It's Just a Little Crush

by Caroline Fardig

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I realize when I wake up that I neglected to set an alarm last night, and it’s now the time when I should normally be arriving at the office. Oh, well. I’m really not that worried about it. I don’t think I’m going to get into any trouble for being late to work the morning after I found my co-worker’s dead body. As I get up and get moving, my head starts pounding. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day. I’m certainly not looking forward to telling this horrible story again and again to every person I see. To be honest, I really don’t want to even think about it. Usually when something bad happens, I try to push it to the side and not think about it, hoping it will work itself out. This is not going to work itself out. It will never be right, and I’m going to have to face it head-on.

  When I get to work, the office is completely silent. Everyone is working with their heads down, and no one is talking or goofing around like usual. However, as I begin to make my way to my desk, each person I pass looks up and stares at me. It has to be the longest walk in history, and my co-workers are making me very self-conscious. All I want to do is bolt back out the door and have a good cry, but I have to deal with this at some point, and I’m already here. So, I take a deep breath and continue on my way, willing myself to keep my head up and my emotions in check.

  I wonder if this happened to Blake as well when he arrived. I glance over and don’t see him at his desk. Then, I notice him coming out of Sarah’s office and Sarah motioning to me to come in. Oh great, here we go. Not only do I have to explain what happened last night, but I also have to explain it to the boss first thing. As I pass Blake, he glances at me with a stony expression on his face. I don’t know why he’s still all pissy with me this morning—I didn’t do anything. Hey, wait a minute. Something feels different this morning. I have no Blake-vision, no heart fluttering, and not even any sweating. Can it be that the hold he had over me is gone? At least something good is happening today.

  When I walk into Sarah’s office, she gives me a hug, which is enough to open the floodgate of tears I’ve been holding back since I arrived at work. It’s the first hug I’ve received since finding Hannah, and I didn’t realize how badly I needed one. At this point, I’m so emotionally drained and dazed I feel like I’m not even present in my body—I feel like a spectator in my own life.

  Sarah asks me to recount all that happened yesterday evening, and she listens, nodding and smiling encouragingly at me as I numbly bumble through the whole story. After I finish, she says that she’ll be calling a staff meeting now that she’s talked to Blake and me. We are to take our lunch break then, and she’ll inform the staff about what happened to Hannah without us there. She’ll also make it clear that no one is to ask us any additional questions since we’re both having such a hard time with it.

  I mumble a “thank you” at her and head back to my desk, everyone’s eyes still boring into me, and sit down to start going through my daily barrage of copy. How I’m going to work through this fog I’m in is beyond me. I shake my head to try to clear it and open my first email. It’s Hannah’s latest article. Her last article. I can’t do this. My eyes well up with tears again, and I break down and cry. Julia comes over to comfort me and takes me back into the breakroom for some coffee.

  Julia puts her arm around my shoulder. “I know we’re not supposed to ask you anything about last night, so I won’t. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Just know that I’m here for you.” She adds tentatively, “How are you feeling? I suppose I can at least ask you that.”

  “Oh, Julia,” I cry, my head in my hands. “It was so horrible. I couldn’t sleep last night. I can’t understand why this had to happen.”

  “Well, honey, accidents are a leading cause of death,” Julia says soothingly.

  I snap my head up. “This was no accident.”

  “What? What do you mean it was no accident?”

  “It was no accident—somebody killed her.”

  “Lizzie, that’s not possible. The police ruled Hannah’s death as an accident—it’s on the police report.”

  “But it wasn’t,” I argue. I tell Julia all about the odd events that led up to Hannah’s death, as well as about the coincidence of Samuel’s radio basically serving as the murder weapon.

  Her eyes widen. “You mean you think it could be Samuel Harper?”

  “Yes I do, and I’m going to prove it.”

  “Oh, no you’re not!” Julia exclaims, jumping out of her chair. “You’re going to stay out of this and leave it to the police.”

  “Leave what to the police? They think it’s an accident.” I swear, is she even listening?

