Deadly Ride

by Jody Holford

  “Sarah?” Molly stepped closer.

  “Hmm?” She didn’t turn around.

  Putting a hand on her arm and keeping her voice low, since her new friend clearly didn’t want an audience, she peeked around her shoulder. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  Sarah huffed out a deep, almost shuddery breath, but her voice was even when she spoke. Turning to face Molly, she gestured to the canvases on the floor by the shelves.

  “I was positive I checked and double-checked my supplies for tonight. I think I’m…I don’t know…sleep-painting or something.” Her cheeks went a soft rosy pink, and she glanced down, staring at her hands. “I know that sounds ridiculous.”

  Molly went to the canvases she hadn’t noticed and crouched in front of them. With one finger, she pulled each one forward to rest against her knee. Some had a few squiggles and splatters on the edges. A few had what Molly would say were abstract designs, and still others were painted solid colors in varying shades.

  Looking up at Sarah, she asked, “Is this the first time your supplies seem to have been used when you don’t remember using them?”

  Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, and Molly wondered why she’d be embarrassed. “No. But, honestly, it’s not a big deal.”

  Molly stood up, shaking out her legs. How did people crouch for extended periods of time? Looking at the blank canvases Sarah had put aside, she did a quick count. Eight canvases. It was enough, but clearly she’d had more set aside.

  “What else has been touched?” She held her friend’s gaze, trying not to push, but not wanting her to feel like she had to hide anything.

  Sarah sighed and tossed her Kleenex into the small wastebasket by the door. “A week ago, I came in and my brand-new Copic markers had been used. I get distracted sometimes. I’ll get off the phone with my mom and then see I doodled all over the cover of a notebook. I often forget things because I’m thinking about art or designs.”

  She was blowing it off, but it was clearly bothering her. Molly arched a brow. “What else?”

  Leaning against the bench, Sarah gestured to the shelves. “I’m pretty meticulous about how I keep them, and more than once I’ve come in and felt like things were…out of place. That sounds so dumb.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Have you talked to Chris?”

  Sarah’s eyes widened, and she gave a dismissive laugh. “No. And I’m not going to. It’s not a big deal, Molly. Honestly. I’m super distracted. We haven’t been friends for that long, but you’ll see. Give it a few months, and the first time I forget to show up for something we planned because I fell into a drawing or painting, you’ll see.”

  Giving her a smile, Molly leaned on the bench beside her. “I get that. I do. The same thing happens to me when I’m reading or editing. Or writing. I think creative types tend to function, at least partially, in their own little universe. But that doesn’t make what’s happening less real, Sarah. And it’s strange. Maybe it’s not a big deal, but you have to admit it’s strange.”

  Sarah ran her hand along the bench. “I can admit it’s strange without involving Chris. He has a lot on his plate right now. Things far more serious than some missing paints and used markers.”

  Unsure what to say or how hard to push, Molly gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “He’d want to know. Even if it’s just part of telling him about your day. I’m positive he’d want to know.”

  Sarah shrugged. “Maybe. We…we’re just starting out. I don’t want to throw this at him. I’m not trying to be stubborn or silly. I just think he has more important things to think about.”

  Molly understood her reasoning but still disagreed. Pushing off the bench, she walked to the door. It wasn’t dead-bolted, and there was no lock on the knob.

  “You use this door?”

  Sarah picked up the canvases. “Only for taking out the trash. It’s got a coded entry pad on the other side.”

  Molly thought about that, but since Sarah was already heading back to the art room, she could only follow. The women had spread out between the tables and were laughing loudly. Katherine was telling them about one of the bed-and-breakfast guests who sleepwalked.

  “I’m just glad I hadn’t gotten ready for bed yet,” Katherine said.

  The laughter quieted as Sarah showed the picture they were going to recreate. It was gorgeous. Sarah put it on the easel at the front of the room and pointed to it.

