Free Eternally 21: A Mrs. Frugalicious Shopping Mystery by Linda Joffe Hull Page B

pointing-to-my-ring-finger-and-then-to- Mrs.-Richard sign language, but the mall cop stood bolt upright and stone-faced with his back to me.
    “Oh, dear,” I whispered aloud.
    “What is it?” Mrs. Piggledy, who’d saved a seat for me, asked.
    “I’m sure I’m wrong, but the man I assumed was Laila’s regional manager and boyfriend appears to be married.”
    “I’m sure you’re right,” Mrs. Piggledy said. “From the way she flirted with the married men around this mall, I’d say she preferred them that way.”
    “How awful.”
    “Which is why I never left her alone with my sweetie.” She looked adoringly at squat, round, bespectacled Mr. Piggledy, who still stood in front of the crowd.
    “As I once heard said,” Mr. Piggledy said with a hint of a trill as he returned his wife’s loving gaze, “to live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die.”
    Patricia, the mall office receptionist, seated in the second row behind the Eternally 21 employees and beside her boss, nodded. “So true,” she said in a stage whisper.
    Higgledy tucked his head under the crook of Mrs. Piggledy’s arm and emitted the monkey version of a sigh.
    “Higgledy seems to be mourning right along,” I said.
    “I don’t know about that. He hasn’t been a fan of Laila since she told him he belonged on a leash,” Mrs. Piggledy whispered and pointed to the exotic bird perched on the shoulder of a man seated three rows over. “I think it’s more that he has a hopeless crush on the store parrot at Pet Pals.”
    Phil from Whatapizza stepped up to the podium with Jaynie from the French Fried. “As Euripides once said,” he said in a dramatic baritone, “death is a debt we all must pay.”
    Jaynie sniffled and took his place at the mic. “Death is life’s way of telling you you’re fired.”
    Two career apparel store types (clad in what I recognized as Ann Taylor and The Limited, respectively) crossed and uncrossed their legs, tucked their shiny hair behind their ears, and wept in unison.
    “Do you find it all odd that everyone is mourning Laila like she was their best friend?” I whispered to Mrs. Piggledy. “Particularly when so many of them didn’t seem to like her all that much?”
    “Shock does weird things to people.”
    “I suppose you’re right,” I said, watching a woman from the mobile phone store crying tears that would make a crocodile proud.
    “A famous circus performer once said we make a living by what we get, we make a life by what we give.” Mr. Piggledy looked out into the crowd. “Here to say a few words about Laila’s contribution to our community is one of her co-workers, Hailey Rosenberg.”
    The room was silent but for the clip-clip of sling-back platforms as Hailey, dressed in a questionably short but appropriately black mini-dress, approached the microphone. “So, like … ” her black chandelier earrings grazed the microphone, “Laila was my boss and stuff.” Hailey grabbed a tissue from the box set on the rock ledge beside her. “But um, then everything happened the other day and well, like, I thought I should say some things about her.”
    As someone from behind me let out a brief wail, Hailey reached into a copy of a black silk clutch I’d almost bought for Eloise and pulled out her phone. For one horrifying second, it appeared as if she was going to check her text messages.
    Instead, she began to read.
    “Laila Anne DeSimone was born and raised in Wichita, Kansas. While it turns out she was a bit older than twenty-three like she said, she did look really good for her age. She also had really great style. She worked at Payless, Claire’s, and briefly, Hot Dog on a Stick, before getting her dream job at Eternally 21, where she rose up the ladder from stockperson to manager. Laila wasn’t married and didn’t have kids, but you could say she was married to her career.” Hailey paused to click her phone over to the next page of what had to be some sort of plug-in-the-details