by Jill Orr
“You okay there, chief?”
Given his Jekyll and Hyde personality, I braced myself for some rude comeback, but he just turned his head slowly and looked at me through glassy eyes. “No. Not really.”
Oh no. Franklin, I thought. “What’s going on?”
“Um,” he started to say, but then stopped himself. “Uh…well, I think this is the end of Campbell & Sons after 142 years.” He held up a finger to the bartender, who nodded and grabbed the bottle of Wild Turkey.
“Did something happen to your grandfather?”
He shook his head.
“Then what’s going on?” I asked, relieved.
“I just can’t do it,” he said, and knocked back the shot of bourbon. “I’m just not cut out for it.”
“What? The funeral home?”
“Yup. Dead bodies, grieving families…it’s all so…”
I understood what he was trying to say. I didn’t imagine being a funeral home director was an ideal career for everyone.
“And I know I’m letting them all down, all of them!” He made a wide gesture toward invisible members of the Campbell family from generations gone by. “Worst of all, PopPop.” He paused for at least five seconds before swiveling his stool toward mine. “I have a job all lined up at Strauss & Shapiro. I bet you didn’t know that, did you?”
I was pretty sure this was a rhetorical question because why in the world would I know that—but he seemed a little too fragile for banter, so I kept my mouth closed.
“They’re one of the top firms in Austin for criminal defense. I beat out seven other candidates in three rounds of interviews to get the position. Was supposed to start this week, in fact. I told them I had a family emergency, and they agreed to push my start date a couple of weeks.”
His frustration was unmistakable, and I thought I detected a hint of resentment as well. I could understand that, though. He had a plan for his life and then circumstances beyond his control cropped up and changed everything. I’d been faced with a similar about-face in my own life a few months earlier and remembered that feeling of helplessness and uncertainty.
After another moment of silence he raised his eyes to meet mine. “He isn’t going to make it back from this, is he?”
“It doesn’t sound like it,” I said gently. From what I had heard, there was little hope Franklin would recover—and even if he did, the chances of him being healthy enough to run the funeral home were slim.
Ash took a deep breath in. “Grams isn’t well enough to take over, Dad’s in prison for Christ’s sake, Emily lives in California and just had her third kid, so either I step up and run things or my family not only loses our patriarch but our entire legacy as well.” His sadness, grief, and crushing sense of obligation were palpable.
“I’m so sorry.” It was all I could think to say. I’m not even sure he heard me.
“PopPop was basically like a father to us growing up. After it became clear my dad wasn’t going to be much use, Franklin stepped in and essentially took over that role. He sent my mom money, he sent Emily and me cards, called every week, and made sure to visit four times a year—extra, if one of us was in a play or graduating or something like that. He was always there for us. No matter how hard it must have been.”
His words brought back vivid memories of my own special relationship with my grandfather. Although both of my parents were very much involved in my life, I knew how powerful a close relationship with a grandparent could be. And I knew the pain of losing that relationship.
“Have you tried talking to Patricia? Does she know about your job offer?”
“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “She’s so stressed right now…and if PopPop finds out about this it would kill him. Literally.”
He was right, the last thing the Campbells needed was to worry about their business.
“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting up a little straighter and looking at me as if he just realized I was there. “Can I get you something? Do you want a drink?”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. I’m actually meeting someone upstairs,” I said feeling slightly guilty, though I didn’t know why.
“Right,” he mumbled. “Shoulda known.” All of a sudden, he sounded like the first Ash I’d met that day, the one who was combative and temperamental. He held up his hand to the bartender again.
I put a hand on his shoulder as I stood to leave. “Take it easy, okay.”
He swiveled his bar stool back around to face me, the tops of his knees brushing against my legs. When he raised his amber eyes to mine, gone was any trace of his earlier vulnerability. He’d put his armor back on. “Aye-aye, honey.”
Ash may have been upset, half-crocked, and undeniably frustratingly attractive, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook for being a chauvinist. “I told you: I don’t like it when you call me ‘honey.’ ”
He continued to stare at me for an unsettling amount of time, and then a slow, cocky smile slid across his face. “You sure about that?”
CHAPTER 9
Ryan was already upstairs with two drinks in front of him, a Coors Light for him and by the looks of it, a Revolutionary Rum Runner for me. He must have either gotten there early or snuck in while I was talking to Ash.
“Hey,” I said, picking up the drink and taking a sip before I even sat down.
Ryan stood up so quickly, he knocked his knee on the table. “Ow, shit—um, I mean, shoot. Sorry.” He laughed and leaned over to give me a hug hello, an intimate habit we’d never quite gotten out of. I let him hug me, momentarily enjoying the firm feel of his arms around me and his clean, soapy smell.
“You okay?” he asked. “You look flushed.”
Stupid Ash and his stupid comments. I pushed all thoughts of him from my mind and took another sip of my drink. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” Ryan gestured to the glass in my hand. “I ordered your favorite—I mean, at least what used to be your favorite. Looks like it still is,” he said.
“Sorry. It’s been one of those days.”
