by Amy Lillard
He chuckled, that warm sound that sent tingles through her. Or maybe it was just nostalgia? “I make plenty of noise.”
“Uh-huh.” But Arlo knew her message got across. He was way too good at sneaking up on her.
“And I repeat,” he said. “The one what?”
For the life of her, Arlo couldn’t remember what they had been talking about before Sam came in.
“When Jayden is moving in with Chloe,” Fern prompted.
“Oh.” Arlo hoped her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt they had to be, considering the heat filling her face. “Saturday evening after we close. You want to loan us your truck?”
“I’m sure I can help.” There went that Sam smile. “Are you sure you can get it all done if you’re starting so late?”
“We have to,” Arlo said. “We can’t both take off on a Saturday. And I don’t want to leave her to do it alone.”
“We should hire someone else,” Fern said. “In addition to Courtney.”
Arlo smiled at her use of the word we. “I thought I’d hired you.”
Fern chuckled. “Will work for coffee.”
“I have a nephew who’s looking for a job,” Sam said. “He’s coming home from school.” He stopped and shook his head. “Some people just aren’t cut out for college, I guess. He’s really smart but…he’s a hard worker. If you decide you need someone.”
Arlo nodded. “We might could use a little muscle around here. Have him come in and fill out an application.”
Sam smiled. “I will.”
“What do we get to do in the meantime?” Fern asked. She had taken one of the books from the box and was turning it this way and that as she studied it.
Again with the we.
“Make do like always,” Arlo said. “Where is everybody?”
“Camille is out with her guy again.” Fern frowned and set the book to one side.
“Helen?” Arlo prompted.
“She had to go back to the store. She needed some more pecans for Mads’s cake. Though secretly I think she’s just trying to butter him up to get him to reopen the Mary Kennedy case,” Fern said.
Arlo shrugged. “Maybe.” It did sound like something Helen would do.
“That’s right,” Sam said, his tone musing. “His birthday is coming up.”
“I’m surprised you remember that,” Arlo said.
“I remember a lot of things,” Sam said. His gaze snagged hers, and a moment passed between them. A moment of secrets. Neither one was willing to talk about what happened between them all those years before, just as neither was going to bring up what they knew about Camille’s guy. At least not yet anyway. Sam hadn’t come to her with any news about Joe Foster. She could only believe that he didn’t have anything new to share. Or was there something more in that look…?
“What was that?” Fern asked. “What was that look?”
Sam stopped. “What look?” He gave a small chuckle to reinforce his words.
Arlo did her best to turn her legs from noodles back into real legs. “I was just thinking about Jason,” Arlo said. “How he’s handling the investigation into Haley’s death.”
“You mean Haley’s murder,” Fern said emphatically.
She just had to bring it up. “Fern.” She didn’t need to say much else. And she probably wouldn’t since it would do no good. But Arlo really wanted the girls to stay out of police business. It had been a whole different matter when Chloe had been pinpointed for murder one.
“I know, I know,” Fern waved one hand and then settled down into her chair. She had pulled the box of donations over to the reading nook so she could sit while she pilfered through it.
“Send your nephew in,” Arlo said to Sam. “We can’t have him trained by Saturday, but if we like him, we can get him started as early as next week.”
“He comes home on Friday. My sister’s already gone up to help him move his stuff.”
“Where was he?” Arlo asked.
“Auburn,” Sam answered.
“Tough school,” Fern said without looking up from the pages of the book in her lap.
“I think he just bit off more than he could chew. His dad wanted him to be a veterinarian, Lord, knows why. He’s more…artistic than that. I think you’ll like him. And he loves to read.”
“Sounds like my kind of guy.” Arlo smiled and caught Sam’s gaze once again. There was a time when he was her kind of guy. What she couldn’t figure out if he still was. Or if he ever would be again.
“Arlo.” Fern slowly rose, the box of books still nestled between her feet. “Arlo. Arlo. Arlo!” Her voice raised in excitement or surprise, Arlo couldn’t tell which. “I have it! Right here! Right in my very hands! Weston Whitney’s diary!”
Chapter 10
“You found one of the journals?” Helen asked as she entered the bookstore less than half an hour later. Camille was hot on her heels.
“Three of them,” Fern held them up triumphantly.
“And they were in the donation boxes?” Camille asked. She plopped down next to Fern on the couch and reached for one of the tomes Fern held.
“Like they were meant for us to find,” Fern confirmed.
Arlo was vacillating between keeping the books—after all they had been donated to her store—and returning them to the mansion. So far, she was leaning toward returning them to Judith Whitney, but what harm was there in letting the book club read them before she did that? It would give them something to do that truly would make them feel like they were participating in discovering the truth about Mary Kennedy, and it kept them away from Lillyfield and the real murder investigation.
Not to mention the peace it brought as the ladies buried themselves between the pages, barely looking up to acknowledge Chloe as she brought them a tray of coffee and placed it on the coffee table between them.
