I wanted to focus on Mitzy’s purse, but the idea that Solomon had sought me out last night, certainly a rarity unless he was coming into the shop for food, was a sign of trust. Hard won, but still there, regardless.
My heart glowed when I asked, “Did you need me for something last night, Solomon?”
He began to back away in that hesitant two-step he did when he didn’t want to tell me something he considered a secret. “No-no-no. It’s okay. I forget what it was anyway, but I did see that lady, Trixie. I did. She was all dressed up and sparkly when she went into the hall and she had that purse. When I saw it in the dumpster, I was gonna give it back, but then I heard she died, and I knew Coop liked her. I thought she’d be sad, so I was gonna to give it to her as a gift to cheer her up.”
His hand began to flap harder, his rough-hewn face going a bit red. He liked Coop. That he’d gone out of his way to make her feel better was genuine and sweet, and it surely meant he was becoming attached to us and—not to be ignored—he was displaying empathy.
Coop looked directly at Solomon, something he was learning to accept as part of social interaction without cringing openly. “That was so very kind, Solomon. Thank you.”
“What dumpster did you find it in, Solomon?” I asked as Coop examined it with half an eye. There was no doubt it was Mitzy’s. It had her initials on the front in silver rhinestones.
“You won’t tell anyone where it is, will ya?” he asked, his lined face screwing up with worry. “It’s got a lot of really good stuff there. I don’t want to share it, Trixie. I won’t!”
“Solomon,” Coop soothed, yet her tone was commanding. “You don’t believe Trixie would ever tell anyone something you asked her to keep confidential, do you? I know you know better. Please tell us where you found the purse.”
He instantly relaxed as he realized Coop spoke the truth, his posture slumping in relief. “By the ice cream shop. Wasn’t hardly anyone there, though. It’s too cold for ice cream. Cold-cold-cold!”
“On Monroe?” I asked. That was two blocks away from Cobbler Hall.
Someone definitely didn’t want the purse to be found.
“Yup-yup-yup! I have to go, Trixie. I have to go before somebody else finds it. It has tons of goodies I can add to my shopping cart!” He tightened his grip on his tote as he backed farther away to make his escape.
I gave him a pointed look. I didn’t want to upset him, but I also didn’t want him to get sick again. “Solomon, I don’t like that you’re rummaging through the dumpsters and you know it, but if you must, please wear the sterile gloves we gave you, throw them out when you’re done, and take a shower afterward. Don’t touch anything until you at least wash your hands.”
He saluted me, clicking the heels of his feet together. “Aye-aye, Captain!”
“And don’t forget we have a doctor’s appointment in two weeks!” I called after him with a wag of my finger as he made a hasty escape.
Sighing at how hard it was to keep track of Solomon, I watched as Coop pulled her phone from her back pocket, her intent clear. She was going to take pictures of the purse’s contents so we’d have them when Tansy came to collect evidence.
“Wait! Get some gloves, Coop. Don’t disturb anything without them.”
She handed me her phone and set the purse on the break room table. Grabbing gloves from a nearby cabinet drawer, she slipped them on her slender hands.
As we peered inside, we were very careful not to disturb much. I used the handle of a spoon to root around, pushing a lipstick out of the way to take a picture.
A thought struck me then. “Do you think the lipstick had peanut dust on it? Certainly that would be problematic, but she probably had her lipstick on long before she ever came to the stage, right? And even if she applied it right before going onstage, from what I’ve read about a peanut allergy that deadly, the reaction is almost instantaneous. She would have fallen from the stage almost from the second she walked onto it.”
Suggesting to me that it happened while she was onstage. But how?
“But she did take a break, if you’ll recall. It was approximately five minutes long. Then she returned to the stage and almost immediately afterward, she fell off and died,” Coop reminded me.
“So likely someone backstage touched her? I mean, she didn’t look at all flustered when she came back on, did she? Which could mean she knew her killer. Or did someone touch her when she returned?”
I needed to find out who could have been backstage during her break. I also needed to see some video footage of those few minutes after she returned.
Coop paused in thought. “I couldn’t tell, if I’m truthful. One minute she was up and the next she was down. That’s what stands out in my mind, but not so much how she looked.”
I was thinking out loud at this point, forgetting Coop’s deep attachment to Mitzy. “I’ll tell you this, it sure feels like murder. If she really had an allergic reaction after specific instructions that no one bring peanuts and the EpiPens were missing, it just makes sense.”
“That’s a good point, Trixie Lavender. But murder is a big word. I’m not sure I’m ready to call it that yet because Mitzy was so nice. I can’t understand why anyone would want to murder her.”
When you’re at the height of your idolization, you aren’t always willing to admit your idol had faults. Mitzy definitely had her faults, as we all do, and she incited a great deal of the Twitter arguments without help from anyone. That someone might want to murder her for them felt
