Entitled to Kill

by A C F Bookens

  Pickle cackled. “Darn tootin’. We do love our gas station food.” He straightened his tie. “Seriously, though, Harvey, that’s serious business, that truck and all. You don’t live alone do you?”

  Bear nudged him. “Not if Daniel has anything to say about it.”

  I blushed. “Actually, I don’t live alone. My roommate is named Martha; we call her Mart. She works here sometimes when she’s not over at the winery.”

  “Oh, yes, pretty thing, long dark hair?”

  That pretty much described Mart perfectly. “That’s her. She’s my roommate. And right now, my friends—” I cleared my throat. These two guys seemed great, but sometimes great disappeared when the word gay entered the conversation, “are staying with us while they house hunt, too.”

  “Right. I’d forgotten about Stephen and Walter. Nice men. Their real estate agent contacted me just to give me a heads up that I’d probably need to make time for a closing soon,” Pickle said.

  “Oh good.” I nodded, and from the gentle gleam in Pickle’s eye, I could tell he knew I meant more than, Oh good, you’re handling the closing.

  “Always great to have good folks moving into town,” Bear followed up as he tugged on his suspenders. “Anyway, Harvey, we just wanted you to know we’ve got you. Call us if you need anything.” Each of them handed me a business card. “Our cell numbers are on the back. Day or night.”

  I took the cards and slid them into the back pocket of my jeans. “Thank you, gentlemen. That means the world to me.”

  I gave them each a little pat on the shoulder as they walked past me to the front door.

  I barely had time to get the rest of my first cup of coffee in before Woody walked in. “You okay, Harvey?”

  “I am, Woody. Thank you. How did you hear?”

  He looked up at the ceiling for a minute. “I think it was at breakfast. Homer mentioned it.”

  “Let me guess. At the gas station north of town?”

  “Best biscuits on the Eastern Shore.”

  “So I’ve heard.” I waved him along as I headed back to the café with my mug. “I guess it’s pretty much common knowledge now, huh?”

  “Yep, but that’s probably a good thing. People will keep an eye out for you.”

  I laughed. “Pickle and Bear were just in to say that very thing. Can I ask you a question, though, Woody?” I knew I was treading a thin line here what with my word to the sheriff and all, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Do you know who drives an older silver pick-up? I don’t know anything about cars, but maybe something from the ‘70s?”

  Woody poured enough sugar into his coffee to make the spoon stand up and then said, “Nope, I don’t. That the truck that came after you?”

  “Yeah. Guess that detail hadn’t made it out yet? Maybe keep it to yourself then? I don’t want to get in the way of the sheriff’s investigation.”

  “You got it, girl.” He lifted his to-go cup in my direction. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Any time. You know it’s always on the house here, Woody, as thanks for all the fixtures.” Woody had made our sign, benches for the front of the shop, and now he was working on window boxes to go on the mural I was having painted on the side of the building next to the garden center. It would look like windows into the store, and I thought adding actual window boxes would be a funky, fun bit.

  “Much appreciated, Harvey. Have a good one.” He saluted me with his coffee cup and went out the door.

  For a moment, as I watched Woody walk up the road, I thought about what it would have been like to have a dad like him, a man who built you a playhouse as big as his workshop when you were a little girl. A man who flew cross-country for Thanksgiving only to build you bookshelves when he arrived. A man who wanted to build his daughter a sign for her dream business. But I didn’t have that father, and so I figured I better just be grateful I had Woody as a bonus.

  I fluttered my lips with a long breath and turned back to the shop. We weren’t having a major event in the store this weekend, but still, we were always busier on Saturday and Sunday, and what with the summer tourist season just starting to get into gear, I wanted to be sure everything was in tip-top shape.

  I spent the morning restocking our shelves with the shipment of our primary stock that had arrived the evening before. I faced out some books that I loved and some Marcus did, too, and I texted Mart, Josie, and Daniel for their new “staff” picks. Marcus came in at eleven and put up his own titles – To Kill A Mockingbird and In Cold Blood, a genius combination that was sure to be a conversation starter when people learned that Lee and Capote were lifelong friends. My choices were Hiawatha and the Peacemaker by Robbie Robertson, a gorgeous picture book, and City of Ghosts by V.E. Schwab, a really fun and just-a-touch-scary YA book.

