by Amy Lillard
“Well, she won’t get it if she ends up in prison for killing him,” Camille said.
“And that’s the very reason we should go search their rooms.”
“Snooping,” Helen said. “That is a completely unethical move. I might even have my license revoked for such shenaniganry.”
“Shenaniganry?” Fern asked.
“It’s a word,” Helen protested.
Fern looked to Camille. The English teacher to the rescue. “It is a word,” she said with a nod.
“I still say sometimes snooping is a necessary evil,” Fern said.
“An evil is evil, necessary or not,” Helen countered.
Arlo sighed. “Elly is right. We can’t go snooping around in their rooms. We just have to think of something else to help prove Chloe’s innocence.”
They all sat quietly for a moment, their suppers forgotten in front of them.
“When is Wally’s memorial service?” Arlo asked.
“Thursday,” Helen replied.
“Thursday?” Five days away. Her ten days to save Chloe were quickly running out.
“Mads is afraid we’ll have a media frenzy on our hands,” Fern said. “One of the big Hollywood studios, I forget which one, has offered a gabillion million to make Missing Girl into a movie.”
“Gabillion million? Is that an industry term?” Camille mused.
Fern waved one hand in front of herself as if to erase the words. “It was a lot of money. I don’t remember exactly how much.”
Arlo chuckled with a shake of her head. “And Mads is expecting a rush on the town. All the people who want to celebrate Wally’s life?”
“Or see where he came from. Who he was,” Helen suggested.
Or check out the window he was thrown from, Arlo thought.
“Wouldn’t it be better to have the service sooner and not give the rest of the world a chance to find out about it?” Arlo asked.
Helen shrugged. “That’s what I thought too, but you know Mads.”
That she did. “I’ll go down to the station and talk to him tomorrow.”
“It’s Sunday,” Helen said.
Arlo shook her head. “First chance I get,” she said. And with any luck that would be sooner rather than later.
16
Arlo stared at the bright patches of sunlight on the ceiling of her bedroom. It was time to get up, past time, but she was still lounging, allowing the events of the past few days to get the better of her. She didn’t normally wallow, but today seemed like the perfect day for it.
She gave herself a few more minutes of indulgence, then with a groan of resignation, she pushed back the covers and stood. If she felt overwhelmed, she could only imagine how Chloe felt. Depressed, angry, slighted, confused. And hungry. Chloe was dependent on Arlo to get her breakfast, so she needed to get her butt in gear and get her friend some chow.
She pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then made her way to the bathroom. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and pulled her long hair into a hasty braid.
She had washed it the night before after she had come home from work. But she hadn’t done anything save brush it out and let it dry. There was no telling how long the braid would last. Her hair was long and thick and as Helen always said, “fine as frog hair.” Though when Helen said it, she was referring to her disposition. How are you today? Well, I’m as fine as frog hair.
But for some reason that always came to mind. At the thought of her godmother, Arlo smiled. She pulled on her shoes, grabbed her keys and her purse, and headed out to her Rabbit.
“Hi, Arlo,” Cindy Jo called from her driveway. Sometimes Arlo felt like Cindy Jo waited for her to come out. Arlo knew it couldn’t be fact, but the thoughts came all the same.
“Hi, Cindy Jo.” She gave a small wave but didn’t stop. She needed to get going this morning and didn’t have a lot of time for chitchat. Not since she had lollygagged in bed all morning.
“On your way to church?” Cindy Jo asked.
That was when Arlo noticed Cindy Jo’s pastel floral dress and little white purse. It was a miniature version of Camille’s bag, but she was certain it wasn’t a third as interesting.
“No, uh—”
“Do you want to go with me and Mark?” Mark was Cindy Jo’s husband. He was nice enough she supposed, but there was something about him that didn’t go with Cindy Jo. Maybe because he was a Yankee. A damned Yankee by definition, since he moved to the South and stayed.
“No. Thank you. I have to take breakfast to Chloe.”
Cindy Jo’s pink-painted lips formed a perfect, theatrical O. “You don’t think she…” Cindy Jo trailed off, unable to say the terrible words. For once Arlo was glad. She couldn’t bear to hear them again. Not that she wanted to answer the unasked question. At least she didn’t have to hear it spoken.
“No.”
“Then why did the sheriff arrest her? He’s smarter than that. I voted for him.”
“I don’t know, Cindy Jo. Perhaps you should call him and ask. I’m sure he would be willing to answer all your questions, especially since you’re a concerned voter.”
Cindy Jo’s eyes grew wide with the possibilities that had just presented themselves to her. “You know what? I’m gonna do just that.” She acted as if she was going to pull her cell phone from her purse, but Mark came out of the house before she could accomplish the task.
“You ready to go?” Mark asked. Then he saw her standing there. “Hello, Arlo.”
“Mark.” She nodded at him, then twirled her keys around one finger, allowing them to slap against her palm. “Y’all have a good day.”
“You too,” Cindy Jo said with a wave and a smile. “And that invitation is still open. Anytime you want to go to church with us, you just say the word.”
Like that was going to happen.