  “You said William Johnson is going to question Harper. That sounds like the police are handling it to me. You stay out of it!” Julia orders.

  We hear Sarah yelling, “Staff meeting in five minutes,” from her office door.

  Julia smiles at my sympathetically. “Lizzie, you better go get something to eat now. Get something really good and fattening. It’ll make you feel better.” Then, giving me her best mom-glare, she adds, “Promise me that you’ll let the cops do their job?”

  “Okay, I guess…”

  “Hey, I know what will take your mind off this. Margaritas tonight—on me. Cantina del Sol. Just us girls!” Julia gives me another hug and hurries off to the meeting.

  Even in my cloud of depression, I’m looking forward to going out on the town with my best friend. The last girls’ night we had was Julia’s bachelorette party, over a month ago. Margaritas are not the ultimate solution to my problem, but after a few they’ll certainly seem like it. Anything to blot the events of last night out of my mind.

  I realize that I need to get out of the office fast before people start congregating for the meeting. I wipe my eyes and hurry out the back door before anyone can see me. Walking out into the scorching noon heat, I find myself aware that I have nowhere to go and no one to go with. Great idea, Sarah, make the two most traumatized people in the office go to lunch alone the first day back.

  Across the parking lot, Blake is getting into his Porsche. Now would be my perfect (and only) chance to ask him to lunch without it seeming like I was asking him out. Normally, I would have jumped at the chance, but after his jackass routine the past twenty-four hours I’m not so sure I still want a piece of that. I sigh at the lost opportunity and get into my car, still not having thought about where I’m heading. I mentally run through all the fast food options in town, but nothing sounds good. I could really use some caffeine, though, because I’m starting to drag from the lack of sleep. I decide to go to the gas station, where I can get a ridiculously giant fountain drink, as well as all the pizza and donuts I can eat. If that’s not comfort food, I don’t know what is.

  As I pass the turnoff for the fairgrounds on my way to the gas station, my tired mind starts replaying all of last night’s events. I wish I could turn it off! I just can’t shake the uneasy feeling I have about Samuel Harper. That’s it. I’m going to go talk to him. I’ve known him for years, and maybe if I’m subtle I can get something out of him. Assuming that he’s there already with his animals, I make a quick turnaround and head for the fairgrounds.

  When I get there, the scene from last night is all cleaned up—the yellow tape is gone, and no one is milling around there anymore. I notice, however, that the puddle has been drained and several sheets of plywood have been placed over the muddy hole. I try to walk nonchalantly into the barn—I’m sticking out like a sore thumb in the sundress and espadrilles I decided to wear today. Most everyone is in jeans or shorts and boots. There’s an odd sense of quiet in here as everyone is silently cleaning cages and feeding animals. Samuel is nowhere to be found, so I head back outside into the blinding sunlight and run straight into a man’s chest. A very nice-smelling man’s chest. I shade my eyes and look up. It’s Blake!

  “What are you doing here?” he snaps. Again with the attitude!

  Surprised to see him, but able to get a hold of mys
elf quickly, I fire back, “I could ask you the same question.”

  My words seem to rattle him a bit, which is a departure from his previously calm, cool demeanor. His eyes dart around, and then he says lamely, “I…left my wallet in the booth last night.” Liar! “See you back at work,” he mutters as he walks quickly away.

  What is up with him? And, if he’s not out here searching for his wallet, which he obviously just lied to me about, then why is he here? I don’t have time to think about it because I’ve just spied Samuel Harper over at the exhibit building. I high-tail it across the grass (as fast as one can “high-tail it” in slingback wedges) and find him perusing the homemaking entries for decorated cakes. I notice him eyeing a particular cake and spot the name “Vanessa Harper” on the card next to it.

  Assuming it must belong to his daughter or at least some type of relative, I exclaim, “Oh, what a beautiful cake!”

  He turns to me and grins. “That’s my daughter’s entry. Think it’ll win?”