  By the time I got everyone’s selections and finished the display, we had a beautiful array of titles that ranged from psychology to art to the newest fiction. I loved it, and I thought our customers would, too. In fact, as soon as I walked away, someone came to browse and ended up buying one of Lucas’s titles, Stamped from the Beginning.

  This job never got old. I loved seeing people find books they found fascinating, and I loved watching books go out the door. I also loved watching books come in the door. Also buying books. I clearly had a hard-core case of bibliophilia, and I was fine with that.

  At noon, I waved to Marcus as Taco, Mayhem, and I headed to Daniel’s garage. We’d texted a bit since Stephen and Walter had come to town, but I really wanted to catch him up on everything, especially the incident with the pick-up truck. But when I arrived, he had a customer in his office, so I gave him a wave and then tried to lift Taco so he could wave, too. This proved to be impossible given the Basset’s girth, so I dipped his paw in a tiny spot of oil and left a signed note from the pup to his owner saying we’d see him at closing for dinner.

  Then, with time to kill and a hankering for some street food, the pups and I went in search of Lu and her amazing taco truck. A search in St. Marin’s is not hard, and I found her just up the block, parked beside Elle’s farm stand, and by some miracle, she didn’t have a line. I tied the dogs to the light post and dragged over the water bowl that Lu always left out for canine passersby and went to get my carnitas fix.

  Lu, short for Luisa, was Sheriff Mason’s wife, and she made the most amazing tacos I’d ever tasted. Full of flavor, not a bit dry, and delightfully messy. When I reached the window, she exclaimed, “Harvey!” and then leaned down through the tiny window to give me a hug with her wrists. “One, no, two carnitas coming up.”

  “How did you know I wanted two today, Lu?”

  She smiled and said, “Anyone who stares down a truck in the middle of the night deserves two tacos!” As she turned to the griddle, she said, “You’re okay, right?” Her voice was more serious now. “Tucker told me what happened.”

  I sighed. “I am okay. Still a bit shaken, but okay. Thanks for asking.”

  “I know Tucker is worried about you.” She gave me a conspiratorial grin. “And I know you are curious, no?”

  I laughed. “I was warned about my curiosity by your husband just this morning.” I looked around as if making sure he wasn’t nearby. “But, yes. Yes, I am very curious. I just can’t stop thinking about who would have killed Huckabee and Rafe. The motive just doesn’t make sense.”

  Lu handed me my tacos with a snicker. “You sound just like my husband. Motive – people kill people all the time for lots of reasons. I know that Tucker is trying to investigate the money, but maybe it wasn’t about the money.”

  “Hmm. I’ll have to give that some thought . . . but just thought, mind you. I promised the sheriff no more sleuthing for me.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Lu said. “Thanks for coming, Harvey. On the house. I need you to order some more books for me. I’ll come by later in the week.”

  Lu regularly ordered the latest cookbooks as well as a fair selection of steamy romances, and I was always ha
ppy to accommodate her, especially since I loved learning about books I didn’t know much about.

  I lifted my plate in salute. “Thanks, Lu.”

  As I spun around to find a quiet corner where I could gobble down this goodness, I went face-first into a chest. I took a step back and looked up into the beard of Homer Sloan. “Oh, hi,” I said with a flush. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

  He stepped back and said, “Hi, Harvey. Good to see you.” He looked tired, very tired. The bags under his eyes were carrying luggage.

  “You okay?” I asked as I balanced my plate of tacos and took a look to be sure the dogs were still good. Apparently, they were fine – sound asleep back to back on the sidewalk in a sunbeam.

  “Sure, why?” His voice had that false cheer of fatigue and effort. “I’ll take what she has, Lu,” he said to the window.

