Can't Judge a Book by Its Murder

by Amy Lillard

  Camille patted the side of his face. “So cheeky this one.”

  He took a sip of his drink and smiled.

  “What?” Arlo asked. She still held hers in one hand as if it was about to sprout legs and walk off.

  “Try it.”

  “I’m scared.”

  His grin deepened. There were those dimples again.

  She steeled herself against his handsomeness and the drink and took a small sip. Sweet. “Is this…”

  He took another drink. “Yep.”

  Tea. Why were they drinking tea, pretending it was alcohol?

  Because their guests were drinking vodka, toasting everything from Wally and his book to the color of the curtains.

  “Are they doing what I think they’re doing?” Arlo asked.

  Sam nodded. “I think so.”

  Great. Just what she needed: Inna and Daisy drunk the night before the attorney read Wally’s will.

  Then again, if it helped them loosen up enough to spill a few secrets…

  When she looked at it that way…it was brilliant.

  “Have you read it?” Inna asked, her accent even thicker than usual.

  “Read what?” Sam was still standing close to Arlo and had been for most of the evening. They had been in the common room for almost twenty minutes. Everyone was laughing and drinking and talking, in general having a good time.

  “My Wally’s book.”

  Interesting—that was the second time she had referred to him as “my Volly.”

  “Missing Girl?” He looked down into his glass as if the liquid there had the answers of the universe. “Not yet. But we have a book club now and we’re reading it.”

  “A book club?” Daisy picked that moment to saunter up. She really was pretty in a sexy-girl-next-door sort of way. She seemed to be handling herself well, but Arlo could almost see the thin veneer of composure that kept her looking like the successful author’s wife that she was. “How sweet.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Sam stumbled over his words like a person who was learning to walk again.

  “We should go,” Daisy said to Inna.

  The invitation sounded sincere enough, but if one was paying attention—and Arlo was—they would hear that Daisy’s words were a little forced, as if she somehow felt obligated to include Inna. Now that Wally was gone, the two of them wouldn’t have anything to tie them to one another. At least not that Arlo could see. So either she felt compelled or something else bonded them.

  The will?

  Arlo supposed they would find that out soon enough.

  “Stuffed mushroom?” Helen shoved the platter into the circle of their little group. “Made them myself. Even foraged for the mushrooms.”

  As far as Arlo knew, Helen had never foraged for anything in her life, except maybe the last almond from the can of mixed nuts. And speaking of nuts, what was she up to?

  “Did you know that the most poisonous mushroom known to man looks almost identical to these button mushrooms? The two are practically impossible to tell apart. You know, unless you have the training.”

  “Thanks.” Daisy plucked one of the appetizers from the platter and popped it into her mouth.

  Helen held the platter closer to Inna. “Would you like one?”

  Inna shook her head and eyed the platter with what seemed to be distrust. Or was it guilt over being presented with the one thing she used to try to kill Wally?

  Inna was, of course, on the book club’s list of suspects, but Arlo had a hard time understanding why she might kill her employer. Wally was making good with his book. No doubt he had already signed the contract for the next one and was living off a large advance, if the industry reports were correct.

  “No,” Inna said. “No mushrooms.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  She shook her head. “Daisy does. That’s what her family makes.”

  “Grows,” Daisy corrected. “We grow mushrooms.”

  Helen looked only mildly interested. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  Liar. Arlo stuffed one of the mushrooms into her mouth to keep the word from escaping. Helen knew everything about everyone who stayed at her inn.

  And someone whose family grew mushrooms for a living would surely know how to tell a death cap from the edible meadow mushroom.

  “These are good,” Sam said around a mouthful of food. He picked another mushroom off the plate before swallowing the first.

  Arlo shot him a look.

  “What?” he asked. A bit defensively if she was telling the truth. “I skipped lunch.”

  Helen smiled at him. “Eat all you want.”

  He took another.

  “Refill?” Camille buzzed up, a bottle of “whiskey” in one hand and vodka in the other.

  “It is a party, no?” Inna asked.

  “It’s Russ’s birthday.” Helen pointed to the man standing over by the sideboard. Russ England, mayor of Sugar Springs. Next to him, on the sideboard, sat a large white sheet cake, candles sticking out of the top and everything. But it wasn’t Russ’s birthday. Arlo knew because his birthday and hers were the same and he had teased her about switching their ages for as long as she had lived in Sugar Springs.

  “That’s a party,” Inna said and held her glass up for Camille to refill with the chilled vodka.

  “Can I get—” Daisy pointed to the whiskey bottle.

  But Camille cut her short. “Oh, no, this stuff is home distilled. You don’t want any of it.”

  “I’d like to try it.”

  Camille smiled and filled Daisy’s glass with vodka. “Locals only,” she singsonged and danced away without waiting for Daisy to answer.

  “Does it feel strange being at a party so soon after your husband’s death?” Fern asked.

  “Fern!” Helen chastised. “You shouldn’t bring things like that up. Not now.”

  Daisy stared into her glass, then downed the vodka. “With Wally, everything is strange. Was.” She hiccupped.

