by ACF Bookens
“Of course he will, but even if he doesn’t, it’s your hair . . . and you like it, right?”
I reached up to lightly touch my head. “I do. A lot.”
“That’s all that matters.” She gave me a hug and headed back to the co-op.
I unwrapped Mayhem’s leash from the light pole where she’d waited patiently while her adoring fans showered her with dog treats – I could tell by her swollen belly – and we walked toward Daniel’s shop.
5
I needn’t have worried about my hair. Daniel complimented it, made a joke about the blue stripe – “Getting full sleeves of tattoos next, Ms. Beckett?” – and then began telling me all the details about the Volvo that had quit running at 120 miles. “Blown fuse, I think, but I have to take the entire back end apart and have a special tool to get at it . . .” I glazed over at that point and started thinking about those round fuses that I’d had in a couple of the apartments I’d lived in. That led me to think about the glass insulators that used to be on power lines and how Woody had dozens of them in his workshop. And that made me think about the drives my parents used to take when I was a kid and how I’d watch the power lines for miles.
Eventually, my train of thought wound back around to the runners we’d seen the day before. I didn’t talk about it, but I had once trained for a marathon back when I lived in San Francisco. It was one of those run for charity things, and I’d been great at the raising money part. Not so great at the running. An injury had sidelined me for the full marathon, but I did complete the half. Mom had come to cheer me on, and she’d even bought a goofy hat – like the one I’d worn to support Mart – and made her way around the race points to cheer me on.
I must have started smiling at the memory because Daniel said, “Somehow, I don’t think you’re smiling about my ten-minute rundown on why I hate Volvos.”
Shaking my head a bit, I said, “Oh, sorry. I got lost in my own thoughts. What were you saying?”
He kissed my cheek and said, “Never mind, my punk rock girl. I was just venting.” He wiped his hands on a rag that he always kept in one pocket of his coveralls. “What were you thinking about?”
I stretched my arms high above my head. “Running.”
“Coach Cagle?”
“Not specifically, but kind of.” I told Daniel about the runner in the shop this morning and about how even the newest person in town had known about the murder.
“You’re surprised. I expect Scott heard about it the minute he opened yesterday morning. I hear people like to gossip in hair salons.” Daniel winked at me. The man had never set foot in a hair salon in his life. He did, however, have a very committed relationship with a little old white-haired man up on the way to Easton. The guy cut his hair every two weeks for just five dollars a cut. When that man died, Daniel was going to be devastated.
I shrugged. “I guess. I am just always surprised by how fast news travels here.”
“Not much else going on in the off-season.”
“Not much but fuses that blow at 120 miles.”
Daniel laughed. “You were paying attention.”
I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Join us for an Outlander binge tonight. Mostly us girls, but you’re more than welcome.”
“You know I’d love to watch an attractive Scotsman woo my woman, but I think I’ll pass.” He kissed me softly on the lips. “See you tomorrow. I’ll come by at lunch to get more done on the float.”
I waved as Mayhem and I left. I started to say goodbye to Taco on his dog bed by Daniel’s office, but since his feet were in the air, I figured the kindest goodbye was a silent one.
* * *
My route home took me right up Main Street, so I decided to stop in and see Elle, partially because I wanted some spinach and lettuce for a salad and partially because I thought I could snoop around about her new business plan. Fortunately, the business part was easy to suss out as she and Woody were talking about it at the front door when I walked up.
“Howdy, Stranger,” Woody said as he gave me a firm handshake. I appreciated handshakes, more than I did hugs actually. There was something personal yet not too demanding about them.
“Hey Woody. Hey Elle. What you two doing?”
Woody looked to Elle and then back to me. “Actually, we were just talking about you.”
I felt my face flush. “That bad, huh? My ears weren’t burning.” I wiggled my eyebrows because I never could wiggle my ears. “So why am I the big news?”
Elle spun me around so I was facing the shop, and I saw what she had created from all the lumber she’d been working with earlier – big planter boxes that were mounted to the front of her shop below the windows. “Want some?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love some. These are amazing. Elle, is this what you were making when I walked by before?”
