“Do you want me to drop you off at his place or at home?”
“Home. I need to change out of these dressy clothes.” Nylons and humidity definitely do not mix.
At the sight of Ben’s navy blue tractor rig in the driveway of his and Jerry’s house, I felt better already. I was soon up the stairs and standing at the door. My heart pounded.
Then, the door opened, and without a word, Ben pulled me into his arms. I breathed in a hint of cologne and the scent of his freshly washed hair. He’d been working out while on the road, using the resistance bands I’d bought him for his birthday. He wore a blue pullover shirt I didn’t remember seeing before, something that he’d normally wear to church and not on a Monday afternoon. His kiss reminded me of why getting married would be a very good idea.
“I missed you,” Ben murmured into my ear, his gravelly voice.
I stepped back but still remained in his arms. “I missed you, too. It was awful not having you here with everything that was going on.” Ben made up for our two weeks apart with another kiss.
When he held me at arm’s length, his blue eyes were twinkling. “Well, I’m here now, and you can tell me about it when we get back.”
“Back from where?”
His face took on an unreadable expression. “Somewhere. I have a surprise for you.”
“Okay. Where are we going?” I tried to block his path down the stairs but figured he might try to tote me over his shoulder like he did once before when I got sassy (as he claimed) and got in his way.
“You’ll see.” He took a step closer, and I reconsidered trying to make a human barrier at the top of the stairs.
We headed to my Jeep, where I tossed him the keys. He backed out down the driveway.
“You get the oil changed on this yet?” Ben shifted into first gear.
“I was going to… . Been kind of busy lately.”
He reached for my hand once we were on the main road, going into town. “I’ll take care of it before I leave again.”
I kept my questions to myself and instead filled him in on my and Diana’s efforts at the after-funeral dinner. “I know someone had it in for Charla Thacker, probably enough to kill her.”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t get it, though. Why go through all that trouble? It seems like a hassle to get into your store and sabotage the scrub.”
“Which is why I think whoever did this had more than just a jealous snit. It was in cold blood.” I sighed.
We made it through Greenburg’s half a dozen traffic lights that stayed green for us all the way.
“Um, we’re not heading to my parents’ house, are we?”
“Nope. Before that.” Ben slowed once we passed a grove of pines, then downshifted and turned into an overgrown driveway.
I’d been by this empty lot countless times, one of those places you pass and never see. Now I noticed a small real-estate sign with a red and white SOLD sticker plastered across it.
“Did you?”
Ben’s chest puffed out. “I bought it. Ten acres, and the back part of the acreage ends at the riverfront. This was Doris Flanders’s property. I got it for a good price. I wish the old house was still here.”
Ben is not known for his long speeches. He is a man who communicates more through his eyes and his hands and his posture. His eyebrows seem to speak, too. And now his words puzzled me.
“You bought this?” The gently rolling property needed some upkeep, but there might be a good spot for a garden by the rickety wooden shed across the driveway from the empty building lot. I glimpsed a few young watermelons studding the green vines that stretched from the end of the drive all the way to the shed.
“Isn’t it great?” Ben caressed my hand. “I’ve decided it’s time to set down roots of my own. Jerry and I get along fine, but I need my own space. My own roots. This land’s a start. One day a house. No hurry, though.”
I tried to take a deep breath, but my lungs didn’t seem to want to fill with air. Roots might as well have been ropes, tying me to the ground. This confirmed the nightmare I’d had one night of racing through a field, laughing with Ben. Then giant roots came snaking out of the ground and grabbed me like a boa constrictor. How could I tell him these things, with him sitting there looking like he’d just won the lottery?
Chapter Five
On Tuesday morning, I drove to Tennessee River Soaps. My heart dragged behind me all the way. Somehow I had to force myself to go through the motions of opening the shop, working on fresh product, and drumming up business before the whole operation went south. I thought of poor Charla and the fact that Greenburg was going to have to figure out how to get along without her. I hadn’t known her well, but what had her death done to those who did?
