by ACF Bookens
“Well, this is mostly hearsay, I guess. I mean, the sheriff might have just been telling me stuff to make me feel better.”
I dropped my head to my chin and gave her a pointed look. “When have you ever known Sheriff Mason to let out any information that wasn’t true. You know how careful he is with releasing information. He must have a good reason.”
I curled my knees up to my chin and chewed my lip. “I’m missing something. I just know it.”
Cate rolled her eyes. “You do love to build up a mystery, don’t you, Harvey Beckett?”
“That’s why you love me.” I stretched my legs back out and slipped my feet under my friend’s legs.
“Among the many reasons.” She smiled, and I found myself very glad that she’d come over. “Now, I know you had planned on a makeup show binge, but I’m thinking Veronica Mars might be a better choice,” she looked at me out of the corner of her eyes.
I sat forward and looked back at her. “Are you serious? Sleuthing and teenage love triangles? I can’t imagine anything better.”
3
Sunday morning was probably my favorite time of the week. Everyone moved a little more slowly with fewer plans and more space in their day. The store was quiet, too, since most of the folks in St. Marin’s spent the first part of the day at church. I liked the silence, the visits from a few regulars coming for coffee or just to browse, the tourists who wandered in with their bellies full from any one of the wonderful B&Bs around town, and time to just think about the week ahead.
This week, though, I was preoccupied. I was trying to guess at Tuck’s plan when the man himself came in. He and Lu were regular attendees at the Episcopal Church outside of town, and he was clearly on his way there – his khaki pants, salmon shirt, and bright blue tie a nice departure from his uniform or blue jeans and polo attire. Lu looked lovely in a draping, flowered dress with a bright yellow headband that complemented her dark brown hair and olive skin.
“You guys are gorgeous. Like an advertisement for spring. What brings you by?”
Lu gave me a wink. “Well, I’m here for a cinnamon roll, but I think Tuck wanted to talk about something with you.” She gave her husband’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She headed toward the café, where Rocky was waiting with a fresh plate of her mom’s amazing cinnamon rolls. I made a mental note to snag one before they were all gone.
The sheriff gave me a mischievous grin as he glanced around the shop. “Got a minute to talk in the back.”
“Ooh, a mystery. I like that.” The shop was pretty empty, and I caught Rocky’s eye. She gave me a thumbs up. “Let’s go.”
We stepped into the storage room at the back of the shop, and Tuck and I took seats on stacks of boxes. “What’s up?” I asked.
“I need your help.” Tuck’s voice was quiet and serious.
I leaned forward toward my friend and said, “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that?” In the past, the sheriff had been none too keen on my curious investigations, so this was a surprising and wonderful turn of events.
“Don’t get too excited. You don’t need to be doing any police work. I just need your help to, well, lay a trail.”
I jumped up and pumped the air with my fist. “I knew it. You don’t really suspect Henri. It’s a trap.”
He stood up and put his hands in front of him. “Not a trap, Harvey – entrapment is illegal – a trail. You need to understand that. We aren’t trying to trick anyone, just lead them out, okay?” His voice was very stern.
I took a deep breath. “Right. A trail. Okay, how do I help?”
“I take it the rumor already reached you that I am looking at Henri Johnson as a person of interest. That’s the first step. Now, I need you to help me convince everyone that she is guilty.”
My enthusiasm for my part in this trail-blazing waned considerably. “Tuck—”
“Don’t worry. Henri and Bear – even Pickle – are in the know. But besides Lu, me, and now you, no one else can know. Not even Daniel. For this to work, people have to believe I’m looking for evidence to arrest Henri. Okay?”
I was liking this plan less and less, especially if it meant keeping secrets. But I reminded myself that a murderer was on the loose. “Okay, what do I need to do?”
“Simple. You have to convince everyone that I’m convinced about Henri’s guilt. You can even pretend to be looking for evidence against her. Everyone you know will believe that you’re caught up in the investigation. It’s true to your nature.”