  “I wanted to choose something universal, and I thought that, with winter coming, the ocean is going to be beautiful. I also thought most of us are probably pretty partial to the view.”

  They nodded in agreement, all of them a little stunned at the level of her talent. If any of them were sharing Molly’s thoughts, they might also have been wondering how the heck they were going to paint anything that resembled what Sarah had created.

  The background was a mix of grays, blacks, and blues. There was enough distinction for viewers to see they were looking at the ocean meeting the sky on a cold day. The pier in the painting looked like a carbon copy of the one down the street. The picture was so realistic—a little dark and a little haunting—that Molly shivered.

  “That is just amazing, Sarah,” Katherine said.

  “I’m going to need a lot more wine when I’m looking at mine because it’s the only way it’ll look like that,” Pris said, lifting her glass to her lips. She finished off the last swallow in her glass and poured herself some more.

  They each got top-ups for their drinks. Molly chose soda, and Hannah smiled at her, holding up her own can. “No wine for me,” she said quietly.

  “At seventeen, I would think not. Though, just between you and me, wine is overrated.” Molly nudged her with her shoulder, and Hannah laughed.

  Sarah explained how they were going to work toward the finished result and went over the supplies and the different brushes, and they each found a space at a table. With their canvases, paint, water, and brushes, they started the step-by-step process of recreating the painting.

  The noise level fluctuated between loud laughter, quiet conversation, and intense concentration. The more Pris drank, the more verbal she became, making the others laugh. Bella and she took turns swapping canvases, and when Sarah came by to check Molly’s progress, she looked over at them.

  “I guess you’ll get some who are more interested in the socializing than the art,” she said quietly, smiling despite the difficulty of the task. How Sarah made this look effortless was far beyond Molly’s level of understanding.

  Sarah grinned at Pris and Bella. “They’re having a great time, and that’s what this is all about. They won’t come back because they love painting—though a few might—but because they had fun.”

  “Oops. Huh. Guess I’ll have a tree in mine,” Pris said, snorting through a giggle.

  The others laughed, and Sarah went to take a closer look. “You can definitely make that a tree. Or a lamppost maybe?”

  Pris set her brush down. “I want to work here. It’s more fun.” She was still smiling, so no one shifted their attention.

  “You could come work at the diner,” Calli offered.

  “Nooo. No serving food to others. I think I’d munch on their fries as I delivered them,” Pris admitted.

  “She helped me out at the bakery one weekend and ate all of my profits,” Bella said.

  The laughter felt good. Molly had been reluctant to come tonight, not because she didn’t want to but because there was still so much up in the air and because Sam seemed withdrawn, down. And she hated it. But he’d insisted he was hanging out with Chris anyway. If Chris could get away from work, they planned to shoot some pool and maybe watch sports highlights. It was good for them both to get out and put the stress of the weekend aside.

  “How’s that tip line working out?” Calli asked. She’d put her brush down and was browsing the cookies and pastries Bella had put on o
ne of the tables.

  Priscilla sighed dramatically and sank onto her stool. “It’s the stupidest thing ever. Hey, everyone in Britton Bay, call our station and tell me what you think you might have seen. It’s tripled my workload. The city might not have the budget for any more deputies, but they need to hire another person for the phones at least.”

  “Have you talked to the sheriff about it?” Katherine asked mildly.

  Pris turned in her seat, realizing belatedly it wasn’t a spinning stool and wobbled a little. Bella laughed.

  “I’ll bring it up when everyone can breathe. We have weekly station meetings, and everyone does a little bit of everything when we’re in the office, so it’s not like they don’t know.”

  Then, with the candor alcohol imparts, she bounced her eyebrows up and down. “Speaking of the sheriff…you’re never too old to dish.”

  Katherine laughed. “Dish?”

  Bella nodded. “Sheriff Saron is good-looking for an older man.”

  Katherine held her brush still and stared at Bella until Bella realized what she’d said. When she did, one hand flew over her mouth.

