Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Money Can Be Murder
    Money Can Be Murder
    Money Can Be Murder
    Ebook291 pages5 hours

    Money Can Be Murder

    By Connie Shelton

    5/5

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    There’s cash missing from a local charity thrift shop—lots of it. And when it looks like her surrogate grandma might be accused, there’s nothing for Charlie to do but take a job there and try to catch the thief from the inside and clear Elsa’s name. As she and Elsa begin tracking the missing money, it becomes obvious that the shop is a little goldmine and there are a number of people who could easily be after the money.

    She’s narrowing down the suspects, but when the person who is tops on her list suddenly and mysteriously dies, well it looks there’s a lot more going on in the little shop than anyone ever guessed. Now Charlie has to face down both a thief and a killer.

    Praise for this USA Today bestselling series:

    “Charlie is just what readers want.” –Booklist

    “A page turner!” - K. Coonce, 5 star review (for Escapes Can Be Murder)

    “I always love Charlie’s escapades. She keeps me glued to the story, unable to put it down. Love the mixture of humor and suspense. Can’t wait for the next adventure!” – Meg, 5 stars on Amazon

    “Each book in the series just keeps getting better and better.” – Vine Voice reviewer on Amazon

    “Charlie is a fabulous amateur sleuth!” – Midwest Book Review

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherColumbine Publishing Group, LLC
    Release dateMar 15, 2022
    ISBN9781649140791
    Money Can Be Murder
    Author

    Connie Shelton

    Connie Shelton has been writing for more than twenty years and has taught writing (both fiction and nonfiction) since 2001. She is the author of the Charlie Parker mystery series and has been a contributor to several anthologies, including Chicken Soup For the Writer's Soul. "My husband and I love to do adventures. He flew helicopters for 35 years, a career that I've borrowed from in my Charlie Parker mysteries. We have traveled quite a lot and now divide our time between the American Southwest and a place on the Sea of Cortez. For relaxation I love art -- painting and drawing can completely consume me. I also really enjoy cooking, with whatever ingredients I find in whatever country we are in at the moment. We walk every day and love watching and photographing wildlife."

    Read more from Connie Shelton

    Related to Money Can Be Murder

    Titles in the series (19)

    View More
    View More

    Related ebooks

    Cozy Mysteries For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Rabbits

      Sep 15, 2018

      The place where you came from ain’t there anymore, and where you had in mind to go is canceled out. —Joyce Carol Oates, “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” A guy’s looking at you.” Lexy knew better than to turn around. The swings were twisted

      27 min read

    • Article

      The Duplex

      Jun 9, 2020

      I moved to Los Angeles to sing. When was this? August? June? I was twenty-nine, and those were shapeless months, when the days blended together and I refused to pull them apart. My landlord was unusually close to her adult son. His name was Jeffrey,

      21 min read

    • Article

      Famous People

      Mar 1, 2022

      Famous People
      15 min read

    • Article

      You’re the BEST, MISS!

      Apr 23, 2023

      Musings from our favourite Kiwi funnywoman My daughter is on her way to becoming a school teacher and, don’t let on for goodness’ sake, but I could have told her when she was a kid it was what she would do eventually, and I am thrilled. This is despi

      2 min read

    • Article

      La Bohème

      Mar 1, 2022

      ON A SATURDAY or Sunday afternoon in the cold early months of 1988, I sat alone at a table for two in a Greenwich Village diner, twenty-four years old, hopelessly young, my notebook open in front of me. At the table next to mine were three people, al

      13 min read

    • Article

      Sisters and DAUGHTERS

      Jan 23, 2024

      Sisters and DAUGHTERS
      6 min read

    • Article

      Cricket League

      Sep 1, 2022

      First prize 10 and under Tang Li, age 9 Palmetto Bay, FL My name is Anisa. I was in Hawaii on vacation. I enjoyed sipping refreshing drinks, overlooking the turquoise ocean, and dancing with others, before I overheard that the priceless Fire Ring wa

      10 min read

    • Article

      Ineffectual Tribute to Len

      Mar 15, 2019

      After graduate school I hung around another year and drove a cab for Iowa City Yellow Cab. The cab was a boat, a Chevrolet Caprice wagon. I could have put a mattress in the back and lived in it. I didn’t hate the job. I’d sit in the Kroger parking lo

