Blood Kills by Nanci Rathbun (book club reads .TXT) 📗

black jeans, a dressy white tee, fuchsia blazer, and black ankle boots, and headed out.

I pulled into the lot to see a black-and-white parked in front of Mick’s shop, with an unmarked car beside it. The large spotlight mounted in front of the sedan’s side mirror identified it as a police vehicle. Wukowski and Iggy? I wondered.

The front window of A Crossing of Threads was covered in plywood. Debby rushed me as I entered. “Oh, Angie, thanks so much for coming. I didn’t know who else to contact.” She gestured at the glass-strewn area in the front of the shop. “Just look at this mess. I’ll have to discard all the yarn in the first set of bins. I can’t take a chance on a customer being cut while working on a project. Of course my insurance will cover it, but it’ll be several weeks before I can restock the imported wool.” She wrung her hands and then abruptly stopped. “And the window! My shop will be boarded up until the replacement glass arrives and gets installed. Two days! I can only imagine what customers will think of that.”

I took a good look around, waiting to speak until Debby calmed down. “Here’s a thought,” I said. “First put a big sign on the plywood. Something funny, like “Clumsiness Sale.” Tell your clients that you lost control of a dolly full of boxes and crashed into the window. I’ll leave it to you to decide what the boxes held. Obviously not yarn.”

“What a good idea! At least potential customers and class participants won’t be scared away by the thought of violence.”

“Exactly. But I’m sure that’s not why you contacted Emma.”

“Oh. Well, no.” She began to twist her fingers together once more and, again, abruptly stopped. “The other owners and I want to know about security measures for the Galleria. You know, like motion detectors and outside lights. I already have a burglar alarm.”

“No video cameras outside?”

She shook her head.

“I know just the guy for the job,” I said, thinking of Spider, “very thorough and knowledgeable, but not cheap.”

“Once you called me, I scheduled an emergency meeting.”

At that, the shop door opened and the other three shop owners entered, each pausing to bemoan the damage to A Crossing of Threads. Debby reintroduced me as a private detective and not simply a faithful customer, then shooed us all to the classroom area.

“We need improved security.” She looked into the eyes of each of her fellow owners. “Otherwise, our businesses are going to suffer. People won’t come to a place with a reputation for crime. So I asked Angie, and she has a contact who can help us. His name’s, uh…”

“Len Mulcahey,” I said, “but his nickname’s Spider. He’ll assess what you need and give you an estimate.”

“Outside security can cost a lot of money,” Margaret Kowalski chimed in. “The Jewel Box profits are pretty thin until the holiday season.”

There were nods around the table.

“I get that, Margaret,” I said, “and I’m sure that Spider will respect your budgets. But look at it this way, you might get a break on your insurance costs if you beef things up. Even if it isn’t due to crime, a frivolous lawsuit can wipe you out. I’m surprised that your insurance company hasn’t insisted on cameras facing the parking lot before this.”

Roy Ballard spoke up. “Mick opposed any kind of surveillance and he had the final say.” His face screwed up in thought. “He owned the property, you know. I wonder who it passes to, now that he’s hammering on metal in hell.”

“Roy!” Debby’s intake of breath and shocked whisper penetrated through the quiet.

“Admit it, Debby, the man could be a jerk,” said Lucas Medina. “He was moody and secretive.”

“Which goes back to Roy’s observation,” said Margaret. “We need to know if we can legally install things like cameras outside and whether the new owner will pay.” She glanced at Debby. “If there will be a new owner, that is. Maybe Mick’s heir will sell out. We might all have to relocate.” Her voice quivered on that last bit.

“If Mick filed a will,” I said, “I can interview his lawyer on your behalf. And I’ll search property records too.” Then a thought occurred and I scrambled in my purse for the bill of sale for my metal panels. “Ha!” I proclaimed. “Metal Works LLC. A limited liability corporation. I’ll track that down online and see who’s named on the articles of incorporation. How about a hundred dollars for the research? At least you’ll know where you stand. Meanwhile, should I contact Spider about a free assessment?”

Debby nodded. “I, for one, would appreciate that, Angie.” No one objected.

When the door buzzer indicated an arrival, I rose to leave. “By the way, does anyone have Mick’s home address?”

“Yeah,” Wukowski growled as he stalked toward me. “I do. And you’re not involved, Angie. Wasn’t that our agreement?”

The shop owners stared as I ambled toward Wukowski and tilted my head up to meet his gaze. “That was before I had a client, Detective. And it doesn’t involve your homicide case. The other Galleria owners want to find out the status of Mick’s business and property after last night’s vandalism. It impacts them directly, after all.”

He stuck out his chin and put his hands on his hips.

I did the same.

“Aw, hell,” he muttered and turned away.

With a nod to the group, I headed for the door.

Debby called, “Angie, please wait,” and followed me to the front of the shop, where she placed a hand gently on my arm. “There’s something you need to know about Mick and me,” she said in an undertone.

I looked past her to see Wukowski watching. “Oh, no need to give me a check now,” I said in a slightly raised voice. “I’ll invoice you later.” I extracted a business card from my briefcase, scribbled my cell phone number on it, and handed it to her. “And if you have any other concerns in the meantime, just call