Jackson glances at his phone. "I'm sorry to duck out so fast, but Betsy and I have to run. We were on the way to an appointment when Sylvia cut us off in traffic."
"I had to get here," Sylvia defends herself.
"Thanks for coming to check on me." Scarlett smiles.
"Absolutely. Will we see you for the Fourth?" Jackson asks.
"You and the baby, since we're allowed to say that now?" Betsy asks. Scarlett glances at her, and she throws her hands up in the air again. "Congratulations!"
"Well, we pretty much stick together. So, if I make it, she's going to be there, too."
They say goodbye and head out, but Sylvia stays. She moves from the chair down onto the floor beside Scarlett and looks over some of the papers.
"Do they know anything about this Matthew Branson guy?" she asks.
"It's not Matthew Branson," I point out.
"Right," Scarlett says. "But his ID is with the body. That wasn't an accident. It's not like they balled that guy up, happened to find the card, and tossed it in, too. There's a reason they're together. Right now, we have no idea who the body actually is. If we can find out who Matthew Branson is, it might help us figure the rest out." Her phone buzzes beside her, and Scarlett picks it up. She reads the screen, nods, and puts it back down, starting to pack up the papers. "But first, we should probably bring these up to the library and scan them."
"Why?" Sylvia asks.
"That was Jimmy. He knows his file is missing. We need to sneak it back into the station."
"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?" I ask the next day as I drop down to sit on the gazebo bench next to Scarlett.
She's staring into the distance, the tines of a blue plastic fork, long devoid of the potato salad they were intending to bring to her mouth, balanced on her bottom lip. The plate in her lap has most of a cheeseburger, a hot dog, and an impressive mound of potato salad, and a pool of baked beans. She's sought a spot of quiet refuge in the gazebo, separated from the rest of the old-fashioned picnic sprawled out across the fields surrounding her.
Ruby was definitely inspired by turn of the century Independence Day celebrations when she created this event. It looks like an extremely high-dollar community theater revival of The Music Man exploded around their house. I'm surprised she didn't have them build a facade around the house itself to make it look older.
Somewhere out there among the potato sack races, long wooden picnic tables laden with pitchers of lemonade and iced tea, and people spinning around to the sound of a live bluegrass band are Sylvia, Jackson, and Betsy. Beck had me invite them to the party, so we can all celebrate together. Later there will be a massive fireworks display, and the Ferris grounds are the perfect place to see them. I have no doubt there will be a few additions of their own. I've already seen Jamie dragging suspicious-looking containers across the field and Ruby following close behind with a massive bucket of water.
"I just can't figure it out," Scarlett muses. "It doesn't make sense. Why that house? And who put the body there? And why didn't they come back so it wouldn't be surrendered? Someone has been paying the bills to keep the electricity on. But they don't make sure the house doesn't get reclaimed and put up for sale? There's a disconnect there."
I wrap an arm around her and hug her close. "I know. But there's nothing you can do about it right now. Just for tonight, let's not think about it. For your health and for the baby's health, I want you to relax and enjoy yourself tonight. Eat. Watch the fireworks. Just have fun."
She nods. "Jackson and Sylvia were talking about joining the three-legged race. That's going to be a scrapbook-caliber event."
"You wouldn't want to miss that," I say with a laugh.
She takes another bite of potato salad and looks around the gazebo.
"This is really cute," she says.
"You know, this is where I was the night we met," I tell her.
"In February?" she asks.
I shake my head. "No. Last Halloween season."
"Ah. So, the night you rescued me."
"It was the costume. I was called to official duty. Though, I think technically I was supposed to be Zorro. I'm not sure, though."
"It doesn't matter. You were my superhero," she whispers.
I stroke her face with my thumb, then tuck one bent finger under her chin to tilt her face up to mine. My mouth touches hers. Scarlett sighs as she returns my kiss. Her body relaxes like she feels the same sense of restoration through our lips, finally finding each other again.
An hour later, we stand wrapped together at the edge of the field, watching a dazzling display of lights burst overhead. The sky comes to life with vibrant color, the sounds of the explosions sizzling through the warm night air. Scarlett rests back on me, her head against my shoulder. I bury my nose in her hair and breathe in the scent of her.
Being this close to her drives me crazy. I've wanted her for so long. So many months have passed since I've touched her, since I've been close enough to touch her. Her kiss still warms my lips, and I can't resist brushing them along the side of her neck. She lets out a cooing sigh, her eyes fluttering closed. Her hips press back against mine ,and one hand slides around to touch my thigh.
Scarlett turns her head and catches my mouth. This kiss is deeper, more insistent than the one in the gazebo. We aren't experimenting, testing each other or the distance between us. She craves my touch as much as I do hers.
"Come inside with me," I whisper into her ear, my lips close enough to brush against her skin.
She shivers and nods. I take her hand, and we hurry away from the crowd so lost in gasping at the fireworks display they don't even notice we're leaving. We make our way back to Beck and Ruby's house and slip inside. I bring her up to the bedroom where I stay when I'm visiting and close the door.
