by Amy Lillard
“We didn’t need this with everything else going on.” She motioned Arlo to come behind the desk. “Pull up a chair. This might take a while.”
Arlo grabbed one of the padded desk chairs from the waiting area and hoisted it behind Frances’s desk. “What are you needing to find?”
Frances glanced back at Mads’s door once again and chewed on her lip, obviously trying to decide how much she could tell Arlo and still keep things confidential. “The coroner’s report came back, and there was a strange poison in poor Mr. Harrison’s blood. I’m trying to find it to see if we might be able to trace the source.”
“That’s easy enough. What’s the name of the poison?”
Frances handed her a piece of paper.
Amanita phalloides.
“Okay,” Arlo said, tucking a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear before bending close to Frances. “Type this into your search bar and hit the magnifying glass.”
“Then what happens?”
Arlo straightened. “The internet gives you a list of possible sites to read about the subject you typed in.”
Frances eyed her skeptically, then turned back to her computer. If she didn’t use the internet, what did she do with the thing? “What’s a search bar?”
Arlo bit back a sigh. This might not be as easy as she thought. She moved the mouse to wake up the black computer screen. A picture of Frances’s three great-grandchildren popped into view.
“See this icon here?” She moved the cursor to the browser. “Click it. Viola. Search bar.”
“And all I have to do is type this in and I’ll get that list?”
“Yep.” Arlo waited patiently for Frances to type in the unfamiliar words. It was as if the woman thought she was going to break the computer. Or the internet.
After a tentative click, a list of search results lined up like neat little soldiers, with image results in a sidebar on the right.
“Mushrooms?” Arlo asked.
“They can be deadly,” Frances assured her. “I watched a documentary on it the other day.”
“But people don’t just go out and pick mushrooms, do they?”
“Of course they do.”
After saying the words, Arlo remembered a trip into the forest in Oregon, she thought it was. It had simply been too long ago, and the memory wasn’t anything incredibly special. Just a day she, Woody, and her parents went exploring. At the time she had thought they were doing something fun as a family, but now she knew better. Her parents had been out foraging for mushrooms. Probably the hallucinogenic kind. It was a wonder they all hadn’t been poisoned.
“Is it a certain kind or something?” It had to be. Not all mushrooms were poisonous.
“Right here.” Frances tapped the screen. Arlo simply stared at the mushroom pictured there.
It was white with a flat top and for the most part seemed perfectly harmless.
Frances peered closely at the screen and started to read. “‘Amanita phalloides, commonly known as the death cap, is a poisonous basidiomycete fungus. Amanita phalloides forms ectomycorrhizas with various broad-leaved trees. It is one of many deadly fungi in the Amanita genus.’”
Death cap. Wally had eaten a death cap? The name alone was enough to turn anybody off. But the fact only solidified Mads’s earlier words. The fall killed him, but he had been poisoned as well. Had the same person who poisoned Wally pushed him to his death?
10
“Why would anyone eat something like that?” Frances asked.
“Arlo?”
She startled as Mads spoke her name. She was still sitting behind Frances, still staring at the sweet-looking little mushroom that, according to Wikipedia, had killed thousands in the Unites States alone. She straightened and smoothed her hands down the front of her slacks. She had given up skirts when she opened the bookstore. So many trips up the ladder would do nothing more than show everyone her underwear. “Yes?”
“Are you ready?” He frowned at her as if just then realizing that she was behind Frances’s desk and was staring at the woman’s computer screen.
“I should go.”
Another man spoke, and Arlo watched as Sam stepped out from behind Mads.
What was he doing there?
“What are you doing here?” She blurted out the words.
Sam and Mads shared a look. Surely it had nothing to do with prom night. Surely…
Mads extended a hand toward the other man. “Good talking to you.”
“You too.” Sam clasped the chief’s hand in his own and gave it what looked like a firm shake. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a handshake between two friends.
As if.
But that had been years ago, and it looked as if Sam and Mads had buried the hatchet, so to speak. Or maybe they were plotting against her.
She almost laughed at the thought. All this murder business was starting to get to her.
“Arlo.” Sam moved toward the front door, brushing past Arlo as he went, almost but not quite touching her as he moved away. She could smell the warmth of his body and his aftershave. It wasn’t the same as way back when, but it smelled familiar all the same. As if something in Sam was a part of her, and now that he was back in town, that little part had suddenly woken up.
Ridiculous.
“You’ll call me when everything’s set?” Sam asked. He had stopped at the door.
“Of course.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He nodded to Arlo and Frances, then pushed his way through the door and out of the building.
“Ready?” Mads gestured toward his office and Arlo breathed a sigh of relief that her thoughts were her own. And that she hadn’t appeared to be staring off into nothing land as she dreamed about days long gone.
She was ushered into his office, then offered a chair and a drink before Mads moved behind his desk and pulled a piece of paper out of the side drawer. She couldn’t read what was written across the top, but her gut told her that it had to do with Wally’s death.
