by ACF Bookens
“Wait. Did he follow you here?” I could feel my heart start to race the way it did any time I heard about a woman being stalked, and this sounded like stalking.
Tiffany nodded. “I left Minnesota five years ago and came here because I love the water and thought the quiet country roads would be great for running. I’m a freelance graphic designer, so I could go almost anywhere. But this place was beautiful, and I thought it was quiet and small enough that I could get away from him.”
“He found you, though?” Mart’s voice was very quiet.
“He did. He found my website, posed as a potential client, and said he wanted to send a check for his deposit on a new logo design.” She ran her finger on the rim of her glass and then slipped a few grains of salt into her mouth. “I had been so careful, and one slip . . .”
Mom grabbed Tiffany’s hand. “No, do not go there. This wasn’t your slip. This was a man stalking you. You did nothing wrong. Nothing.”
Tears welled in Tiffany’s eyes. “Thank you. I know that in my head, but . . .”
I took a deep breath. “I know. Every woman I know has a story about a time a man did something inappropriate, and every one of us feels like we somehow brought it on. That’s what our culture tells us – that we are the ones at fault. But we aren’t. We never are when a man harasses us, abuses us, assaults us, or stalks us. It’s always their fault. Always.” My voice was strident, angry. I hated that this had happened to Tiffany, hated it fiercely for her and for all the women I knew. For myself, too.
Mart smiled gently at me and then turned back to Tiffany. “Harvey is right. This isn’t your fault. What did you do when you found out he was here?”
A small smile broke across Tiffany’s lips. “I egged his house.”
“You go, girl,” Mom said.
“And his car,” Tiffany added.
“That is amazing,” I said. “You didn’t let him intimidate you.”
“Nope, I didn’t seek him out and did my best to avoid any place he might be. I never ran alone, and I made sure all private information about me was gone. I moved, too, got a new apartment in a new complex so he couldn’t find me. I love my life here, and that man was not going to scare me away from it.”
“Woot! Woot!” Mart shouted with a fist pump. “That deserves a refill.” She poured more of the pink goodness into each of our glasses.
Tiffany frowned and reached out to take my hand as she gripped Mart’s even tighter. “But you have to know, I didn’t kill him. I might have thought about it a lot, but I didn’t. You believe me?”
I looked at this woman across from me and thought of all the times men had harassed me – at work, on public buses, in the library, at clubs. I had never been stalked, but enough men had touched me without permission and done other heinous things to me that I could understand Tiffany’s statement. But saying she wanted to but didn’t wasn’t a guarantee that she hadn’t. Still, now was not the time, and for once, I was quite happy to let the police handle this one.
I squeezed Tiffany’s hand and smiled. “Thanks for telling us,” I said. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.” I meant every word I said.
* * *
Our steaks arrived a few minutes later, and they looked amazing. The table got very quiet as we all tucked into our food. My ribeye was perfect – just pink at the center and so flavorful that I couldn’t even think about adding steak sauce. The potato was fluffy and covered in sour cream and bacon, and my side salad had just the perfect amount of Caesar dressing and the perfect number of croutons. It was all delicious.
I was just finishing up this wonderful pumpkin bread pudding that I’d decided to splurge on when I realized I – and everyone else at our table – was far too tipsy to drive. I was hoping the dessert might sober me up, but even my fuzzy brain knew that wasn’t going to happen before the restaurant closed. If I hadn’t been tipsy, I might have been worried.
I glanced at Tiffany. Her temporary sorrow and anger at her memories of Coach Cagle had seemed to fade as our conversation moved on to more pressing subjects, like how much time we’d need to do our hair for the Harvest Parade. Mom had, apparently, already decided she was going to join us as Violet, complete with a dark wig, and she’d convinced Dad to come on as Shermie, which I told her I’d see when I believed. By the time our pitcher of margaritas was done, Tiffany had signed on as Sally, and I was really hoping she wasn’t a killer.
