by Jeff Shelby
“Oh?” Vivian said, her eyebrows raised.
I nodded. “I have some errands to run.” I reached for my purse, stuffing the end of my checkbook inside.
Vivian glanced at my bag. “Thank you again for the donation,” she said. “It was really very generous of you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Well, I will,” she said, smiling. She folded her arms. “Everyone should know what you’ve done to help salvage the festival.” Her smile disappeared. “But then they’d know about the money…”
I shook my head. “I don’t need recognition.”
It was the truth.
I didn’t want to be recognized for the donation.
I just wanted to figure out what happened to the missing money.
And who was really responsible for it.
EIGHTEEN
I slammed my open palm against the steering wheel.
Why had I let Vivian get to me? Why had I clammed up when she started talking about Gunnar and me?
I was out of Vivian’s driveway and halfway down the block, pulled over just a few feet from the stop sign that would lead me back to the main road through town. I inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, trying to calm my racing heart.
What did it matter that Vivian knew about us? And what did it matter that she was asking questions? Heck, I asked people questions all the time. In fact, I was pretty much the nosiest person I knew. I should be able to take the same stuff I dished out, right?
I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed.
I knew why it bothered me.
Because being a part of a ‘we’ might mean losing part of me. And I was still making sure I knew who ‘me’ was.
I hit the steering wheel again. “Dammit, Rainy,” I said. I didn’t always talk to myself, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Focus.”
I knew what I was telling myself to focus on, and it wasn’t Gunnar. It wasn’t even me.
It was the missing money, and who took it.
And suddenly I knew why I was letting this case consume it. It shouldn’t have been much of a blip on my radar, if I were being honest with myself. I had nothing to lose—and nothing to gain—by helping to solve the mystery. I wasn’t personally invested in the Latney Ladies Society, and I wasn’t particularly close to either of the prime suspects.
No, that wasn’t why I had decided to focus on it with laser-like precision.
I had dug in hard because it gave me a reason to not look at and focus on the most pressing thing in my life right now.
Which was what on earth I was doing with Gunnar Forsythe.
My phone vibrated, startling me. I glanced down at it, and sighed again when I saw the name on the screen.
Laura. My daughter.
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was just after eleven, which meant she was probably calling on her lunch break at school.
I debated not picking up. She could leave a message and I could call her back later. But talking to her might be a good distraction. And I was all about distractions; after all, that’s what the missing money was.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said, hoping I sounded bright and happy. But not too bright and happy; Laura was good at picking up on my moods, especially if they were forced. “This is a surprise.”
“Just calling to make sure you’re still alive,” she responded. “Since I haven’t talked to you in almost two weeks.”
Guilt bubbled inside of me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like talking to my daughter, but she could be a little hard to handle sometimes. “I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. “I’ve been pretty busy with the farm and everything.”
The silence extended just long enough to be uncomfortable before Laura finally spoke. “With what?”
I felt the heat on my cheeks and was grateful we were talking and not Skyping. “Oh, you know, just taking care of the garden and getting stuff ready for winter. I made an apple pie the other day with apples from that tree I found.”
“That’s nice,” she said. And then, “What are your plans for Thanksgiving?”
I frowned. Thanksgiving was almost a month away and I hadn’t given it a single thought. Luke would be in San Francisco—he rarely came back to Virginia these days—and Laura had alternated Thanksgiving between my house and her boyfriend’s family’s home. If memory served correctly, this was his family’s year.
“Well, I hadn’t given it much thought,” I admitted. “Why?”
Another pause. Then, “Connor’s parents are going on a cruise this year.”
“Over Thanksgiving?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” I said, still frowning. “So where does that leave the two of you?”
“I guess I don’t really know,” Laura said. “I thought I’d check to see what your plans were before we made any.”
“You…you want to come here? To Latney?” This was a surprise. Laura had been vehemently opposed to my move from Arlington to Latney. To hear her hint that she wanted to come down for Thanksgiving was about as surprising as learning that pigs could fly.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Laura’s tone was defensive.
“I’m not,” I insisted. “And of course you can come here! You’re always welcome, both you and Connor. You know that.”
“You’re sure?” she asked, doubtful. “We wouldn’t cramp your style or get in the way of your farm chores or anything?”
“I’m sure.” I tried to ignore what felt like a jibe at her mention of ‘farm chores.’ “We can make firm plans with times and all that soon. But yes, plan on Thanksgiving. Here.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t tell if she sounded resigned or relieved. “I have a student coming in for tutoring so I need to go. I just thought I’d call to make sure you were still alive.”
“I’m very much alive,” I said. “And I’m very much looking forward to seeing you at Thanksgiving.”
We hung up and I dropped the phone back on the passenger seat. My breathing had returned to normal, and the smile on my face was genuine. The news that I would have Laura and her boyfriend as guests for Thanksgiving was unexpected, but I didn’t mind. I was happy to have them over, and happy to open up my new home to them. And yes, part of the reason was because I wanted Laura to love the farm in the same way I did, but there was another reason, too, one that I knew was just as important.
