A Thrift Shop Murder Read online

  A Thrift Shop Murder

  Cats, Ghosts and Avocado Toast - Book 1

  L.C. Hibbett

  N.M. Howell

  Cover by

  Daqri Bernardo of Covers by Combs

  Proof by

  CP Bialois

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About L.C. Hibbett

  Also by L.C. Hibbett

  About N.M. Howell

  Also By N.M. Howell

  Chapter One

  One, two, three. I counted slowly, and then released a breath before repeating the process a second time. Peace and Zen, I chanted internally. Peace and Zen, Price, keep it together. You are a calm, confident woman who can master life’s curve balls.

  “Stuff your pie holes, you saggy old bats!” Jarred from my quiet moment of meditation, I gaped at the shrieking old woman to my left. I raised a hand to my mouth and squeezed my lips together to muffle my snort of nervous laughter. I scanned the crowd around me, but no one even batted an eye at the woman’s outburst. Clearly, angry-shouting-lady was a neighborhood regular. Trust me to sit next to the loopiest person in town.

  The wind chilled my skin as I tugged my cardigan tighter around myself; my wardrobe choice was ill-planned for an outdoor event so early in the spring. Not that I had planned to be here, mind you. After the week I’d had, all I’d wanted to do was dump my bags in my new apartment, have a hot bath, down a bottle of Salem’s finest organic red wine, and sleep for four solid days until starting my new job. But fate had other plans. Stupid fate. Stupid life.

  A shiver crept its way up my spine as I shimmied closer to the gathered crowd, absorbing their warmth. Standing on my tip toes, I peered over the heads of those in front of me. A small man in black robes and a white collar stood on top of a milk crate as he read out the eulogy from what appeared to be the back of a shopping receipt. He looked to be shouting, but I could hardly hear him through the sound of the two old women squabbling like demonic school girls beside him. There must have been at least sixty people huddled around listening to him; some sobbing, some laughing, most looking like they had other places they’d rather be. The sun had nearly set and the lights had come on over the nearby field where a group of young kids had started playing a game of soccer. It was a strange place to have a funeral, I had to admit.

  “New in town?” A voice called from behind me, the words muffled by the wind. I dropped back down on my heels and turned toward the source of the greeting, grateful for a distraction from the bizarre ceremony.

  “I’m sorry?” I stepped back from the crowd, turning toward the stranger. The woman wore a thick winter jacket and knitted hat, but I noticed a long, white lab coat beneath. She was tall and wore her hair cropped short, a style that would have looked hideous on my angular face but she wore it exceptionally well. I would have killed for the confidence to rock a haircut like that.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” the stranger replied. Her eyes were soft and welcoming, and I couldn’t help but smile back as she leaned into me. “Not from around here?”

  “That obvious?” I shot her a wry smile. “I just moved here from Portland. It’s my first day, actually.”

  The woman raised her eyebrows, her face amused. “And you got dragged to a funeral? Yikes. Did you know her?”

  “No, I didn’t.” I shook my head. “I’m just picking up the keys to my new place. I was told to wait here until it’s over, so I’m assuming my landlord is around here somewhere.” I looked around at the strange assortment of mourners, ranging from elegant women with silver hair to a stunning young man wearing a pink fedora and a lime green skirt. “I gather this is a pretty tight-knit community?”

  “Oh yeah, you bet it is.” The woman chuckled softly. “Welcome to Salem, by the way. You’ll just love it here; it’s a great place to live.” She held out a slim hand. “My name is Tracy. I’m sorry your introduction to our neighborhood had to be this… grim.”

  “Price Jones, pleased to meet you.” I returned her handshake with a smile. “And trust me, a funeral is one of the nicer ways I’ve spent my time lately.”

  Tracy grimaced. “Yikes, that doesn’t sound great. I hope Salem will be the fresh start you need. It’s different to Portland, anyway.”

  “Different is exactly what I want right now,” I said. Tracy opened her mouth to respond, but was silenced by a hissed outburst from the top of the crowd.

  “Oh, please. What a load of claptrap. My aunt fanny she didn’t donate that much to charity.” The tall, slim woman’s words carried over the crowd as though she was standing on a stage. A plump, pretty lady wrung her hands together and opened her mouth to say something, but the flustered-looking priest shushed the two old women, clearly aggrieved by the interruption of his praise for the deceased’s generosity. The taller woman dismissed him with a wave of her hand and continued to bicker with her companion. I tried to focus on the ceremony, but the sheer disregard of the old women for the nature of the event made for compelling viewing. You didn’t see old women placing bets and throwing insults at the funerals in Hillsdale. Unfortunately.

  “Boo hoo! As if you two have ever done anything decent, you withered old prunes.” The tiny old woman to my left fumed as she glared at the chattering ladies, her eyes wild and her expression somewhere between menacing and hysterical. She turned to me and huffed. “Can you believe those cows? What utter witches.”