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in God, nor did she have a problem with the people who went to church; she just heard them talk about Jesus and their beliefs in God, and Arlo was so painfully aware that she didn’t have blind faith in the lessons that were presented. So people had told her that conviction came from going to church and exposing herself to the lessons and faith of others. But for her, all it did was spur on more questions. In the end she decided to forgo church, even while she envied those who could believe without doubt.
So while the majority of the good citizens of Sugar Springs made their way to church, she made her way to The Diner.
If the schedule was in keeping, it was Bill’s turn to work which meant omelets. Yum. She could use some eggs and cheese right about now. That sounded like the best thing in the world. Next to her best friend getting out of jail.
With each day that Chloe spent behind bars, they were another day closer to her deadline to prove Chloe’s innocence. They didn’t have to find out everything. They just had to be able to cast a reasonable doubt on the likelihood that Chloe was the one who killed Wally Harrison. Mads was fair. He would acknowledge it if they brought him good enough evidence. But Arlo wasn’t sure the book club ladies would let it end there. They were a little too gung ho to solve the crime. She wasn’t sure they would let it drop at reasonable doubt.
Ashley Porter was working behind the counter once again.
“Sit anywhere,” she called to Arlo, her face turned down and her thumbs flying over her phone screen.
Must be a pretty important conversation, Arlo thought. Then again, with kids these days, they could be talking about something as mundane as contact solution to as something big as the latest new from the Middle East. Or that a man named Wallis J. Harrison had been killed on Main Street by his high school sweetheart and baby mama. It was just one more “thang.”
“I need a to-go order.”
Ashley raised her gaze from her phone and settled it on Arlo. She looked a bit stunned, like she was the butt of s
ome kind of prank. “Where’s Chloe?” she asked.
Arlo pressed her lips together, then tried to relax. “Jail,” she said. “That’s why I need a to-go order.”
Ashley nodded and slipped her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “Omelet?” she asked. “Daddy’s behind the grill.”
Arlo nodded. “That will be fine.” She slipped onto the stool closest to the cash register and waited. There were a couple more people in The Diner today besides Cable and Joey. Just a few backsliding Baptists skipping out on Sunday School, she was sure. They were young. And though she didn’t remember their names, she had seen them around town. She thought perhaps they had even come into the bookstore. If not for reading, then for a coffee. They were definitely the specialty-coffee type.
And they definitely knew who she was. They leaned toward each other, heads almost touching across the table that separated them.
Arlo ignored their looks and pretended she couldn’t hear their whispers. She also made believe that Cable and Joey weren’t doing their own bit of staring and whispering. She tapped her foot while she waited. She was certain this must be the most complicated omelet in the history of eggs. It seemed like it was taking forever. What was he doing? Waiting on the hens to lay?
She took a deep breath. She was too wound up. Maybe it was Ashley’s surprised look that she had come to breakfast without Chloe or maybe it was because she felt like she didn’t belong anymore. She felt like an outsider in the town she had adopted as her own.
Ridiculous. She was being melodramatic. If they were talking about her, fine. She would just take a tip from Joey and Cable and ignore the whispers and the stares, those surreptitious looks, questioning and condemning. But when the two people talked most about by the town were talking about you…well, that put a different spin on things.
Finally, Ashley came out of the back carrying a plastic bag tied at the top. Inside were two square Styrofoam containers.
Finally. Finally. Finally.
“Here ya go.” She set the sack on the bar in front of Arlo and rattled off the total.
Arlo handed over her debit card and waited impatiently as Ashley ran it through the antiquated machine, yet another action that seemed to take a lifetime.
She shook her head. She needed to get ahold of her crazy ideas. But having her best friend in jail was taking its toll. She had to figure out how to get Chloe out of lockup as soon as possible.
Finally, the machine did its thing and Arlo signed the slip.
Ashley folded her copy of the receipt and stuffed it into the top of the bag. With a hasty thanks, Arlo was on her way.
She drove over to the police station with the smell of peppers and onions filling her car. Her stomach rumbled as she pulled the Rabbit into a parking space and got out. This was just what she needed: breakfast with her bestie while they planned a way to get her out of jail.
Frances wasn’t at the desk when Arlo came through the glass door. Jason Rogers sat in her place. The change brought her up a little short. But Arlo had never been to the station on a Sunday before, and it only made sense. Frances had to have a day off sometime.
“Hi, Jason. I have Chloe’s breakfast.” She held up the bag.
Jason nodded and straightened from his slouched position. “Just set it on the desk. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
Arlo stopped completely. “I usually take it back to her.”
“Oh?” The one word conveyed that he really didn’t care one way or another, but Arlo wasn’t going back.
“Mads lets me eat breakfast with Chloe.”
“I understand that.” Jason stood and held out a hand for the sack.
Arlo pulled it a little closer to her. She needed this breakfast. Chloe needed this breakfast. “Jason…” His name was a plea.
But he crossed his arms and stared down at her. Damn him for being so tall. “Leave the food with me and I’ll make sure she gets it.”
“But Mads—”
“Didn’t leave instructions that you’d be coming by. I suggest you take it up with him.”
