I stare out the picture window that looks into the pool area, then make a quick decision. Deceit has wrecked my budding relationship with Marsh. It’s not that I outright lied to her, but I did through omission. I look up, directly into her eyes, and tell the truth.
“I didn’t tell her at first because, if I’m honest with myself, I knew she wouldn’t like it. Later, I was afraid letting her know would mess up the relationship developing between us. But Tallie Bouling told her. Now, Marsh has blocked my number so I can’t explain…I mean apologize. I was wrong to not tell her.”
“Why don’t you just go to her barn and make her talk to you?”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment and anger. “I did. But, only two days after we’d been together, I found her in the office fucking that woman, Tallie, who I’d confided in.”
Skyler sits back and steeples her fingers. Will she help me? I’ve put my cards on the table, but I have the distinct impression she’s going to refuse to talk to me until she consults with Marsh. Celebrity apparently does not trump friendship. Her loyalty to Marsh guts me. I’ve been such a selfish prick. My throat tightens and eyes well with tears. I busy myself with getting a notepad and pen from my shoulder bag as I brush away the few that trickle down my cheeks. When I look up, Skyler’s expression is questioning but not judgmental. She silently hands me the box of tissues on the office desk.
“I’m sorry. I love her. I didn’t even get the chance to tell her before I messed things up. It’s probably for the best. She obviously doesn’t feel the same about me, or she wouldn’t have been with another woman just two days after…” I can’t finish and wipe angrily at my tears. I don’t deserve respite, but I feel a little lighter after confessing to this woman who’s practically a stranger. “I’m sure that’s more than you want to know.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to know,” Skyler says. “Things were not easy for Jess and me when we first got together. I didn’t like her, and she didn’t like me until we got to know each other. Then Kate didn’t want me dating her daughter because, even though she was my mentor, she knew of my love-’em-and-leave-’em reputation. But in the end, we rode out the rough spots because we were destined to be together. Marsh and I are pretty good friends, but she’s not really talkative. She doesn’t need to be. Working with the troubled kids that I do, I’ve taken courses on psychology and how to read people. Marsh was different Saturday. She was more open and talkative. I haven’t seen her that relaxed in years. Well, since Southern Pines. And she kept scanning the crowd. I’m guessing she was looking for you because she made one excuse after another to keep popping back over to her trailers. I’m guessing that’s where you were most of the day.”
“Yes.” Just thinking about what I’d thrown away almost makes me burst into tears again.
“So, tell me what you want to do about it.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out to collect myself. I look up and hold Skyler’s gaze, hoping she can see the honesty behind my words. “I want to clear Marsh’s name. I know Kate got her out of jail because they had no damning evidence, but without finding the real culprit, she’ll always have a shadow over her and gossip around her. I want to find who killed that horse, because I can tell you with certainty that Marsh didn’t do it.”
“How can you be certain?”
“The same way you and Kate knew and fought for her even though it was Kate’s horse that was poisoned.”
That seems to be the right answer. We talk for another thirty minutes before Skyler stands. She has riding students waiting for her.
“Well, that’s all I can tell you, but I’ll pass along your phone number and email to Kate. They’ll be in Greece for another couple of weeks, maybe a month. She’ll get in touch if she knows anything more.”
“Thanks, Skyler. Sorry for blubbering and laying this at your doorstep. If it goes even more sour than it already has, I’ll never tell Marsh that you tried to help.”
Skyler shakes her head. “Kate and I should have done this for Marsh back then. We were wrong not to. We got her out of the physical jail, but she’s been in a jail of rumors and innuendo ever since.”
Chapter Twenty
You caught her fucking another woman less than two days after she’s been doing the dirty with you, and you’re still going to keep trying to prove her innocence? Seems like to me you should forget her and write the rest of the book off the top of your head.”
I eye the nearly empty Defiant bottle between LaSalle and me, then drain the rest of it into my glass of diet soda. “I’m in love with her, Sal. I’m furious and hurt, but I’ve never felt this for another woman. I’m not ready to walk away.”