I paused and then I felt my mood lift. “You want me to investigate the crime publicly while you do the same privately? I can do that.” I gave him a grin.
The sheriff shook his head, but I saw a smile lift the corner of his mouth. “Pretend to investigate, Harvey. Just throw the killer off with your sleuthing, okay? Keep the attention on you and away from me.”
“Permission to sleuth. I’m totally in.”
He sighed. “But because you’re going to be the focus, we need to be sure you’re safe, so Deputy Dillard is going to be working with you. That way, you’ll have protection.”
I nodded. I liked our new deputy, and I thought this might be a lot of fun . . . and a satisfying way to feed my curiosity. “Got it. But this is pretty elaborate, Tuck. Why all the cloak and dagger?”
He looked off into the middle distance. “I’m not sure yet. Something tells me, though, that this killer is very careful, and I want to employ every resource – you included,” he gave my shoulder a little nudge, “to catch them.”
“It probably helps that I found Wilma’s body, huh?” Remembering her blue face sobered my enthusiasm a bit. I hadn’t liked the woman, but murder was horrible no matter who it happened to.
“It does. It allows us the ruse that you already know some basics like cause and time of death since you were there at the crime scene.”
“Right. Except, of course, I don’t know those things.” I wiggled my eyebrows, trying to play the farcical sleuth but feeling a little queasy remembering Wilma’s body draped across that bank.
He proceeded to tell me that Wilma had been strangled with her own scarf, that the killer must have snuck up on her and dragged her down the hill.
“Must have been someone strong then?” I asked.
“Maybe. But Wilma wasn’t very strong, and she was in heels. Once she was off the paved path, it probably wouldn’t have been too hard for even a weaker person to get her off her feet, especially if they had grabbed her by the neck.”
I tried not to picture it. “Okay, and when?
“Coroner says about ten yesterday.”
I shuddered. Wilma had been murdered in broad daylight near where children were playing. This killer was ballsy and cold.
“You can see why discretion is required and why I need your help. We’re not talking about a heat of the moment thing, Harvey. Wilma took that walk every Saturday morning on the way to visit her mother at the nursing home on the north side of town. The killer knew that. They waited for her.”
I wrapped my arms tight and hugged myself. “Wilma’s mother lives in town? I didn’t know that. I haven’t seen her around, I don’t think.”
“You probably wouldn’t. From what I gather, she’s bedridden and has a pretty advanced case of dementia.” He rubbed his forehead. “Pretty kind of Wilma to visit every week even so, though.”
I sighed. “I’d say. Do you have suspects?” At this point I couldn’t tell if I was asking for my own “investigation” or because I really hoped the sheriff would nab this person quickly.
“I do, but I’m not going to tell you anything about that – both because it would be unwise for the sake of our investigation but also because it’ll make it more believable for your performance.”
I nodded. “Can I ask one more question?”
He gave me one crisp nod.
“Ollie isn’t a suspect, right?”
He looked at me somberly. “I’m not ruling anyone out, Harvey. Not anyone.”
After the sheriff and Lu left for church, I found Mayhem and took the chair next to her in the psychology section. If I couldn’t talk to my friends, at least I had her. I gave her ear a scratch, and she looked up at me quizzically. “No one is going to like this, are they girl?”
She licked my hand.
“Thanks. I knew you’d understand. Now, where do we start?”
* * *
I spent the day pondering my sleuthing tactics when I wasn’t recommending books or ringing up customers. I knew I had to be subtle, so I couldn’t go all Poirot and question everyone who might have motive. Besides, I didn’t even know who had motive. No, this had to look like my usual routine of following hunches.
Midafternoon, two young women came in and headed right for the self-help section. One of them looked familiar, but in a town as small as St. Marin’s, everyone is familiar after you’ve been here a couple of weeks.