The bill came, and only then did I begin to wonder how we were all going to get home. I thought about texting Daniel and asking for a lift, but the blessings of a small town came to fruition before I had a chance. From over the half-wall at my end of our booth, a familiar voice said, “The party over there looks fun.” And then my friend Stephen and his husband, Walter, peeked over at us and smiled. “Maybe too much fun? Need a lift, girls?” Stephen asked.
I blushed, which was probably not noticeable given that even a single glass of wine brings the red to my cheeks. “Actually, would you mind?”
The men stood, and Walter said, “Not at all. We’re ready if you are.” Then, they came around and extended their arms to help us up, which was more necessary than I expected. Soon, the six of us were grouped by threes, Mom and me with Stephen holding us up and Walter guiding Tiffany and Mart out. We must have looked a sight, but I didn’t care. That was the most fun I’d had in a while.
As we reached the parking lot, I leaned over to Stephen and asked, “How long did you know we were there?”
He pulled me close against his side. “Oh, we saw you when we came in, but you looked like you were having a blast and we didn’t want to interrupt. It wasn’t our choice to sit so close, but it was great to hear you laughing so much.”
I smiled. “Thanks. And thanks for this, too.” I swung my hand somewhere in the vicinity of the car I thought was his. He helped me into the back seat and got my mom settled in the front. Mart slid over next to me and Tiffany beside her. Then, the next thing I knew we were at our house, and Walter was getting Tiffany settled in the guest room.
“I texted Daniel. He’ll be here at eight to get you to go pick up your car, and I let the restaurant know why it will be there overnight,” Stephen said as he placed my plaid pajamas on the bed. I had a half-formed thought about how nice it was to have good enough friends that they not only drive you home when you can’t drive yourself but they also have no hesitation about opening drawers until they find your favorite pajamas.
* * *
The next morning, I woke from a dreamless sleep to my alarm playing Billy Ocean’s “Get Out of My Dreams,” and I smiled. Stephen had left just a bit of himself behind with his choice of radio station. He’d gone to that tiny bit of trouble to switch over my beep and let me wake to his favorite, eighties music. I decided that signaled a special kind of friend. After all, it takes someone special to torture you with terrible synthesizer.
I’d thought I’d be hungover, but given the empty tumbler by my bed and the ibuprofen bottle in the bathroom, I figured Stephen had made sure I had pain killers and water, and they must have made sure Mom, Tiffany, and Mart had the same pre-sleep dosing because all three women were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with cups of coffee in hand. “I made a bit pot of steel-cut oatmeal,” Mart said. “I figured we probably all needed a little healthier option after our indulgence last night.”
Tiffany smiled. “Thanks for last night. It’s been a long time since I had good friends to just hang out with.” She sighed. “Sorry to bring the night down, though.”
I flipped my hand at her. “You didn’t bring the night down. Not at all. We have to be able to count on each other, right? Thanks for trusting us with that part of your life.”
Tiffany smiled. “Alright, but let me doctor this oatmeal my way.” She gestured toward the pantry beside the refrigerator. “Do you mind?”
“Make yourself at home,” Mart said, and she and I grabbed bar stools beside Mom and watched Tiffany go to work. She grabbed dried apricots and cranberries and then cho
pped those up with some walnuts. Then, she zested an orange before mixing everything into the oatmeal pot with a generous helping of maple syrup. When she ladled the oatmeal a few minutes later, our kitchen smelled like fall, and I was so hungry I was thinking about chewing off my fingers.
The oatmeal was phenomenal, and when I complimented her, she said, “It’s nothing. Just easy and healthy. The least I can do when I had to sleep in your guest room all night.”
“Our bed is your bed,” Mart said.”
“Does that apply to me and the couch?” Mom quipped as she slipped her purse on her shoulder and headed toward the door.
I rolled my eyes as I kissed her on the cheek and kept an eye on her as she walked to her car.
Mart slid her messenger bag onto her shoulder and said, “I’m off. The winery has a big fundraiser for after the parade.” She stopped and looked back at us. “Actually, you two might want to come. It’s for RAINN, the rape, assault, incest national network. I could use help serving if you want to make some extra cash.”