She grinned. “It is. Woody gave me the specs, and I thought I’d try it out. This is the new part of my business.” She glanced over at Woody. “Well, our business.”
“You’re making planter boxes as a business?” I asked, a bit puzzled. That seemed like a mighty specific item, especially on the scale of these boxes. They were almost four feet wide and two feet deep. Perfect for a storefront, but less so for a house.
“Well, yes, but other garden-related wood crafts, too. Our idea is that Woody could build – on site if necessary – and I could fill the items or provide the seeds for do-it-yourself folks.” Elle was bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Right. Planter boxes of all sizes, raised beds, even benches and such for landscaping. We’re calling it ‘Box and Bloom.’” Woody said with a smile. “What do you think?”
I was already imagining all the things I wanted them to create for our yard. Mart, Elle, Cate, and I had tackled garden boxes this spring, but now, I knew I needed some planters for the windows, maybe a bench or two for the side yard. I could even ask Elle to give me a plan for a perennial shade garden. “I love it,” I said. “I’d like to order two planters for the shop for as soon as possible. I’ll fill them with autumn flowers and then something for winter. You can guide me, right?” I winked at Elle.
“Absolutely. But you don’t need to order them. We’re going to build them for you for free, Harvey, if you’ll let us. We’d just like to put a little sign in the boxes to advertise. What do you think?” Elle’s cheeks were rosy around her big smile.
“Oh, I love that. Happy to advertise, and I’ll ask Mrs. Dawson to do an ad for the newsletter, too, okay?”
Woody let out a small chuckle. “I’ll leave you to the marketing. I have some planter boxes to build. Bring them by tomorrow, Harvey?”
“If you can build them that fast, sure.”
“Oh, they’re almost done.” Woody waved as he headed out the door.
“He knew you’d say yes,” Elle whispered as she turned back to her planters. “Your reputation for kindness proceeds you.” She bent down and hefted a big bag of organic potting soil. “Want to help?”
“Absolutely.” I tied Mayhem to another light pole, confident that with Elle’s ever-present bowl of water for passing dogs and her adoring fans, the pup would be fine, and proceeded to spend the next hour planting whatever Elle handed me. By the time we were done, the planters looked amazing – all bright colors against burgundies and greens that set them off. Her shop had always been gorgeous, but now, it was even more so. “Oh, I can’t wait to see what you do at my place.”
“I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon and get them filled, okay?”
“Perfect. Now, can I buy some lettuce and spinach . . . and maybe use your bathroom to wash my hands?”
* * *
A bag of baby spinach and a head of butter leaf lettuce in hand, Mayhem and I made it home with just enough time to prep a big salad and pop the shepherd’s pie into the oven.
I’d premade the pie because I didn’t want to have to do all the cooking that night, and I’d had a dedicated audience, even at eight a.m. While I’d browned the hamburger an
d boiled the potatoes, Aslan had sat on top of the refrigerator watching. She wasn’t allowed on the counters, a lesson she learned from sheer terror when I’d placed sheets of slightly crumped aluminum foil on all the countertops to deter her, but she taunted me by going right from a bar stool to the fridge in one leap. Now, she was sitting there licking her paws as if she was a lioness watching her servant prepare her dinner.
I had rolled my eyes at Mayhem, who was pretending to be more nonchalant about the possibility of hamburger fat under the peninsula. Both of them were ridiculous, but I was glad Taco wasn’t here. For a low, slow basset, he was might quick and mighty tall when he stood up on those back legs to grab something off the counter. Just last week, he’d consumed the entire batch of chocolate chip cookies Mart had made. It’s a good thing he was on the portly side or all that chocolate might have been problematic.
Now, Aslan and Mayhem were sleeping back-to-back on the couch. It wasn’t a position they took up casually – there was a lot of eying and pillow smooshing involved – but more and more, I thought they liked each other, even if they wanted to pretend they didn’t. They weren’t fooling me, though. I knew that as soon as that pie came out of the oven, they’d both be waiting patiently for Mart to give them a taste. She was a total sucker for their subterfuge.
