Page 5 of Murder By the Millions
“Malls are classless,” Tegan declared.
Vanna hushed her.
“But they are.”
Jason arched an eyebrow.
“Tegan isn’t wrong,” I said. “Malls attract people who are looking for bargains, not people who are interested in the history or the serenity of the town.”
“They’re also places where some people are looking to meet other people,” Vanna argued.
“She’s right.” Jason replaced the book, loosened the knot of his paisley tie, and shoved a hand into the pocket of his trousers.
I nearly shouted,Ryan Gosling! That was who he reminded me of. The famous film star posing for the front cover ofPeoplemagazine couldn’t have come across more casual yet stunning.
“I assure you it will be classy,” he said.
One couldn’t rely on assurances,I mused. Personal history had taught me so.
“It’ll be a mecca,” he went on enthusiastically. “Like its own Main Street, and in keeping with the architectural style of the town. It will be located at the west end of Main Street, where everyone enters town.”
“Or leaves,” I said. “Our roads go both ways.”
“It’ll bring quality tourism, I assure you.”
“We get plenty of excellent tourists,” I countered.
“I’m sure you do.”
“How long do you intend to be in town?” I asked. “Will you build the mall and split? Or do you plan to stick around and make sure it maintains its level of supposed quality?” I made air quotes to highlight the wordquality.
“I intend to establish roots here.” He pulled his hand free from the pocket and strolled toward us with a self-assured gait. “I’m having a summer party soon to show my designs for the mall. I’ll be inviting lots of people. Why don’t you all come? It’ll be at the estate I’m renting.”
“Which estate?” Chloe asked, starry-eyed.
“The Sugarbaker estate.”
The Sugarbaker estate was a gorgeous spread built in the nineteen hundreds and owned by Thomas Sugarbaker, one of Bramblewood’s greatest philanthropists and a patron of the arts. Annually the art guild would stage the house and open it for tours. All proceeds went to funding budding artists’ careers. In addition to the grand house, the grounds featured an open-air pavilion, an elaborate swimming pool, and miles of walking trails. The babble of Bramblewood Creek could be heard from the back porch.
“Once I pin down the time and date,” Jason said, “I’ll let you know. First, I need to hire a caterer for the soiree.”
“Allie’s a caterer,” Tegan said. “Hire her. Here’s her card.” She seemed to whip one out of thin air.
I shot her a look.
“Allie and I are partners,” Vanna said, digging in her purse for a business card. “We’d love to give you ideas for your event.”
“She’s Allie’s sometimes partner,” Tegan countered. “Not full-time partner.”
“Full-time for now,” Vanna said with a grunt, still struggling to produce her business card as she stepped toward Jason.
Chloe said, “I’d love to help with the party, if you need me.”
Rushing around the sales counter, she caught her toe on a runner and tripped into Vanna.
The two pitched forward and collided with the endcap. Display books went flying. The shelf beyond the endcap teetered. Vanna screamed with horror.
Darcy, disturbed from his nap, yowled and leaped off the bookshelf.