I looked quickly at Tiffany, hoping Mart hadn’t overstepped, but our new friend was beaming. “That sounds amazing. But I don’t want to be paid. If you need to pay me, then just donate whatever I’d make to the RAINN.”
“Same here. You’ll get us the details?”
Mart beamed. “Definitely. Thanks. Okay, see ya later.” She bounced out the door, and once again, I wondered how I’d ended up with such a perky best friend. Still, I loved her.
As Tiffany cleaned up, at her own insistence, I walked over to the boarded-up window by our dining room. Tuck and his team had cleaned up well, and the board was all that was left of the shot. Still, it was unnerving, and I was eager to hear what the sheriff would say when I saw him at the store later.
I walked Tiffany to her car and handed her a to-go mug full of coffee. “Get it back to me on Saturday when we ride over to the fundraiser. Mart will need to be there way early, so we might as well plan to go together. Sound okay?”
“Perfect,” she said before climbing into her car and beeping as she pulled away.
I really liked that woman, but she definitely had a reason for wanting Coach Cagle dead, and a good one, too.
7
Daniel pulled up a few minutes later, and if the giant grin on his face was any indication, he was thoroughly loving that I’d had to be driven home last night. “So you had fun, huh?”
I shook my head and started to lift Mayhem into the cab of his pick-up truck beside Taco. “Actually, mind if we take your truck?” Daniel asked. “I know you don’t get to drive her much, so I thought we could give her some road time.”
“I love that idea. Just let me get the keys. Come in. I’ll get you some coffee, too.” I smiled as I held the front door open behind me. Daniel had bought me this truck a while back, and I loved it. But last night, it had been too small for all of us, and he was right – I didn’t get to drive her often enough. His plan was a good one.
I was just coming back from my room with the truck keys when Daniel shouted, “What happened here?” I came back into the living room and saw him staring at the back window. Only then did I realize I had forgotten to tell him about the broken window.
“Oh, right. That happened before we went out to dinner last night. Don’t worry. Tuck is on it.”
“What?! Why was Tuck here about a broken window?” Daniel’s face was suddenly bright red.
All the memories of what might have happened here came rushing back, and the fun lift I’d gotten from the margaritas and the time with friends last night came crashing down. “Well, it, um, it may have been a gun shot.”
“What are you talking about, Harvey?” Daniel took three long strides and was now standing right in front of me. “Clearly, I need to be brought up to speed.”
I glanced at my watch. “You do. But can I do that on the road. Tuck is coming to the shop at nine, and I don’t want to miss him.” The sheriff’s text had said he’d only have a few minutes, and I didn’t want to miss my chance to hear what he had to say.
“The sheriff is coming to your store. Again.” Daniel’s voice was practically a groan.
“He’s a friend, Daniel. He comes by all the time.” I was being purposefully obtuse, and I knew it. But I really didn’t want another lecture about how I needed to stay out of police investigations. Plus, I didn’t want to see the worry on Daniel’s face.
My boyfriend let out a loud sigh and flung his hands in the air. “Let’s go. But I want to hear what the sheriff has to say, too, okay? Deal?”
“Deal.”
On the ride back to the Steak Saloon, with Mayhem and Taco tucked into their custom-made dog crates in the bed, I gave Daniel all the details I had about the window and the possible shot that Tiffany heard. Then, I told him about Tiffany’s history with Coach Cagle.
To his credit, Daniel honed right in on the most important part of what I said, that Tiffany had been stalked and that he couldn’t imagine what that must have felt like. He was one of those rare men who, right from the get go, understood that a woman was always the victim in a matter of assault, no matter what she did. In fact, he loved to quote comedian Dick Gregory – “If I’m a woman and I’m walking down the street naked, you still don’t have a right to rape me.” – any time a victim was blamed for her assault because of what she wore or what she drank or what she said a few minutes earlier. Just another reason I loved this guy.
“But it does mean she had a really good reason to kill him,” I said after Daniel had finished his rant about how awful men were.
