Beauty and the Thief

  Beauty and the Thief

  By Jeff Shelby

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Beauty and the Thief

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright ©2018

  Cover design by Alchemy Book Covers and Design

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited without the expressed written consent of the author.

  Books by Jeff Shelby

  The Joe Tyler Novels

  THREAD OF HOPE

  THREAD OF SUSPICION

  THREAD OF BETRAYAL

  THREAD OF INNOCENCE

  THREAD OF FEAR

  THREAD OF REVENGE

  THREAD OF DANGER

  THREAD OF DOUBT

  The Noah Braddock Novels

  KILLER SWELL

  WICKED BREAK

  LIQUID SMOKE

  DRIFT AWAY

  LOCKED IN

  IMPACT ZONE

  WIPE OUT

  The Moose River Mysteries

  THE MURDER PIT

  LAST RESORT

  ALIBI HIGH

  FOUL PLAY

  YOU'VE GOT BLACKMAIL

  ASSISTED MURDER

  DEATH AT THE DINER

  SCHOOL OF MURDER

  DEAD IN THE WATER

  The Rainy Day Mysteries

  BOUGHT THE FARM

  WHEN THE ROOSTER KILLS

  CRACK OF DEATH

  PLANTING EVIDENCE

  ONE BAD EGG

  BALE OUT

  LAST STRAW

  CUT AND DIED

  SOUR GRAPES

  TYING THE KNOT

  The Capitol Cases Mysteries

  DEAD ON ARRIVAL

  NATIONAL MAUL

  DARK HORSE

  The Sunny Springfield Mysteries

  DEAD BY DINNER TIME

  BEAUTY AND THE THIEF

  The Elizabeth Tyler Mysteries

  WHAT SHE LOST

  The Deuce Winters Novels (Under the pseudonym Jeffrey Allen)

  STAY AT HOME DEAD

  POPPED OFF

  FATHERS KNOWS DEATH

  Novel for Young Adults

  PLAYING THE GAME

  Short Story Collections

  OUT OF TIME

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  ONE

  “What took you so long?” Anne Engle, my boss, asked as soon as I made my way into her office.

  I sat down across from her. It was Monday morning and I’d gotten an email over the weekend asking—no, demanding—I come and see her as soon as I got into work.

  My day started at nine a.m. on Mondays.

  And I was right where I was supposed to be.

  I smiled as pleasantly as I could. “It’s nine o’clock.” I nodded at the industrial-looking clock mounted to her wall. “That’s when we were scheduled to meet, right?”

  She peered at me through her hot pink glasses. The color was a perfect match to the floral blouse she was wearing, along with the colored knot-shaped earrings attached to her ears.

  Anne folded her hands and set them on her desk, her eyes still locked on me, and for the first time since receiving her email, I began to feel a little uneasy. Anne was a bit of a micromanager, and she often tried to dictate how I did my job as Activities Director for Oasis Ridge, the small retirement community I’d worked at for the last year. When I’d read the message on Saturday night, I just assumed she wanted to go over the activity schedule for the week. There was probably something she was concerned about, or something she wanted to weigh in on. I’d given her email little thought because I tended to get those kinds of messages quite often.

  But there was something about her expression, her nervous energy, that made my muscles tense and my pulse quicken.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked cautiously.

  Her brown eyes narrowed. “No, everything is not okay.”

  I swallowed.

  What had I done now? What was she upset about? I hadn’t seen her look like this since she found out the truth about Arthur Griggs’s death a couple of months back…and how I’d made myself a central part of solving that particular mystery.

  Doing so had almost cost me my job, but she’d let me off with a verbal warning, especially after I subtly suggested going to the media with details about the case. We hadn’t discussed it since then and I’d done my best to focus on my job. Of course, no one else had been murdered so that made it easy to stay out of trouble.

  Except now it looked like I was somehow back in the weeds with her.

  I was almost afraid to ask, but I forged ahead. “What’s wrong?”

  Anne ran a manicured hand through her short brown hair and sighed. “We have a corporate visit coming up is what’s wrong.”

  “A corporate visit?”

  She nodded. “Headquarters is sending a couple of people here next week to check in on us.” She rolled her eyes and huffed out an impatient sigh. “As if I needed to be checked up on. I run a tight ship here, probably the best retirement home they own.” She stared at me as if she was waiting for confirmation of this.

  I gave a faint nod.

  There was a moment of silence, until I finally said, “So corporate is visiting next week…” I frowned. “What does that have to do with me?”

  Anne’s brown eyes bulged behind her glasses. “It has everything to do with you, Sunny!”

  “It does?”

  “Of course.”

  She reached for a pad of paper in front of her and spun it around so that it was facing me. The top sheet was covered in notes that seemingly went in all directions. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

  “What’s all that?”

  She stabbed the pad of paper with her hot pink fingernail. “This is the list of everything we need to do to get ready for the visit. Time is of the essence here.”

  I glanced down at the paper and managed to read some of what she’d written down.

