Plotted For Murder

by ACF Bookens

  “I do. Something about the idea of someone else keeping the light on for safety, I guess,” she said with a little blush on her cheeks.

  Mart dropped into the club chair. “I wish someone had done that for you, Tiffany. You know, back then . . . I mean, what if someone had been a lighthouse to warn you about Cagle?”

  Tiffany sat on her couch and kicked one long, neon-yellow leg over the arm of the sofa. I joined her and slid my shoes off before sliding my feet under her thigh. “Don’t you wish someone had warned you.”

  “Every day. But then, I’m not sure I would have listened. Everyone thinks it won’t be them, right? And when I was in the thick of it, I thought I was going crazy. When I tried to describe what he was doing to me, how I felt in danger but that he wasn’t physically violent, I felt foolish, like I was making a big deal out of nothing.”

  Mart leaned forward. “I know just what you mean. This one time in a club, I was dancing away, and this guy kept coming up to me and grabbing my shoulders as he bumped his hip against mine. Each time I moved away and found another spot in the crowd, but over and over again, he came to me. I was terrified by the time the night was over, but when I tried to describe why, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

  Tiffany nodded. “Exactly. Somewhere along the way I absorbed this idea that my discomfort or fear didn’t matter unless I was actually in physical danger. But that’s horse hockey. Danger is danger. Unsafe is unsafe, even if it’s not physical.” Her voice was adamant now, strong.

  “Exactly,” I said. “That’s why I like the work that RAINN does on education. It teaches people to trust our instincts. If something feels unsafe, it is unsafe to us, and it’s okay to leave that situation just because we feel that way.” I don’t think I had ever articulated that sentiment before, but now, I knew I needed to believe it. For myself, but for other women, too.

  Mart leaned back and then cracked her knuckles. “Agreed. But we do need to discuss something serious.” Tiffany and I looked each other and then back at her. “Horse hockey? Who says that?”

  We all cracked up, and some of the fear and tension of the morning eased away. I wanted to stay and watch ridiculous movies with my two friends, but I had a business to run. So I left them as they began a Bring It On! marathon and drove to work. Mart had already arranged with Henri to get a lift home later in the day, and if I knew Henri, that lift home would entail her continued presence at Tiffany’s house while her wonderful husband drove Mart to our house. I expected Tiffany would have constant company for the next few days if she wanted it. Our friends were good like that.

  When I got to the shop just before noon, I was delighted to see Walter and Stephen sitting in the café, and again I wished I could sit down and chat with them. But I had left Marcus on his own enough for the past few days, so I simply waved to my friends and headed to the register.

  Marcus was having a light-hearted but intense conversation with a middle-aged black man about which book about racial justice was most important. As I checked on our supply of bags and small bills, I listened to the two debate The New Jim Crow and Just Mercy as two alternatives. I had loved and been profoundly challenged by both books and made sure we always had them in the store. Still, I was at a total loss for words when Marcus said, “Which would you choose?” and looked at me.

  I stared from one man to the other and found them both waiting patiently for my answer. “Um, well, I expect you might know better than I do,” I said candidly.

  The other man laughed. “Well, I expect we might have lived closer to what those authors describe, but maybe you’re the better judge of which has more of an impact?”

  I smiled. “Because I’m white, and we white people are responsible for making the changes to the system we created.” It wasn’t a question. Just a statement.

  “Exactly,” the man said.

  I took a deep breath and thought about both books, about how each of them had changed me when I’d listened to them as I’d gone to and from work in San Francisco. “I’m going to say Just Mercy, but only because of the way Stevenson wrote it, not because the content was any more or less important than Alexander’s work.”

  “You mean because he tells Johnny D’s story?” Marcus asked.

  “Exactly . . . and his own. Alexander’s book is great for a book club discussion, but I happen to believe people get changed most by stories.” I felt a little nervous about my choice, not wanting to disrespect either man’s choice.