  I was a bit puzzled by what felt like a little defensiveness in his tone, but I shrugged it off in the hopes of getting to my tacos while they were still piping hot. “Just making small talk. I imagine you’ve got a lot more work over at the ranch now.” I paused and tilted my head. “Although maybe Huckabee wasn’t much of a hands-on manager, and you’re still doing the same old same old.”

  He smiled slightly. “More or less. But now I’m managing the business side of things, too, until Miranda gets her feet under her and can take over.”

  “Oh, right. Miranda will take over. I hadn’t thought about that.” I silently wondered what she would need to be ready. A lot of support that’s for sure. “Well, I’m glad she has you to help her keep things going and then guide her when she steps in. I expect you’ve helped her broker that deal with Pickle and Bear.”

  Now I was sure that Homer was more than just tired. He looked downright angry. “Nope, I can’t say as I did.” His words were clipped and sharp. “She made that decision all on her own.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, it sounds like it might be a good idea, keep her steady while she gets a fresh start. I know she’s glad to have you.” I didn’t know exactly what was going on with Homer today, but flattery almost never failed.

  “Here you go, Homer,” Lu said.

  As he turned to take his tacos, I saw a little blush go up his cheeks. Flattery worked every time. “Anyway, I’m off to devour these goodies. Good to see you, Homer.” I waved a foil-wrapped delight in his general direction and received a similar salute in return.

  I decided to head back to the shop and hide in the backroom with my lunch and a large supply of napkins . . . that is if I could keep the hounds from grabbing the tacos right out of my hands before we got there.

  By late afternoon, I could feel the effects of all the week’s excitement catching up with me, and I needed caffeine. Once again, I was glad Marcus was on hand. I was dragging, but he had some real Air Jordan-powered pep in his step today. I wanted to ask him if he’d gotten some good news or something, but I was just too tired.

  Still, his presence in the store had definitely been good in a number of ways. I was especially delighted to see more young people – that’s how I thought of them, even though that kind of thinking made me feel ancient – coming in. The number of teenagers and college students spending time in the shop was definitely increasing, and, just now, Marcus was showing a slightly squealy group of teenage girls our YA section and talking about how much he loved Trail of Lightning by Rebecca Roanhorse. I had no doubt I’d need to restock that title if the girls’ swoony eyes and small touches on Marcus’s arm were any indication of potential purchases.

  I gave him a little wave and a wink as I entered the café and took a seat near the counter so Rocky and I could chat while I caffeinated.

  “You okay, Harvey? You look – sorry – like you’ve been drained of blood by a vampire.”

  I chuckled. “I bet I do. That might have been easier than my week actually, especially if the vampire was sparkly.”

  She laughed, but then leaned onto the counter to look me in the eye. “Really, though, Harvey. Are you okay? This week has been, well, a lot.”

  I sank back against the wall next to me and sighed. “I am. I mean, I think I am. I’m better than I was on Tuesday after visiting Miranda. That was so hard – so sad and so scary. But now, now, I’m just run-down. It’s nice to have a pretty normal day today.”

  Rocky smiled. “Agreed. No one over here has asked for me to toast their cookie or anything.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep, this one guy. Every time.”

  I rolled my eyes. “People.” I took a long swig of my coffee and let my shoulders drop a bit.

  “How about you? Your week started kind of rough with your car and all. Is it getting better? How’s the final exam prep going?”

  Rocky’s face flushed a little. “Daniel told you what happened, didn’t he?” When I nodded, she continued quietly, “I was so embarrassed, but he was so nice, Harvey. Didn’t even tease me.”

  I smiled. “I think he’s actually one of those nice guys.”

  “You think?”

  “Okay, well, I know.” I lowered my voice a little. “I don’t mean to pry, but if you need cash or something . . .” I let my sentence trail off.

  Rocky swallowed hard. “Harvey, that is so sweet. No, I’m fine. Actually better than I have been for a while because of this café. Sales have been good, and the profit-sharing is working well. Thanks for that.” She looked out the window over my left shoulder. “No, Monday wasn’t about money. I was, um, distracted.”

