"You betcha." Libby took a big bite of taco salad. "Why woo' I tock da fun?"
"You're going to have to repeat that. I didn't quite catch that. Since when are you bilingual?"
"Ha. Hilarious. I was eating. Taco salad waits for no man. I said, 'why would I talk on the phone?'"
"To hear my soothing voice?"
"I hate talking on the phone. You know that. I never understood your fascination with it. I mean, if I see someone calling, I'll hang up on them so I can text them. Talking on the phone is awkward."
"You're talking to me right now."
Libby took another bite of the salad. "True. But for some reason, I don't mind you so much."
"I'll have that engraved on my gravestone: 'She didn't mind him so much.' Which reminds me, how are things going with Grandma, the wannabe murderer?"
"Funny you should ask that. Do you have a wood chipper?"
"Please tell me you're kidding," Evan growled.
"I'm kidding. But how sure are you that your grandma will do something crazy?" Libby glanced around, belatedly making sure no one overheard the conversation.
"92%."
"That's very specific. So you're saying there's an 8% chance she won't murder me in my sleep?"
"I hope you've been locking your bedroom door. You're in the blue room, right?"
"I put a chair in front of the door. Yeah, I like the blue room."
"It fits you. How's the energy drink addiction?"
"I haven't had any since moving here."
"Good. Those things will kill you."
"I know, but they also help me stay awake."
Evan laughed. "Have you ever tried sleeping? It's like a preventative medicine for being tired."
"Wise guy." Libby chased the last bite of fresh salsa around her plate longer than someone waiting in line at the DMV.
"Mom wanted me to tell you how much she appreciates you staying for the summer. Once Grandma turned eighty, Mom went into full-on panic mode that she was going to fall down the stairs and break a hip or something with no one there to realize something was wrong."
"Don't mention it. I like Marcie. I think we might even be friends."
"Of course we're friends," Marcie announced. Where did she come from so quickly?
"Here you go." Libby tried to hand the phone back to Marcie. She waved her hand through the air and sat in the empty wicker chair next to Libby.
"I don't need to talk to him anymore. I'm going to eat my lunch."
Libby glanced at Marcie's plate. It was full of taco salad — sans lettuce. Libby put the phone back to her ear. "Marcie's busy. I'm telling you, this taco salad is to die for."
Evan laughed. "Poor choice of words."
"Okay, I'm hanging up now."
"Alright. I'll talk to you later."
"Or text, you know, I'm fine with texting."
Evan grunted. "I'll call you later to make sure you're still alive."
Libby ended the call and passed the phone back to Marcie. She tried to stop smiling, but it was always hard to do when she bantered with Evan.
"Did he say if he was going to visit soon?" Marcie asked.
"He didn't mention it. I think he was checking to see if we were getting along. He asked after your book and how your research is going."
Marcie hummed as she took a bite of salad. "You know, I really think you and Evan would make the perfect match."
Libby choked on a mouthful of water. She set the water bottle down. "We're just friends."
Marcie raised her eyebrows. "You positive about that?"
"Evan has never said a word."
"He's a slow mover."
Libby nodded, unsure how to respond. She picked up her phone and went back to scouting for apartments in Portland. It was hard to do when she wasn't familiar with the area. She needed to go up there and see it for herself to know whether she could find an apartment close to work and in a decent neighborhood. Maybe she'd ask Evan to go with her. But then that made her think about Marcie's words that they would be the perfect match.
"If I were to pick out someone to kill who was at this luncheon, it would either be Leah or June."
Libby's phone clattered to the ground. She checked to make sure she hadn't cracked the screen. "Umm, why are we killing someone at lunch today?"
"I'm trying to find the perfect victim." Marcie shrugged.
"And what's the motive?"
"Trying to find out how to get away with murder, of course." Marcie looked at Libby like she was the crazy one. "Want to hear why they're the top picks?"
"You hate them?"
"No, no, nothing like that. If someone strangled Leah, the top suspect would be Doris. Doris is her sister-in-law, and they are always arguing. Now, if someone were to kill June, they would assume it was a hitchhiker."
"Wait, a hitchhiker? Why?"
"June drives to Eugene several times a week, and if she sees a hitchhiker, she picks them up. I bet she's given rides to a couple hundred hitchhikers by now. Statistically speaking, she's probably picked up a few murderers in her time."
"Hmm, I see what you mean. That does seem a little dangerous." Libby glanced at June where she stood munching on a celery stick talking to Monty. It was no wonder the woman was so thin. She was eating celery like she was running a garbage disposal. It was painful to watch. "Remind me why you're killing them again?"