  Don’t laugh, Price. It’s a funeral and these are you new neighbors. I offered the woman an apologetic shrug and sucked in a slow breath. Deep breath in. Hold for three seconds. Slow and steady breath out. I had learned the calming technique from one of my favorite holistic wellness podcasts created by my idol, Dr. Lee. I found myself practicing it at least a dozen times a day lately to maintain my center through all the crazy stress that had come my way. Not usually to stop me from collapsing into hysterical laughter, though. That was a first.

  Tracy nodded toward the crowd as if sensing my discomfort. “Don’t worry, not everyone in Salem is that crazy. I promise.”

  My lips curved as I looked at the two old women, who continued to talk over the poor priest. The man looked as though he was on the verge of an aneurysm, and the ladies didn’t appear to be planning to relent any time soon.

  “Who are those two women?” I asked, turning my back to the grumbling lady beside me.

  “Dot Murphy and Bianca D’Arcy,” Tracy said. “Local celebrities in their own right, or so they’d have you believe. You’ll be seeing a lot of them in town. Dot is pretty sweet, but Bianca is something entirely different, I’m afraid. That woman has a core of steel and a tongue like a whip.”

  “As I was saying…” The priest cleared his throat and began shouting at the top of his lungs, his cheeks flushed and his voice hoarse. I could tell he was nearly at his wit’s end. “The deceased…”

  “So, Price?” Tracy’s voice pulled my attention away from the increasingly angry-looking man. “Who did you say your landlord was?”

/>   As if on cue, both the priest and I spoke in unison, “Agatha Bentley.”

  I blanched and stared up at the priest as his next words lost all meaning in my ears. After a long moment, and with a dry mouth, I managed to whisper, “What did he just say?”

  “Oh, Price. I’m so sorry, but this is Mrs. Bentley’s funeral,” Tracy replied. She placed a steadying hand on my shoulder, concern in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, somebody should have told you. Are you all right?”

  No. I was very much not all right. I was no-place-to-live, no-job-to-go-to, fiancé-kicked-me-out-on-my-ass, too-proud-to-beg-one-of-my-not-so-interested-parents-to-take-me-in not all right. Sugar, sugar, sugar. I took a deep breath and lifted my chin with a smile. “Of course, I’m great, thank you. Just a little surprised.”

  The ceremony ended to the sharp applause of the taller of the two irreverent old women and the continued grumbling of the third old woman beside me. The crowd dispersed before I had a chance to realize what was going on and I got the sneaking suspicion that most of the people had attended out of obligation, not love. Perhaps Agatha Bentley hadn’t been all that well-liked in the community. Maybe it was for the best I wasn’t meeting her today, after all. I had wasted enough of my energy on asshats these past few weeks, thank you very much.

  Even still, I felt a stab of sympathy for the deceased thrift shop owner. My cell phone contact list was jammed to the brim, but I couldn’t count a single true friend on it. Gerard, my ex-fiancé, had taken all my friends in the split, and I guessed he’d already handed them to Ivana; my friends, my bed, my life. But not my clothes. Because she had a perfect juicy butt to go with her toned tummy and her full bust. She had no need for my push-up bras or narrow leggings, so Gerard had packed those up for me and Fed-exed them with a gift hamper and a card thanking me for the seven years we’d spent together and my understanding response to his need to move on. The note was written in his secretary’s handwriting. Douchebag.

  I clenched my back teeth and forced myself back to the present moment to discover the crowd had disappeared entirely, as had the priest, leaving the coffin alone in the middle of the park. I raised my eyebrows. What a weird neighborhood.

  Tracy hung back with me, as did the strange old lady who continued to mutter under her breath as she glared across the field at the backs of the retreating funeral guests. I was unsure whether to stick around or head back to the apartment, the note on the door had merely told me to go to the park, nothing more.

  “So.” Tracy turned toward me. “What are you going to do now?” I felt a swell of gratitude that I’d somehow happened upon one of the less bizarre inhabitants of downtown Salem. It offered some comfort that I at least wasn’t totally alone while I headed toward the verge of a meltdown.

  “I’ve no idea.” I shook my head, shrugging. “I really have no clue what I’m going to do.”

  “Wah, wah, wah.” My head jerked back as I stared at the old woman. “You young people are always complaining,” she sniped. “What could you possibly have to complain about apart from the fact that your pants are always ten sizes too tight for your weird skinny little bodies?”

  My eyes grew wide as I watched the old lady roll her eyes, clearly unimpressed with the look of me. I quickly glanced down to my stretch-denim pants and frowned. “I…”

  “You’ll figure it out,” Tracy interrupted, completely ignoring Bitchy Mc Grayhair. “I might be able to—”

  “Excuse me, ladies.” A tall man with a thick moustache approached, carrying a large envelope in one hand and bouquet of flowers in the other. He cut across Tracy with a respectful nod before he fixed his attention on me. “I’m the local mayor, are you Priscilla Jones?”

  “Price Jones,” I corrected. “And yep, that’s me.”

  “Price,” the old woman spat, her voice shrill. “What kind of a stupid name is that? Young people these days have no respect for proper names.”

  I waited to see how Tracy and the man would react to the old woman’s insulting rant, but they stared right through her. I bit down on my lip and did my best to follow their lead. Maybe if I ignored her she’d go away? There were plenty of old people in Portland, but I’d never seen anyone quite like the three women at this funeral before.

