View to a Crime

by Winnie Reed

  “Didn’t I?” I snorted at the memory, one which I probably wouldn’t have mentioned if I wasn’t sleep deprived. “Kenny Landers. Remember him?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “The sort of boy you just know is going to be trouble all his life.”

  “That’s the kid.”

  I could tell she was trying to keep a straight face, but it wasn’t easy. “You pinned him down?”

  “Sure did. He was maybe eleven or twelve and hadn’t quite hit puberty yet, so I was still bigger than him. I pushed him down and pinned his arms and legs with mine, then I threatened to dribble saliva on his face the way he did to all the kids who were smaller than him. Including Emma. He didn’t like it very much.”

  “He probably wouldn’t have done anything so disgusting if she hadn’t insisted on letting him antagonize her. I always warned her against giving bullies what they wanted, but she’s always been too hotheaded and stubborn.”

  “So, what? You wanted her to sit there and take it? She was supposed to let herself be bullied and intimidated? Too many people get away with whatever they want to do, all because nobody had the guts to stand up to them.”

  My mother blinked, eyes wide. “Darcy. Are you sure there isn’t something else going on with you? I’ve seen you when you’ve gone without sleep, but this…?”

  I followed the direction of her gaze and found myself squeezing the lemon hard enough that the rind was starting to split and juice ran over my fingers. “Oh. Uh. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. Maybe I should go over to the store and, I don’t know, meditate or something.”

  She loosened my fingers from around the lemon. The way she handled me brought to mind a movie I saw once, where somebody was trying to diffuse a bomb before it went off in their face. “Forget the store. You should go home and get some sleep.”

  Fat chance of that happening. I knew what I’d do once I got home, which would be the same thing I’d done all night; check for any reports of a journalist being attacked while lying in bed, wishing sleep would come and knowing it wouldn’t.

  “The way you would go home and get some sleep if you were overly tired?”

  “Don’t turn things around on me, missy. I’m still your mother.” She sniffed, offended, though I knew she wasn’t really. She was the one who’d raised Emma and me with a no holds barred work ethic.

  I wrapped her in a hug. “If I didn’t know better, I would think it made you sort of proud when either of us pushes through on days like this. How else am I supposed to act? Remember when you had that broken wrist, but you didn’t miss a single day of work?”

  “That’s different.”

  My head bobbed up and down. “You’re right. A broken wrist is much more serious.”

  She scowled. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. It’s different because I know what I can tolerate. That doesn’t mean I want to see you having to tolerate the same things.”

  “I’m just fine.” I hugged her once more, snagged a carrot cake muffin to make up for the ones I never ate the previous morning, and waved goodbye to Lola before escaping out the back door.

  Only then could I release the tension I was holding pretty much throughout my entire body. I slumped against the door, eyes closed, taking deep breaths of the surprisingly cool morning air. The storms rolling through had upped the humidity, but at least they lowered the temperature. Still, I felt sticky and out of sorts as I unlocked the back door to my store, which sat directly across from Mom’s kitchen.

  Right away, I found myself looking around, almost suspicious. What did I expect? For the bogeyman to jump out from behind a rack of romance novels? Or maybe I was waiting for a whisper to come from the darkness.

  Of all days for Becca to have an early doctor appointment.

  I flipped on the lights, which went a long way toward making me feel a little more normal. Like I was in control of the situation. “This is my store. This is my domain. And nobody is going to hurt me.” I laughed at myself while raising the grate from over the front window. Here I was, a full-grown businesswoman, letting myself get spooked by somebody who couldn’t possibly know who I was or where I was.

  Besides, whoever Jane’s attacker happened to be, it would be in their best interest to pretend I didn’t exist. They had to know I wouldn’t be able to identify them.

  Did this stop me from opening my laptop on the front counter and poring over every local news source I could find? Of course not. And I found just as much information on the attack as I had before leaving the apartment, which meant nothing at all. It was barely seven o’clock, though, still early enough in the morning that word might not have spread very far.

  The store wouldn’t open for another hour and a half, but I had plenty to do. There were shelves that needed organizing after customers had gone over them only minutes before closing the night before. I needed to place an order with the warehouse since we were selling romances and mysteries like they were going out of style. And I had almost completely forgotten about the online book club Becca had set up—our first meeting would be held in a week, and several familiar faces from around town had stopped in to pick up a copy of the book we’d chosen. I needed to freshen up that display, too.

  So why was I searching the internet for mentions of Jane Brooks? I could’ve done that at home, of course, but I’d genuinely tried to sleep. Sure, it had been a wasted effort, but stubbornness ran in the Harmon family. Getting out of bed and trying to find a productive use of my time would’ve been the same as giving up.

  What had Jane said? She could’ve set her desk on fire, and nobody would’ve cared. I had gotten the impression from this that she was a new reporter, that she hadn’t been with the paper for very long. This wasn’t the case based on the work I found under her name when I ran a search on the Paradise City News website. Dozens of articles came up, though none of them could exactly be described as hard-bitten journalism. Human interest stories, that was what Trixie usually called them. She wrote a lot of the same type of stories, herself.