But when they came to the counter with their purchases – Crazy Rich Asians and Why Didn’t They Teach Me This in School? – I realized that one of the women was Cynthia, the teller at the bank. Her hair was down, and she was in a hoodie instead of her bankish blouse and trousers, but it was definitely her. I smiled and said, “Hey Cynthia. It’s good to see you.”
She smiled. “Hi, Ms. Beckett. Good to see you, too.” She held up the books. “Good?”
I didn’t know the Siegel book that well – being a reader a bit older than his target demographic – but I’d heard good things. And I loved Kwan’s books. “Yep. Great choices.” I looked past her to the woman standing behind her. “Hi, I’m Harvey.”
Cynthia looked back. “Oh yeah, sorry. This is Ariel. We work together. She mostly works in loans, so maybe you guys haven’t met.”
Ariel stepped up, gave a guarded smile, and put out her hand. “Nice to meet you. I like your store.”
“Thanks, Ariel. You guys headed somewhere fun after this?”
Cynthia nodded. “It’s so beautiful outside. We thought we’d head over to the marina and get some oysters.”
I cringed. “Ooh, well, you can have my portion. Can’t stand the things.”
Ariel eyed me carefully. “Not from around here then?”
“Actually, I am. Just up in Chesapeake City. Seafood and I just don’t like each other much.” I always felt awkward saying that here in this town that the seafood industry still supported in part and where crabs were not only a beloved meal but also the state animal.
The girls shrugged. “More for us then,” Cynthia said warmly.
I finished ringing up their sale and then said, quietly, “I heard about what happened to Wilma. I’m so sorry.”
Cynthia looked down at her hands. “Yeah, she wasn’t always easy to work with, but . . .”
“Yeah, you never wish that on anyone,” I finished.
“Wait, weren’t you the one who found her body?” Ariel’s voice had an edge to it, and I looked over at her quickly.
“I was.”
The young woman was scowling. “So why’d you say you heard about it? You did more than hear, it seems like.”
Cynthia put a hand on her friend’s arm. “It’s just a figure of speech.”
“Exactly. Plus, you can understand why I wouldn’t really want everyone to know I was the one who found her. I mean, in case they thought I knew more than I did or something.” I was treading a thin line here, trying to imply that I did know more while looking like I didn’t. Subterfuge was complicated.
Ariel studied my face. “Oh, okay. Well, yeah, I guess I can see that.”
“Anyway, the sheriff has a suspect, so, hopefully, this will be all wrapped up soon.” I figured now was as good a time as any to start laying that trail.
Both women looked at me then. “Oh?” Cynthia said, “I thought you and Henri were friends.”
I bit my lip, willing my brain to get going.
“We are, but a crime is a crime, right?” Just the sound of those words coming out of my mouth made me a little queasy. I was the last person someone would call a “law and order” type.
“Oh, well, then . . .” Cynthia’s voice was thin and nervous. I probably sounded a little aggressive.
I swallowed and tried not to think about Tuck. He would not be happy that I had started before Deputy Dillard was on board, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. “Justice will prevail.”
I tried to smile warmly. “Enjoy the oysters, girls.”
They walked out, and the bell over the door rang softly as I watched them walk up the street. Now, there were two women with means and opportunity to steal, I thought. How hard would it be for a bank employee to just shred those transfer papers, I wondered?
Then, I chuckled to myself. “Justice will prevail,” I said quietly. I sounded like a movie trailer.
* * *
When closing time came, I was exhausted more from the scheming than from the actual bookstore work, and I dreaded my Sunday night wine and garden time with Mart, Cate, and Elle. That is, until I decided this was my chance to try my hand at upping my acting skills. If I could fool them, I could fool anyone.
Unlike our Friday night potlucks, which rotated from house to house each week, the women and I always met at our house on Sundays. Mart brought the wine, of course, and we all enjoyed gardening. Technically, the garden belonged to Mart and me since it was in our yard but, in actuality, we considered it a group project.