  “Price Jones, my apologies. Priscilla was written on the deeds. This is for you.” The mayor handed me the envelope before turning to Tracy, his eyes bright and his smile wide. “And these are for you. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for Max. You truly are a miracle woman.”

  “Just doing my job, Larry. Thanks.” Tracy’s expression was blank as she accepted the flowers. She turned her back to him pointedly, so she faced me once more. “Everything okay, Price?”

  Deeds? Did he say deeds? I peered inside the envelope and saw a series of large metal keys on a ring sitting amongst a thick stack of printed paper. I pulled out the key ring and inspected it, conscious of the furrows forming in my brow. Gerard’s voice rang in ears, reminding me that most women in their late twenties were already having Botox injections to get their complexions’ fresh. As fresh as Ivana’s peachy butt, probably. I pursed my lips.

  “Are those Agatha’s keys?” Tracy raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, looks like you have a place to stay, after all.”

  The mayor looked as if he were about to say something, but having been so clearly dismissed by Tracy, he turned and walked away from us before with hunched shoulders and a downturned face. Tracy looked at her watch and cursed. “Oh crap, I’m going to be late for my next client. It was great meeting you, Price.” She rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a small square business card. “Here’s my card. If you need anything at all, or if you fancy grabbing a coffee, give me a call anytime. My office is just down the street from Agatha’s store.” She gave my shoulder a tight squeeze before turning and following the other mourners across the field.

  Chapter Two

  I stood frozen in place as Tracy walked away and tucked the card into the envelope with the other papers. The keys felt heavy in my hand, and I wrapped my fingers tightly around them, considering what I should do next. I needed to sit down and figure out what the hell was going on. I also figured I should at least go move my bags inside before someone stole them, hoping that they hadn’t already. Not that I had much left to steal. In the seven years we’d been together, while I had helped him through grad school and starting his yogalates business, what had been mine, had been Gerard’s. But as it turned out, what was Gerard’s, was just Gerard’s. Goodbye car, goodbye home, goodbye everything but my panties and my clothes. Bastard hadn’t even sent on my little buzzy…friends.

  A shadow moved at my side and I realized the old lady was still there. She narrowed her stare on Tracy’s retreating back. “Well, I’ll be, accepting flowers from the mayor, is it? I can’t believe that woman has got herself another lady date already. What a hussy.”

  I pinched my lips and turned my back to the cranky old woman, slowly making my way across the field toward Agatha Bentley’s apartment. To my dismay, the old woman followed, babbling incessantly. I increased my pace, hoping that she would get the hint, and I let out a sigh of relief when I noticed she had disappeared by the time I rounded the corner to the block the apartment was on.

  Letting out a slow breath as I held the envelope the mayor had given me against my stomach, my eyes scanned the surrounding buildings. Agatha Bentley’s property stood at the far end of a small commercial street directly adjacent to the park, and her apartment was above the thrift shop I was meant to begin work at on Monday. The building was sandwiched within a long row of three-story stone row houses. The architecture was beautiful, and all looked to be pretty old. Perfect for a thrift shop.

  The thrift store was closed, but through the large glass windows I could see a surprisingly attractive display. Three tall mannequins stood in a row, decked out in pretty stylish attire. Nothing I would ever wear, mind you, but they did look super trendy. Whoever styled them had undeniably good taste. I
leaned closer into the glass to peer inside, but couldn’t see much else past the front display. Taking a step back, I looked around the front of the building, wondering which of the main doors led to the upstairs apartment.

  I smiled with relief when I saw my bags were still tucked behind the solid stone balustrade; perhaps my luck was about to change. I climbed the stairs and tried the lock on the first door. It took a few attempts to figure out which one of the many keys to use, but luckily the door sprang open on the third try. I pulled my bags inside the dark space, shut the door behind me, leaned my back against the solid wood surface, and pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes. I inhaled slowly through my nose and exhaled loudly through my mouth, hating the fact that even breathing reminded me of Gerard and his stupid yogalates classes.

  My muscles clenched at the thought of him, sending a pulse of rage through me. I was alone in a strange city with even stranger people, with no land lady and no boss, and who knew whether I still even had a job or not. Things had certainly taken a turn in my life, and I had to get back my control soon or risk losing it completely. I let my hands fall to my side, emitting an extremely loud and frustration-filled groan.

  I jumped about a foot in the air when I heard a loud hissing sound and the back of my head slammed hard against the door. I cursed loudly, looking frantically about for the source of the sound. Hardly any light filtered in through the heavily dust-covered window, and I fumbled at the adjacent wall for a light. My fingers came to a heavy switch, and I flicked it on, nearly blinded by the brightness flooding the entryway. Squinting, I let out a soft gasp as I took in the room around me. The building was ancient, for sure, and a thick layer of dust coated every surface. Strange wall hangings adorned the faded floral-papered walls, and to my horror, three massive furry cats sat on the stairway, staring at me with expressions that looked nearly as confused as I felt.