“Lauren.”
“No. Even if she doesn’t feel the same—except I know she does deep down because I’ve seen it in her eyes, felt it in her touch—I’m going to do everything I can to clear her. I want to give this to her. This situation is crippling her emotionally and professionally. I want to free her of that.”
“I still think you’re crazy.”
Dorine pokes her head into the great room. “Don’t talk to her like that. A woman knows her heart, LaSalle. Now go get that extra bottle of whiskey you think I don’t know about in your room and mix my bedtime toddy. I’m ready for sleep, and you should be, too. You both have to be at the Chapel Hill bookstore by eleven in the morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.” LaSalle slowly rises from her recliner and leaves to retrieve the requested, or rather demanded, bottle of whiskey. “I would’ve bought a whole case if I’d known everybody else was going to drink it up.” Her mumbling fades as she climbs the stairs.
Dorine looks at me with sympathetic eyes and pats my hand. “If it’s meant to be, sugar, it’ll all work out. You do what you have to, and don’t worry about what other people think. The Lord will watch over you.”
I’m feeling very tired and a little drunk. “He doesn’t watch over lesbians and gays, Dorine. We’re an abomination.”
“That’s just mean, insecure people talking. Jesus loves and watches over everybody. Didn’t he stand up for the prostitute against people who were about to stone her? You who have committed no sins, cast the first stone, he told them. Of course, none of them could. And it wasn’t Jesus who said all that stuff about gay people being abominations. It was those self-appointed men, especially that idiot Saul turned Paul.”
Dorine always insisted that LaSalle and I go to church every Sunday morning until we were adults. Then it was our choice. I never felt comfortable, and once I started taking history classes and learned the truth about the Christian Crusades and the slaughter the crusaders committed in Jerusalem, I began to see Christianity in a different light. I’m no longer religious—not that I ever really was—but I am spiritual, and Dorine knows that.
“You just throw out every other part of that Bible and concentrate on what Jesus said. That’s the important stuff,” she says.
“Okay.” My answer holds little conviction.
Dorine pats my leg this time and accepts the nightcap LaSalle brings her. “I know you don’t believe me, but Jesus will watch over you whether you believe or not. I’ll say a special prayer for you tonight to make sure he’s paying attention.”
LaSalle doesn’t roll her eyes as I expect but helps Dorine to her feet with a murmured “Good night.”
Dorine stops when she reaches the door. “Belgian waffles at nine thirty. You need to be headed to Chapel Hill by ten.”
“Yes, ma’am,” LaSalle and I chorus. Even hell freezing over can’t keep me from Dorine’s Belgian waffles.
* * *
“Thank you for reading.” My hand is cramping, and my smile is forced. I normally like book signings, even when my hand is sore for days afterward. Today, I’m having trouble focusing because I’m anxious for the day to be over so I can drive to Southern Pines tomorrow morning. I take another book from the stack next to me, o
pen it to the title page, and look up with pen poised. “Hi. Who should I sign this…Anna, hey. It’s great to see you.”
My one-night stand—okay, a couple of nights since we met—book-club friend stands before me, clutching the hand of a beautiful African American woman. “Hi, Lauren.” She seems a little nervous but gestures to the book I’ve opened. “You know I already have a signed copy. This one’s for my mother, Ellen. Just write something about what an awesome daughter she has.”
“That won’t be hard to do.”
We laugh as I begin to scribble. When I finish and hand the book to her, we both speak at once.
“I want to introduce…”
“I’d like to pick your brain…”
We laugh again.
“You first,” I said.
“I want to introduce my girlfriend, Alisha. We met a few months ago when she joined our mystery book club, and it was, I dunno…”
“Love at first sight,” Alisha fills in for her. “After my first book-club meeting, we literally talked all night.” Alisha’s voice is as rich and smooth as her complexion. I like her immediately. She hands me a dog-eared copy. “I’ve read it at least three times. It amazes me how when I reach the end, I can look back and see the small clues you left throughout the book.”