  Vicky laughed. “It’s okay to recognize a handsome older man, dear. I have one of those myself, and any of the men you ladies are interested in are going to age eventually,” she said.

  Sam’s mom nodded, and Molly smiled and turned back to her painting, happy to just listen in on the conversation. Her thoughts drifted to Sam getting older. He’d be no less handsome, just with more laugh lines and touches of gray at his temples. Oh boy. Slow down, Molly. She’d lived with a man before and never imagined who they’d be that far down the line. It took falling for Sam to realize that she’d only been one foot into her last relationship. It wasn’t her fault that he cheated—he was still dead wrong there—but maybe, if she’d felt for him what she felt for Sam, they would have been better for each other. Or she’d have left the relationship with fewer scars at least. But if not for him, you wouldn’t have Sam. It was one of those situations that seemed impossible, because finding out her ex was cheating had sucked hugely. But if Sam was the reward for going through that? Yup. I’d do it again. She was so sunk.

  “The ex-wife gets everything,” Pris said, pulling Molly’s attention.

  “Whose ex-wife?” Molly asked, her fingers tightening on the thin-tipped brush.

  “That car guy’s,” Pris said, her head swinging in Molly’s direction.

  Jill laughed. “I call the current wife Hawaiian Barbie and the ex Malibu Barbie.”

  “Those both fit,” Pris said. “I’d be choked if my husband stayed in business with his ex-wife.”

  Bella and Jill murmured agreement.

  “But if they had the business arrangement before the marriage, his wife would have known, going in, that he still had ties to his former wife,” Vicky said. Her brow was scrunched in concentration.

  “How do you know Candice gets everything, Pris?” Molly set her brush down.

  “It’s in the paperwork. She’s his bene…ben…I never realized how hard that word was,” she said, trailing off.

  Jill laughed. “Beneficiary?”

  Pris pointed at her, eyes brightening up. “That! Yeah. She gets it all. Everything. Despite that, it’s the other one offering a reward to find the killer. Too much drama for me. Maybe I really do need to think of alternate employment,” Priscilla said. She stared at her half-finished painting.

  Molly noted the melancholy in Priscilla’s tone and frowned. Taking a moment to stretch, she looked across the table. “I’m going to get some fresh air. Want to come?”

  Pris shrugged. “Sure.”

  Molly looked around. “Anyone else?”

  “I’m not sure walking around in the dark is a great idea with what’s going on,” Katherine said.

  They wouldn’t venture far, but Katherine’s concern was valid. Still, Molly wanted to get her friend some fresh air now before her thoughts became maudlin.

  “We’ll stick close. Promise.” Molly nodded to Pris. “Just a few minutes of fresh air.”

  Katherine nodded in understanding. Bella slipped off her stool, eyed her own painting, which was quite similar to Sarah’s. It didn’t have the same sophisticated technique, but it was very pretty.

  “I’ll come, too. Too much wine makes my head spinny,” Bella said.

  Sarah unlocked the door for them, and they stepped out into the frigid night air. Unlike many of the other businesses in this area, the Art Shop had its own parking lot. It wasn’t huge, but it would make hosting groups easier and less cumbersome for the surrounding owners.

  “I like Sarah. She’s good people,” Priscilla said. Her words fumbled over each other, blending syllables.

  “You okay, Pris?” Bella asked, staring up at the starry sky. Eyes closed, hands in the pockets of her long, winter coat, Bella just stood.

  “Yeah. Better than Jethro.” Her voice got quiet, and while Bella kept her face turned up, as if meditating on the sky, Molly stepped closer to Pris.

  “Are you really okay?”

  Priscilla was professional and confident. She handled a bull pen full of cops and the front desk with ease and a smile. But this case seemed to be unraveling her a bit, and that worried Molly.

