell me.”

Before I could open my mouth, the fall mummy came between us. This time she was dressed in a mohair sweater and a long suede skirt. I could only hope that her blood had been replaced with Freon.

“That’s better,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“Your dress. You’re wearing black. It’s a little severe, but it’s more in keeping with the season.”

I smiled patiently. “I’m going to a funeral this afternoon, dear.”

“I want a refund,” she said, switching gears faster than a race car driver on a hilly track.

“What?”

“I want a refund on that punch bowl. It broke when I got it home.”

“How?”

“I dropped it trying to get it out of the car.” She had the nerve to look me in the eye.

“I’m sorry, dear, but glass breaks, you know.”

“A good quality cut glass punch bowl wouldn’t have broken. And that’s what I thought you were selling. Since you obviously weren’t, I want my money back.”

She was able to say all that without batting an eyelash. Clearly the woman had a future in politics. Or perhaps she already was in politics, which would explain how she could afford my prices.

I trotted out my sweetest smile. “Bring in all the pieces, and I’ll give you back your money.”

She laughed prematurely. “Honey, I don’t think you heard me. It hit the driveway. Kaboom! It’s in a million pieces now—in a Dumpster.”

I nodded sympathetically. “I did hear you, dear, but I don’t think you heard me. You can have your money back when I get my punch bowl back.”

I turned back to Greg. “He did not go into my aunt’s shop just before the murder, like Gretchen said he did. I mean, I assume she got around to telling you that story, too.”

He appeared startled. “She took back her story?”

“Yes, she had to. That’s because I found an alibi for Rob.”

“Rob Goldburg?” It was the mohair monster. For one, brief, sinful moment I felt like taking a match to her sweater.

“This is a private matter,” I said through gritted teeth.

She pushed me rudely aside. “I know all about Robby’s arrest,” she said to Greg. “And I agree with her, he didn’t do it. He couldn’t have, because he was with me.”

Greg stared at her expectantly. I stifled a snicker.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She tossed her bleached mane imperiously. “Cozette Ballard, but my friends call me Cozy.”

“Address?” To Greg’s credit, he didn’t miss a beat.

She gave him one of Charlotte’s poshest addresses.

“Phone number, please?”

Cozy looked at me and I turned discreetly away. It was all pretty stupid, considering she had given me her unlisted number the day before when she charged the punch bowl.

“When was he with you?”

“Late Monday afternoon, of course. From about four to six.”

“Where were you, and what were you doing?”

“Why, shopping of course.

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