“I’ve got it!” Fern snapped her book shut and jumped to her feet.
“Got what?” Helen and Camille demanded.
So much for the peace. It had lasted a good half hour or so.
“Wilson’s Jewelry,” Fern replied as if that answered it all.
Helen rolled one hand in the air, urging Fern to continue.
“Listen to this.” Fern opened her journal and began to read. “‘It’s quite a shame really, but I see no way around it. Mary has to be stopped one way or the other, and this seems the best by far. I’ll report the necklace stolen. Even if she finds it and tries to return it to the police, she’ll look as guilty as sin. And the problem will be solved.’”
“That sounds like Weston planted the necklace on Mary hoping to have her arrested for its theft.” Helen said, and Camille agreed with a nod.
“Yet the necklace was never found,” Camille added.
“Henry Wilson would have sold Weston the necklace,” Fern continued. “He sold them all their jewelry. Even the one that Mary Kennedy was accused of stealing.”
“It’s possible,” Camille said.
Wilsons’ was the only jewelry store in Sugar Springs at that time.
“If it’s as valuable as rumored, Weston would have had to order it special. Maybe Henry remembers more about that time. Maybe he has clues that no one had ever asked him about.”
It was as far-fetched of an idea as finding the man who sold Mary the car she had been driving, but Helen and Camille were on their feet before Arlo could say so. Maybe that was a good thing, or they would chase down the car salesman next.
“Let’s go.” Helen grabbed her purse.
Camille looped her own handbag over one arm, and the three of them started for the door.
They stopped before they got there.
“Are you coming?” Fern asked.
Arlo shook her head. “I’ve got plenty to do here.” It was the truth. Plus, she didn’t want to go marching down Main Street to
question an innocent man about a necklace he sold a man fifty years ago. Surely the ladies couldn’t get into trouble talking to Henry Wilson…
Camille shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
After the ladies had left the store, Arlo felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somehow she had become protector of Sugar Springs. Or maybe it was protector of three little old ladies who had more gumption than sense. Either way, the responsibility was crushing.
“Hey, Arlo.” Sam approached from the third-floor doorway. “Can I talk to you about something?” His voice sounded serious, as in deadly serious, and serious was not a normal setting for Sam.
“Of course.” Arlo nodded, that pressure hovering now around her neck. She rolled her shoulders and headed toward the staircase that led to his office.
The phone started to ring.
Arlo shot Sam an apologetic look, then held up one finger as if to say, Gimme a sec, please. She backtracked to the end of the coffee bar where the cordless base was stationed.
“Books and More. Can I help you?”
“Get down here now!” Helen screeched. Helen. Who had left less than five minutes ago.
Anxiety seared through Arlo. She waved Sam away and started for the front door. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“To the jewelry store?”
“The police station. You are not going to believe this.” Then Helen was gone.
“Something’s happened,” Arlo said breathlessly. “Chloe!”
Chloe stepped out from the stockroom carrying a sleeve of to-go cups. “What’s wrong?”
“I gotta go,” Arlo said. “I’ll explain later.”
“Be careful,” Chloe called behind her.
Arlo sent her friend a thankful look, then headed outside, only vaguely aware that Sam followed her.
She rushed toward the police station, which sat off the main road between the bookstore and the jewelry store, just down the street. The ladies would have had to walk right past it to go talk to Henry Wilson while he was at work. She supposed Henry was at work. He was a hundred if he was a day, but his family couldn’t stop him from putting on a suit and coming to work every day. Of course, he sat in a chair behind the counter and slept mostly, but it was his store and who was going to say anything?
A bit of relief flowed through Arlo when she spotted the ladies up ahead. They were all on their feet, but they were pressed against the side of the building behind them. From where they were, Arlo suspected they could see the station, but from their positions they didn’t want someone to see them.
Helen looked over and saw Arlo. She waved for her to hurry, then turned her attention to the street before her.
Arlo hurried even though the ladies appeared to be fine. From where Arlo was, she couldn’t see any blood, so that was a good sign.
“What is it?” she asked when she was close enough that she didn’t have to yell.
“Courtney,” Helen said.
“And Dylan,” Fern added.
“Dylan Wright?” Arlo asked. “Haley’s boyfriend?”
“One and the same.” Camille nodded.
She stumbled a bit, and Sam caught up with her. They exchanged a look.
“Hurry,” Helen called. “You’re going to miss it.”
“Miss what?” Arlo asked.
“I don’t know, but hurry.”
Arlo was breathless when she reached the edge of the dry cleaners. It faced Main but sat in front of the police station, which was situated down Fourth.
“Look! Look! Look!” Helen pointed to a spot down the street. On the far side of the police station, Dylan and Courtney stood embroiled in what looked like a serious conversation.
Dylan appeared to be trying to go into the police station, and Courtney was doing her best to stop him. He would shake off her grasp and take two steps away before she grabbed him again and pulled him in the opposite direction. He would shake her off once more, and the entire sequence would repeat.