  I glance around at the others. I’m no judge, but I can safely say it won’t make the top ten. Out of eleven. “Definitely. I love the icing colors,” I nod my head and lie.

  He grins even bigger, and I take my opportunity.

  “So…I heard there was some excitement here last night,” I say casually as I pretend to study the other cake entries.

  “It was a damned nightmare is what it was. Poor little lady got herself killed over by the barn. Police swarming everywhere. Animals all got spooked,” he mutters as he paces around the table. “Felt so bad for that girl, especially since it’s partially my fault.”

  Aha! He’s going to confess! To me!

  He leans in and murmurs, “My radio’s what tripped her, then it landed in the water with her. Fried her.” He shakes his head and looks at me. “You know, er, knew her?”

  “Yes, she was a wonderful lady,” I reply, leaving out the fact that we worked together and the part where I was the one who found her dead body. Details.

  “Now, I’m not one to speak ill of the dead, but that gal’s been rufflin’ my feathers all week.”

  I ask innocently, “Oh? How so?”

  “Calling me, asking me all kinds of crazy questions about my kids’ livestock entries here at the fair. ‘Am I using unfair practices with the animals?’ and the like. Maybe I could afford a better bred calf than some of the other parents, but there ain’t no harm in that. People in this town tend to gossip when they get jealous. Happens every year. Nothin’ worthy of a news story, that’s for sure.”

  “Sure. Gossip can ruin you in a small town. You know, I heard a rumor that the police called you in for questioning about last night. I’m sure that’s not true either,” I say sympathetically.

  “Oh, I was questioned, all right. ‘Why was your radio by the puddle?’ ‘Where were you at the time of death?’ Things like that, but it was nothin’ formal.”

  “So…where were you?” I ask hesitantly, hoping he’ll continue to be forthcoming. Hank was right—Samuel really does like to hear himself talk.

  “Oh, I was over at the shelter house having a burger with Les, the chairman of the fair board. I was giving him hell for letting it rain during fair week!” he chortles, cracking himself up.

  Well, this is a dead end. Ooh. Pardon the pun. Now to extricate myself from this conversation.

  “That’s right,” I laugh. “Rain during fair week should be illegal. Well, gotta go. Hope your daughter’s cake wins!” I smile and wave as I hurry out, Samuel still gabbing away.

  It’s obvious to me now that Samuel had nothing to do with Hannah’s death, which puts me back at square one. I’ve been gone from work almost an hour, so I should probably be getting back. On my way out, I decide to take another stroll through the barn in an attempt to find something, anything, that might have been overlooked last night. Walking past stall after stall of cattle, sheep, and goats, I find nothing out of place. I also find nothing interesting near the chickens, the rabbits, or even the couple of peacocks I see. All of the kids and parents in here are either doing their chores or talking quietly. Everything is in its place and as it should be. I trudge back to my car, dejected that I came up empty-handed. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want Samuel to be guilty, but I also don’t want to let Hannah down. My head is pounding so hard I can hear it. I’m sure everyone would understand if I didn’t go back to work this afternoon.

  I drive home with every intention of sleeping this headache off, but when I reach my house I realize that is not going to happen. Sitting on my front porch is a big cardboard box from Cutie Paws. Hannah’s party order. My heart sinks. I had totally forgotten about it. This is going to be a nightmare. I have to deliver these items to all of her friends, who are only going to want to talk about one thing—especially with me. Worse than that, how do I go visit Hannah’s husband, only for the reason of delivering his dead wife’s hostess gifts? Can my life get any more complicated?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  At seven o’clock I hear a knock at my door. It’s Julia, right on time. She has obviously gone home and fixed herself up after work. She’s gorgeous! Her fiery red hair is hanging in big, soft ringlets around her face, and she’s wearing a cute black sundress with yellow and hot pink flowers. I’ve completely overdressed to go to Cantina del Sol as well, in my jungle print ruffled tube top with black shrug, Capri pants, and spiky heels. We always overdress on girls’ night—it’s mandatory.