  But Marcus smiled, and the other man reached out his hand to shake mine. “That is a good answer, Ms. Beckett. Now, do you have a few minutes to discuss hosting a Racial Justice Book Group here? I’m Wally Mick, head of the local NAACP chapter.”

  I grinned. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mick, and yep, let’s talk. I’d love to host your group. We need all the justice we can get.” He and I headed back to the fiction section to work out logistics, and I felt more of the tension of the past few days fade away. This was just the sort of thing I hoped would happen in my store, especially given its history as an African American-owned gas station back in the days of Jim Crow.

  Mr. Mick and I were just finishing up the plans for our first book club meeting in November when I heard the bell ring at the front door and then a commotion rising up there. “Better let you get back to it,” Wally said as he stood and shook my hand. “See you in a couple of weeks.”

  I nodded and then walked as briskly as I could to the front door. There, Marcus was standing chest to chest with Scott, and while my assistant manager was neither tiny nor timid, he was clearly losing ground to the large hairdresser. I quickly dialed 911, told the dispatcher to send someone to the store immediately, and then walked up to stand beside Marcus. I was significantly shorter than he was, but I hoped that two us looked intimidating enough to get Scott to back off. I wasn’t sure what he was upset about now, but I could guess.

  “What’s going on here?” I asked, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin.

  “I want to talk to Tiffany. I haven’t been able to figure out where she lives, but I know you know. So tell me.” Scott’s eyes were wide, and he looked a little crazed.

  Behind me, I could hear rustling, but I didn’t dare turn my head away from Scott, even for a second. “I’m not telling you where Tiffany lives, Scott. You need to stop harassing her, and you need to leave.” My voice was shaking, but I couldn’t tell if it was from fear or from rage.

  The bell rang over the door, and I saw my mom and dad walk in . . . Dad, sizing up the situation quickly, sent Mom back out, presumably to wait for help, and stepped around Scott to stand beside me. “Can I help you with something?” Dad’s voice had the air of CEO that he used to use when he ran stockholder meetings. I’d attended a few of those meetings over the years as part of school projects, and I was always awed by my dad’s command of a room. He wasn’t intimidating, but he definitely knew how to command a room.

  Scott took a step back. “Who are you?” He physically backed off, but his voice was just as angry.

  “I think the better question is, who are you, and why are you here?” Dad leaned forward just a little and lorded his six-foot-four frame over Scott.

  * * *

  “I came to get some information from her,” he stabbed the air near my face, and I felt my father shift his shoulder in front of mine. “But she’s refusing to cooperate.”

  “Last I heard in this country, no one is required to share any information that they’d rather not . . . unless you are some sort of attorney or law enforcement officer with a warrant. Are you?” Dad’s voice was quiet now, but somehow, that made it all the more ominous.

  Scott’s face went purple with rage. “Fine, but your posse can’t protect you all the time,” he spat as he spun and headed out the door.

  Mom waited quietly as he passed her on the sidewalk, wise enough not to draw attention to herself, before she came in and said Tuck was thirty seconds away. “Look, there he is.”

  I stepped out to his car and
pointed up the street toward Scott’s salon. He took off at a jog as he shouted, “Close the store and lock the door.”

  When I walked back in, I saw a gathering of people near the front door and realized that all these people, including Mr. Mick, had witnessed that interchange. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I wish you hadn’t had to see that.”

  Then, Stephen said, “Are you kidding? You were incredible.” He pointed at Marcus, Dad, and me. “That guy was nuts to take on the three of you.” The crowd behind him and Walter started to clap and cheer, and I realized that the sound I’d heard behind me was all these people literally having my back. Tears stung my eyes.

  I looked at Marcus, who shrugged and smiled and then at Dad, who looked like he’d just scared away a bumble bee. Meanwhile, I felt like I’d been holding off a ballistic missile. My hands were shaking, and I felt a little faint. But to have the support of my community, not to mention witnesses to Scott’s anger, that felt amazing.