Elle, of course, had the most knowledge, so she was our leader. I’d grown up with a small garden – tomatoes, peppers, herbs – at my childhood home, and Cate’s mother had grown a plethora of vegetables on their little patio in New York City. Mart, however, had no experience with plants, not even house plants. “My thumbs are so black I could apply football player’s grease paint,” she said.
As Mart filled our glasses in the cooling evening light, we each took to our little plots of soil. Cate had a beautiful patch of Korean radishes – a tribute to her heritage – that Lucas would use in their meals, and her scallions looked amazing. “I think your parents would be proud,” I said as I headed over to weed my own carrots.
“Thanks, Harvey,” she said. “Now remember, those frilly tops, those are the carrots you intentionally planted. Don’t weed them out again.”
I gave her my best exasperated stare, but then bent to the task. I had weeded out, accidentally, not one but two patches of carrots already this spring. As I took a glance at Mart’s end of our bed, I saw that so far, her broccoli plants were looking healthy, and her cabbages looked downright market-worthy. My dear but uninformed best friend had wanted to go right in with tomato plants in mid-April, but thank goodness Elle tactfully noted that our last frost wasn’t until early May. “Tomatoes like heat, my dear. Lots of heat. Let’s wait until Mother’s Day, just to be safe.” Mart had nodded, thankful, I think, for an explanation. She was a keen learner . . . and a really observant person. I didn’t know if I could fool her with my murder-distracting ploy, but it was time to give it a shot.
“You all heard about Henri, right?” I said, trying to sound casual.
Elle harvested the most perfect leaves of kale off the gorgeous, blue-green plants she’d been babying since they were seeded. The woman had an entire farm to tend, but still, she came here every Sunday to help us out . . . and I suspected she appreciated the company, too. I imagined I’d be kind of lonely out there on thirty acres with just my animals for companionship. She loved what she did, though. You could see it in her face.
Now, though, her face grew stormy. “I did, and that’s BS. I mean, I respect Tuck and all, but he’s so off-base on this one it’s not even funny.”
BS was pretty strong language for Elle, who felt profanity was the resource of the small-minded. I was glad she hadn’t yet been around when I dropped something on my foot.
Cate said, “I can’t even believe it.” She slid a soil-covered hand across her cheek. “The sheriff knows Henri, too. Surely, he knows better.”
I took a deep breath and swallowed
hard. “I mean, I don’t know, but what if she did do it?”
Three faces whipped in my direction. “Harvey, you can’t be serious. You know Henri. You know what kind of person she is.” Elle’s voice was full of hurt, like I’d just said I thought she was a murderer.
“I know. I do, but I saw how Wilma lit into her. It was ugly. I mean, I don’t condone killing, but I could see how she might have been, well, tempted.” I couldn’t really see that at all – Henri was the most cool-headed, even-tempered person I knew. But I had to play my part, and this part relied on me selling my lie. “Goodness knows, there but for the grace of God . . .” I let my voice trail off as I carefully avoided pulling up a carrot.
Mart walked over to me. “Harvey, what is going on with you? You aren’t being serious right now, are you?” Her face was full of concern.
I almost cracked right then, but I remembered that Tuck had said Henri was in on the ruse. So I sighed and doubled-down. “Of course, I want Tuck to have evidence, but it does sound like she’s the most likely suspect.”
Cate flicked her hand trowel down into the dirt. “I can’t take this. I’m going home. Mart, Elle, thank you for a lovely night. Harvey, well, I just don’t know what to say.” She walked slowly back to her car, her head down and shoulders hunched. I felt terrible.
Elle straightened up and stretched. “I think things here are in pretty good shape.” She was trying to keep her voice light, I could tell, but I could also hear the quaver behind it. I recognized that tremble because it was the way my voice sounded anytime I was about to cry. “I’m going to be headed home, too.”
I looked over at Mart. She was glaring at me. Then, she turned, gave Elle a wave, gathered the wine glasses, and went inside without a word.
I felt a lot like the manure we’d turned into these beds a few weeks ago. Apparently, I was a good liar. Too bad it had cost me my friends to find that out.