“You never know, your day might still turn around.” He flashed his dimples at me and raised his beer toward my glass. “To the day not being over yet.”
I hesitantly clinked glasses, an uneasy guilt creeping up on me. Did Ridley know we were meeting tonight? What would she think if she did?
“Hey listen, Riles,” he started to say. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Okay…”
“You and I have been through a ton,” he said. “I mean, that’s an understatement, right?”
I nodded. It was more than just an understatement. All of my firsts had been with Ryan—my first boyfriend, my first love, my first heartbreak. And then seven years of firsts had abruptly come to end when Ryan broke up with me and moved away without so much as an explanation.
“And I know everything’s different now, Ridley’s living here and we’ve got Lizzie and you’ve got your new career and all. But even though so much has changed, there’s so much that hasn’t, you know?” He looked up at me from underneath his swath of thick lashes. “You’re so smart and you’re still my best friend, Riles, and I—I—”
I didn’t like where this was heading. There were lots of reasons why Ryan and I would never get back together—Ridley and Lizzie were two of them—but also, getting over the breakup with Ryan had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done, and there was no way I was going to put myself through that again. I’d been clear with him that while there was a part of me who would always love him, we were just going to be friends. True to form, Ryan thought my opinions were merely a jumping-off point for negotiation.
Could that be what he was working up to say? To make another push for us to try again? It had been a while since he’d brought it up, but maybe because he knew I was no longer with Jay he thought my answer would be different now. As flattering as it was to be pined for, Ryan and I made no sense as a couple. He might not know it, but I was sure enough for the both of us.
He looked thrown off. “It is?”
“I wanted to ask you about something she said yesterday. She said she’s going to take over Rosalee’s Tavern.” I took out my notebook and poised my pen over it. “What’s that all about?”
“So this is an interview?” I watched as Ryan began to understand that tonight was never going to be about us; I simply wanted information.
“Of course,” I said, like that was obvious. “So, what about Rosalee’s…”
Ryan picked up his beer and took a long sip. When he lowered it, he shook his head, a bewildered expression on his face. “Um, yeah, well, we’ve been talking about it and Ridley really wants to do it, so yeah.”
“How did this all come about?”
“When she first moved to town, Ridley talked to Rosalee about working at the Tavern,” he said, then added, “Ridley really knows her way around a kitchen.”
“Of course she does,” I said, unable to control myself.
“Rosalee seemed really interested. She said she was planning to do more traveling soon and was ready to ‘move on’ from having such a demanding schedule with the restaurant and all. Obviously, Ridley was super-pregnant at the time and couldn’t commit to anything. But a couple of weeks ago Rosalee came into the store and she asked if Ridley would still be interested.”
Ryan worked at his family’s business, Sanford Farm & Home. “I gave her Ridley’s number, and later that week she texted saying she was going away and asked if Ridley would want to run things while she was gone.”
“Didn’t you think that was weird?” I asked.
“I don’t know, I guess not,” he said, taking another swig of his beer. “Rosalee was always a little mysterious, and I just figured she was going back home to France to see her family or something. Besides, Ridley was super-excited, so I didn’t think too much about it.”
That seemed dense, even for Ryan. “Even with all of the stuff about Greer Mountbatten and Justin Balzichek going on?”
He shook his head. “Oh no, this was before any of that.”
“Wait, what?” I got a tingle on the back of my neck.
“She was in on November fourth,” Ryan said. “I remember because it was the same day that we got in a huge shipment of ice melt we’d been waiting on. I’m pretty sure that was before any of this crazy stuff happened.”
I mentally ticked through the timeline in my head. Greer’s body hadn’t been found until November seventh. And Justin’s not until the ninth. Rosalee had planned to be gone before that? Why? I was no expert, but that sounded like premeditation to me. And then a dark thought started circling around my brain like a vulture.
“Ryan, what did Rosalee buy that day she came into the store?”
He thought for a minute and then his face drained of color. I honestly don’t think he made the connection until that very moment.
“Don’t tell me,” I said, reading his expression. “A sledgehammer?”
He nodded, words escaping him. He ran a hand through his sandy brown hair and left it on top of his head. “She said she was planning to do some remodeling, something about needing more storage in the basement or something…I can’t remember exactly. I never in a million years pegged Rosalee for a killer. I really thought this would all be cleared up any day now and she’d come back and run the Tavern like always.”
I knew how he felt. There was a part of me that thought the same thing. “I think you need to tell Carl what you just told me.”
“Yeah,” he said, downing the last of his beer. “I’ll stop by the sheriff’s office on my way home.”
“You know what?” I said, standing up and holding a hand out to him. “I’ll go with you.”
“Thanks, Riles.” He sounded so happy, I didn’t have the heart to tell him I had my own reasons for wanting to see Carl Haight that had nothing to do with him.
CHAPTER 10
While Ryan was giving his statement to Butter, I knocked on Carl’s office door and asked if he had a minute.
“Not really, Riley.” Carl sounded just plain worn out. He’d basically been living down here since Greer’s body had been found, and it was starting to show on his face. He looked far older than his twenty-six years.