  Still, I hoped Tuck caught him. St. Marin’s wasn’t that big a town, and it wouldn’t take Scott long to track Tiffany down if he was determined. I suddenly realized I had to warn Tiffany and grabbed my phone. Mart was still there, so I called her first. She said she and Tiffany would lock the house down after telling the officer on duty what had happened, just in case Tuck hadn’t been able to get in touch with him yet. I told them I was sending reinforcements.

  Then, I called Henri. She and Bear, who was off from the hospital for the day, were heading straight over. They were calling Pickle, too.

  “What do you need now, Harvey?” Stephen asked as he slid up beside me and pulled me close. Walter looked at me with soft eyes.

  I felt foolish, but I said, “I need Daniel.”

  “On it,” Walter said as he headed for the door. “I’ll run to get him and fill him in. An urgent “get to the bookstore” text might be too much.” He jogged out the door.

  “What else?” Stephen said.

  With a flash, I remembered that Tuck had told me to close the store, so I asked Stephen to help me send people home with the promise of a ten percent discount if they came back later in the week. Within a couple of minutes, he and Rocky had gathered the stacks of books that people were considering, labeled them with the customer’s name, and promised to hold them until the weekend in case someone wanted to come back for them. Then Stephen flipped off the neon sign and locked the door. He put a chair beside it and took up his self-appointed charge as doorman.

  I saw Daniel and Walter jogging up the sidewalk with Taco lumbering along behind them. That Basset could hustle when need be. Stephen opened the door, and Daniel rushed over and hugged me. Then, he stood back and said, “Where is he?”

  His face was calm, but there was a flint in his eyes that told me he was angry as all get out. “Tuck went after him.”

  Daniel took a deep breath. “Maybe I should go back him up?”

  Walter walked over and put his hand on Daniel’s forearm. “I think the sheriff has all the back-up he needs available. Besides, it might be wise to stay near Harvey at this point, right?”

  I gave Walter a grateful smile. The idea of Daniel chasing after that crazed man made my blood ice over, and I really didn’t want him to leave me. Not now. I needed his calm presence . . . that is if he could get calm.

  Rocky walked over with a large mug and said, “Vanilla steamer. It’ll calm you.” Walter spun the comfy chair from the mystery section so that it faced the front door, and I lowered myself into it.

  The smell of the vanilla helped soothe my nerves almost immediately, and the hot milk flushed some of the tension out of my neck, too. “Thank you, Rocky.”

  She nodded, and then she and Marcus pulled the wing chairs from fiction over and sat down near me. Daniel carried the stool from the behind the register, and Walter sat down on the floor against Stephen’s knees. Apparently, no one was leaving, and I was grateful.

  I checked in with Mart, and she said they were fine – the police officer was still there, and Henri, Bear, and Pickle had all arrived. They’d just ordered pizza and were going to watch Schitt’s Creek to keep their mind off things. I thought that sounded amazing, especially the pizza.

  Just then, Lu appeared at the front door, and when Stephen opened it for her, the smell of fresh tortillas, garlic, and chili wafted through the air, erasing all memory of my pizza craving. “Tuck said you were holed up here. I thought you might need snacks.”

  “Oh, Lu, thank you. Yes, please,” I said as Marcus helped Lu clear the counter by the register. She quickly set up a buffet line for tacos and helped me up to get a plate. I was surprised I was hungry, but I couldn’t possibly resist Lu’s spicy black beans, queso, guacamole, and fresh salsa. I made myself two veggie tacos and went back to my chair.

  I had just started on my second taco when Elle appeared at the door with her arms full of flowers. She looked puzzled, and I realized she was doing her usual Sunday afternoon flower delivery. Stephen opened the door, and she immediately set the flowers in his arms and came to me.

  “What happened?” I explained the scene with Scott, and Elle groaned. “That nerve of that man.”

  I nodded. “But Lu has fortified us with fresh food. Help yourself.” I sat back down and made quick work of my taco as Elle pulled a chair from the café and enjoyed her own.

  That explanation followed by dinner happened twice more, first when Cate and Lucas arrived after Daniel texted Lucas to tell him what happened and then again when Woody got the news from Henri. Soon enough, everything but a single spoonful of guacamole was gone, and I tidied up that last sliver of yumminess.