      24 min read

    • Article

      Nancy Mitford, Queen of the Adriatic

      Mar 6, 2024

      In 1957, Gill Johnson, 25, left London for a Venetian palazzo to teach English to the children of the Brandolini family. One day, at the Venice Lido, she spotted a familiar figure… She seemed unattached and sitting in pointed isolation, as if the tid

      8 min read

    • Article

      Something Even Better

      Oct 27, 2022

      Something Even Better
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Reader

      May 1, 2020

      The Reader
      5 min read

    • Article

      A Strange REQUEST

      Sep 30, 2020

      A Strange REQUEST
      6 min read

    • Article

      I, Von Economo

      Oct 10, 2022

      I’d never seen a Bentley Mulsanne in the flesh, not even in the chop shops where I sold the luxury cars I boosted. Yet there it was, parked behind an inner-city soup kitchen with its signature hood ornament of silver wings stretched wide to the heave

      12 min read

    • Article

      Lineal Gaps

      Apr 6, 2021

      Lineal Gaps
      15 min read

    • Article

      Announcing the Winners Of Our 100-WORD CONTEST

      Jul 17, 2021

      Eager to try your hand at the 100-word genre? Submit your best work – fiction or nonfiction – in just 100 words in our second annual 100-Word Contest, returning this fall. Bookmark writermag.com/contests for more information. BY ALICIA LUNA Today, I

      5 min read

    • Article

      A Temporary Arrangement

      Oct 2, 2023

      A Temporary Arrangement
      19 min read

    • Article

      Little House

      Jun 5, 2023

      On Monday nights our mother made popcorn and served it to us in mugs with milk poured over. My younger sister and I carried our mugs into the family room and ate the popcorn with spoons, like cereal. We were five and seven. Until we were allowed to s

      21 min read

    • Article

      POISON ON Pink Paper

      Dec 23, 2019

      POISON ON Pink Paper
      8 min read

    • Article

      I Never Called Her Momma

      Sep 13, 2023

      I Never Called Her Momma
      39 min read

    • Article

      Present Tense

      Sep 4, 2018

      Present Tense
      10 min read

    • Article

      ‘Cygnet’: Featured Fiction from Season Butler

      Jun 25, 2019

      A excerpt from Butler's debut coming-of-age novel, set in an appealingly rich world with quirky, flawed characters and a dramatic oceanfront landscape. The post ‘Cygnet’: Featured Fiction from Season Butler appeared first on The Millions.

      4 min read

    • Article

      Ann Beattie

      Sep 15, 2017

      I’d started to visit Olivia more often because it was obvious she was lonely. The ALS lady who’d been moved to Hopkins had been Aunt Olivia’s closest friend, leaving aside Merton Hillstead, who actually went home. Even the friendly paperboy who somet

      23 min read

    • Article

      The Good Stuff

      May 1, 2020

      The Good Stuff
      11 min read

    • Article

      Metaphors

      Mar 10, 2023

      I’m knitting on my front porch when a car roars to a stop in front of my house. It’s a red Mustang convertible, top down on this warm Thursday afternoon in June. Two girls sit in the front, two in the back. They smile and wave at me. I smile back tho

      8 min read

    • Article

      Lev’s Pawn Shop

      Dec 10, 2022

      In days gone by, it might have been said that Lev had had a vision, that he had been struck from his horse by the voice of God and seen the error of his ways. As it was, people said that he had gone a bit nutty in his old age, though it was unanimous

      11 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Money Can Be Murder

    5/5

    1 rating0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Money Can Be Murder - Connie Shelton

      Chapter 1

      Sometimes when things change, they change rapidly. My brother’s family is, right now, a case in point. Ron’s three boys have been rocking along on pretty much the same path since they were little. Yes, there was the acrimonious divorce and bouncing the kids back and forth between Ron and his ex, but ever since he married Victoria life has settled for them and everyone seemed to be on track. Then Jason, the middle kid, hit his teens and suddenly went off the rails.

      All of this is a roundabout way of explaining why I’m serving coffee and blueberry muffins to my gram, Elsa, her caregiver Dottie, and Victoria at my kitchen table on a Monday morning and why the subject of the conversation is teenage boys.

