Free Crushed Velvet by Diane Vallere

Genevieve’s current vulnerable state, she’d agree to just about anything Mr. di Sali offered her. I needed to get her back on solid footing before she made a very bad decision. And what exactly did he mean by that “two-way street” comment?
    I called Sheriff Clark. “Hi, Sheriff, this is Poly Monroe. Have you found anything else out about Phil Girard’s death?”
    â€œHold on,” he said. I heard a click. A couple of seconds later, Clark returned. “Why are you so interested?”
    I thought it best to keep Genevieve’s name out of myconversation. “I feel somewhat responsible. Phil went to Los Angeles to pick up fabric for me. I know they say there’s no such thing as bad publicity, but I’d rather the fabric store not be linked to another homicide.”
    â€œIt won’t be. Is that all?”
    â€œHow did he die? Was he shot? Knocked out? Drugged?
    â€œI’m still waiting on some information from the medical examiner.”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œTox screen.”
    â€œWhy are you running that? Did you check my fabric for the death mask like I suggested?”
    â€œCall it a hunch, Ms. Monroe.” He sniffed, like he had a cold and no tissues handy. “I’m still trying to reach Mrs. Girard. You wouldn’t happen to know where I can find her, do you?”
    â€œSorry, Sheriff. She arranged for me to handle renovations at the tea shop this week. I don’t know where she’s going to be while I’m here.”
    I said good-bye and hung up. The only new information I’d learned wasn’t good. The medical examiner was running a tox screen. If Genevieve had accidentally poisoned Phil, Clark would discover it.
    I’d assumed that Phil had been suffocated, but had he been alive when someone buried him? And if so, had he ingested something to keep him from fighting back? I shuddered. If Clark wasn’t going to talk, then I needed to track down the van driver, Rick. He’d been in Los Angeles with Phil. He had to know something.
    That led me to thought number two. Phil Girard wasn’t a small man. He was easily six inches taller than Genevieve, and he carried enough weight on his frame to put him in “beefy” territory. He’d lost weight recently—vanity weight, I guessed, now that I knew about his affair with Babs—butstill, the man wasn’t a pushover. Unless the push came from a very strong force.
    So how had someone gone about getting him under my velvet?
    If he’d been sedated, he wouldn’t have had the energy to fight back. Again, my mind trailed back to the tea. What would Clark find on that report from the medical examiner? I remember hearing somewhere that the lab tests would only show certain chemicals, unless the medical examiner had a reason to look for something suspicious.
    I looked in the fridge. The something suspicious they would be looking for might be inside. I could dump all the tea, eliminating anything they could use to draw a connection between Genevieve and her husband’s murder. Or should I leave it and assume her innocence?
    Knuckles wrapped on the back door. I jumped and slammed the refrigerator door shut. Kim stood on the landing. She looked different today. Nervous. She fidgeted with her hands, moving them from the front pockets of her jeans to the back pockets. She then crossed them in front of the Care Bear on her T-shirt, and instantly uncrossed them and let them dangle.
    â€œHi, Kim, come on in,” I said.
    â€œHi, Poly. I saw the sign out front. Genevieve didn’t say anything about renovations. Is she here today?”
    I studied the young girl. “Kim, do you watch the news? Read the paper?”
    â€œNot really,” she said. “Sometimes I watch TMZ,” she added.
    â€œDo you know what happened in San Ladrón yesterday?”
    The color drained from her face. “I left San Ladrón right after we