“So the morning that Wally was murdered. Where were you?”
Hadn’t she already answered that? Twice even. Once for her official police report and the other to Mads himself just this morning.
“I was at home.”
“You were at home until Frances called and told you to come down to the bookstore?”
“That’s right.”
“And that was around 9:00 a.m.?”
“Yes.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I came down to the bookstore.” She shot Mads a frown. Maybe Jason was right and being so long on a big police force like Memphis had turned him from hometown boy to super cop. “What is this about, Mads?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“I already did.” She frowned again.
“Did you go to the bookstore between the time you left Thursday evening until Friday morning when Frances called?”
“No.”
“Did anyone else go into the bookstore then?”
“No. I mean, no one but Chloe.”
He knew how it worked. In fact, he was one of the regular customers, coming in and getting a coffee long before the 9:00 a.m. mark when Arlo came in and officially opened the store.
“Could anyone else have come into the store without your knowledge?”
Did he know about Wally’s visit with Chloe? She couldn’t say anything in fear that it made Chloe look guilty as hell. No one had such a strong reason for wanting Wally dead as Chloe had.
But there was one thing that she was sure of and that was her friend’s innocence.
“No. I mean, I suppose if they had a key. Look, do I need to get an attorney?”
It was Mads’s turn to frown. “Of course not. I’m merely trying to determine who might have had access to the third floor at the time W
ally was pushed out the window.”
“Me, Chloe, and Sandy Green.”
Mads wrote her name down. “And she’s your Realtor?”
“That’s right.” In fact, she was the only one in town. There wasn’t much competition on the real estate front in Sugar Springs.
“Are you aware of Sandy giving someone the key to the third floor that Thursday evening or early Friday morning?”
“No, but I suppose she could have given it to someone to check out the space for themselves.” It wasn’t like a big city where people didn’t care, wouldn’t lock up behind themselves, or would even need to lock up for that matter.
“Thanks, Arlo.”
She blinked at him stupidly. “That’s it?”
He nodded, then turned his attention to the notebook in front of him, the one he had been writing on the entire time she had been in his office.
She stood, unsure of what had transpired between them. “O-kay.” She tugged on the tails of her button-down shirt and tucked that same strand of waist-length hair back behind her ear. She gave him another heartbeat to say something else. When he continued to make notes on the tablet in front of him, Arlo headed for the door.
“Arlo.”
She stopped, one hand on the knob, ready to turn it and make her escape.
“When you get back to the store, send Chloe down. I need to talk to her next.”
* * *
Every footstep grew heavier as she neared Books & More. Her shoes felt like they were made of marble. Or concrete. Wasn’t that what the mob was famous for using when they tossed people into the river? Arlo’s thoughts circled back around to the morning Wally was found in a broken heap on the sidewalk. Hadn’t Chloe said something about a mob hit? Surely she had been joking…
Arlo shook her head, her imagination once again getting away from her.
The bell over the door was a welcoming sound as she returned to the sanctuary of her store. Was it bad to feel that this little piece of Sugar Springs was her safe place? Not even her home felt as homey as the bookstore.
“Welcome back,” Faulkner squawked. “Come on in. Rest yourself.”
Arlo smiled at the crazy bird. Maybe she did need a pet for her home. Or maybe she should try taking Faulkner home with her again. The last time she had done so, he had pulled out his tailfeathers, a sure sign of stress, so she had stopped. The tailfeathers had grown back and Arlo left Faulkner in the store overnight. It seemed to be the perfect arrangement. Faulkner had found a safe haven in Books & More.
“There you are.” Fern rushed toward her, white handbag bumping her hip as Fern clasped her hands and pulled Arlo close. “Be careful,” she whispered. “Camille is on the warpath.”
Uh-oh. What was this about?
“We were about to send out a search party.” This was from Helen.
Arlo smiled at her godmother, then turned her attention to the other member of their little group. Camille was frowning, but she didn’t seem to be overly upset.
“What brings y’all out today?”
“We thought we’d meet again today to talk about the book.”
“It’s something else,” Camille muttered.
“Now?” Arlo asked. “In the middle of the day?” There were customers milling around and a few gawkers that she had never seen before. Since Wally’s death, the town seemed to be overrun with people out to see where he had died. Takes all kinds.
“Hey.” A familiar male voice sounded behind her.
She had forgotten that they had added a member to their number. “Hi, Sam.”
“I told them you were in talking to Mads so they wouldn’t worry.”
“Thanks.” She wasn’t sure she wanted the three overprotective ladies to know that Mads was still questioning people in Wally’s case. Or that it had turned into a murder investigation. They would all find out soon enough. But it wouldn’t be from her telling. “Speaking of…” She eased over to the coffee bar where Chloe was still over-polishing every piece of stainless-steel equipment they had. “Mads wants to talk to you.” Arlo lowered her voice so only the two of them could hear. She knew all four of them—the three ladies and Sam—were watching, but that didn’t mean they needed to know what she was saying.
