The Perfect Plan

by Carina Taylor

  Libby laughed. "Orange washes me out."

  "Okay, so you make it related to poor health. What if your victim is in excellent health?"

  "Why does the victim have to be in excellent health? Why don't you pick — or write about — a sickly victim?"

  Marcie's lips curved down. "I wouldn't need to kill someone who was on borrowed time, would I? No, it has to be something sudden, but believable."

  "Ulcers."

  "Do people die from ulcers?"

  Libby shrugged. "I don't know, but it sounded sudden."

  "That could work."

  "How do you give someone an ulcer?" Libby was pleased with her cause of death for the murder. There was no way for Marcie to kill someone with an ulcer purposefully.

  She hoped.

  Mandy circled back around to ride next to them, making any more talk of murders impossible.

  By the end of the morning, Libby had found her rhythm and enjoyed riding as long as she avoided Cleo's bumpy trot. The minute she dismounted, she was already looking forward to when she could ride again. Mandy extended an invitation to come ride anytime she wanted, and Libby intended to take her up on that offer.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  LIBBY knew she wouldn't win any fashion awards for wearing Birkenstocks and paint-stained shorts with an oversized, hole-ridden t-shirt. But right now, she didn't care. She wasn't sure her legs would ever work right again. She'd had no clue that sitting still on top of a horse could make her legs so sore. It even hurt to push in the clutch on her car.

  After parking her car in front of Ellie's new boutique, she headed toward the hardware store. She limped down the sidewalk as gracefully as possible. Libby had never seen a baby giraffe, but she had a feeling that she looked like one with her stilted gate limping in her sandals. Her legs were stiff from riding earlier that morning.

  Libby caught her reflection in one of the windows as she walked passed. It was as bad as she feared, so she turned her focus back to the sidewalk so that she didn't accidentally run into the large pots filled with flowers that lined the edge of the street.

  The porch swing had been delivered while they were out riding. Marcie was determined to put it together before The Garden Show weekend. She sent Libby into town to buy some paint and a few bolts for it.

  Harvey wasn't bothered when she handed him Marcie's vague list and the thick packet of directions. He found the right screw sizes — she hoped — and picked a nice eggshell-colored paint for when they were finished. He even helped her carry everything to her car and reminded her that they would be playing cribbage again on Monday morning.

  Ellie was outside her shop, applying stenciled lettering to her window, when Libby got back to her car. She waved goodbye to Harvey before going to say hello to Ellie.

  "Hey, Libby! Want to come in and see the progress?" She motioned toward the shop. "Rick and Brenna have been helping with the interior. It won't be open for another week, but the back room is almost done. Thank goodness, because I have a couple of orders to finish up, and it will be so much easier in this space than my mom's living room."

  "You're living with your parents?"

  "Not for long; there's a small apartment above the store I'm moving into. Mom's mad at me because I don't plan on living with them until I die, but Dad says he'll be glad to have his man cave back."

  Libby smiled. "Your parents are the best."

  "They are, but I need my own space. Besides, I don't like to compromise on my Netflix choices," she added with a wink. She opened the door in the center of the brick building. They stepped into a small foyer with three doors to choose from. The one on the left read "Lindell's Thrift." The one in the middle simply had a number: 76. Then, the one on the right said “L'Boutique.”

  Ellie opened the door to the boutique, and Libby followed her in. "Rick and Brenna went to grab lunch and let the baby take a nap."

  "I thought Rick was your landlord. I'm pretty sure I met him at bingo the other night with Marcie. I'm becoming a regular, you know. And since when did you have a baby?"

  Ellie laughed. "Rick is the landlord. He's also my great uncle. Brenna and I are cousins of some sort, and she's Colter's local handyman — or handywoman. Now that she has a baby, she brings Maisy with her."

  "Wow. I've never heard of someone bringing their baby to work."

  "Yeah, just so you know, her husband went missing in Iraq on a tour of duty. He never even got to meet the baby."