  Clean aquarium

  Plant fresh flowers outside

  Touch up paint in hallways

  Scrub pool furniture

  I looked back up at her. “This looks like a cleaning list?”

  Anne nodded. “Most of what we need to do is.”

  “Don’t we have a crew specifically in charge of these kinds of projects?” I thought of Miguel, the head custodian, and his small crew of workers.

  “Of course we do,” Anne practically snapped. “But there is far more work to get done before next week. They can’t possibly get to all of this.” She tapped the pad of paper again. “We’re all going to have to pitch in and help.”

  “So you want me to help with cleaning up Oasis Ridge?” I asked. “For a corporate visit.”

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  I shook my head. “No. I just want to clarify what my responsibilities are this week. Because last week you asked me to work on the grant proposal for funding for pickleball courts.”

  Her brow furrowed. “When is that due?”

  “Next Friday.”

  “And how much is the grant for?”

  I didn’t have any paperwork in front of me, but I was pretty sure I’d committed the basics to memory. “Ten thousand.”

  She thought for a moment. “Pickleball courts would be a nice amenity to be able to advertise. That could definitely be a draw for new residents.”

  Anne’s sole goal was to hit one hundred percent occupancy for the property she managed.
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  “And corporate would be thrilled if it was covered by a grant,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

  I knew this, which was why I’d requested permission to submit it in the first place. I felt like I was always looking for ways to introduce new activities for the residents and to incorporate these things into our weekly and monthly activity calendars. Since Anne was usually loath to spend money on anything I proposed, I’d latched on to the idea of finding funding elsewhere.

  So when I found a listing for a grant from the Panhandle Pickleball Association, offering funds to construct new pickleball courts as part of their outreach program to introduce more people to the sport, I immediately printed off the necessary forms and got to work.

  After I’d gotten Anne’s approval, of course.

  “So?” I prompted. I’d been in her office for almost fifteen minutes, and I had a meeting at nine-thirty with some of the residents regarding the pool party coming up at the end of the week.

  She played with the thick silver bracelet encircling her wrist. “Can you do both?” she asked. “Finish the grant and help with all of this?”

  “And run activities and plan new ones?”

  She nodded, apparently not hearing the doubt threaded in my voice. “We’ll have all hands on deck,” she said. “Everyone will be pitching in to ensure this visit is a success.”

  I bit back a sigh.

  She noticed. Her mouth dipped into a frown. “Unless you’d rather not be a part of this team…”

  “What?” Was she threatening to fire me?

  “We’re all a team here, Sunny.” Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you a part of this team or not?”

  All of my normal doubts about my job came rushing at me. Not just the overbearing woman who was my boss, but the question as to whether or not I was happy at Oasis Ridge, and whether or not what I was doing there actually made a difference in people’s lives.

  Because that’s what I wanted to do, what I’d gotten my degree in recreational therapy for in the first place. And as much as I loved the residents at Oasis Ridge, I wasn’t certain I was doing everything I could for them.

  Mostly because the woman I was sitting across from wouldn’t let me.

  But did that mean I was ready to walk away from this job? I’d put out feelers—and actual resumes—a few months ago but nothing had turned up. Was it something I should keep pursuing, in the hopes that I could find something that might be a little more fulfilling?

  I didn’t know.

  But I didn’t think now was the time to discuss it with her.

  Especially not now, when she was staring at me, her expression hard as she waited for an answer.

  I gulped. “Yes,” I said in answer to her question. “Yes I am part of this team.”

  TWO

  Cleaning wasn’t on my list of things to do for Tuesday morning, despite what Anne wanted.

  At least not at the moment.

  Jackie Pearson, the local yoga instructor who graciously volunteered her time to teach chair yoga to the residents, had just finished her morning class and I was walking her out of the activity room. The residents who had participated in her class had already dispersed, either heading back to their rooms or out to the pool to enjoy the cooler, less humid weather. September in Florida was still warm, but sitting poolside was more tolerable now compared to midsummer.

  “I do think some of the residents would benefit from a ‘next level class,” I said to Jackie as we approached the Gathering Room, the large area of the building that served as a communal living room for the residents and their guests. At this hour of the morning, well after breakfast but still at least an hour before lunch, the chairs and couches were mostly full. A couple of residents were putting together a puzzle, borrowed from a nearby bookshelf, and another foursome was parked at the table next to them, playing cribbage. A young family had stopped by to visit Ethel, the woman whose apartment was across from my office, and I offered them a smile and a wave. I hadn’t seen them before and wondered if they were grandchildren of hers.

  “Next level?” Jackie repeated, bringing me back to our conversation.

  I nodded. “Some of the residents have been doing Chair Yoga for a few months now, and they mentioned they’d like to try out a regular yoga class. With yoga mats and stuff.”

  I didn’t know a ton about yoga, but I did know that Jackie had developed a curriculum for people whose range of motion and mobility was limited. As some of the residents progressed in her class, they were ready for new challenges, and I was keeping my fingers crossed that she would be open to offering something a little more advanced for those residents.