I drove into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes again. Not because someone had broken into the store, though.
Instead, someone had scrawled KILLER across the plate-glass window. I clamped my hand over my mouth. The glaring red letters obscured the pretty logo with its blue and green motifs that swirled around brown lettering.
Diana and I had spent hours painting the glass one spring day. I had cried then when I realized my dream was coming true. I wanted to cry now at the thought of my dream turning into a nightmare.
Was the vandalism worth calling Jerry about? I sighed, not wanting to add to his workload. I turned off the Jeep, left it parked kitty-corner in the lot, and trudged to the front window. A corner of the K flaked off easily. Soap pen?
Someone wasn’t making a heavy-duty threat here. If they were, they’d have used spray paint.
It took me forty-five minutes to scrub the gunk from the window. As I used a wet cloth to remove the letters, a smear of paint covered my logo. A red smear. Lord, not a smear on my business. I kept glancing over my shoulder to see when the first customers would arrive.
It wasn’t like I needed to hold my breath or anything. A full hour after my scheduled opening time, no one had shown up, not even to sample every product and then leave the store without buying anything, as many lookers were wont to do.
I sat down to my second cup of coffee. The scent mingled with the others on the sales floor—fruity, musky, floral. Melinda’s face came to mind. I couldn’t imagine the heart-numbing pain after losing a sister. Learning to go on after someone died suddenly couldn’t be easy. I looked at the phone. I had Melinda’s cell phone number from setting up Charla’s ill-fated spa party.
Maybe now would be the perfect time to call, especially to snap myself out of my pity party. I certainly hadn’t known a great loss like Melinda. As I let my gaze wander around the storefront, I realized things can be replaced. I could always find another line of work, but people were irreplaceable.
Melinda answered on the second ring.
“Hi, this is Andi Clark. Um, just thought I’d call and see how you’re doing.” Now that was a stupid remark. How do you think she’s doing? I already had one hand on the proverbial shovel, preparing to dig a hole for myself.
“All right, I guess.” An infinite weariness drifted across the phone line.
“I know it’s probably quiet around there now, with everyone getting back to their routines. I was just thinking about you, and…” I closed my mouth and let the words hang between us.
“Thanks. It means a lot for you to call. I just keep expecting the phone will ring and it’ll be Charla, saying she’s running late. Again. And then I remember.”
“I’m…I’m really sorry about what happened.” My throat caught. “Charla and I were so careful, and I still don’t understand… .” I considered asking about the lawsuit Charla had brought against Mike Chandler but reconsidered.
Melinda coughed. “I know you were. And I’ve got to apologize. That day, I said some horrible things. It wasn’t your fault.” Now she sniffed.
“Don’t worry about what you said,” I tried to reassure her. “Sometimes we say things when we’re really upset, and…”
“Listen, I know why you’re really calling.”
&n
bsp; “You do?”
She sniffled again. “I know you feel responsible for that allergic reaction. But now that I look back, Charla was really overdoin’ it. She hated being told she couldn’t do something. She just never got used to living with food allergies.”
“Really?” I tried not to suck in a deep breath. She thought I felt guilty.
“Yeah. Charla liked to push it. Eggs, mangoes, strawberries, and peanuts. She hated that list when we were kids. But the worst reaction she always had was to anything strawberry.” Melinda’s voice drifted to a whisper. “Oh…I’m rambling. No one’s really called since the funeral. It’s hard to know what to do besides talk. I’m sorry. I barely know you.”
“Don’t apologize. Maybe you just needed to vent a little.” My mind raced off from the subject at hand. I directed it back to Melinda. “We should meet for lunch sometime, if you want. I don’t know if you have anyone else to talk to… .”
“I’ve got friends—but thanks, I might take you up on that. People get busy and get involved with their own lives again.” It sounded as though she had pulled the phone away from her ear. “I’m getting another call. Can I let you go?”