As I pulled the pie out of the oven, I heard Mart’s car pull into the driveway, and as she came in the door, I said, “Perfect timing!” and gestured toward the steaming pie, the crisp salad, and the two glasses of red wine.
“That looks so good,” Mart said as she draped her long, hand-knitted scarf over the bar stool, washed her hands, then grabbed the spoon to serve herself a mashed-potato-heavy serving of pie. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome,” I said as I slid in next to her. “I hope you like the wine.” I was no sommelier but I had popped into Chez Cuisine, after calling ahead to be sure Max wasn’t in, to ask Symeon’s advice on the proper pairing. He’d recommended a shiraz, and I was excited to see if I’d met Mart, the wine expert’s, high standard.
She picked up her glass and gave it a swirl. Then, she took a deep breath with her nose in the glass and promptly put it down. “Needs to breath a bit more.” She looked over and saw my crest-fallen expression. “No, it’s a perfect choice. A medium-bodied shiraz, notes of plum. Just needs a little more air in it.”
I nodded like I knew what any of that meant and filled my plate, following Mart’s lead on the mashed potatoes. “How was the day?” I asked as I took a sip of my wine. I didn’t think more air would change my opinion of the wine much.
“Well, I stopped by the high school track to do my run since they have the lights on for football practice, and you won’t guess what I heard?”
“A long string of numbers and then ‘Hut!’? A cheerleader asking if her basket fold was tight enough? A tuba?” I gave her a sly smile.
She tilted her head and smacked my hand. “Okay, yes, but also, two of the teachers at the high school had filed a sexual harassment lawsuit against Coach Cagle.”
“Oh, wow. So I guess he wasn’t just nasty to teenagers, then?”
“Apparently not.” Mart finally took a sip of her wine and the smiled. “It’s good. No, I heard a couple of the cross country runners talking. A math teacher and a guidance counselor had asked students to come forward if they’d been harassed. Apparently, they were putting together a big case with a lawyer from Annapolis and everything.”
I chewed a bite of the salad and thanked the gods of balsamic for simple salad dressing that was so good. “But the case hasn’t been heard yet?”
“I guess not. The girls were saying that the teachers and some students had gone to the principal and then the school board about it, but they hadn’t taken action. So they decided to sue.” Mart slipped Mayhem a big piece of hamburger. Total sucker. “I ran behind the girls for a few laps, so I got the whole scoop. Apparently, they were suing for millions.”
“Wow. That’s serious.” I leaned back in my chair and stretched. “And why haven’t we heard about it before? I mean, I couldn’t wear new shoes without the entire town knowing. Something this big . . . it seems like it would slip out.”
Mart slid a spoonful of potatoes up to Aslan’s resumed spot on the fridge and acted like I could not see her. “Yeah, I thought about that, too. Maybe they signed non-disclosure agreements or something to protect the case.”
That seemed reasonable. It would probably be more effective if the defense didn’t know what people were going to say in the hearing. “Still, it’s surprising. We are not a secret-keeping place. I mean everyone knew what a scuzzbucket he was. I’m just surprised no one knew.”
Mart stopped mid-scoop of her second helping of pie. “Maybe someone did. Maybe someone killed him because they found out.”
“Why would they do that before the case went to court? I mean, then justice wouldn’t be served.” But as soon as I said it, I knew the flaw in my thinking. “Unless . . . someone was sure he wouldn’t get what they thought he deserved and decided to take matters into their own hands.”
“I’m just saying,” Mart said around a mouthful of peas and carrots. “What is it that Inspector Gamache is always saying?”
“What killed people was a feeling,” I whispered.
6
Mart and I watched six episodes of Outlander, and while I enjoyed the costumes and Jamie Fraser, I couldn’t get what Mart had told me out of my head, even in the beautiful eighteenth century Scottish Highlands. What if someone had killed the coach because they were afraid the lawsuit wouldn’t be enough? What if they decided it could never be enough?