Chloe stopped polishing, placed her hands on the counter, and lowered her head. “All right.” She heaved in a big breath and started to move away.
Arlo stopped her with one hand on her arm. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
Chloe shook her head.
“You know you can tell me anything right?”
She nodded.
“We’re best friends and I love you.”
“I didn’t kill him,” she whispered. Not vehemently, as one might expect, but resigned. As if she knew she would be called to repeat the words over and over whether anyone believed her or not.
“I know.” Arlo squeezed her arm reassuringly, then let her go.
“I’ll be back when I can.”
Arlo smiled and watched her friend walk out the door without removing her apron.
“Is she okay?” Sam asked.
Arlo brightened her smile, deepened it until it hurt her cheeks. “Of course. I think her allergies are bothering her.”
Helen tsked. “Summer allergies are the worst.” But Arlo had a feeling, no matter the truth in her words, Helen only said them to back up Arlo’s excuse. The woman might be a little eccentric, but she was one smart cookie.
“Why are you all here again?” Arlo asked.
“We’ve decided to meet every day for lunch to read our chapters. Isn’t that a great idea?” Fern gushed.
“It was Helen’s idea,” Camille added a little less enthusiastically than Fern.
She probably wanted to get away from the inn for a couple of hours and this was a sure way to do it.
Arlo turned to Sam. “You’re still going along with this new schedule?”
He smiled that smile she remembered so well. The smile that had broken her teenage heart into a billion pieces. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? It’ll be a fun way to reacquaint myself with Sugar Springs.”
“Why not?” Arlo mumbled. Because you have a job, she wanted to yell. And because the last thing I want to see is your handsome face every day! Or really the truth was the last thing she wanted to want was seeing his handsome face every day, but the thought made her a little light-headed, so she pushed it aside.
“When Sam gets the third floor, all he’ll have to do is come down for the meeting and then go right back to work when it’s over.”
If he gets the third floor, you mean. It wasn’t his yet. But if he wanted to lease it, there was no way she could justify not letting him. Books & More needed the extra money it would bring in. It was a hard business, living in a small town. A successful person had to be clever.
She looked back to him. He was still smiling, the skunk.
“Isn’t that a wonderful idea?” Fern put in.
“Wonderful.” Arlo agreed.
An everyday book club that met to read the book together? It was a little off the charts, but there it was.
* * *
The book club sans Sam—thank God he had a previous engagement and only stopped in to let the ladies know—settled down in the seating area, and Arlo tried to ignore both them and the fact that Chloe was gone. She had gotten so used to her friend sitting behind the angled counter of the coffee nook that not having her there left a feeling of emptiness. Not to mention there was no one to make any coffee drinks until three thirty when Courtney Adams, the high school senior Chloe had hired as part-time help in the afternoons, came in. The mornings weren’t so busy that she couldn’t handle it by herself, but Arlo knew that after such a long shift, it was good for Chloe to get out from behind her counter and breathe in some fresh air. Or even just air that wasn’t urban roast scented.<
br />
“Sorry,” Arlo called from the top of the ladder in general fiction. A customer was standing at the coffee bar. That was one good thing about having to climb the ladders in the store: she could see the most of it in one sweeping look. “We won’t have a barista for another thirty minutes. If you care to wait, your drink will be half off.”
The woman turned and Arlo saw it was Daisy James-Harrison, Wally’s wife. “I’m—” The woman’s voice was high pitched enough to bring the dogs in. She cleared her throat and started over. “I’m here to see Chloe.”
Interesting.
Arlo eased down the ladder, then set the stack of books she had been shelving on a nearby display table. She resisted the urge to smooth her hair and check her clothing before making her way over to the woman. Daisy James-Harrison really was a stunning creature. She was the kind of person who had such a natural beauty it was hard to imagine them in any sort of nonbeautiful situation, like going to the bathroom or having hat hair. And though Arlo had never been considered beautiful or even cute—she had always been pretty, but in a soft tone, as if to say she’s not ugly so what else can you call it?—next to Daisy James-Harrison, she felt a little like a homeless person at the Miss America Pageant.
Ridiculous.
She pulled on her shirttails and raised herself to her full height. Daisy was small even in her high heels but instead of feeling powerful, Arlo felt like a lumbering giant. “What do you need to see Chloe about?”
Arlo was all too aware of the book club members watching her every move.
“It’s of a personal nature.” Her accent wasn’t Deep South and not even close to Midwestern. Arlo remembered she was from Missouri, born and raised in the Show Me State. It was part of the “greater south,” as Helen liked to call it. The greater south was the Deep South along with two states on any side: Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama, Tennessee, Virginia, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Missouri, and of course Texas.
“She’ll be back in a few minutes.” At least Arlo hoped she would. Chloe had been gone for almost two hours.
Daisy glanced one way and then the other. The book club ladies watched her every move. When Arlo looked at them, they all went back to reading. Or pretending to.