“That’s because she already knows how it’s going to end.” LaSalle’s big voice comes from just behind me.
She holds her hand out to Alisha. “I’m LaSalle de Blanc, owner of this fine store.”
Alisha returns the handshake. “Alisha Turner.”
“My chef has informed me that she’s prepared a dinner large enough for a mob, and since Lauren is staying with me, why don’t you two join us for dinner? Lauren can tell you about the woman she’s gone gaga over recently.”
Maybe I could use a pair of objective eyes on the problem. Anna may be a physical therapist, but she has a keen mind for solving mysteries. “Please, do join us. Both of you, of course.”
Anna visibly relaxes, her eyes finding mine. “Really? That would be great, if we’re not taking up too much of your time.”
LaSalle has conspired for them to be the last in line, so as I begin to clean up, she gives them the address and arrival time. I pause and try to rub out a sudden cramp in my hand, but Anna brushes away my good hand and begins her expert massage on the cramped tendon.
“Your tendons are as tight as my granny’s garters.”
The cramp releases my tendon under her ministrations, and I sigh with relief. “Thanks. But I worry about why you know how tight your granny’s garters are.”
Alisha laughs, and I smile at my tease because I’m feeling better. I’m surrounded by friends who will understand my dilemma. Friends who may be able to help my pursuit of justice.
* * *
With guests to entertain, Dorine is in her element. I’m not a guest, of course. I’m family, which she’s made clear on many occasions. When Alisha stiffens at LaSalle having an African American working as a domestic, LaSalle and Dorine share a glance, and both go out of their way to make clear that Dorine is no maid.
“Anna, Alisha, this is Dorine. She’s our chef and my personal assistant. Hell, she’s more like my boss, and I just live here for her to have something to do.”
For the first time, I see Dorine and LaSalle like others might. They’re a comical match—Dorine diminutive and LaSalle tall and large-framed. Dorine is obviously in charge, and neither makes any attempt to hide that fact.
We all go straight to the informal dining area—a rarely used formal dining room is attached to the other end of the kitchen—because the aroma of Dorine’s enchiladas has everyone’s stomach growling.
“I’ll set the table,” LaSalle says, picking up the stack of plates, napkins, and silverware Dorine has placed on the kitchen island.
“No, you won’t,” Dorine says. “You never do it right. Lauren, honey, please set the table for us?”
I grin and accept the dinnerware from LaSalle. Anna and Alisha help, taking the place setting I hand them and arranging it exactly as I do because I’m the one Dorine has deemed worthy. I kinda feel like a kid doing what Mom wants. I grin at Alisha, and she gives me a toothy grin back. She’s finally relaxing into the informal atmosphere and jumping into the teasing. I see the looks of affection passing between her and Anna, which makes me miss Marsh all the more.
We’re lingering over scrumptious passion-fruit flan and coffee when Anna draws the conversation to my writing.
“So, The Book Club Murder is selling well? I saw it hit the top of the mystery best-sellers list.”
I swallow the flan melting in my mouth. Damn. I’m going to have to get Dorine’s recipe and give it to my chef. “Unbelievably well. It’s broken into the top ten on the main USA Today and the Readers Digest lists. As we discussed, ten percent of the proceeds are going to literacy programs. I do that with all my books. And another ten percent is going to your book club to distribute how they see fit. Right now, that money is funneling into a bank account here, with only LaSalle or me able to make withdrawals, but we need to give your club access to the account. The withdrawals will require two authorized signatures.” I gesture to LaSalle. “And Sal has another surprise for you.”