Without speaking, we come back together. Our mouths play across each other as I lead her over to the middle of the floor to stand in front of a large mirror. Parting our lips, I turn her around and pull her up against me, so we're standing the way we were while watching the fireworks. Just beyond the mirror, a window overlooks the grounds. We can see them bursting in the sky in the distance.
I lean close to her, my erection pushing against the zipper of my pants, and slide my body to rest it between her firm ass cheeks. She straightens up and leans back into me, grinding against me as I reach around her to hold her by her waist. I watch her reflection in the mirror in front of us and pull her close as she rubs against me, my body aching for her. I bury my face into the side of her neck, my hand sliding up her shirt to fill itself with one of her voluptuous breasts. I glance up to see her watching me reveal pink nipples, and a sultry smile slides across her lips.
Our mouths meet in a passionate kiss as one of her hands reaches up to hold me behind my head, and the other slips behind her. Her delicate fingers feel for me, and she strokes me over the top of my pants for a moment before reaching for my zipper. As it slides down, they venture inside, wrapping themselves around my staff and pulling it out of my pants.
She tries to turn, but I hold her in place. It won't be long. My need for her touch is so strong that just her fingers are nearly enough to put me over the edge. Her fingers curl around me, and my breath hitches as her rhythm increases. My fingers play with her nipple as she increases speed, and our eyes meet in the mirror. I can't take my gaze away from her, and my body can't hold on much longer.
Finally, she breaks the connection and leans back to kiss my neck. Her lips slide up my neck as far as she can reach, moving toward my ears. Leaning up as far as she can and increasing her speed so that I am reaching toward a dizzying climax, she whispers softly, her voice velvet and beckoning.
"Come for me," she says.
I explode in her grasp, and as my body shakes, she milks me, holding me in a deep kiss, and emptying me.
We're back outside just in time to see the grand finale of the fireworks show.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Scarlett
; The Fourth of July was a week ago. Any other year, that would mean as far as I was concerned, it was fall. Christmas is a distinct season. I can almost deal with spring because it's nice to thaw for a little while. But by the time summer rolls around, I'm done. I'll let people have their beach days and cookouts right on up until the Fourth of July. After that, it's the slide to Halloween.
That hasn't kicked in yet this year. I'm too focused on unraveling this situation to even think about trying to convince everyone to put away their beach balls and replace them with pumpkins. As is evidenced by me sitting outside in Sylvia's yard beside a large hollowed out watermelon popping the melon balls that had filled it back up into my mouth. She grins at me as she scurries out of her house and to the picnic table, carrying a platter of fish tacos.
Cupcake does not love fish tacos.
She has become very opinionated recently, and though everyone always says morning sickness and aversions stop at the first trimester, I beg to differ. I've been dealing with far more turning stomachs and inability to even glance sideways at certain foods in the last couple weeks than I did in the first several weeks. Which would explain why my mind didn't even drift to the possibility of being pregnant for months.
I press my hand to my nose and keep shoveling in melon balls to try to blot out the smell. Sylvia notices and winces.
"No? No fish tacos? I'm sorry," she says.
I shake my head. "It's fine. I didn't tell you. Just put the plate at the end of the table, and I'll be fine."
"Are you sure? Is there something else I can make you? I don't want you to be hungry."
I gesture at the watermelon. "I still have a good four pounds of melon balls ahead of me. I'll be just fine."
"Have you gone back into the house yet?"
Sylvia's eyes close, and she lets out a sigh as Jared comes up behind her. He sets a pitcher of peach tea on the table and stares at me.
"Jared," she whispers.
"What?" he asks, then her eyes move to me. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."
I look at Sylvia. "How much did you tell him?"
"I didn't tell him anything," she insists. "You can thank Betsy for that. She apparently missed the 'don't tell anyone' portion of the lecture from the Fourth and went on a rant spinning her own theories."
"It's nothing against you, Jared," I assure him, though I'm not completely sure I mean it. "It's just that Shadow Creek is a really small place, and there are enough rumors churning around already. Whatever people can seep out of the media, they twist and turn and make into their own theories. I know everybody already knows about the body and that I found it. I would just rather keep my looking into things more to myself."
"By telling four people?" he asks.
Now I know for damn sure I don't mean it.
"Is there something in particular you're suggesting?" I ask.
"Fish taco, honey?" Sylvia asks, trying to shove a tortilla stuffed with tilapia and salsa into his mouth.
"It just seems like you are going pretty far out of your way to say you're doing this on your own when you're actually not. You've told several people about what you're doing and your theories, you just aren't telling the police, when they're the ones who might actually be able to do something," he says.
"I made roasted corn salsa," Sylvia tries, pouring a large spoonful of corn over the taco.
"The police aren't going to do anything," I tell him flatly. "They're the first people I went to last Halloween, and I talked to them again right after finding the body. They didn't believe me then, and they don't care now. Jimmy has never investigated a murder and is more than happy with saying they don't have the money or manpower to delve too deep into this one. The medical examiner confirmed the body in the freezer couldn't have been Matthew Branson if the height and weight on the ID card were accurate. She also doubts it's the right age, though there is some ambiguity and there can be a range. He's not going to put himself through digging too deep for answers."