  Then, the heavy silence descended, and I began to wonder what was taking Tuck so long. I had thought he’d have let us know when he had Scott in custody, but maybe he was going to question him first before getting back to us. I couldn’t just sit there waiting, so I got up and began to tidy the store. Marcus joined me, but soon, everything was in place . . . and my nerves started to jangle again.

  “Let’s face the shelves,” Marcus said with a look of concern at my shaking hands. “We haven’t done that in a while, and with all of us helping, we’ll have the store looking perfect in no time.”

  I smiled. “Great idea,” I said and meant it. Sometimes, the simplest things – like making sure all the book spines are lined up at the front edge of the book shelf – are the best medicine. So the team, all except Stephen who stayed at his post by the door, spread out after Marcus had demonstrated how to neatly arrange the books perfectly. Within a few minutes, the shelves were more perfect than they’d been when we opened, and I was feeling more relaxed, too, well, as relaxed as I could be until I found out what Tuck had learned from Scott.

  I had just taken my seat again when Tuck appeared at the front door. Stephen let him in and immediately pulled his chair over by me so Tuck could sit down. The sheriff looked wan, and he was out of breath. I had never seen him out of breath. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, but I knew Tuck spent an hour or two a day at the gym staying in shape for his job.

  Rocky rushed over with a glass of ice water, and Lu pulled a café chair up and sat next to her husband as he caught his breath. After he pulled back the water in one long swig, he sighed and said, “We couldn’t find him.”

  My heart sprang up into my throat. “Oh no,” I whispered.

  “How is that possible?” my dad asked from behind my chair. Mom appeared beside me and put her hand on my shoulder. My parents hadn’t always been the most supportive of me, but they were making up for lost time now. “He had just gone down the street when you arrived,” Dad continued.

  “I don’t know.” Tuck looked mortified. “We scoured the streets, checked his home and shop, and put out an APB. But nothing. He’s disappeared.”

  Daniel frowned as he said. “He’s not exactly unobtrusive what with the huge muscles and the tattoos.”

  “Exactly,” Tuck said. “He’s intentionally hiding, which makes me nervous.”

  I swallowed hard.
“We need to get to Tiffany.” I knew our friend had people there, and I knew the officer was keeping a careful eye. But I also knew, with some sort of deep dread, that people and one police officer were not enough. “I’m going.” I stood up.

  Tuck said, “Okay” and headed toward the front door with me.

  “Okay?!” Dad stormed forward, blocking our path. “Why would you let her go to where a killer might?” His face was bright red with anger and, I suspected, fear.

  “Mr. Beckett, we don’t know where Scott is. He could be coming back here, for all I know. So I think it’s safer for everyone to be in one location where my deputies and I can keep them safe.” The sheriff pointed to everyone in the room. “Caravan over?”

  My friends and parents didn’t even hesitate. They grabbed their bags and helped turn out the lights. Daniel and I set the alarm and locked the door, and then we were all in various vehicles and headed toward Tiffany.

  I texted Mart, “The cavalry is on the way” with a little horse emoji. I expected her to reply right back with something snarky, but nothing. Not even the three little dots to say she was typing. I hoped she had just set her phone aside while they watched TV, but I doubted it. I leaned forward from the back of my parents’ car and said, “Dad, go faster.”

  He caught my eye in the rearview mirror, gave a quick nod, and dropped the pedal to the floor. I called Tuck as we sped around his patrol car. “Mart’s not answering.”

  “Got it. I’m dispatching cars now.” Then he raced back around us and led the way. I texted Stephen and Walter who had Elle and Woody with them and then Marcus and Rocky, who were bringing up the rear with Cate and Lucas and told them to be safe but that we were going as fast as we could.

  Rocky’s single word text was, “Praying,” and while I wasn’t much of a pray-er myself, I was grateful. I sat back in my seat and watched Tuck’s taillights as he whipped toward Tiffany’s house. I hoped we weren’t too late.