“What are they doing?” Camille asked.
“It looks like he’s trying to go in, and Courtney doesn’t want him to.”
“I can see that,” Camille grumbled.
“Then why did you ask?” Fern demanded.
“I suppose I mean why,” Camille returned. “Why are they doing this?”
Fern shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Let’s go find out.” Helen pushed off the brick and started toward the couple. They were so locked into their own world that they didn’t see Helen or the other ladies heading their way.
Arlo looked to Sam, who shrugged.
With a sigh, she started after them, Sam once again trailing behind.
Dylan finally broke free and darted into the police station. Courtney stood outside for a moment, sobs wracking her thin shoulders before she turned and ran in the opposite direction.
“Courtney,” Helen called, but the girl didn’t turn around. She either didn’t hear or didn’t want to talk.
“Should I go after her?” Sam asked.
“I think so, yes,” Arlo said.
Sam nodded and started after Courtney while Arlo begrudgingly followed the ladies, who had quietly ducked into the police station.
It wasn’t hard to find Dylan. He was standing in front of Frances’s desk, his arms out in front of him like a B-movie zombie, hands slack at the wrists. His nose looked red and his eyes puffy as if he had been crying.
Frances and Mads both stood behind her desk watching Dylan as if he were a magician about to pull off the trick of the century.
“I did it,” he said just as Arlo, Helen, Fern, and Camille stopped behind him. “Lock me up. I killed Haley.”
Chapter 11
There was a moment of silence, barely a breath, before everything erupted around them. Camille, Fern, and Helen all started talking at once.
You cannot be serious!
Dylan Andrew, I know your father! What’s he going to say about this?
Mads Keller, please tell me you are not going to arrest this child!
And on and on again.
Sam came in behind her. Arlo could only watch in disbelief as Mads circled around the desk and grabbed Dylan by the elbow.
“Don’t you want to put cuffs on me?” he murmured as Mads led him toward the holding cells at the back of the station.
“Are you going to make a break for it?” Mads asked. Arlo could barely hear him over the protests of the book club.
Dylan’s response was lost as they disappeared from view.
“Ladies,” Sam started, but no one was listening. “La-dies… Ladies!”
The book club’s chatter died away, and all attention was turned to the private eye.
“Weren’t you on your way to the jewelry store?” he asked.
Fern sniffed. “Yes,” she admitted.
“Perhaps we should just head back to the bookstore,” Arlo suggested.
The chatter immediately rose to a deafening level.
We can’t leave now.
That poor child is in jail.
You know Dylan. He could never do such a thing. He loved Haley. He would never hurt her.
And on and on once more.
“Mads and Frances have a great deal of work to do now,” Sam reminded them. “I think we should give them time to get that work done. I’m sure there will be an opportunity for questions later.” Sam shot Frances a questioning look.
The receptionist/dispatch/softball player shrugged, then nodded.
Then to Arlo’s relief and dismay, the book club filed relatively quietly from the police station.
There were still a few grumbles about that poor boy, but for the most part it was a smooth transition.
And Arlo wasn’t about to admit that s
he was jealous that Sam could get them to do practically anything while her instructions fell on deaf ears. The point was Mads was left in peace while he tried to get to the bottom of Dylan’s confession.
Conversation was sparse and sporadic as they made their way back to the Books and More.
Chloe met them at the door. “What happened?”
Everyone started talking at once, until Sam spoke up and the women fell silent once more.
“Dylan Wright turned himself into the police.”
“What?” Chloe’s disbelief was palpable. “Why would he do something like that?”
“One would presume it was because he was guilty,” Arlo started.
A round of protests went up from the book club.
“I know, I know,” Arlo said in hopes of quieting their words.
“Dylan cannot be guilty.” Chloe shook her head. “Can. Not. Be.”
“He confessed.” Sam pressed his lips together.
“I don’t care,” Chloe said. “I don’t believe it.”
A murmur of agreement went up from the book club, and Arlo had to join in. Dylan would have been the last person she would have suspected, and she didn’t believe his confession for a minute. Add in Courtney’s strange behavior before he entered the police station, and it seemed they had another mystery on their hands.
“I don’t either,” Sam said.
Which was saying something. Sam didn’t know Dylan the way the rest of them did. Sam had been gone for years, only coming back sporadically to visit with his mother. He hadn’t watched Dylan grow up, play little league or high school football for the Sugar Springs Blue Devils. He hadn’t watched him fall in love with Haley Adams and then go away to school to be a doctor just like his father. And yet Sam could still see the problems with the confession.
“What can we do?” Camille asked.
“Nothing.” Sam sighed.
Fern scoffed. “There has to be something.”
Sam nodded. “Okay, how about we trust Mads to do his job? If we can see that Dylan is innocent, then he should be able to as well. Give Mads space to work and pray for the best.”