"Which means you have to?" he asks.
"Don't you think when someone is murdered, they deserve to be acknowledged and for someone to pay for killing them?" I ask in retort.
"I guess it depends on who it is," Jared says.
He seemed like such a sweet boy when I met him on the hill.
"And who determines who has that value?" I ask.
I'm waiting for some sort of bitter, jaded answer, but he shrugs. "I don't know. Just curious about your thoughts." He takes the taco from Sylvia and takes a huge bite.
"Well, I'm curious about you. I don't know anything about your past," I say.
"There isn't a lot to know. I moved around a lot when I was younger. Never really settled down anywhere," he tells me.
"What about your family?" I ask.
"They moved around a lot, too." He grins for a second. "It's been about a year since I've seen any of them. They wanted me to go into the family business, but I've been doing my own thing."
"Understandable."
"When is Gavin coming back?" Sylvia asks, steering the conversation in another direction.
Gavin left three days ago to manage some business, and I've missed him more than I thought I possibly could.
"A couple more days," I tell her. My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket, glancing at the screen. "Oh. Would you look at that."
I turn the screen to show her the notification of a text from Gavin.
“Did you check the town archives?”
Well, that's not creepy at all. The archives. Why would I check the…
"I've got to go," I mutter, standing up and climbing over the picnic table bench.
"What? What's wrong?" Sylvia asks.
"The library is going to close soon," I call over my shoulder.
"And you are dying for a cozy mystery to see you through the week?"
"I'll call you later."
It took a few seconds for the message to sink in, but when it did, I knew exactly what Gavin was getting at. We've been searching for Matthew Branson, anything about him, since finding the name. Internet searches for the name turned up nothing that had anything to do with Shadow Creek, and scouring the vital statistics office came up equally empty. But we haven't tried the archives. The town newspaper has only had a website for a few years, lagging behind other places by an assortment of decades that might make it quaint, but also mean residents are woefully disconnected from the past.
Like the names of people who might have been here for a short time and then disappeared.
I get to the library and bound in. Jenna smiles at me from behind the desk, then looks startled.
"Are you okay, Scarlett?" she asks.
"I'm fine. I need to go into the archive room. There's some research I need to do."
"Research?"
"Yes. I'm doing a genealogy," I tell her. It's not really a lie. If I can find this Matthew Branson, I fully intend on tracing everything about him to see if we can find him or any of his family.
She nods and gets a small key from a drawer in the desk. We walk to the back of the library, and she lets me into the dark room containing all the old volumes of newspapers, newsletters, church bulletins, and countless other bits of Shadow Creek ephemera. Jenna smiles and hesitates like she's waiting for me to get started so she can watch, but I hover near the door until she nods.
"Well, let me know if you need anything. I'll be right at the desk," she tells me.
As soon as she's gone, I head for the section of the room containing volumes from around the time of the ID card. It doesn't take long for me to find what I'm looking for. I use the massive dinosaur of a scanner in the back corner of the archive room to copy several pages out of a volume of newspapers, and another of flyers and advertisements from years ago. When I'm finished, I fold all the papers and stuff them down into my bag before closing the door behind me and rushing out of the library. I wave over my shoulder at Jenna, but don't slow down until I'm back in my car. On my way to the carnival grounds, I call
Sylvia and ask her to meet me.
Twenty minutes later, we are standing in as close to the spot of the murder as I can estimate. It's harder to determine exactly where it was without the corn maze fully set up and the haunted houses in position to give me perspective. But I think this is right.
"Tell me again what's going on," Sylvia says.
"I found Matthew Branson," I tell her. "At least a mention of him. We've been assuming he was a local, someone who lived in Shadow Creek."
"And he wasn't?" she asks.
"No. He was part of the carnival. Before Halloween became such a big thing in Shadow Creek, there was a summer carnival.”
“I don’t remember that,” she says.
“Neither do I. But we were really small when it stopped. It’s entirely possible we went, but just don’t have any memories of it,” I tell her.
“I’d think I’d remember something like that.”
“Like we should remember we met in elementary school, but have no memories of each other until college?” I ask. She opens her mouth and closes it again. “Exactly. At that time, the summer carnival was a whole thing. The same company came every year and put up games, shows, food, the whole thing." I pull a page out of my bag. "Look. This is a flyer from twenty-six years ago talking about the carnival coming. Look at the caption under the picture."
I show Sylvia the image of a young man grinning from the seat of a dunking booth. It makes a little shiver ripple along my skin. Even though the picture was taken in August, I have always associated the carnival with October. The days might still be fairly warm for a good part of the fall in Shadow Creek, but that doesn't mean plopping down into a huge bucket of water would be a pleasant prospect.
"Matthew Branson entertains crowds at last year's carnival," she reads. Her eyes snap up to me. "That's him!"
I nod. "I know. He shows up on a bunch of the flyers and in advertisements."
"I'm sure he does. Look at him. He's gorgeous."
Baby and the Billionaire Page 21