Page 67 of In the Line of Ire

"Nicehouse," she said. "Would you ever want to move out if someone letyou stay there?"

"Nope,but then it's not home, so maybe." I dropped Lily off at her homeand promised to call her as soon as I received the new bag. Iaccepted her enthusiastic offer to look around the localconsignment stores for any of the purses currently missing butrefused her offer to come inside and see my mom, who wasbabysitting. The last thing I felt like listening to was a lectureon marital woes that didn't exist between Solomon and me. Or evenworse, personal tips on how to create a good marriage, although Ihad to concede my mother really nailed that one with myfather.

When Igot home, Solomon's car was missing and the house was empty. Iturned on all the lights, made a cup of hot tea and watchedtelevision to keep myself company while I waited. An hour later, Iwas deeply engrossed in a Hollywood real life saga. It was about abunch of rich women who didn't have jobs but just a lot of time tomake catty comments about each other. I indulged a brief fantasy ofpitching a documentary about supportive women with high-poweredjobs and sisterhood feelings before I was rudely interrupted by thesound of the doorbell.

A youngman stood at the door with a box in his hand and a clipboard ontop. "Sign here, please," he said.

I signedand returned the clipboard to him and he handed me the package. Ishut the door, walked back to the living room, and realized Ididn't suffer a panic attack while opening the door. I didn't eventhink about it. Could all my fear have dissipated since I managedto force myself to calmly stand on the stoop at Solomon'shouse?

Proud ofmy success, I tore off the brown parcel wrap and opened theexpensive looking box. Peeling back the layers of tissue paper, Igazed at the bag nestled within. Disappointment instantly hit me.The purse looked great. I leaned in for a closer look and realizedwhat I missed when I first opened the box: where was the scent ofsweet leather and what was the awful smell this imposteremanated?

Wrinkling my nose, I pulled the tote out and held it up,twirling it around. The small gold metal label instantly fell offonto the floor.

Grabbingmy phone, I called Lily. "I got the purse," I told her.

"And?"

"It's afake. Definitely a fake. The hardware fell off the moment I pickedit up!"

"Thatscammy bitch!" yelled Lily. "How could she do that?"

"Easily,apparently."

"We haveto tell everyone!"

"Notyet. We have to keep it quiet until I can get to Charlaine'srendezvous point. If I spook her, she might tip off her accompliceand then we'll never find them. This is the best lead wehave!"

"And youfound it. You're going to feel so smug when you report to Solomonand Maddox."

"That'll make up for when I tell him how much I paid for apurse that reeks ofI don't knowwhat."

"Maybehe'll appreciate how much a real purse costs now. Plus, he owes youa bag," Lily reminded me. "And you did say this was a businessexpense."

"I didsay that. I feel better now. Plus, I wanted a dupe to arrive." Iglanced at the offensive purse again. "This isn't even a goodknockoff. Some of the others I saw were far betterquality."

"Maybethey changed suppliers?"

I thought about that. With at least two stores at the mallselling counterfeit goods, and the party thrown by Charlaine,perhaps there were more outlets we didn't know about it. "Theymight be struggling to keep up with demand. If they took more time,they could manufacture a better product. The increasing demand forthese could motivate them to do a rush job in order to sell as manyas they could,whilethey still can."

"What ifthey ran out of good quality materials?" asked Lily. "They must bebuying the raw materials from somewhere."

"Yes,but that could buy them from anywhere in the world. I supposecheaper materials would ensure a higher profit margin."

"I haveto go. Poppy just woke up, but I want to know everything thathappens."

I hungup and checked my watch. Solomon probably wouldn't be home frompoker night for a while so I pulled out my laptop and startedsearching. There had to be a connection between Charlaine andsomeone at the mall. I couldn't imagine her socializing with Joanor Tansy, since both were too young and not nearly close enough tothe same economic bracket as her social-climbing friends. Curtisdidn't seem her type; but Magda? Magda might have been thesupervisor at Page's but she dressed very well, they both had thesame plummy voice, and Magda would definitely latch onto someonewho could potentially raise her status. I wasn't sure what was init for Charlaine. Perhaps she was the kind of person that took the"lesser" folk under her wing, as long as she remained the center ofattention.

Yet, try as I did to find a connection between the two, Icouldn't. Both scarcely used social media. In the occasional imagesI found them listed under several months ago, neither appeared inthe same place. Charlaine occupied the social pages published intheMontgomery Gazette,usually pictured at charity galas and polomatches, clinging to her husband's arm or in the company of "dearfriends." Magda was a bridesmaid in a wedding, earned the title of“Employee of the Year” and received an award last year, and alsowon first place in a dog show for entering her fluffy Bichon Frise.There was nothing that appeared even remotely suspicious abouteither.

By thetime Solomon returned, I’d ventured down numerous internet rabbitholes in search of information about Charlaine and Page's employeesbut every time, I drew a blank.

"Hey," Isaid, putting the laptop away as Solomon walked into the livingroom. "Did you have a good time?"

"I don'tknow," he said, shaking his head.

I heldback a giggle. "What happened?"

"Yourbrothers cleaned me out. I think they were cheating but I don'tknow how they pulled it off. I lost every hand. One after theother. All of them."

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