* * *
Arlo spotted Mads’s large black pickup truck sitting at the city park entrance. She pulled in next to it and got out, leaving her own breakfast in the car.
Jason wouldn’t budge on letting her in and Arlo had no choice but to leave Chloe’s breakfast with him. Yet that didn’t mean it was over.
She started toward the opposite end of the park. If previous visits were anything to go by, he was playing with his dog somewhere on the field side, and he shouldn’t be very hard to find.
Luckily he wasn’t. Lucky for her. Maybe not so for him.
He spotted her and waved before throwing the ball for his rambunctious pup.
“Mads,” she began before she was halfway to him. “You need to get on the phone right now with Jason and tell him that I get to eat breakfast with Chloe in the mornings. He won’t let me in and it’s unacceptable. She needs me.”
Mads looked at her and blinked. “Hi, Arlo.”
She sucked in a deep breath to calm herself. It had really been a trying morning. “Hi,” she finally said.
“Did he let her have food?” Mads asked.
“Well, yeah, but I usually go in and visit.”
“I know, but this is Jason’s day to be in charge.”
“And you’re not going to tell him what to do.” She snorted. “What good is that?”
Before he could answer, Dewey returned with the ball. He dropped it at Mads’s feet and pawed at his leg to get his attention.
“Hello, boy.” Mads scratched the dog behind one ear, then picked up the ball and threw it. Before the ball even left his hand, the pooch was off and running.
“Arlo, Chloe is only in the holding cells as a favor to you. If Jason doesn’t want the liability of allowing you to visit her, that’s up to him.”
“Ugh!” She threw up her hands. “You’re hopeless.”
Again, he tossed the ball for Dewey and didn’t bother to look at her as he replied. “I think you told me that before.”
Arlo turned and headed back to her car. She wouldn’t be getting anywhere with Mads today and she was pretty sure there was nothing she could do to change Jason’s mind. Not wanting to go home, she headed over to the inn.
There were a couple of cars she recognized in the parking area. Camille’s boxy silver Mercedes and Fern’s bus…er, Lincoln Town Car. Then Arlo remembered: the book club. They had voted to meet there on Sundays when Books & More wasn’t open.
She sighed as she reached for the door handle of the inn. At least Sam’s shiny red Ford pickup wasn’t in the drive. But the first thing she heard when she stepped into the foyer was his deep laugh.
Even now, after all these years, the sound sent goose bumps racing across her arms. But the first thing she saw was Camille. Apparently, she had heard Arlo’s car pull up and had been sent to see who was coming to the door.
“Arlo’s here,” she called in that lilting way of hers. As always, her big white handbag was hooked over one arm. The sight of the purse made Arlo smile. The only constant was change, but it was comforting to know that something always stayed the same.
Today, Camille was dressed all in peach, or rather pale orange, like a Dreamsicle. True to form she wore a cream-colored shell, her vintage pearls, and pastel-orange Nikes.
Arlo shook her head and looked again. Yep. Nike running shoes the exact shade of orange sherbet. “Camille,” Arlo started, wondering for a moment if she might regret the question. Too late to stop, she plowed on. “Where do you get orange Nikes?”
Camille looked down at her feet as if she had never seen them before. Then she cast up an innocent look. “The internet,” she said, then turned and went back into the common room.
Of course.
Arlo followed behind her.
The members of
the book club were seated on couches that faced each other.
“Arlo.” Helen stood when she saw Arlo and gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Sit down. Sit down. We were just talking about this mess with Chloe.”
She didn’t remind them that they were supposed to be talking about a book, Missing Girl or To Kill a Mockingbird, it didn’t matter either way to Arlo. But a book. That was sort of a requirement for a book club. But it seemed the members of this particular branch hadn’t gotten the memo on that.
“Where are Inna and Daisy?” Usually when Arlo came to visit there were several guests lounging in the common area, drinking coffee, chatting, and eating whatever tasty treat Helen had whipped up for them.
“Inna left early this morning,” Helen replied. “As far as I know Daisy is still in bed.”
Fern tsked. She was an early riser and swore no good ever came from sleeping in.
“Left?” Arlo asked. She wasn’t as worried about Daisy’s sleeping habits as she was Inna’s wanderings.
“She said something about going shopping in Memphis.”
Arlo shook her head. “The airport is there too.”
Fern shrugged. “Mads told them both not to leave. I don’t think she would go against ‘the man.’”
Arlo wouldn’t describe Mads Keller as “the man,” but she knew what Fern meant. He was an imposing figure and most wouldn’t think of crossing him.
“Did you take her some breakfast, love?” Camille asked.
“Inna?” She closed her eyes. Somewhere she had lost the thread of the conversation. “No, you mean Chloe.”
“That’s right, love.”
“Yes.” She moved around her godmother and sat on the couch between her and Fern. At least that way she wouldn’t have to sit next to Sam.
Camille took the space next to Sam and placed her handbag primly in her lap.
“How was she?” Helen asked. “Did she seem okay? She seemed sort of down when I took her dinner last night.”
“I don’t know,” Arlo said on a resigned sigh. “Jason wouldn’t let me in to see her.”