“Can I bother you anyway? It’ll only take a second.”
He made a gesture that I took to mean come in and sit down. It’s possible it was intended to say go away and don’t come back, but I was an optimist, so I took a seat.
“The Daily Reporter out of Fairfax is saying Justin Balzichek’s cause of death was poisoning. Can you confirm that?”
Carl looked up, surprised. “You know we’re not discussing that with the press. I said as much at the press conference this morning. We’re wanting to hold back certain details until we’re able to collect more evidence.”
“How did the Reporter get it then?”
He furrowed his brow. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“You didn’t leak it?”
“Hell no, Riley. I’m not going to start leaking things to the press in this case. Are you crazy? Not with all the scrutiny I’m under. This case is getting national attention, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m going to stay well inside the lines on this one, you can be sure of that.”
I nodded. That was the Carl Haight I’d known since preschool—the rule follower, the one who wanted to prove to everyone that he was up to the job. Carl and I had a unique understanding of each other as Tuttle Corner’s next generation. We were both starting out in our careers, both had a lot of responsibility, and both felt slightly in over our heads. Though we never talked openly about it, I felt our shared bouts of deep professional insecurity bonded us together in some way. As a result, there was a level of trust there that allowed us to talk candidly.
“Is it true?”
He looked at me a long moment before nodding slowly.
“How?”
“You can’t print any of this—not yet.”
“Understood.”
“Cyanide.” Carl sighed. “The M.E. found lethal levels in his blood.”
“Hmm,” I said, trying to think what the implications of that were. “Any cyanide used to kill Greer?”
“Not a trace. It’s very strange. We have two victims who were clearly connected—Balzichek was set to testify that Greer hired him to vandalize Rosalee’s Tavern—but who were killed in two very different ways.” He sighed again. “It’s possible we’re dealing with more than one perpetrator.”
That was something I hadn’t considered. I’d always assumed Justin and Greer were killed by the same person. I think most people did.
“Have you tried talking to Greer’s sister?” I asked, trying to think of anyone who might be able to shed some light on things. “Maybe Greer had enemies from a past life or something?” I knew it was a long shot, but still. Sometimes people had hidden pasts, even oil heiresses.
“We spoke to her a couple of days ago. She’s staying with Dale and the boys and helping with the funeral arrangements and such.” Carl frowned.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “She’s a little off. I can’t exactly put my finger on what it is with her…just something a little weird, for lack of a better word.”
I leaned forward, interested. “Do you think she could have had something to do with Greer’s death?”
He shook his head. “Doubt it. It was a pretty brutal crime, doesn’t fit the profile of a female perp. Besides, what’s the motivation?”
“Money?”
“Their father’s estate is set to be divided equally among them when he dies,” Carl said.
“Who will inherit Greer’s half now?”
“Her boys. It’s in a trust that they can’t touch for a few years, but eventually they’ll get it all,” Carl said.
“So Dale doesn’t get anything?”
Carl s
hook his head.
I looked over my notes and sighed. “Can you give me anything I can print? Kay’s mad as a hornet that the other paper got the scoop about the poison.”
He thought for a moment. “You can quote me saying that we are exploring the possibility that the murders were committed by more than one person—nothing about the cyanide though, okay?”
I wrote the words down exactly as he had said them. “Thanks, Carl.”
He nodded. “Thanks for sending Ryan in,” he said. “His testimony about Rosalee buying that sledgehammer and her plans to leave town may become important.”
“Do you think Rosalee is really…involved in all of this?” I tried to convey with my voice that I was asking what he thought personally, more neighbor-to-neighbor than reporter to sheriff.
“She’s definitely involved, that much we know for sure. Whether or not she’s behind either of these deaths…well, that’s what we don’t know. I sure wish she’d come to her senses and talk to us.”
I thanked him for talking with me and told him he ought to go home and get some sleep. Then I went home and took my own advice.
Self-Care Assignment #1:
A Better You Through Sensory Awareness
Light a scented massage candle such as our free-trade Rose-de-mai coconut oil massage candle ($51.99). Breathe in the clean, centering aroma that is completely free of toxins, endocrine disruptors, and chakra-imbalancing free radicals. Pay attention to how focused and aligned you feel after just a few breaths. #deepbreathingisthenewblack
Once you feel sufficiently transformed, pour the warm wax onto your body directly from the ceramic vessel, allowing the hot liquid to completely coat your skin, creating a barrier to lock out energy-destroying microtoxins. #waxon #waxoff
Do not be afraid: the prickling, burning sensation you feel is just trapped negative energy trying to work its way out.
Spend at least fifteen minutes journaling about how this activity made you feel, noting reactions from all five of your senses (F.L.Y.™ journal made from recycled paper, $27.99).
Dear Miss Ellison,
Thank you for your email. I apologize for the first-degree burn that resulted from the sensory self-care exercise. I should have specified that using old birthday candles would not provide the same healing effect as the Rose-de-mai coconut oil massage candle, though I certainly understand that the cost of our candle is “a little steep.” #aspirationalproductline