I thought of the runner who had been in the shop, Tiffany Steinburg, and wondered if she had known about the lawsuit. I decided I’d give her a ring – she’d placed a special order for some running books with Marcus by phone yesterday – and suggest a couple more titles for her while also seeing if I could figure out whether she was part of the lawsuit. Elle had thought she sounded really angry, but angry enough to kill instead of just sue? That was the question.
As I showered, I planned out my question strategy. It wouldn’t work for me to interrogate her of course, but I couldn’t sound too offhand either. I had to have a reason for asking, something she could relate to.
I was spreading pomade in my hair when Mart propped her hip against the bathroom door. “So how are we sleuthing today?”
I tried to act naively befuddled, but Mart was on to me. “Don’t even try it, Harvey. I could see the gears working behind your eyes all night last night, and now you’re wearing the ‘What’s my angle?” face.”
“I wasn’t aware my face had angles any longer. It’s softening into a warm roundness that I associate with kind women who bake cookies, and I kind of like it,” I said testily.
“I like it, too. Middle age suits you. But seriously, I’m the one who found him, so if you’re sleuthing, so am I.”
I washed my hands and dried them on the towel by the door as I followed Mart into the living room. “Okay, so there’s this woman—”
Just then, a sharp knock at the door was followed by the sound of the door opening and our alarm being shut off. Only one other person would come by this early, walk in without being invited, and proceed to make herself this much at home. My mother.
My parents had recently moved to St. Marin’s from Baltimore to begin their retirement, and my mother was taking full advantage of her close proximity to try and build the kind of relationship she – and I – had always wished we’d had. The only trouble was that my mother kept forgetting that friends had boundaries.
“Well good morning. I figured you’d both be up and about, and I thought I’d see if I could walk with you to town, Harvey.” Mom’s voice was chipper, fresh, and totally clueless about her social faux pas. God love her.
“Sure, Mom, but it’ll be a few minutes. I still need to eat some breakfast. Have a seat?” I gestured toward one of the bar stools in the kitchen, and Mom scooped up Aslan and b
egan rubbing her chin as she leaned against the counter, right in front of the coffee pot.
I widened my eyes, gritted my teeth, and shot Mart a look that said, “Help me before I strangle my mother over coffee.” Fortunately, Mart was fluent in my looks, as she’d already proven once today, and she guided my mom and Aslan around the peninsula to the aforementioned bar stool. “Good to see you, Ms. B. You’re up early.”
“Oh goodness,” Mom said, “I’ve been up for hours. Already did a Zumba class and had a Zoom meeting for the Maritime Museum fundraiser.” Then she looked from Mart to me. “I’m a morning person, but clearly, I am not amongst my compadres.”
“We were up late watching Outlander,” I groaned. “It’s so addictive.”
“I know,” Mom said, getting even perkier. “That Jamie.”
I laughed. “I won’t tell Dad.”
“Are you kidding? Your father has just as big a crush on Claire.”
“Too much information. Too much information,” I said and started the coffee grinder with the hopes of derailing this line of conversation. Fortunately, it worked because when I finished grinding the beans down to a powder that required two coffee filters to contain, Mom had moved on to other topics much less awkward and far more interesting than the Frasers.
“So you two heard about the murder at the high school, right?”
I grimaced. Despite her enthusiasm for sleuthing, Mart tensed at the mention of Coach Cagle. But she nodded. “I actually found his body,” she said in a small voice.
“Oh, honey.” Mom stood, put Aslan down, and wrapped Mart in a big hug. My best friend melted into my mom’s embrace, and I saw some of her anxiety fade.
I smiled and then came around the counter to join in. Group hugs were some of the world’s best inventions.
“Thanks, Mama Beckett. I needed that, but yeah, I’m okay. In fact,” Mart glanced my way, clearly saw my frantic head shake, and plowed forward anyway, “Harvey and I were just talking about how she has an avenue to explore about the murder.”