      Ron’s completely at a loss, Victoria said, carrying the basket of muffins to the table, and Bernadette has basically shrugged her shoulders. Says she did the biggest share of the work when the kids were little, now Ron can just deal with it.

      Catch me up. Elsa took a muffin and reached for the butter dish. I thought Jason was the quiet one, the kid who never gave any grief.

      He was. Now he’s smarting off to his teachers, pulling pranks in class. His grades have taken a dive and he’s hanging out with a group of boys we don’t like the looks of. I think this goes beyond a few childish shenanigans. One of his closest friends just dropped out and I can see the gleam in Jason’s eye.

      Ooh, that’s not good. Too much time on his hands and no skills to get out in the working world. Have you tried counseling? I asked, eyeing the coffee mugs to see if anyone needed a refill.

      Victoria sighed. It’s not getting through to him.

      Send him to the Army, Dottie said. It sure straightened up my nephew. That boy was eyeing them drug dealers that hang out downtown.

      Vic clicked her tongue and pointed toward Dottie. Smart woman. That’s exactly Ron’s thought. Of course, Jason can’t enlist at fifteen, but we’ve got his application in at NMMI, the top military boarding school in the state.

      I remembered back twenty years. Ron’s military service really helped him get his bearings. He matured a lot during those years.

      And I remember a kid from one of our church families, Elsa added. This one was a handful—the same kind of stuff you’re talking about. Three years at NMMI and he came home saying ‘yes, ma’am’ and ‘no, sir’ and standing up straight and minding his manners. That’s a good school.

      It’s not cheap, Victoria said. We’ll have to pinch some pennies, especially with the oldest heading off to college next year, but we can swing it. I’ll look around for some bargain items to furnish his dorm room, basic bedding and a decent suitcase. They don’t allow kids to have a lot of extras there.

      You can come down to the thrift shop, Elsa suggested. Dottie and I are volunteering there a couple days a week. This afternoon, in fact. They’ve got all kinds of stuff like that, and some of it’s in great shape.

      A text message came from Ron before the ladies had finished off the rest of the muffins. He’s in! Since Jason would be starting the term slightly behind the rest of the class, it would involve some scrambling to get everything ready. Ron and Victoria had one week to break the news to the kid, pack his things, and make the transfer between schools. And that’s what sent us to the thrift shop that same afternoon.

      Vic drove us in her vivid blue PT Cruiser, swearing that the little car had plenty of storage space for our purchases. If I had all the room in your Jeep to fill, I would. This’ll keep my shopping in check.

      We headed up Lomas, east to San Mateo. It’s one of those major arterial streets that was once residential (Albuquerque never was one of those cities that planned these things in advance), so a number of the older houses had their front yards stripped away as the street widened and those small buildings became businesses. I’d never been to Heavenly Treasures before, but I knew the general area so I watched the addresses.

      The building was a flat-roofed bungalow, stuccoed adobe brown, with bright blue shutters added as attention grabbers. The sign above the front door depicted a treasure chest overflowing with jewelry and gold coins and other things probably nowhere to be found in a church-sponsored thrift shop. But it was eye-catching and had apparently attracted a good number of customers. The parking lot was jammed. A driveway ran beside the building and a brightly lettered sign said Bring Donations to the Back and featured an arrow showing the way.

      Victoria waited while an elderly pickup truck backed out and she whipped the Cruiser into the vacant space.

      We walked into what was probably the original living room of the home. A wooden counter with a cash register stood across from the front door and I spotted Elsa there, making change for a customer who seemed to be stocking up on pots and pans.

      A glance around the space told me that several of the original interior walls had been taken out to create room for shelves, bookcases, and clothes racks. The walls were all painted bright white, showing off the merchandise in vivid contrast. We bypassed four racks of clothing on hangers, sorted by men’s, women’s, and children’s. Bins of baby clothes were surrounded by highchairs, playpens, and infant car seats. Two women were browsing them and discussing the merits of one of the highchairs in Spanish. I saw Dottie nearby, carrying a high stack of throw pillows.

      Hey, you made it, she said, walking toward a table that was already overflowing. Miss Elsa still working at the register?

      She is.

      Good. I tell them don’t let her be moving furniture or nothin’ like that. But sometimes the manager get busy and he don’t watch what she’s up to.