  Pris looked down at the pavement. “My dad was stabbed,” she whispered. Molly’s heart clenched, and she put her arm around Priscilla. “I found him. I was eleven. Most days…I’m fine. Really, I am. I don’t dwell on it. I’m happy. I know he’d be happy I grew up and became who I am. But seeing the crime-scene photos…I don’t know. Jethro wasn’t stabbed, I get that, but he was killed and just left there. To die alone. It just triggered something, you know?”

  Molly nodded, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible for anyone, but to see something like that so young.” She had questions but wouldn’t ask. She couldn’t get them past the lump in her throat.

  “His pawnshop got robbed. He let the guys have everything. They still stabbed him. When I found him, he looked like he was resting. Except for the knife.” She shivered, and Molly put her other arm around her friend. Priscilla leaned into her but kept her arms at her side.

  “You saw the photos of Jethro looking like he was sleeping?” Molly felt her nod.

  “It was like looking into a memory, Molly. They never found the guy who stabbed my dad.” She pulled in a breath and stepped back. Molly dropped her hands.

  “Since there were no prints on the crowbar, they won’t find this guy either. How can they? I wanted to work with the police—not be an officer, but be part of the team that made the world a safer place. But it just feels like life gets scarier. More dangerous.”

  Molly didn’t know what to say to that. Her heart ached for Priscilla. In the back of her mind, she tucked away the information, but she knew she needed to get her friend home before she divulged any information that she’d regret the next day.

  She was just about to tell her she’d take her home when Bella spoke.

  “I’m going to be sick.”

  Molly sighed, grateful she hadn’t had any wine. She’d be taking them both home and hoping her Jeep didn’t need to be detailed afterward.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Molly spent most of Wednesday morning proofing news articles and features. By noon, she was ready for a break and wondering how Priscilla was feeling. Jill was out of the office. She’d received a lead on a puppy mill just outside of town and wanted to follow up.

  Since Molly had arrived in Britton Bay, she’d been hearing about this elusive illegal activity. Whatever tip Jill was following today, she hoped it led to something that could close the place down. Thinking about Tigger’s eagerness on their walk this morning reminded her that, once again, something good in her life came from something unpleasant.

  When she’d discovered Tigger behind a dumpster at the Bulletin, she’d tried t
o find his owners, but none had surfaced. Several people had suggested that her furry pal was a puppy mill runaway.

  Pushing away from her desk, she went to find Alan and saw he had company. Ed McLaren smiled at her from the chair in front of her boss’s desk.

  “Hello, Molly. I heard you’ve met Ed?” Alan gestured for her to come in.

  There was a leather couch to the right of his desk, but Molly didn’t sit there. Instead, she walked to the desk and remained standing.

  “We met yesterday. I heard the police station is being inundated with tips thanks to your story on Amber’s reward,” Molly said.

  Ed smiled like it was an actual compliment. He opened his arms, spread his palms up. “Whatever I can do to help.”

  Alan leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Ed says he has some news he’d be willing to share about Jethro’s history. Seems he’s been following him for a while.”

  Irritation prickled at the back of her neck. “Google does make life easier.”

  Alan smirked but quickly recovered. Ed held Molly’s gaze, unbothered by her less than friendly welcome. If he was offering something, he wanted something. Not only did they not have anything to give, but she was wary of giving anything to a regional outlet that was less concerned about their little town than they were with making headlines. But if he thinks there’s a headline here, maybe he does know something.

  Before he could comment on her dig, she sat in the chair beside him. “I don’t think we have much to trade. I’m also not sure why you’re so interested in this story.”

  Honesty was easier for her than playing games. From the way he smiled, Ed appreciated the candor.

  “I can’t get the local police to talk at all. Not even a statement. You have any sway there?”

  Molly grinned and thought of how many times Chris had rolled his eyes at her and the way Sheriff Saron warned her off of…almost everything.

  “Absolutely,” she replied.

  “Perfect. Then you can work together,” Alan said.