It gave me something new to focus on, something to take my mind off the one thing I didn’t want to think about: what I was doing with Gunnar.
I pushed the thought firmly out of my mind as I pulled away from the curb and out toward the stop sign. I wasn’t avoiding analyzing my relationship with my handsome next-door neighbor. I was just…prioritizing. And Thanksgiving was right around the corner.
I waited at the stop sign as a surprising number of cars motored by. But then I remembered it was lunch time, and that despite the small downtown area, people always seemed to be out and about during the noon hour, visiting the bank, grabbing groceries, or running other errands. I waited for the last car to approach the intersection and let my gaze shift to the front of Sophia’s little boutique. There was a wooden A-frame sign out front, painted with chalkboard paint. I couldn’t make out the words on it from where I was, but it was bordered by vines and pumpkins that looked like they were hand-drawn. Apparently, Sophia was an artist, too.
As soon as the car passed, I signaled and turned, heading away from home and straight into town. I was going to pay Sophia a little visit.
I wasn’t the only one interested in visiting the little shop. The bell on the door tinkled as I pushed it open, and a few sets of eyes turned to look at me. Trudy, the greeter from the bank, was standing near an antique bookcase, admiring some lace napkins. She smiled when she saw me and waved hello.
Mabel was there, too, the ancient member of St. Simon’s women’s choir and a frequent soloist at church. She peered at me from behind thick glasses, then turned back to the quilt she was examining.
I sca
nned the store for Sophia, frowning when my search turned up nothing.
I didn’t know why I was there. I’d told myself I was going to pop in to look at Thanksgiving décor; after all, now I had a reason to decorate, what with company coming and all.
But that was only half the reason; I just didn’t want to admit it.
The boutique had been transformed since my last visit, and was now taken over by fall-themed décor as well as a growing section of Christmas decorations. There were pumpkins and apples and wreaths and cornucopias, and the store smelled like apple pie courtesy of a large jar candle perched on the cash wrap counter, its scent permeating the air.
I approached Trudy. “Is Sophia here?”
She gave me a weird look. “Well, of course she’s here. How else would the store be open if she wasn’t?”
Good point. “Do you know where I might find her?”
Trudy nodded, and her beehive hairdo didn’t so much as wobble. “She’s probably in the back room. Said something about having to take a delivery and to holler if I needed anything.”
I thanked her and made my way to the back of the store. Antique dressers and bookshelves spilled over with all manner of merchandise—oil lanterns and gilded frames, porcelain dolls and dainty teacups—and I stepped gingerly as I navigated these and other landmines on my way to the door marked “Private.”
It was slightly ajar and I peeked inside, hoping I wouldn’t be disturbing Sophia and her delivery.
But there was no delivery person, and no stack of boxes, either.
Instead, Sophia was sitting on an ornate wooden chair, her arms crossed over her chest and her head cast downward.
I cleared my throat and she lurched from the cushioned seat and to a standing position. Her eyes rounded and then she frowned when she saw me.
“What do you want?” I had never heard her sound so petulant.
I nudged the door open a little more. “Is…is everything okay?”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just fine.”
I didn’t believe her for a second. “What’s wrong?”
“What isn’t wrong?” Sophia said. Her eyes were bright. Too bright.
“Is this about the money?”
Her arms were still folded and I saw her stiffen at my question.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m sure you will. And I’m sure you’ll find me as the prime suspect. Everyone else has.”
“If you say you didn’t do it, then I believe you,” I said calmly.
It wasn’t the complete truth, but I was having a hard time believing Sophia was behind the theft. It wasn’t that I was convinced she was innocent or because I thought she was incapable of such a thing. Rather, it was because I had a hard time believing she would be so careless if she were behind the missing money. The trail was too obvious, especially for a smart businesswoman like her. That was my biggest hang-up in considering her a suspect. The clues pointed glaringly at her, and I firmly believed she would never have been that sloppy if she had in fact taken the money.
“You’d be the only person then,” she said bitterly. “Everyone in this town thinks I’m a thief.”
“Everyone?” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure the only people who know are a few members of the ladies society and your husband. And me.”
She let out a huff. “Nothing stays a secret in this town. You of all people should know that.”
It was a fair point.
“So, regardless of whether or not I’m guilty, my reputation is ruined.”
“I think you’re being a little overdramatic,” I told her. “It’s not like you’re the town pariah. There are still people shopping out there,” I said, pointing to the front of the store.
She snorted. “Two. There are two people out there. Do you know how busy I normally am this time of year? It’s the holidays, for crying out loud. People should be in here buying Halloween decorations and Christmas gifts!”
“It’s a Wednesday at noon,” I said. “Is that normally a busy time for the store?”