      I had to laugh. Even with a heart condition, Elsa doesn’t seem to think anything of rearranging things in her house or hoeing the garden. Thank goodness Dottie was there to keep an eye on things.

      You need some sheets and blankets and stuff, right? she asked.

      At Victoria’s nod, she tilted her head toward a side room to our right. If you need a nightstand or little furniture like that, it’s all in the annex out back. They got tons of stuff.

      While Dottie started arranging the pillows to fit among the rest of the collection, we worked our way through the space toward the second room. As she’d told us, there were piles of bedding on tables and shelves, some of the items still in brand-new packaging. Victoria began searching out the sizes that would work for Jason. She wanted to keep browsing, so I took an armload from her and headed toward the sales counter where I could see Elsa chatting with a dark-haired woman who seemed a little puzzled.

      I found a space to drop off the sheets and pillowcases, indicating to Elsa that Victoria was still shopping, and I stepped aside to browse the bookcases. It appeared the thrift shop was the place to shop for hardcover fiction, providing you didn’t mind reading the hottest authors a few years after the buzz had died down. I perused two James Pattersons and a Michael Crichton I hadn’t seen before. I was reading the flap copy on an old Patricia Highsmith novel when I became aware of urgent whispers near Elsa. Her Hispanic customer had left.

      Missing, I tell you, she said, none too quietly, to a man behind the desk. He was probably in his early forties, soft around the middle, with a border of brown hair surrounding a shiny bald head. He wore a checked shirt and khaki slacks, and his gold-rimmed glasses had slipped down his nose.

      Mrs. Higgins, calm down. He kept his voice low and patted her arm.

      Mr. Stevens, I’m just reporting it now so there’s no question later that I might have made a mistake in giving change. Just after noon a woman bought about eighty dollars’ worth of merchandise and paid with a hundred-dollar bill. I gave her nineteen dollars and forty-some cents in change. The hundred dollar bill is nowhere in the till. I placed it under the coin tray and it’s gone now.

      I stepped over and gave the man a firm look. What’s the matter?

      He shook his head and put on an indulgent smile. How may I help you? Are these linens yours?

      Elsa spoke up again. This is my granddaughter, Charlie. Charlie, this is Benny Stevens, the manager here at Heavenly Treasures.

      We each gave the other a polite tilt of the head. Sounded like there was some disagreement over money? I said.

      Stevens clearly wanted the subject to vanish, but Gram spoke up again and explained what I’d already overheard. There’s money missing, and I don’t want to be blamed.

      Perfectly understandable. I turned toward Stevens, staring pointedly enough that he knew he should respond.

      Just as he was opening his mouth, another woman walked up and stepped behind the desk.

      Our bookkeeper, Carole Myerson, Stevens said. The bookkeeper was a soft, pink older lady, probably in her mid-seventies. Certainly younger than Elsa. She wore a coordinated outfit of burgundy slacks and a striped sweater and she flashed me a winning smile. Reading glasses hung by a beaded chain around her neck.

      Now, what’s the problem? she asked, looking toward the other two.

      A hundred dollar bill is missing, Elsa stated, folding her arms across her chest.

      The one under the coin tray? Carole asked. It’s not missing, dear. I cleared the drawer of larger bills this morning so I could do the bank deposit. In fact, I’ve brought quarters, dimes, and nickels so you’d have more change. See? She held out a hand with four paper rolls of coins.

      Elsa seemed only partially mollified but she stepped back in good grace and let Carole put the coin rolls into the drawer.

      There now, everything’s all right, said Benny Stevens, looking relieved.

      He and Carole gave big smiles to Elsa and stepped away from the desk. I watched them walk toward a door near the back marked Office. Victoria walked up just then, holding out a blanket and bedspread.

      There! I think this covers my responsibility toward the dorm room, she said, pulling out her wallet. Elsa, does the shop accept credit cards?

      We do. Charlie, there’s more to the story about the— She halted when a man with a framed picture in his hands walked up. —you know.

      While they transacted business, I grabbed two of the hardcover books that had interested me. It was the least I could do to support the shop, right?

      Victoria gathered her purchases and the man in line behind her slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter for his picture and walked away in a bit of a hurry.

      I glanced around and didn’t see any other customers nearby. So, what’s the rest of the story, Gram?