  A knock on the door made me jump. My heart lodged itself in my throat, hammering away.

  “It’s just me.” Pete lifted his hands, revealing a pair of coffee cups. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I opened the door and let him in, then closed and locked it again. “Give a girl some warning next time. Like a phone call.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t think about that. I wanted to stop by before either of us got too busy today. How are you doing?” He placed one of the cups on the counter. “I thought maybe you could use this.”

  “You are a lifesaver.” I took an exploratory sip of the steaming brew and sighed with pleasure. Light and sweet, just the way I liked it. “Thank you. I was just wondering how I would manage to grab a cup without Becca coming in until at least ten. I keep meaning to buy a decent machine, but I would probably only end up insulting my mother.”

  “How so?”

  “She’d want to know why her coffee wasn’t good enough anymore.” I took another sip. “It really is delicious. Where did it come from?”

  He flashed an uncomfortable little grin. “I walked past Ethan’s place on the way here. I figured you wouldn’t mind my throwing business his way, since you two are sorta friendly.”

  The coffee threatened to sour in my stomach, and not because it came from Ethan. Why did I suddenly feel guilty? Pete and I hadn’t even been on a date yet, and even if we had, there was nothing exclusive about us. It was one little kiss, that was all, and I hadn’t even participated in it. Ethan took me by surprise, so much so that I’d spent countless minutes sitting there, wondering what the heck had just happened long after the man had left.

  “He brews a good cup.” I left it there, since I wouldn’t have had the bandwidth to discuss it further even if I’d gotten a decent night's sleep wasn’t afraid for a girl I didn’t know.

  He eyed my laptop. “Find anything?”

  I shook my head, groaning as I spun the machine around so he could
see the screen. “Not a thing. I was looking into her, the reporter.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know. It’s something to do, I guess. When you hear somebody getting attacked, you kind of want to know more about them. At least, I do.” I tried to laugh it off, but now I felt sillier than ever. Stalking this girl online, like that would give me any answers.

  “You know, you could try calling around to the different hospitals up there. See if she’s being treated. If you’re really this worried, I mean.”

  “I want to, but again, if there hasn’t been a peep about the attack in the news…”

  He nodded slowly. “Sure, somebody might wonder how you knew to look for her.”

  “Exactly. I don’t know why I feel like I need to take these precautions, honestly. I’m freaking myself out over nothing.”

  “Don’t do that.” There was none of the charming, sort of nerdy earnestness about him. What I saw before me was a cop, a very serious one. “I’m not trying to sound like a jerk, but too many women talk themselves out of legitimate concerns, and sadly they end up regretting it—if they’re lucky. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nodded since my tongue was suddenly tied up. I knew I should take his advice seriously, since that was how he intended it to be taken, but there was also the unfortunate matter of how much cuter he was when he got serious. My poor brain didn’t know what to make of this turn of events.

  The confusion only got worse when he touched my arm. “You’re a good person. You care about others, and that’s painfully rare in this world. I’m telling you this is a friend: let the Paradise City police do their job. Live your life. If something terrible happened to that girl, there was nothing you could do to stop it, and you didn’t do anything to cause it. This doesn’t have to be your fight. Do you understand?”

  “If I didn’t know better, I would think your name was George Harmon.”

  His mouth twitched, but he fought back a full smile. “That would be unfortunate, since I still plan on taking you out, and being your father would make things pretty awkward.”

  “Yes, it would.” Standing with him, his hand on my arm, his eyes looking deep into mine, I could almost forget about Jane and the attack and pretty much everything else around us.

  Almost.

  I promised I would try to stop worrying so much, then waved to him before he crossed the street and walked in the direction of the police station. He hadn’t remembered my bowl, but I didn’t care—not only because he’d brought coffee, either.

  He was right, and I knew he was. It wasn’t my job to find out what happened to Jane or who had done it to her. What mattered was keeping my head down, minding my business, and getting on with my life.

  Even as I stood there, looking out over the street on which I grew up, I knew it wouldn’t be possible to forget about her. Not by a long shot.

  Maybe I owed my sister an apology for all those times I gave her grief over her obsession with solving mysteries.

  Chapter Six

  “Oh, I almost forgot! How did the interview go last night?”

  Darn it. There I was, thinking I could escape before Becca remembered to ask about that. I had spent most of the day keeping myself busy, tackling chores I’d been putting off for ages. Thoroughly dusting all of the shelves, wiping down all of the display racks, washing the inside of the front window since washing the outside would’ve been a waste of time during a rainy week. All of the things I usually put off in favor of the work I actually enjoyed.

  In other words, I had done everything I could to stay away from the internet. And from Becca, who fortunately had been busy with customers most of the day.

  Now, it was just the two of us, and I was about to lock up before fetching Lola from next door. I didn’t really have an excuse to avoid the question.

  “Actually, she never showed.” I shrugged in the face of Becca’s disappointment and told myself it was okay to tell a little fib in a situation like this. She would understand if she knew the truth, wouldn’t she? I was only trying to keep her out of it.

  “That’s a shame. I was really excited for you.”