  Libby couldn't imagine facing that kind of grief, much less having a baby to take care of. The grief Libby had suffered growing up had been longer, haunting, and expected. The pain that this girl faced sounded instant and earth-shattering.

  "Poor girl," Libby said, not knowing what else to say.

  "It really is the saddest thing. You wish you could somehow make it better for her." With a sigh, Ellie waved her arms around the shop. "This will be the front of my boutique, featuring clothes that are ready-made."

  Libby followed Ellie through a wall that had recently been Sheetrocked. The back room was twice the size of the front section.

  Clear totes filled with fabric were stacked floor to ceiling in the corner. Brown, unlabeled boxes were scattered around the floor. A few dresses were hung in clear garment bags on a rack against the wall.

  Libby walked over to the dresses and eyed them. They were bright, bold, color-blocked dresses. "These are cute. Where do you source your inventory from?"

  Ellie smiled. "I make them."

  "What? Are you serious? All of them?" Libby looked at the dresses again. She could never imagine taking a piece of fabric and turning it into something. Aunt Leanne had signed her up for a sewing class in middle school. The teacher, Elmira Turner, had begged Leanne to withdraw Libby from it by the second class. She'd made history as the worst sewing student in Mrs. Turner's forty-year teaching history. Libby had finished the class out of sheer determination but decided she never wanted to touch a sewing machine again.

  "I reuse fabrics. I'll find cast-offs in thrift stores, garage sales, or things like that, and then I use that fabric to make my clothes."

  "So, basically, it's couture meets recycling?" Libby asked as she ran her hand over a cream, mermaid-style wedding dress.

  "Pretty much. I was going to school in New York when everything with Dad happened."

  Libby studied Ellie and wondered how old she was. She seemed young, and it wouldn't be too far-fetched for her to be a couple years younger than Libby even. That had to put her around nineteen or twenty. "Was it hard to leave school?"

  "Yes and no. There was no question whether I would come back or not. My parents didn't want me to quit school, but I knew I couldn't be across the country while Dad was going through chemotherapy. I love him too much to be far away when that's happening." Ellie flopped onto an open box of fabric. "But moving back here is the complete opposite of my life plan."

  "Meh, life plans aren't all they're cracked up to be." Libby found that she meant what she said. She had always had a life plan. It was her safety net. But staying here in Colter with Marcie, having time to talk and text with Evan, was filling something in Libby. Something she didn't understand yet.

  Ellie wrapped a piece of ribbon around her hand. "Why is it life can never go like you planned?"

  Libby glanced around at the room filled with material. "You know, Ellie, you might not have planned on moving back here, but you're not sitting around waiting for life to happen. Look at all of this!"

  "Thanks. I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I mean, really, how many customers will I get in Colter? It's not exactly a fashion hotspot."

  "Why don't you open an online store?"

  Ellie pulled an old brooch from behind her back and began to shine it absentmindedly. "It crossed my mind, but I don't know where to start, and to be honest, I don't want to deal with running it."

  Libby waved a hand through the air. "You can set it up to where most of it's automated, and you can have UPS pick up packages straight from your sto
re. Hey, I just remembered, I was talking to Jo when I grabbed coffee this morning, and she does some freelance graphic design. I freelanced as a web designer in high school and college. I could help you set it up, and you could ask Jo to do the design."

  "That would be amazing, because I don't want to take the time to learn how to do that stuff. I'd rather spend that time on the actual clothes. I'll text Jo today. I'd love to hire you both."

  "I've got so much time on my hands that I'd be willing to set up your online boutique for a cup of coffee." Libby couldn't help but laugh that Ellie was so spontaneous – and that she didn't even ask for a sample of her work. She leased a building for her boutique but hadn't thought far enough ahead as to whom she would be selling to. Libby always had the next step planned, which is why moving into the last phase of her life plan was freaking her out to no end. But that was a thought for another day.

  "It's a deal. Who knows, maybe I'll even like running a store and selling online."

