Half-Price Homicide by Elaine Viets

the background. “It’s a terrible loss,” Helen could hear Vera say, “but the police will catch him. He wouldn’t dare come back here.”
    By noon, Helen had had four women who wanted to see the “death dressing room.” Two more wanted to buy the “death scarf.” When the latest ghoul left at twelve thirty, Helen ran up front to Vera. “How are sales?”
    “Nothing,” Vera said. “Nada. Zero. I told you all we’d have were lookie loos.”
    “Would you mind if I lied to sell something?”
    “Honey, you can strip naked and dance in the window if it will help make a sale. Just split your tips with me. We need the money.”
    “I’ll need to cut off the scarf tags,” Helen said.
    “Take the scissors and cut me a deal,” Vera said. “I need to make five hundred dollars minimum. Save the tags so I can keep track of the stock.”
    Helen bird-dogged two more lookie loos before an older woman with a Bride of Dracula hairdo materialized. Her hair was dyed black with a dramatic white stripe and poufed like Elvis’s pompadour. Her long white cotton dress was a shroud.
    Dracula’s Bride picked out a black Ferragamo scarf with dead-white flowers. “Is this the scarf she was hanged with?” Her voice fluttered like moth wings.
    Helen’s skin crawled. She looked around, then whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but that’s the death scarf. The police returned it this morning.”
    “Was it cleaned?” Dracula’s Bride spoke in a cobwebbed whisper.
    “No,” Helen said. “Not since Chrissy’s death.”
    “How much?” Dracula’s Bride asked.
    “We can’t sell it,” Helen said.
    “I’ll pay anything.” Her eyes gleamed like a cat’s in heat. “Not for sale,” Helen said.
    “Please.” A cold, bony hand clutched Helen’s arm. “Well, if you promise not to tell anyone …” “Yes? Yes?” Dracula’s Bride asked.
    “It’s five hundred dollars. Non-returnable. But only if the shop owner says yes. I’ll ask Vera for you. Wait here.”
    Helen hurried up front. “I’ve sold her this for five hundred bucks,” she whispered. “Act reluctant to sell it.”
    “You’re kidding,” Vera whispered.
    “Start acting,” Helen said, “if you want your money.”
    “No!” Vera said loudly. “I can’t let that scarf go! It’s too precious.”
    “Please,” Helen said, equally loud. “She’ll take care of it. She’ll respect it.”
    “Five twenty-five!” cried the Bride of Dracula from the back of the store.
    She streaked up front and burst into a scary smile when Vera said, “Sold. But only if you keep your promise not to tell anyone its origin.”
    “Can I tell my boyfriend?” Dracula’s Bride said. “I’ll swear him to secrecy. But Brad will find it … exciting.” “What if he blabs?” Vera asked.
    “He never tells anyone what we do,” the Bride said. “I’ll sign a paper if you want. And I’ll make it five hundred fifty.” She stroked the scarf, then quickly counted out the cash. Helen was wrapping the scarf while Vera made an award-winning show of reluctance. “All right, if he can keep his mouth shut,” she said.
    “Oh, he’ll be quiet,” Dracula’s Bride said. “He likes to—” “Here’s your purchase,” Helen interrupted. She shoved the pink Snapdragon’s bag at the Bride and pushed her toward the door.
    After she left, Vera said, “You wuss. I wanted to know what her boyfriend liked to do.”
    “If I found out, it could ruin my love life,” Helen said. “I might have to take the veil or live in a lighthouse or something. And was his name Brad, or Vlad, as in Vlad the Impaler?”
    “I don’t care if he’s Stone Cold Steve Austin,” Vera said. “You got me five hundred fifty dollars for a thirty-dollar scarf. Now I can pay Roger.”
    After the sale to the Bride of Dracula, the lookie loos seemed easier to tolerate. Two teenage girls spent half an hour trying on rings and giggling while Helen stood guard. Rings were one of the store’s most shoplifted