  Helen smiled. “Let me get you a refill, dear.”

  * * *

  By the time they made it to the cake—after wild mushroom quesadillas with chili verde mushroom salsa—Arlo had no more information about Daisy or Inna than she’d had before they started. The women had put away a gallon of iced tea disguised as moonshine. Apparently neither Daisy nor Inna had seen any of the moonshine shows on television these days. Distilled corn liquor was clear and only got its amber coloring after being aged in oak barrels. But hey, what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. At least this time. But Arlo suspected that one of them had killed Wally. But which one?

  “It’s a good thing they are staying at the inn tonight,” Sam said as they left the party. “Neither one of them needs to be behind the wheel.”

  She nodded and was all too aware that he was walking her to her car. It wasn’t necessary, but how could she tell him that without appearing uncomfortably aware of his every move?

  “Do you think one of them did it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I thought you were a private dick.”

  “And I thought I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone that.”

  Arlo shook her head. “In your expert opinion, is one of them—Daisy or Inna—guilty of killing Wally?”

  “You do realize that the evidence against Chloe is stacked high?”

  “But she’s not guilty.”

  “That’s not up for me to decide.”

  Arlo sucked in a deep breath. “Let’s pretend that Chloe is completely out of the picture. Do you believe that Daisy is capable of killing her husband? I mean, everyone knows that he’s been unfaithful.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Everyone but you, I guess.”

  “I guess. Who was the unlucky lady?”

  “Inna.
”

  “Ouch.”

  “I know, right? All the magazines were talking about it. How Daisy caught them together at a hotel. It was sad really. But Daisy pasted on a smile and kept right on going like nothing had ever happened.”

  “I wonder why.” They stopped at her car.

  Arlo palmed her keys. “She knows a good thing when she has it. Had it?” She shook her head. “Can you imagine her on a mushroom farm? Have you ever been to a mushroom farm?”

  “No, but I take it you have.”

  “They stink. I mean, literally. It’s the worst smell in the world. Think about it. Button mushrooms grow in poop. Manure, feces.”

  “Stop! I got it.” He held up his hands. “So you think Daisy would forgive his affair because she wants the cash cow, so to speak?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

  “What about love?” Sam asked.

  “What about it?” Arlo countered.

  “Wouldn’t that be enough to keep her with him?”

  “We’re talking about Wally here. Wally Harrison. Class of 2009’s Most Likely to Get Punched by a Security Guard.”

  “That wasn’t a real award.” Sam pressed his lips together, whether in distaste or to keep from laughing she couldn’t tell.

  “It was in the underground paper,” Arlo said.

  “Which you published.”

  She smiled. “Good times.”

  A moment of silence fell between them. Around where they stood, the leaves in the trees rustled, an owl called, and the crickets chirped.

  It was reminiscent of those early summer nights so long ago. And it would be so easy to lean in and kiss him. Just like she had done back then. Would he remember? Would he kiss her back?

  “My answer is yes.”

  “What?” Arlo drew back, unsure if she had always been so close to him or if she had moved nearer in thinking about the past.

  “You asked if I thought one of them could be guilty of killing Wally. My answer is yes. Everyone is capable if properly provoked.”

  Arlo let out a nervous laugh and opened the car to put something between them. Memory Lane was beckoning, and she had no desire to travel it.

  Liar.

  “Mads said the same thing.”

  “That’s reassuring.” His tone was sarcastic, but his expression benign. She had no idea what to make of it.

  “Speaking of Mads,” she started. “What were you two talking about the other day? The day Chloe was arrested.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing,” she repeated. “Now why don’t I believe that?”

  He smiled. “Believe it or not. That’s entirely up to you.”

  “You know you’re a bad liar.”

  His smile deepened. “Sweetheart, so are you.”

  She got into the car, and he closed the door behind her. It took two tries to get the key into the ignition and the car into gear.

  Sam remained where he stood, watching her until she had backed out into the street. He waved as she put the car in drive and started toward home. She looked into her rearview mirror to see he had moved to his car and was preparing to leave.

  She wasn’t sure what that was all about, but one thing was certain: she needed to keep some space between her and Sam. It seemed they had a little unfinished business between them.

  14

  “Lord have mercy!” Frances cried. “What are you doing?”

  Arlo lugged the bulky carrier into the police station and set the container, along with its yowling contents, onto Frances’s desk. “I can’t take it any longer.”

  “Hey, baby.” Frances lifted her hand to the wire door of the carrier so Auggie could smell her fingers.

  “This is Chloe’s cat and he’s suffering from separation anxiety. Because of that, he has destroyed Chloe’s bungalow and my couch, given Faulkner anxiety, and attacked two of my customers. He needs to be here with her.” At least until Sam could take him.

  “Oh,” Frances cooed at the beast. “Do you need your mommy?”

  Auggie meowed in return. It was the nicest sound she had heard him make since she had stuffed him into the plastic crate for transport. She had never owned a cat before and if she had to go off Auggie’s reaction, they really didn’t like being in carriers.