“Sure…’bye for now.” I put down the phone and let my mind hit overdrive. Charla always had the worst reaction to strawberry. This was common knowledge to those who knew her. And it was a fact anyone could learn. Our town had plenty of loose tongues, and news was news. You could spoon up all kinds of dirt on people if you tried hard enough. I didn’t, though, since Momma and Daddy had raised me well enough to know when something wasn’t my business. Most of the time. I let out a sigh.
I needed Ben’s logic, or maybe it was just the idea of being around him. He let me ramble and think things out all the time. Dear, sweet Ben, who let me finish what I was saying and usually seemed pretty interested in what I had to say. Unlike some men who develop male-pattern deafness.
When I called Ben’s cell phone, I got his voice mail and remembered he’d gone to Home Depot for some window shopping. Evidently he was taking this settling-down thing seriously. Once Ben made up his mind, he was a man on a mission. Sometimes, though, he got swept away in his plans and didn’t mention them to me. Not like I had to give him permission or input. He was just used to being on his own and answering to no one but God.
Back to strawberries again. Somehow strawberry had to have gotten into that scrub. I tried to think of all the forms strawberry could come in. Dried strawberry, essential oil, food flavoring… What I needed to do was look at the evidence.
I moved from my perch behind the register and glanced out the front window. The sun beat down on an empty parking lot outside.
Jerry had to know something by now, didn’t he? And there was that matter of the message on the window this morning. I had a pretty good reason to call him, so I did.
He sounded flustered when he took my call at his desk. “Andi, I’m up to my eyeballs in work today, but what’s going on?”
“I know you’re busy, but I won’t take long. This morning I was greeted by the word killer written in red soap pen on my front store window.”
“Is it still there?”
“Um, no, I washed it off.”
“Not much I can do about that now. I can file a report.”
Duh. “Yes, well…I was wondering. Did you get an initial report back on Charla’s death? Anything on the facial scrub?”
“You know I can’t say right now.”
“Jer, I know you’re going to release a statement to the paper. If you know something, just tell me what you’d tell them. Do you have a cause of death?”
Jerry sighed. “Anaphylactic shock.”
“And my scrub?”
“Still at the lab. Don’t know exactly when those results will come back. We’ve got a cause of death and a signed death certificate and no crime was committed. So testing your scrub isn’t really a priority.”
“Well, thanks anyhow.”
“No problem.”
When I hung up the phone, I felt like I’d bugged him for almost no reason at all.
With a sigh, I turned my back on the summer day and entered the workroom where I made my concoctions.
The large tub of cherry scrub flakes sat where I’d left it on Saturday. Greenburg PD had taken only Charla’s scrub from the main room, but all of the product had come from this tub. I grabbed a plastic scoop and started swirling the flakes around. The fruity scent met my nostrils.
I couldn’t enjoy the aroma like I normally did. Cherry blossoms, smelling like spring. It had meant death for Charla. Some darkish specks stood out against the pink soap-scrub flakes. What was this? The small nubbins didn’t belong in this scrub.
Once I found a clean bowl and a magnifiying glass, I heaped a few generous scoops of scrub into it and pushed the flakes around with my finger. I lifted a palmful to my nose and inhaled.
Cherry…and something else. The wild tang also bore a hint of different sweetness. Of strawberries?
I needed a sifter, so I pulled one from the utensil drawer. Maybe these darkish flecks would pass through and leave flakes behind.
A minute later, I’d sifted the flakes until some of the specks covered the table. I licked a finger and grimaced at the soap taste, then dabbed at the specks on the table with my damp finger. I squinted at them, then went to fetch a magnifier from my tool drawer.
There on the worktable…dried strawberry seeds?
My heart pounded and I thought of something else. The breakin on the morning of Charla’s party might not have been another in the series of breakins plaguing the business owners of Greenburg.
Ben had voiced—and dismissed—the idea that someone had sabotaged the scrub. Someone knew of Charla’s allergy and knew about the party.