  My first thought was that she had been thinking about school, but something about the tentativeness in her voice told me something more was going on. “Oooh. Do you want to talk about this distraction?”

  Her eyes darted over to the register where a certain young man was selling all our copies of Roanhorse’s fantasy novel.

  “OH,” I said. “Really?”

  She shrugged and smiled. “I think so. I mean, we’ve been out a couple of times.”

  I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen it before – all the trips Marcus took to the café only to return without a coffee mug. I never came back from the café without coffee. I was delighted though. I liked when good people found other good people. “I love this, Rocky. That’s awesome.”

  “We’re keeping it pretty quiet. Don’t want pressure and stuff.”

  “Got it. I won’t stay a word to him . . . or to you, if you’d like, unless you bring it up. No pressure from me.” I smiled at her. “But it does look like you’re happy, and that makes me happy.”

  She blushed again, and I gave her hand a pat as I headed back to work.

  Dinner that night was the perfect combination of frivolity and companionship that I needed. We all gathered at Cate and Lucas’s place after the shop closed – me, Daniel, Mart, Marcus, Rocky, Stephen, and Walter – for a crab boil. Okay, for me it was one of Lucas’s amazing hamburgers, but for everyone else, it was a massive pile of crabs, potatoes, and corn on the cob poured onto brown paper that was spread end-to-end on their dining room table.

  Basically, the idea was that everyone sat around the table and cracked open crab shells with their bare hands and a communal claw cracker. Cate was wise and had put a small trashcan next to each seat, and so instead of the massive pile of crab shells and spent corn cobs that I’d seen at other boils, the table got more and more clear as my friends ate. And ate. And ate. It was impressive, really.

  Stephen and Walter, crab boil novices, were especially fun to watch since they went all in with total gusto even though they had no idea what they were doing. By the time they came up for air, they were covered in little bits of crab meat and Old Bay and looked blissful, if slightly uncomfortable from overeating.

  I, however, had not overeaten, and so when Lucas brought out his famous cupcakes, I did not have to wait until dinner settled, especially since I’d finished dinner thirty minutes earlier than everyone else. Instead, I got my pick – the lemon meringue cupcake – and even had time to get my second choice – carrot with cream cheese
frosting – before anyone else was ready for firsts. There were advantages to not eating seafood in a waterside town.

  After everyone finished, we all waddled into the living room and sat on their giant sectional to watch Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. For most of us, it was an act of nostalgia. For Rocky and Marcus it was, apparently, an act of horror. “Look at how awful the stunts look.” “Those jeans are terrible.” “Did people really talk like that?”

  At first, those of us for whom Matthew Broderick’s performance was epic and part and parcel with our childhood were – okay, I – it was only me – was put off by the snide comments coming from the younger corner of the sofa, but by the end of the movie, we were all laughing at the ridiculousness which we had all known was there even back in the day. Sometimes, it’s best to let a hero topple.

  After the movie, we helped clean up the last of our mess, making sure that Mayhem, Taco, and Cate and Lucas’s miniature Schnauzer, Sasquatch, got a few bits of crab as a treat. We hadn’t talked about anything serious, and we’d all carefully avoided talking about the murders. I thought I might have been frustrated by the distraction – I like things resolved and as quickly as possible – but in fact, I felt more relaxed than I had in days.

  Marcus had offered to escort Rocky to her car, and when Daniel had almost offered to walk with them, I’d given him a kick under the table. He shot me a look, but kept his mouth shut. The stroll back through town was quiet, and I enjoyed looking at the tulips under the moonlight as I walked with the people I loved most in the world through the town we’d now all be calling home. I was looking forward to lots of years with these people, but I was also excited to get a good night’s sleep for the first time in a few days.

  Then, we saw my parents’ car in our driveway, and all the tension came flooding back.

  I had forgotten I’d given them a key a few days earlier just in case they needed to get into the house. Apparently, they had “needed” to get in because when we got inside, they were both asleep on the couch, presumably because they had seen Stephen and Walter’s belongings in our only guest room.