  “And what are we supposed to do about it?” Mads came out of his office and stood behind Frances. He leaned one shoulder against the wall painted with the great seal of the town of Sugar Springs. He held a coffee mug in one hand, and judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it seemed he might need another cup real soon.

  “I’ve got his litter box in the car,” Arlo said.

  “Not happening.”

  “Oh, it is.” She turned to make her way back out. The cat was staying with Chloe one way or another.

  “Arlo.” Mads used that cop voice she had heard before. The one that brooked no argument. But she had known him when he was young, not as large or intimidating as he was now. She had seen him in wet boxers after “almost” skinny-dipping in the large man-made lake behind Lillyfield mansion. She wasn’t scared of him.

  “You can take the cat, or you can let Chloe go. Your choice.”

  He seemed to think about it a minute. All the while, Frances babbled nonsense to Auggie who had thankfully stopped yowling. Maybe Arlo just wasn’t a cat person.

  Mads shook his head. “Fine, why not? Nothing else about this arrest has been ordinary.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of the Mads she had known way back when. Then he was gone in an instant. “Whatever,” Mads growled. He drained the last of the coffee in his mug and stared into it for a moment. “The litter box stays in the cell with her.”

  * * *

  “I still don’t think I should be here,” Arlo whispered. They were standing in the foyer of the inn, right outside of the downstairs common room. She checked her watch: 2:55. Beside her, Chloe shifted and pulled on the hem of her shirt, handcuffs clinking as she did so. “And I don’t know why Mads insisted on restraining you.”

  “I think that was the lawyer, and I need you here,” Chloe said. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure why I’m here either.”

  “Maybe Wally decided to man up and take care of Jayden.”

  Chloe’s mouth twisted into a disbelieving frown. “I doubt that.”

  With Inna and Daisy hovering around and Mads directly behind them, they were keeping their voices low. It also helped since the book club ladies had decided to hold today’s meeting at the inn at the precise time of the reading of Wally’s will. Sam was moving into the third floor now that it had been rekeyed and was ready for a new tenant. Arlo still wasn’t sure if having him so close would be a blessing or a nightmare.

  The door to the common room slid open and a small man in a tailored suit stepped out. “Ladies.” He nodded at them. “And you, sir.” He seemed even smaller as Mads stepped past him into the room.

  “He comes to guard you, then leaves you out in the foyer with me,” Arlo grumbled.

  “Come on, you two.” Mads didn’t even turn around as he spoke. He settled down in the leather seat in the far corner, his back pressed against the wall.

  One by one they filed into the room—Chloe, Arlo, Inna, and Daisy.

  They settled down around the common room table where guests at the inn usually enjoyed fresh-baked muffins and coffee for breakfast. Arlo could use one of the muffins right about now, but she didn’t need it. Nervous eating was the reason she often carried around five extra pounds.

  The tiny lawyer cleared his throat and restacked the papers in front of him. “You know why we are all here. The reading of the will of Mr. Wallace Jerome Harrison.”

  Jerome. Arlo had forgotten that was Wally’s middle name. She had always remembered his arro
gant swagger and his overconfident attitude long after he had left town, but his middle name had been forgotten.

  The lawyer droned on in legal-speak about parties of the first part and second part, then he turned to Inna. “To my assistant, Inna Kolisnychenko, I leave the desk where I did most of my work and one thousand dollars so she can buy her own computer and tell her own story.”

  Arlo didn’t know what to expect from this decree, but it certainly wasn’t the near-purple color that seeped into Inna’s face. It rose up from her neck and in seconds was all the way to her hairline. Her hands trembled as she tried to control whatever emotion had taken her over. It almost looked like anger. But what did she have to be angry about? Maybe she was upset that her lover was treating her more like an employee instead of intimate.

  “To my lovely wife, Daisy, I leave one third of my estate as deemed by New York state law.”

  “What?” Daisy was slowly becoming the same color as Inna. But unlike Inna, who wore an ivory-colored dress, Daisy wore green, and the shade of purple now staining her skin was clashing terribly.

  The lawyer stopped. “New York law dictates that a spouse cannot be written out of a will. The spouse is entitled to one third of the estate or fifty thousand dollars, whichever is greater. Obviously, Mr. Harrison’s estate is larger than one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and you, Mrs. James-Harrison, are only entitled to a third of that.”

  “I don’t understand.” She gritted the words from between her teeth.

  “It’s simple really,” the lawyer started again. “New York law—”

  “I understand that,” Daisy said, jumping to her feet. Mads sat up, his lazy attention turning alert in the blink of an eye. “I just don’t understand. How can he cut me out after all we’ve been through?”

  “Oh, you’re not cut out,” the lawyer cheerfully corrected. “The law won’t allow that. So you see, you get one third.”

  “A pittance compared to what he’s worth now.” She shook her head, and finally asked the question that was rattling around in everyone’s minds. “Who gets the rest?”

  The lawyer cleared his throat again and turned his attention back to the papers he held, Wally’s last will and testament. But not before his gaze strayed to Chloe.