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paused,
crinkling her nose. “Why are you asking?”
    “It’s kind of a long shot,” I
explained. “But the man in the photo…” I held up my phone again. “…his brother
came to see me. He thinks that Theo, that’s the guy in the picture, went
missing sometime after this selfie was taken on the porch at Sky High last week.”
    Pearl studied the phone again. “And
you think…what? The woman in the photo might know something?”
    I shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a
long shot. But I remember working a case in Chicago that was solved because of
something similar.”
    “Fuchsia Wunder Under Pants?” She
smiled playfully. “Is that what you mean?”
    “Not exactly,” I said. “But you
never know. Maybe the woman in the tights heard the man on his phone, saw him
talking to someone or noticed which car he left in.”
    “They’re so much more than tights,”
Pearl said again. “But I know what you’re saying.”
    It felt like a minor breakthrough,
so I hoped she would reel off the names and I could head out to talk with the
proud owners of the fuchsia pants. Instead, Pearl told me that she was on
vacation when both pairs were sold.
    “Do you mind asking whoever was
working while you were away?” I said.
    “Absolutely,” she answered. “It
would’ve been either Leslie or Caroline.”
    “What about Gia?”
    Pearl shook her head. “Gia quit a
couple of weeks ago,” she said with a trace of melancholy. “Her dad’s really
sick, so she moved back to Atlanta.”
    “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
    “I know,” Pearl said softly. “He’s
such a sweetheart, too.”
    “Well, at least Gia will be able to
spend some time with him, right?”
    “Yeah, I guess.” Pearl glanced at
the door when it opened and waved at the two women who came inside. “I just
feel so bad for Gia. She was an only child, and her mother passed away last
year.”
    We stood together in silence,
thinking about Gia and parents and the heartrending reality of fate, until Blanche
suddenly shouted from behind the velvet curtains.
    “I’m all set!” she yelled. “You
ready to see the magic happen?”
    Pearl smiled. “I better get back
there,” she said. “One of us will give you a call about the fuchsia pants.”
    “Thank you so much,” I said. “And tell
Blanche that I can’t wait to see her bedazzled designs in your front window.”

CHAPTER
7
     
     
    After leaving Pearl’s boutique, I
made a quick stop at Java & Juice. Then I drove to Homer Figg’s house with
the windows down, a fresh blueberry-kale smoothie cooling my throat and the
radio tuned to a classic rock station. I didn’t recognize the song that was
blaring from the speakers as I turned onto Homer’s street, but it had a driving
beat, jangling guitars and a saxophone line that coiled around the singer’s
vocals like a rattlesnake circling its prey.
    Homer was one of the more
adventurous and active residents of Crescent Creek. He was patriarch of the
family’s legendary business, a consignment shop for clothing, furniture and
toys known as Figg’s Pretty Penny Emporium. He was also founder of the Crescent
Creek International Museum of Art & Antiques, a local attraction that
filled the two-car garage at his house on Conover Street. The museum’s exhibits
and memorabilia featured items donated by local residents or culled from the
Lost & Found drawer at the Pretty Penny.
    When I pulled into the driveway,
Homer was in his front yard with something small and furry on a leash.
    “Hi!” I called, getting out of the
car. “Did you get a new pet?”
    He glared at the tiny animal. “This
isn’t a pet, Katie. It’s a fuzzy oven mitt with legs. We’re babysitting for one
of the women from my wife’s book club.”
    “And how does the oven mitt get
along with your Labs?”
    Homer laughed. “It’s the first
Teacup Poodle the boys have ever seen. They were curious for about ten seconds
the night that King Kong arrived, but they’re over it now.”
    We