Crushed Velvet Read Online Free Page B

after inheriting the store, I wrote up a business plan, applied for a loan, and moved into the apartment upstairs. My parents gave up their nights and weekends and helped me get the interior into shape. I wasn’t sure, but I suspected they were proud of my determination. Our hard work paid off, and the store was ready to open earlier than I’d planned. I thanked them with tickets for a cruise up the California coast. I assured them I could handle any last-minute emergencies that popped up. If only I’d known.
    I spent the next couple of hours cleaning up the apartment. I didn’t think of myself as a sloppy person, but living alone in my aunt Millie and uncle Marius’s apartment, as opposed to living with my ex-boyfriend Carson in Los Angeles, gave me the freedom to toss my blazer on the sofa, leave my shoes in the living room, and only do the dishes once every couple of days. Tidying up turned into full-on cleaning. By the time the kitchen floor was scrubbed and all of the dark cherrywoodtrim had been Murphy-oiled, I knew I wasn’t just keeping up with neglected cleaning. I was burning off nervous energy.
    I went downstairs. I’d been spending a lot of time getting the store ready to open, sorting through the inventory that I had, tagging some things with discount prices and acquiring others from my contacts in Los Angeles.
    Inside the door was a wall of empty shelving. I’d taped a sign there a month ago.
Polyester Velvet
, it said. I wanted it to be the first thing people saw when they came into the store. But thinking about the velvet brought me back to thinking about Genevieve’s husband.
    I’d seen his body in the back of the truck. He’d been buried under a dozen bolts of fabric. What did that mean? You couldn’t get a body under twelve bolts of velvet unless you started with the body first. That told me whoever had put the fabric in the truck had purposely stacked it on top of Phil. And that meant that person had something to do with Phil’s murder.
    Was he killed over the business opportunity that Rick Penwald had mentioned? Or did his murder have something to do with the food he picked up for Genevieve? Was my fabric a convenient way to hide the body, or had someone known what he’d be couriering? And why had Phil hired another deliveryman to make the delivery to San Ladrón? He could have called Genevieve and told her if he was running late or if something had come up. Why had it been such a secret?
    I picked up the phone and called Sheriff Clark. When he answered, I identified myself.
    â€œSheriff, does the medical examiner know if Phil was dead before the fabric was put on top of him?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Ms. Monroe; that information is part of my investigation.”
    â€œIt’s just that, I was thinking, isn’t there a thing called a death mask? Can’t you test the fabric to see if someone was suffocated with it?”
    â€œWhat are you getting at?”
    â€œIf you test my velvet, you should be able to determine if it was used to suffocate Phil Girard or if he was dead before the fabric was stacked on top of him.”
    â€œAnd what do you think that will tell us?”
    â€œI’m not sure, but it should tell you something.”
    â€œMs. Monroe, I appreciate the phone call, but I’d like to ask you to leave the investigation to me.”
    â€œHave you heard from Genevieve?” I asked.
    â€œNot yet.”
    That concerned me more than I wanted to admit. I wished the sheriff good luck with the investigation, then hung up, walked downstairs, and headed to Tea Totalers on foot.
    When I reached the shop, it was locked up tighter than a canister of
herbes de Provence
that needed to maintain freshness. Lights were off and chairs were upside down on top of tables. I checked my watch. It was approaching two.
    It appeared as though Genevieve had come back to the store, but I had a hard time picturing her thinking