Everybody looks to LaSalle as she explains. “The small store next to my Chapel Hill bookstore is going to be vacant by the end of next month because the current retailer is moving, and I’ve bought the space. I want to put a façade resembling a cottage in the woods on the front and call it A Murder of Mysteries. You know, like a murder of crows? It will have its own street entrance but be connected inside by an archway to my big bookstore, with all the mystery books shelved in that smaller space.”
LaSalle is almost bouncing in her chair with the next bit of news, which is saying a lot for an NFL-linebacker-sized woman.
“Get to the point, child,” Dorine orders her. “I swear, I’ll be picking out my casket before she ever tells it.”
I expect a comeback from LaSalle, but she’s obviously too excited.
“The smaller store will have a room at the back just for your book club. It will have double doors that stay open unless you guys are meeting. You can have lecturers come, you know, like a detective who’s solved a big murder. You, of course, can loan the room to anybody else you want, but that’s totally up to you. Your club’s name will be over the door, and you can use some of the money from the account Lauren set up to furnish it.”
Anna’s eyes are wide as she takes it all in. Alisha’s expression is calculating.
“Would that account have enough money to donate to the local library system, so they can buy more mystery books?” Alisha asks.
Anna jumps in to clarify. “Alisha is a librarian. Besides working at the Chapel Hill Library, she’s on the regional board that decides what books they buy each year.”
I’m caught up in LaSalle’s excitement, so my laugh is giddy. “That account already has several hundred thousand in it. As long as the club approves it, y’all can give as much to the libraries as you want. It doesn’t have to be just for mystery books either.”
Alisha puts her fingers to her mouth. “Oh my God. There’s so much that could be done. More bookmobiles so we can get books out to remote areas. I don’t know how to thank you…if the club is on board with making a sizable donation to the libraries.” She looks to Anna.
Anna’s mind, however, is clearly running on a different track. “We need to come up with a better name for our club. I love the store name, A Murder of Mysteries. We need something cool like that. I’ll send out a group email and get everybody to bring suggestions to next week’s meeting.”
“The money’s not likely to dry up either,” I tell them. “I’m thinking that I’ll want to do another book or two based on the club. It would be a series of lighter, fun mysteries—Miss Marple kind of stuff—between my more serious, gritty mysteries.�
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Anna actually claps in excitement. “I’m sorry. I’m just so overwhelmed. It’s all so amazing.”
Alisha is still wearing a huge smile but gracefully controls her enthusiasm. “Can we ask what you’re currently working on?”
Here’s the big moment. I’m perfectly comfortable dissecting and talking about other people’s lives, but when it comes to sharing mine, I’m extremely private. I’m desperate, though, and feel like this Marsh situation isn’t at a dead end, just a tree I can’t see around because of the forest crowding in. I need a fresh pair of eyes.
My cheeks heat a little, and I use my fork to toy with the tiny bite of flan still on my plate. “As Sal mentioned, I’ve met someone, too.”
Anna reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Oh, Lauren. That’s so wonderful. What’s her name, and why isn’t she here?”
“It’s a really long story, but the short version is that I met Marsh when she was running a pony camp I signed my niece up for last summer. I’m so shamelessly hot for her that, when the camp was over, I asked for private riding lessons for myself.”
Anna smiles. “I’d love to meet the woman who’s caught your eye.”
“She’s not speaking to me right now. Maybe never again.”
“Oh, no.” Anna’s tone is so sympathetic, I would have curled up in her arms if her girlfriend wasn’t sitting in the chair next to her. “What could you have possibly done to deserve that?”
“She’s a professional equestrian, and something bad happened to her about four years ago. A horse was killed. I’m talking a very high-dollar horse. I started looking into it because I was curious. Then I realized the mystery of who killed the horse had never been solved. I’d been struggling with what to write next and realized this would be perfect to base my next fiction novel on. I almost always build my fictional books from the facts of a true story.”
Alisha frowns. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Marsh is very private, and I knew she wouldn’t like me poking around something awful that happened to her. So, I didn’t tell her. She still found out and is so furious, she’s blocked my number on her phone.”
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