      Carole, the bookkeeper, she said she cleared the drawer this morning. Well, the large bill I took in came from a sale right after noon. Someone did take it. And …

      Benny Stevens had emerged from the office and was heading our way again.

      "There’s a lot more. Tell you later," Elsa whispered.

      Do you need us to hang around a while? I asked, picking up half of Victoria’s bags.

      No, no. That’s fine. We’ll talk at home. Dottie and I get off at four.

      Victoria stopped on the way at a dollar store, saying she could at least send Jason off to school with a few goodies from the snack foods aisle. I opted to sit in the car.

      Puzzling. If Elsa noted and reported stolen money from the till at the charity shop, it seemed the manager would be the first to show concern. Why hadn’t he?

      Chapter 2

      By the time Victoria dropped me off at home, I was fairly antsy to get outside and stretch my muscles. So I clipped the leash on Freckles’ collar and we headed toward our little neighborhood park. I tossed a tennis ball for her a dozen times—and yes, the irony is not lost on me that she’s the one stretching, while I’m the one standing around. For good measure, I briskly circled the park—which is only a couple of acres in size—twice before we headed home.

      Dottie’s car was pulling into Elsa’s driveway when I rounded the corner, so Freckles and I jogged a little to catch up before they went inside.

      So, it’s more than a hundred dollars, Elsa said, by way of greeting. It’s amazing to me how she can pick up a conversation hours later, without missing a beat in the story. I want to be her when I’m ninety-something.

      Shall we go in? You’ve been on your feet all day, I suggested.

      Dottie, looking over Elsa’s head, mouthed thank you, which told me she hadn’t had much luck in getting her elderly charge to slow down and take a break.

      We went into Gram’s kitchen and Dottie put on the kettle and got three mugs from an upper cabinet. Once we were settled with tea and a package of Oreos for good measure, I encouraged her to go on.

      Well. I’ve noticed missing money before this. And I heard one of the other volunteers questioning whether she had mislaid some money last week.

      Over time, it could amount to quite a lot, I imagined. Who all has access to the drawer?

      Well, Benny the manager and Carole the bookkeeper, for sure. They are the only full-time employees. Everyone else volunteers. Most of the time there are one or two volunteers behind the desk. We get busy, you know, and it helps to have two of us. A lot of the customers don’t speak English.

      We think a lot of them are undocumented, from across the border, Dottie added.

      Yes, most likely. They’re struggling to make ends meet, even if they do find work somewhere, so the thrift shops are like a big department store to them. Gram picked up an Oreo. So, it’s helpful if at least one person at the sales counter speaks a little Spanish.

      Most New Mexicans who’ve lived here a long time tend to pick up a few words and phrases but are far from fluent in the language. Still, I supposed Elsa’s knowledge was probably enough to get by selling simple items and taking payments.

      Victoria used a credit card—do many of your customers do that?

      Oh, no. I’d say the business is ninety percent cash. When people don’t have much money, they generally don’t have bank accounts. And a lot of our sales are just a dollar or two.

      I nodded, thinking of the two books I’d purchased for a total of less than five dollars.

      So, you’re handling cash …

      And that’s probably the other reason Mr. Stevens wants two of us behind the counter. The shop is run by our church—the proceeds support mission work and kids living in poverty—and most of the volunteers come from our congregation. But still. Some of the younger ones have been in trouble with the law and they’re doing community service work.

      Dottie piped up again. But Mr. Benny, he keep most of them working in the back, unloading furniture and stuff like that. He don’t really give them much access to the money.

      Elsa brightened. You know, you’re right. I hadn’t thought about that. It’s usually the more responsible folks who work at the register.

      I had a dozen questions and no clear idea where to start. Dottie again had an answer.

      You know, Charlie. They always want more help. Why don’t you come in with us next time and say you could work a few days?

      You could help me keep an eye on people, Gram added. Maybe we’d spot the thief.

      My mind zipped over the list of my own duties. My accounting work for Ron’s RJP Investigations was all caught up. Drake’s helicopter business had been a little slow recently, so it wouldn’t take me long to do his invoices. Plus, I wouldn’t be committing to a regular job at the charity shop. I could help out while keeping my eyes and ears open, find out if there was anything to Elsa’s suspicions.

      Okay. When do you go back?

