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Phyllis’s eyes widened and she ran to the door, pushed it open, and stepped outside. The little bell was still jangling when she stepped back in and shut it. “I can’t believe it. Dave?” She collapsed in her desk chair. “The ambulance is still there,” she said, shaking her head. “I heard it go by when I was opening up and making the coffee.” She paused. “That’s really awful.” Another pause, as the wheels turned round. “Do you think it was because of the egg? Being accused of stealing it and all?”
Lucy was staring at her blank computer screen, her mind awhirl with competing thoughts. “I don’t think so. Bob Goodman told me that case was an obvious set up. He said it was ridiculous to think someone as smart as Dave would hide the egg in his golf bag if he had actually stolen it.”
“Must’ve been something else, then,” speculated Phyllis, as the door opened and Cathy Jasper, Des’s wife, came in. Her roots were showing, her lips were chapped, and she was burdened with a couple of tote bags that made her look like a woman who had a long to-do list.
“What’s all the fuss down the street?” she asked, as she began digging in one of the totes.
“Dave Forrest. He shot himself,” offered Phyllis.
“Dave?” Cathy’s jaw dropped. “Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s dead,” said Lucy.
“Oh, my,” said Cathy, forgetting her errand. “That’s a shocker.” She shook her head. “Nice guy, thriving business, good health . . . ’course there was that business with the egg. Poor Sandy . . .” she sighed. “I guess you never really know what’s going on in somebody’s head, not even your husband’s.” She resumed digging in her tote bag. “Not that I thought he actually stole it. Probably just a prank.”
“Well, if that’s true, this one sure backfired,” observed Lucy, who had finally gotten around to booting up her PC.
“He might’ve been depressed about his marriage,” said Phyllis. “In fact, people are saying that Sandy’s having an affair.”
“I’ve heard rumors, too,” said Lucy, remembering Sandy’s fake tan and frosted hair. If Dave had discovered that she was unfaithful that might have been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.
“Where did you hear that?” snapped Cathy.
Lucy turned to Phyllis, all ears.
“At that new lingerie shop,” said Phyllis. “Elfrida dragged me there, she said I needed a better bra.”
Lucy smiled, wanly. “I thought you looked uplifted lately.”
“I am.” Phyllis patted her bosom. “Turns out I was wearing the wrong sort of bra, the wrong size, wrong style, wrong everything. Girls like me with generous curves need extra support.”
“But what about Sandy, and this affair?” asked Cathy, in a rather sharp tone of voice.
“Oh, well, while I was in the changing room . . . really nice, by the way, very fancy. And while I was trying on the bras that Mallory suggested, I heard her and Elfie talking. Elfie was saying how sexy some of the stuff was and she wished she had an excuse to buy something and Mallory was saying that you didn’t need an excuse, that Sandy Lenk, for example, came in almost every week just to treat herself.”
“Really? It must be nice to be able to afford expensive treats just for yourself,” scoffed Cathy.
“There’s more,” said Phyllis, raising her eyebrows. “Elfie asked about that, like really just for herself? And Mallory said Sandy slipped one day and said something like ‘He’ll love this’ and Mallory asked if it was for her husband and she didn’t answer but gave a sort of suggestive smile.”
“A smile? Could mean anything,” said Cathy, finally producing a rather crumpled sheet of paper. “Here it is. It’s a help wanted ad.”
“Join the crowd,” said Phyllis, settling back at her desk. “Everybody wants to hire, but nobody wants to work.”
“It’s just a formality. Des says he’s got to show a good faith effort to hire locally before the government will approve visas for foreign workers.” She glanced at the clock. “Gosh. I’ve got a car full of donuts to take over to the bank.”
“Are you working at the bank now?” asked Lucy, puzzled. As far as she knew, Cathy was the working partner in the property management business while Des was supposedly the brains.
“No. It’s for the Chamber. Des volunteered donuts for the Easter Basket drawing. And when Des volunteers . . .”
Lucy laughed. “It’s Cathy who does the volunteering.”
“You got that right,” sighed Cathy. “I better get over there, the drawing’s in half an hour and I have to get the refreshments set up.”
“I’ll see you there,” promised Lucy.
“Uh, there’s the matter of the payment for the ad . . .” said Phyllis.
Cathy didn’t pause on her way to the door. “Just put it on our account,” she said, making her escape.