She pretended not to hear me. “Do you know how much merchandise I need to sell? If people stop shopping here, I’m ruined.”
I could see how her store would close if business dried up, but I didn’t know how that would ruin her personally. Businesses closed all the time; that was part of the gamble in owning a company. Mack Mercy owned his own private investigating firm, the one I’d worked at for twenty years, and he’d been through some lean times, but I didn’t think having to shut down the firm would have ruined him; he would have picked himself up and tried something new.
“Maybe you should get out there and sell to them, then, instead of sitting back here moping?”
She fixed me with a steely glare. “I’m not moping,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I’m waiting for a shipment.”
I nodded. That’s what Trudy had said.
I took a step backward, ready to leave, when she gasped.
“What?” I said, turning to look behind me and then back at her. “What’s wrong?”
Her shoulder sagged. “Tallulah.”
“Your dog? What about her?”
“She has meds being delivered today.”
“Okay…”
“I ran out yesterday and placed an overnight order so they would get here today. And now I can’t leave to give it to her.”
I thought back to the little white terrier. She didn’t look or seem particularly sick.
“They can’t wait until later?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. These are her anxiety pills.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Anxiety pills? For dogs?”
“Chews, actually,” Sophia told me. “She has separation anxiety. I sometimes bring her with to the store, but not on days when there are shipments being delivered. I don’t want her getting hurt with all of the boxes and what not.”
I was still pondering the fact that she gave anxiety medication to her dog. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.
“What about Walter?” I asked. “He could probably swing by the house, right? If you asked?”
Sophia pursed her lips. “He thinks the medication is unnecessary.”
I was sort of with him on that one, but I didn’t say anything.
She stole a glance at me. “Do you think…would you be willing to go over and give it to her?”
“Me??”
“The box would be on the front porch. I can give you the key.” She was already reaching for her purse, an oversized black leather bag that she’d stowed under a desk in the far corner. “It wouldn’t take more than five minutes. She gobbles it up like a little treat.”
I hesitated. Not just because it felt weird giving a dog anxiety meds, but because she was asking me to walk into her house. She was giving me a key.
She was treating me like a friend.
“I don’t know…”
“Please.” Her eyes pleaded with me. “It would really help ease my mind if I knew Tallulah was okay. She’s such a wreck when she’s not with me. Please.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
Her expression brightened. “Oh, thank you!” She pressed the keychain, an antique skeleton key attached to a ring with a set of normal-looking keys, into my palm. “It’s the gold key. It unlocks both the deadbolt and the doorknob. Tallulah won’t be hard to find—I don’t kennel her. Keep an eye out for the puppy pads on the floor. I’ve tried to train her to go on those, but sometimes she misses.” She smiled a little sheepishly. “And she gets one chew. She’ll beg for more, but she just needs one.”
I nodded, digesting all of the information she was giving me with a feeling of resignation.
I would help Sophia out.
Even if it was the last thing I wanted to do.
NINETEEN
The box was on the front porch, just like Sophia said it would be.
And so were two others.
I scooped up all three
, balancing them in my arms as I unlocked the front door. It didn’t make sense to leave them outside, especially when I was bringing one of the boxes in.
Tallulah skittered to the door as soon as I pushed it open, yapping and nipping at my heels. I stepped lightly, trying to avoid her as I made my way down the hallway and toward what I presumed was the kitchen. From behind the tower of boxes, I spied a counter and set the stack down, holding it in place so they wouldn’t topple over.
The dog stayed by my heels as I quickly surveyed the room. Sophia’s kitchen was just as elegant as her living room. Sleek black cabinets, gray marble countertops, stainless steel appliances. But there were homey touches, too, things she no doubt had picked up from her store: framed watercolor paintings of herbs, a dried floral wreath, a collection of bright red ceramic containers. Silky silver curtains framed the double-paned window over the sink, but the coolness of this was muted by a collection of earthenware pots collected on the windowsill, each sprouting a different kind of herb, their green leaves a shock of color against the black and white landscape.
I turned my attention back to the boxes. A quick glance told me all were from Amazon and all were addressed to Walter. I frowned. How was I supposed to know which one contained the dog’s medicine? And who knew you could actually order pet meds from Amazon?
I picked up the smallest box and shook it. Something rattled around inside, something that sounded like a bottle of pills. I grabbed Sophia’s key ring and used the skeleton key to slice through the packing tape. I pulled out the air-filled plastic padding and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw two pill bottles inside.
I grabbed one. “Okay, Tallulah, time for your meds.”
She jumped at my legs, her tiny nails surprisingly sharp as they poked through the fabric of my yoga pants. I nudged her away with my shoe, trying my best to be gentle.
I twisted the cap on the bottle and saw dozens of red and yellow capsules inside.
These were not dog chews.
I spun the bottle in my hands and almost dropped it when I read the label.
“Male Mojo?” I said out loud.
These were definitely not dog chews. I was holding a bottle of male performance enhancement drugs.