  "You probably will. Would you do special orders? Anything like custom wedding dresses?" Libby asked.

  "I would love to get into custom work. I made a wedding dress for one of my cousins my sophomore year of high school, and I got hooked on it. But more than just wedding dresses, I would love to get into creating custom wardrobes — items that could get worn regularly but are unique for each person. Sort of like a couture capsule wardrobe."

  Libby glanced down at her jean shorts and Birkenstocks. She wondered if Ellie would cater to ultra-casual. Maybe she could create a sweatpants wardrobe. Libby shook her head. She might not have the same sense of fashion as Ellie, but she had other strong points — like being able to set up an online store.

  "Why don't you come back to the house with me, and I can show you some different options for a website?" Libby suggested. "Just kidding. I forgot I'm supposed to be getting back there to help build a porch swing."

  Ellie stood up and dropped the brooch and string she had fashioned into a choker back into the box. "I'll come help. I've never built one, but I can hand you stuff and tell you all my Dad's cheesy jokes."

  "It's a deal." Libby smiled. There were some things Libby didn't question, and if it was someone offering to help build a porch swing, then she didn't refuse.

  When they got out to Libby's car, she remembered the other task Marcie had sent her for. "Marcie's hosting a barbecue this weekend, and she wants me to pick up as much toilet paper from the store as I can. The entire county is probably coming. Do you mind if I swing by the market?"

  Ellie grinned. "I forgot it was that time of year again. Sure! I'll help you load it up."

  "Thanks." Libby jumped into the front seat and began turning the key, coaxing the car into starting. "Third try. Not too shabby."

  "I like this car."

  "You do?" Libby didn't sense any derision in Ellie's tone - just an honest opinion.

  "Was this your first car?"

  "Yup, paid cash for it on my sixteenth birthday. Babysitting seemed to pay back then."

  "I love it. I hope you keep it until it dies."

  "I plan to. But unfortunately, it's been a long, painful death. It's incredibly loyal - doesn't want to give up."

  "I drive a 4Runner that's the year I was born. Dad bought it brand new for my mom when she was pregnant with me. It got passed down, and it's been fun. Lots of memories made in that car. I was so attached to it that I was sad to leave it behind when I headed to New York. Now that I'm back, I've been driving it again."

  "I know what you mean about being attached to your car," Libby replied as she parked the car in front of the market and they stepped out of the car. "I've spent so much time in this car I feel like it's a part of me. Evan and I have spent so much time fixing this car that I don't want to see our hard work go to waste."

  Libby pretended like she didn't notice Ellie watching her from the corner of her eye as they found the aisle with toilet paper. "You and Evan, huh? Are you dating?"

  "No." Libby began building a tower of toilet paper on the ground.

  "Do you want to be?"

  "No!" Libby accidentally knocked over the stack she had built.

  "Interesting." Ellie pulled out her phone and began texting someone.

  Libby carried her tower of toilet paper to the front of the store while Ellie followed behind. "This should be enough to put Marcie's mind at ease, right?"

  Ellie glanced up from her phone with a smirk as she set one package of toilet paper on the counter. "Nope. We're going to have to clean off that shelf. Evan says you're hot."

  Libby walked straight out of her sandal then held still. "How do you know that?"

  "I texted him a picture of you and asked ‘hot or not.’ He texted back ‘definitely hot.’"

  "What, are we in middle school still? Because it sure feels like that," Libby said dryly to hide her embarrassment. Libby walked back and slipped on her shoe before grabbing more toilet paper.

  It took three more trips from the aisle up to the counter where the magazine-absorbed teen was working the checkout counter.

  "That it?" the girl asked, looking at the mountain of toilet paper on the counter and stacked on the floor.

  "That's it."

  The girl didn't even blink; she simply began counting the stacks of toilet paper and ringing them up. Libby paid with the cash Marcie had given her.