  Jackie adjusted the yoga mat slung over her shoulder. “I suppose I could offer another class,” she said. “I’ll just have to check my calendar at Yoga Moves and see what we can come up with.”

  “There’s no hurry,” I told her. “If we need to wait until a particular session ends, that’s fine. The residents are just so appreciative of you coming here and volunteering your time. And I am, too.”

  She smiled. She was a pretty woman in her early fifties, with long blonde hair that she was currently wearing in a gorgeous French braid. “I love working with the residents,” she said. “And I’m happy to do whatever I can to help them pursue a healthier lifestyle. Everyone can improve the quality of their life with yoga, no matter their age.”

  I’d heard this from her before, more times than I could count. She was so convincing that I’d been tempted to take up yoga myself.

  “I know,” I said. “And I can see just how much the residents have benefited from the class you already provide. Thank you.”

  Her smile widened. “I should be thanking you. For introducing me to all of these wonderful people.” She dug her keys out of her bag. “I’ll take a look and see what I can do.”

  I watched her as she walked out of the building and toward the parking lot, heading out into what I knew was a beautiful September day, then spun around to return to my office.

  “She should offer classes for staff,” Kelly Zerwas said from behind the front desk.

  Kelly, Oasis Ridge’s receptionist, was close to Jackie’s age but the two of them couldn’t have looked any different. Jackie was fresh-faced and the picture of health, while Kelly’s years in the Florida sunshine had taken a toll on her skin, producing wrinkles and age spots that did their best to try to convince people she was much older than her actual years. Of course, sucking on cigarettes every chance she got didn’t contribute to any hope of having youthful good looks, either.

  “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  She nodded. “I could use some yoga in my life.” Her voice had a husky edge to it, and I always wondered if she’d been born with a deeper voice or if it was the result of her chain-smoking. “I'd like to be...bendier.”

  The door slid open and Rudy, our VIPS delivery driver, pushed a dolly loaded with boxes into the entrance.

  “I got two loads,” he announced. “One a mix of boxes for residents and this dolly right here for June.”

  “Those are all for June?” I asked.

  He nodded, his well-oiled hair staying firmly in place. “At least ten boxes.”

  “For me?” a voice asked.

  June Windham, a resident at Oasis Ridge, strolled toward us. She was one of the younger residents in the community, with blondish-brown hair that hadn’t gone completely gray yet, and a svelte body that she kept fit with constant walks and frequent swims.

  Rudy gave a curt nod.

  June clapped her hands. “Oh, wonderful! I’ve been waiting on these items.”

  “You know Anne won’t want me to leave ‘em down here so I’ll go ahead and take them upstairs.”

  June touched the pearl necklace she was wearing and smiled. “Thank you, Rudy. I do appreciate it.”

  He nodded again and hustled toward the elevator, navigating the dolly around the sea of residents currently clogging the open space between the Gathering Room and the elevator.


  I smiled at June. “How is your…business coming along?”

  According to June, she had been making her own beauty products and herbal supplements for decades, and she attributed much of her good health to using these items. When word spread at Oasis Ridge, several residents were intrigued and asked for samples. Samples soon led to requests to purchase the concoctions June was making, and before she knew it, she had a bustling little business for herself. Wrinkle creams, neck firming creams, skin toners and brighteners, all were part of her line of products. I wasn’t as well versed with the supplements, but I knew she sold a slew of those, too.

  “Business is good,” she said. “I’m very busy. Several orders to fill today and tomorrow.”

  “That’s quite a hobby you have going,” I said. “People must really love what you’re selling.”

  Her expression brightened. “Oh, they do.” She looked at me and her eyes narrowed a little as she zeroed in on my complexion. “You know, dear, I have a recipe I’ve been meaning to try. Something you might benefit from, actually.”

  “Me?”

  She nodded. “A freckle cream. You have an awful lot of them…”

  My cheeks warmed. With my reddish-brown hair and fair complexion, freckles came with the territory. It wasn’t like there was a galaxy of brown dots covering my face but I knew I sported more than the average person.

  “Oh,” I said, trying for a pleasant smile. “ That sounds…interesting.”

  June was wearing a far off expression now, her blue eyes clouded. “I think I have all the ingredients,” she murmured, mostly to herself, as she turned to follow Rudy up to her apartment.

  Kelly chuckled as soon as June was a safe distance away. “Freckle cream?” She snorted. “June has me using some creams, too.”

  “Does she?”

  She nodded. “Some stuff that’s supposedly good for wrinkles.” She shrugged. “I haven’t seen any results yet but at least it smells good. Like vanilla and cinnamon. Just wished it worked a little faster.”

  “Sometimes it takes a while.” I offered. And sometimes creams didn’t work at all, I thought, but I didn’t voice this out loud. The beauty industry had been built on a foundation of false promises and over exaggerated claims, hadn’t it?