      Somehow, we never really know when we’re about to open a really, really large can of worms.

      Chapter 3

      The next morning I dressed in jeans, trainers, and a sturdy cotton shirt that could take some wear and tear. With no idea what my duties might be, I needed to be ready for anything from shelving books to heavy lifting in the furniture department. Elsa and Dottie were ready to go a few minutes before nine, and I offered to drive.

      Benny Stevens wasn’t in yet, and Carole seemed a little surprised to see me tagging along. She dithered for a moment before calling over another volunteer and asking him to assign me something to do. She introduced him as Eugene Towner, a guy about my age, thin and pale, and unwilling to produce a smile.

      Elsa evidently knew the man. Eugene, how are you today? How’s your mother? Still doing the honey business?

      He shrugged. Yeah, I guess it’s going okay.

      He turned his back and I assumed I was to follow along. I gave Gram’s shoulder a squeeze and whispered that I’d catch up with her later, then turned to see that Eugene was already halfway to the back of the room. I followed him out a back door and discovered there was a second building at the rear of the property, a garage-like structure with two large doors standing open. A woman and two men were chatting, apparently deciding which tasks to tackle first.

      Got you another helper, Eugene said to one of the men before abruptly turning and walking away.

      Um, hi. I’m Charlie.

      All three smiled, showing lots of white teeth. Well, we’re always glad to get another set of hands, the woman said. I’m Nancy. This is Mike and Todd.

      Of them, Todd was the only one under forty.

      Just point me toward whatever needs doing, I said.

      Great, said Mike. I like her already. He pointed toward some furniture pieces that must have just arrived. Two sofas, three non-matching armchairs, and a half-dozen coffee tables and end tables had been shoved into a corner barely inside the door.

      Nancy stepped over beside me. We find that the furniture sells better if it’s arranged a little bit, sort of like it would be in a home. As long as we have space, we try to do that. You can also go into the main sales room and look around. Pick up a few throw pillows or a flower arrangement or anything that makes it look kind of homey.

      Sure. That sounds like fun.

      The fabrics may be dusty, so there’s a shop-vac over there and boxes of latex gloves for handling the grubby stuff. Try to clean up the items as best you can. If the upholstery has stains, we have a little shampooer we can use on those. If something’s broken, within reason, we have a few handymen who can reattach a table leg and that sort of thing. Hopefully, most of the donors obeyed the signs. She waved vaguely over her shoulder, where I noticed a large hand-painted sign warning that no ripped, torn, or soiled furniture would be accepted. I took it by her comment that not everyone’s idea of ‘gently used’ was the same.

      Nancy handed me a can of furniture polish and a couple of cloths. Have fun. Get Todd to help you move anything heavy.

      Okay, here’s our first, Mike said, turning toward the open door. He began directing a pickup truck to back up to a doorway at the other end of the building labeled Donations Here.

      I watched in amazement as three other people emerged from the building and began lifting boxes, trash bags, lamps, and various other stuff that I would have labeled as junk. In under five minutes the piled-high truck was empty and the driver pulled away. An SUV took its place. Where would they put all this stuff?

      Um, Charlie? Nancy was giving me a pointed look.

      Right. Sorry. I sprayed my dust cloth with furniture polish and went to work on a pair of end tables.

      As I looked around, finding pieces that would look appealing together, I found myself really getting into it. Todd lent a hand with an especially large sofa, but I found that I could scoot most of the pieces on the concrete floor fairly easily. Within an hour I had three little ‘living rooms’ arranged, and I set about vacuuming and dusting them, as instructed. Standing back, I decided to follow Nancy’s advice about the decorative touches so I went inside to see what I could borrow.

      Dottie was folding T-shirts at one of the display tables. I swear, they gotta look at every single one before they pick, she said.

      I laughed. I need a lamp and a few colorful pillows. Where can I find those?

      She directed me. I sent a smile toward Elsa who was behind the counter, helping a customer who had two small kids and overloaded arms. In the household goods area, I caught myself staring at throw pillows as critically as if I were choosing them for my own living room.

      "Oh, come on," I finally said, picking up the three nearest me. The whole idea was to make the furniture displays a little more appealing, not to win some design award.

      With the pillows tucked under my left arm and a slender table lamp in my right hand, I made

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1