Someone who hated her enough to kill her.
Now, more than ever, I had to get to Mike Chandler and find out about that lawsuit, how she said he’d tried to poison her. What if Charla had been right, and what if this time he’d succeeded? I’d have to be careful with my questions.
Another thing. Mike employed his teenage nephews and a few of their friends during the summer. He needed strong workers on the farm. What if one of them had helped him break into the store and put strawberries in the scrub? He certainly had plenty of the sweet deadly fruit in his fields, ripe for picking.
Chapter Six
“Baby, murder is a very strong word.” Ben took my hand across our favorite table at Honey’s Place. Someone had the music cranked up loud, probably to drown out the Tuesday lunch din, and I had to lean closer to catch Ben’s words.
“I still say that breakin was no coincidence, and I’m going to find out who messed with that cherry scrub. I feel like this entire tragedy is partly my fault.” Pulling my hand free, I grabbed my fork and jabbed into a piece of hot biscuit. I swirled the biscuit in my side bowl of chocolate gravy, then popped the flaky morsel into my mouth.
A swallow of coffee followed the swallow of biscuit. I’d ordered from the breakfast menu. Nothing sweeter than being with Ben at Greenburg’s yummiest down-home eatery. I wished our conversation were sweeter.
“You’re being too hard on yourself. You had no way of knowing this was going to happen. Because sometimes bad things…happen.” Ben took a sip of his coffee. “And you need to accept it, like the rain falling on the just and unjust.”
I love him more than I can say, but sometimes Ben just doesn’t get it. “I know that. And I don’t think that’s what happened here. I’m going to prove she was murdered, but I don’t know how.”
“Charla’s death was an accident, pure and simple. You shouldn’t shoulder responsibility for that.”
“But it happened at my store. Tennessee River Soaps is my livelihood, and I’ve got to do what I can to show her death wasn’t because of my negligence. I’ve just got to.” I tried not to whine, but the last couple of words squeaked out. Good thing the music was loud. People would probably be staring otherwise, and I wasn’t about to have a meltdown at Hon
ey’s. Such occasions best took place behind closed doors, with much prayer afterward.
“Shh.” Ben reached out again for my hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb. “Don’t let this setback keep you down. Things will turn around.”
I bit my lip, then consoled myself with more of the divine chocolate gravy. After I swallowed, I continued. “I know. I’m not giving up.”
Somehow I didn’t sound very convincing. I’d only had one customer that morning, and they’d only bought one of the clearance bars of soap after traipsing around the shop for thirty minutes. My eyes blurred with tears.
“Don’t get discouraged. You’ve just got to determine to press on.”
“Determination alone won’t pay the rent. I need to update the Web site and do some better Internet marketing, but that costs money, too.” I could hardly talk around the knot in my throat. Money. I didn’t like talking money with Ben, who could make a penny shriek because he pinched it so tight, then was given to unexpected sweet gestures like the topaz bracelet that sparkled on my wrist.
“If you need money, consider me an investor.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Well, I’m not going to let you give up on this dream.” The sunlight coming through the window made Ben’s blue eyes gleam. “And before we get into talking about money, don’t let pride keep you from following through, either.”
“Following through?”
“You just seem…like you give up too easy sometimes.” He took my other hand. “Because, when you have something worth fighting for, you hang on no matter what.” Ben’s gaze held me and the music got swallowed up by the pounding in my ears.
“You’re not just talking about the business, are you?”
“No.”
“You know I love you, Ben.” Had I spoken out loud? Why was saying “I love you” so hard?
“I know.” He gave a slight nod. “I love you, too. Which is why I’m committed to seeing us through. Every night, I pray I’m the kind of man God wants me to be—for you.”
I needed to say something, but my mind only echoed with the twangy song playing over the speakers. At last, the sounds of clanking silverware and the murmurs of diners registered in my ears.
A Suspicion of Strawberries (Scents of Murder Book 1) Page 5