  That only made me feel worse. Here she was, genuinely dedicated to the store, working as a team member, putting her creativity and sweat into helping me grow my business. And I was lying to her. “It’s okay. Maybe she got caught up with something else and forgot. I sent her a message, we’ll see if she gets back to me. Either way, we’re doing well, aren’t we?” I forced a smile I didn’t feel, tilting my head toward the cash register. “That thing didn’t stop running all day today.”

  “That’s true. Well, we’ll see what happens.” She grabbed her umbrella before ducking outside.

  I didn’t have an umbrella, namely because I wasn’t thinking clearly enough that morning to consider bringing one. The rain had paused for a couple of hours, and since there hadn’t been any raindrops falling from the sky when I’d left the apartment, I hadn’t thought about it. Too busy trying to function on barely a few minutes of sleep. Now, it was drizzling steadily. “I hope Lola doesn’t mind getting a little wet.”

  “I can always wait around and we can share my umbrella on way home. You’re right on my way.”

  She was too sweet, and sometimes I wondered what I had done to deserve her. “No, you go ahead. I’m sure Mom will want to keep me chatting, and I don’t want to hold you up. I’ll be fine—for all I know, she has a few umbrellas stashed under the counter.” In the so-called Lost and Found, which really was a cardboard box underneath the front counter where odds and ends were left after customers forgot them.

  Lola came running at me when I opened the door, and I heard the light tinkling laugh belonging to my Aunt Trixie as I dropped to one knee to greet the dog. “She isn’t even Darcy’s, but she’s just as excited as she is when Emma comes in. I hope she doesn’t get jealous when the baby comes.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. I wondered if Emma had. “What do you think?” I scratched Lola behind the ears and kissed the top of her head. “Will you be jealous of the baby? You know Emma and Joe will still love you, right?”

  “You were certainly jealous when Emma came.” Mom chuckled as she wiped down the front of the display case.

  “Was I? You’ve never mentioned that before.”

  “Sure. Sometimes you would sit there and stare at me in the strangest way. It was downright creepy. I could tell you wanted me to put the baby down so I would give you attention, and I tried to explain she needed me more just then, but of course you were too little to understand.”

  “I grew out of it, right?”

  “I don’t know. Did you?” Mom gave me a teasing little smile.

  “Ha, ha.”

  Trixie was the only customer, which made sense since Mom didn’t typically get a lot of foot traffic at this time of the day. It was a little late for coffee and cake, but too early for anybody heading out for dessert. Not that she was open at that time of night, anyway. Tourists with a sweet tooth could head to the boardwalk—at least, that was what we’d always told ourselves before Ethan opened his shop. Folks wandered in there at all hours. I’d seen it for myself while walking past.

  Since it was just the three of us, not counting the dog, I went behind the counter and poured myself an iced tea from the large, metal dispenser. A little kick of caffeine would help get me through the rest of the evening. I had no plans to head home and going straight to sleep, no matter how weary I felt.

  “Are you all right? You look worn out.” Trixie lowered her sunglasses, which she insisted on wearing indoors, and peered at me in her very Trixie way. That was the only way I could think to describe it, a way of behaving that belonged only to her.

  “Just tired. I’m sure I’ll feel better tomorrow.” Meanwhile, I had to stop myself from gulping down the entire tea all at once. My face muscles were starting to ache from all the smiling I’d been doing throughout the day. Did I not smile enough in my regular life? Or did smiling when I wanted
to do anything but take more effort?

  “I’m sure all the extra business you’ve been getting has kept you on your toes.” There was no missing the slightly self-satisfied tone in her voice. Like she was solely responsible for the uptick in revenue I’d been enjoying over the past few weeks.

  I had no problem acknowledging her part in it, either. “Thanks to you, of course.”

  She waved a hand, laughing softly. “Please. I had nothing to do with it.” No, but she never missed an opportunity to mention it, either.

  Something in my chest ached, and I realized I missed my sister. If Emma were there, we would exchange a knowing look and then turn in opposite directions or else risk laughing out loud.

  What would Emma do in this situation? Besides barreling straight ahead and probably getting herself into trouble, which I was very much trying to avoid?

  I leaned over the counter, propped up on my elbows, wondering how to approach this without being too obvious. “Did you ever write something about somebody that made them really angry with you? Did you ever get negative pushback after one of your pieces was published?”

  Trixie lifted a shoulder, clad today in a zebra-striped tunic top. “Sure. I don’t know anybody in the business who hasn’t.”

  “Really? It’s that common?”

  “Everybody has an opinion. And even when you think what you’re writing is nothing but positive and glowing and supportive, there’s always a chance someone will come back at you with a complaint or something like that. Maybe they said something you chose not to print, and they want to know why. Or the photo you chose to run wasn’t the most flattering. Sometimes there are family members who want to know why they weren’t consulted, even though they had nothing to do with the piece.”

  “But what about angry people? I mean furious. People who wished you never wrote about them at all.”

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” Her mouth twitched at the corners. “Do I have anything to be concerned about?”

  “No, of course not. Sheesh.”