  They piled it into two carts then wheeled it outside and stuffed it in the car. Every corner was filled. The trunk had to be tied with a shoelace to keep it closed. Ellie climbed into the passenger seat, and Libby stacked the packages around her. When Libby jumped in, the checker set the last couple packages on her lap. They were a traveling toilet paper factory. Libby had to do a few contortions to reach the gearshift. Driving back to Marcie's was a jarring experience filled with uncontrollable laughter.

  As they jerked to a stop in Marcie's drive, Ellie's eyes poked through a hole in the wall of packages. "If Evan were to ask you out, what would you say?"

  "You're still stuck on that?"

  "Stop answering a question with a question. Never mind. That's my answer." Ellie let out an evil snicker and returned to whatever it was she was up to behind the toilet paper wall.

  "I didn't know you were so nosy. I might have to rethink this whole ‘helping you build a website’ thing," Libby said as she pushed open her door.

  "Don't worry," came Ellie's muffled voice, "I'm only nosy because I like you."

  "Just don't do anything that I'll regret."

  "Meh, where's the fun in that?"

  It took five trips to carry the toilet paper into the house. Marcie was happy to see Ellie there and was pleased with the paint color Harvey had picked out.

  "Libby, this was exactly what I had pictured; this will be perfect. Now, I laid everything out on the front porch, and I downloaded the instructions. With the two of us — now three of us — we should have it done in fifteen minutes."

  Three hours later, the porch swing was haphazardly propped against the house. The first time they started to assemble it, they had started at the end of the instructions. They had to take it apart and try again. The next time they tried to put it together, they each tried to assemble a separate part of it.

  The third time, Libby put it together by herself with Marcie and Ellie handing her the parts she needed. Libby was pretty sure her hair was turning gray from the entire experience. By the time it was said and done, she was excited to do something within her scope of capabilities, like work on a little web design with Ellie. If she had known what Marcie had in store for her that night, she would have started creating Ellie's website right away.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LIBBY: Your grandma has lost her mind.

  Libby sent the text to Evan as she traipsed down the sidewalk at midnight.

  Barefoot.

  After Ellie had left that afternoon (and made several more attempts to get Libby to admit she had a thing for Evan), Libby spent some time learning more about the remote accounting business.
She took on a few contract jobs while she was at it. Between getting paid to live with Marcie, getting paid for some bookkeeping work, and having very few living expenses, Libby's financial situation was looking up.

  Libby had been busy looking fondly at her nearly empty checking account and imagining what it would look like with money in it when Marcie informed Libby that they needed to get everything ready. Libby had no clue what Marcie was talking about when Marcie looked at the pile of toilet paper and declared that it wouldn't be enough for what she had in mind and that she would have to break into her private stash.

  Who has forty toilet paper rolls stored in their attic? The rolls had been covered in dust as though they had been stored up there for quite a while. Not to mention, there was probably a toilet paper crisis in Colter thanks to Libby buying every single pack in the store. Maybe Marcie planned on burying her murder victim alive. With toilet paper. At least it was the extra plush kind.

  And then Marcie told her what they were going to do: toilet paper Helen's house.

  Even stranger, Marcie had already told a couple of neighbors what she was going to do - as if it was the most normal thing in the world to do. They had given her advice on how to do it. They even insisted that they would help if she needed it.

  June had donated five rolls, along with a plate of the most delicious cookies. Monty was the biggest donor when he sent a Costco-sized package with Libby when she delivered more fertilizer after dinner.

  And now Libby was holding rolls of toilet paper, standing on Helen's walkway, while Marcie ran around like a whirlwind, spreading toilet paper like confetti. Libby wondered if she could sneak back to Marcie's house next door without her noticing.

  Marcie motioned to her.

  No such luck. Libby headed to the backyard where Marcie was frantically pointing for her to get to work.

  Libby wrapped toilet paper around the shrubs lining the front walkway before she began on the wraparound porch. Not sure where Marcie went, she decided to make the most of what she had then head home and wait for her. She had promised Evan she would keep an eye on her, not spend time in jail for her.