  “Are you ready, girlie?” Julia asks as we make our way to her car.

  “I’m ready for a drink,” I joke, but then frown when I see who’s sitting in Julia’s car—her new husband Dillon. What the? This is supposed to be our girls’ night! No boys allowed! I hope my anger isn’t showing on my face as I climb into the back seat and greet Dillon.

  Julia settles into the passenger seat and turns around to wink at me. “Don’t worry. He is so not invited. He’s only here to be our personal chauffer for the evening. He’s dropping us off so we can get as stinking drunk as we need to. We only have to stay sober enough to call him when we’re ready to come home.”

  “At your service, ladies,” Dillon says as he tips his ball cap to us.

  Whew. So Julia could read my angry face after all—no wonder she’s my best friend! We happily chat all the way to our destination.

  When we get there, Dillon leans over to Julia and says sweetly, “Have a great time tonight, babe,” and kisses her lovingly on the lips.

  I sigh. Dillon’s a good guy, and I’ve been kind of blaming him for the lack of girl time I’ve had with Julia since their wedding.

  He turns to me. “Now, Lizzie, your job tonight is to drink until you can’t see straight. Think you can handle that?” he asks with a mock serious expression on his face.

  “Will do. Thanks for the ride,” I reply, getting out of the car.

  So where is my Dillon? The husband who knows what I need and who is even sympathetic to the needs of my friends. Lee certainly didn’t have it in him, nor did any of my boyfriends before him. I’m awesome—why can’t I find an awesome guy?!?

  All of my problems are pushed out of my head as the sound of loud, live music welcomes us through the door. “Did you know it was Mariachi night?” I ask Julia.

  “No, but how lucky are we? This is fabulous!” she exclaims.

  I’ve always found it fascinating how hearing any kind of Latin music makes me hungry for Mexican food. It doesn’t matter if it’s on the radio or if I hear it passing by a Mexican restaurant—when the music plays, I instantly crave a taco. I could never make it through my whole Ricky Martin CD without making a run to Taco Bell. It’s kind of like a Pavlov’s dog thing with me.

  Julia and I are seated at a booth in the back corner of the restaurant. I wonder if they assume we’re going to get loud later. Considering I skipped lunch today thanks to my detour to the fairgrounds, I am absolutely starving. I’d better get some food in me, or I’m going to be under the table halfway through my first margarita. I order a bowl of
Cantina del Sol’s famous white queso, the biggest fajita platter on the menu, and of course, a jumbo strawberry margarita, then I immediately go for the basket of chips and shove a handful into my mouth.

  Julia gives me an odd look and asks, “Hungry much?”

  “Oh, I didn’t…” It would be best not to reveal to Julia that my lunch hour was spent interviewing a potential murderer. “…really eat much lunch today. I was too upset.”

  “You poor thing,” she says. Then she leans closer and asks, “So how bad was it, really? They said in the meeting that you and Blake found her first. I mean, I’ve never seen a dead person before, except, like, at a funeral. You know.”

  “It was bad. Bad. She had burn marks on her feet and legs from the shock. Her eyes and mouth were open. We weren’t allowed to touch her because we could have gotten shocked too. Then there was all the questioning by the police and watching the crews work on the area and on getting her out. Every time I close my eyes I see her lying there in the rain. It’s horrible.”

  Thankfully, our food arrives just as Julia is about to ask me more questions. It’s then that I realize I really don’t want to talk about it, even with Julia. I just want to forget for a while. I need to forget. So, I take a big swig of my icy strawberry margarita. Aah. Better already.

  Julia has evidently read my mind yet again, because she doesn’t bring up the subject of last night at all during dinner. Instead we talk about college, when we used to scrape enough money together to buy a jug of strawberry margarita mix, then stay up all night watching Grease and singing along at the top of our lungs. We are so caught up in our reminiscing that we don’t even notice when someone pulls up a chair and joins us at our table.