“She does, but let’s give her the benefit of the doubt, right? Besides, we aren’t investigating the coach’s murder.” He gave me a significant look as he pulled up next to the car in the restaurant parking lot.
“We are not.” I tried to sound convincing.
We got to the store shortly before nine, and I had just gotten the alarm off and the lights on when Tuck and Lu came in. I was surprised to see the sheriff’s wife with him, but I was happy, too. Lu was a fun, vivacious woman who was the perfect pair for her husband’s prankster personality. “Lu, good to see you. What brings you in?”
Tuck pulled out a chair for his wife, and she smoothed her denim dress under her and sat down. “I asked her to come,” the sheriff said. “Thought you should hear from her yourself.”
I sat down across from my friend, and she smiled softly. “Coach Cagle has been accused of several sexual assaults and at least two rapes. I’ve been working with some of his victims, encouraging them to press charges. But they were scared,” Lu said.
I nodded. I knew that very few victims reported sexual assault and even fewer testified because of the low rate of conviction and because of the way the victims got tried publicly for what many considered “their part” in the crime. But when Lu said that only point five percent of attackers ever went to prison for their crimes, I was stunned.
Tuck shook his head. “I try. But there’s only so much I can do.”
I rubbed my hands together and let out a long slow breath. “When you say that, it makes me understand why someone thought killing Coach Cagle was the right thing to do.” I looked from Lu and Tuck, worried that I might have just offended them. After all, law enforcement was their life.
“You won’t hear me arguing,” Tuck said. “Now, I didn’t say it was right, but I do understand why someone might do it. Still, we don’t really know that’s the motive.”
Lu stared at her husband and said, “We don’t know know, I agree. But we know.” Tuck nodded.
I figured this might be the time to tell them about Tiffany, even though I felt a little like a rat sharing her story. Still, I knew that Tuck and Lu wouldn’t go spreading gossip, and I also knew that Tuck needed to know, just in case my gut instinct was wrong. So I relayed what Tiffany had told us last night, and Tuck took notes.
“So that’s where you all were going?” Tuck said with a shake of his head. “I told you not to get involved in this, Harvey.
/> “I know. But I didn’t really know anything to share until last night, and here I am telling you.” I raised my eyebrows innocently.
“You could have told me last night.” Tuck’s voice was stern.
“Actually, I couldn’t. We had a few too many margaritas. Stephen and Walter had to bring us home.”
Lu threw back her head and laughed. “That is great, Harvey. You deserve to kick back sometimes. And this information about Tiffany, it’s good for the case.” She leaned forward and held my gaze. “But I’m more worried about her.” She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small blue card. “If the time seems right, maybe you can give her this.”
I looked at the card and saw a number for RAINN’s sexual assault hotline. “Sure. I don’t know if she’d call, but maybe.” I looked at the card again. “Got any more? I’d like to put a stack by the bulletin board in the café. You never know.”
“Nope, you never do,” Lu said. “I’ll bring some by later today.” She and Tuck stood. “You know there’s a big fundraiser for RAINN at the winery on Saturday, right?”
“Actually, Tiffany and I will be working there with Mart. She just recruited us this morning.”
“Great,” Lu said. “Maybe you can introduce us? I’m always eager to meet new folks, but also, maybe . . .”
“Absolutely. Always good to know of people who can help. Thanks, Lu.” I gave her a tight hug and then looked at the clock above the café counter. “Oh, man, Rocky will be here shortly.”
“Got it. We’ll bounce,” Tuck said, and his wife winced.
“Nope. Doesn’t work for you. Besides, I don’t think anyone even says, ‘Let’s bounce’ anymore,” Lu said with a laugh. “See you Harvey.”
* * *
For a Thursday, we were remarkably busy. Apparently, a lot of people from Baltimore and even Philadelphia had decided to spend the weekend in town for the Harvest Festival, so our foot traffic was up. We were selling pumpkin-themed books left and right, which I took to be a sure sign that those of us who love pumpkin outweighed those people on social media who seem to loathe the stuff. I, however, was finally wise enough to know not to engage that, or any debate, online and just reveled in the good sales figures.