"For the book. Every book needs to be thoroughly researched and experienced, in my opinion. That's why I write what I write. I want to live life and write about it. But I prefer to do it in fiction format — creative license and all that. Not to mention protecting the guilty."
Libby swallowed a lump in her throat. "Why don't you write a book about, you know, knitting or something? Seems a lot safer. No one gets hurt."
Marcie looked at Libby thoughtfully. "What a good idea. The knitting needles could be the murder weapon. Death by knitting."
"That wasn't exactly where I was going with that," Libby muttered.
There was a gleam in Marcie's eyes that Libby didn't like, as though she was contemplating how to kill Leah or June with a knitting needle.
"Does Doris knit?" Libby asked before she bit her tongue. She could have pinched herself for letting that slip out. Marcie didn't need any help planning a murder.
"That's a good question; I'll find out. But how do you frame someone for murder without planting evidence?"
Libby took a big drink from her water bottle. She shouldn't comment. She should drink her water and keep her ideas to herself. She didn't want to find herself charged as an accomplice to murder.
She would not open her mouth.
She wouldn't be part of the crazy.
"You start a knitting club. You include Doris. Then, you use her knitting needles," Libby suggested. Good grief, she needed to stop. She sounded like a lunatic. She felt so normal sitting at a stranger's home discussing how to kill someone with knitting needles and how to get away with it.
"I like it. It would normalize her being seen with knitting needles. It would make it recognizable. Come on, let's go home. I need to write this down before I forget. I have some names I could add to my victim list."
Libby wondered if she could dawdle enough to let Marcie forget any helpful suggestions Libby had made.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LIBBY'S alarm clock went off at five the next morning. She bolted out of bed, thinking it was the fire alarm. When she realized Marcie wasn't burning the house down, she looked longingly at the warm bed and slowly began to lie down again when she remembered why she had set her alarm.
Coffee.
She wanted to be the one to make the pot of coffee rather than Marcie. Every day since she had come to Colter, Marcie had made coffee and kept it warm all day. It was disgusting. No other word could describe it. Libby decided that if they were going to drink coffee all day, then it had better be halfway decent. Libby had worked in a coffee shop, so she could make a decent cup of coffee with the right tools. No amount of coffee
creamer could salvage the coffee Marcie made.
Libby had seriously contemplated sneaking out and going to the coffee shop, but she still had a mild headache thanks to the walking perfume store at church yesterday — the very same woman who was also known as Lingering Linda according to Marcie.
Libby threw on a red t-shirt and a pair of jean shorts and began stumbling her way downstairs to the kitchen. She planned on skipping a jog in favor of a cup of good coffee. She wanted to brew it herself and see if home-brewed coffee was a lost cause in Marcie's house. It might be bad city water that was causing the problem.
Libby pulled out her phone and FaceTimed Evan.
The early morning light was filtering through the windows, giving the promise of a beautiful summer day. It made getting up at the unearthly hour of five easier when the sun was rising with you.
The phone call connected as Libby stepped into the kitchen.
Evan's sleepy face filled the screen. His hair was sticking out everywhere, and he was shirtless. It looked like he was still in bed.
"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
"Libby, there better be a good reason you're calling me at this hour, or I'm going to make you pay next time I see you."
Libby smiled at his adorably angry face. "I'm calling for an excellent reason."
He rubbed a hand over his face. "And what is that?"
"Payback."
He groaned. Libby laughed.
"Maybe this will teach you to wake me up at four-thirty in the morning."
Libby flipped the kitchen light switch. The fluorescent light reflected off the stainless steel coffee pot, creating a spotlight effect. It sat on the small counter space between the kitchen sink and the refrigerator. A can of coffee sat next to it along with the coffee filters.
It looked like the world's most average coffee pot as far as Libby could tell. There was an on and off switch, a small clock display, and a delay start button. There was absolutely nothing unusual about it, which meant it should make a decent cup of coffee.
Maybe Marcie really was making a cup of dirt in the morning. It could be some gardening ritual that Libby didn't know about. Maybe it was a bylaw of The Garden Show: drink a cup of mud each day while singing to your plants.
"I'm beginning to think that Grandma is being a bad influence on you, teaching you to wake me up on purpose."
"Nope, that was all you, buddy."
Evan coughed. "Did you seriously just call me 'buddy?'"
"Well, I need a buddy for what I'm about to do."
Libby lifted the lid on the coffee pot to find where she needed to pour water into.
She tried not to retch.
Whatever was making the coffee taste so bad was still in that pot. She slammed the lid closed and opened the window above the kitchen sink.
"Are you all right?"
"Just fine," Libby wheezed. "I'm trying to find out why Marcie's coffee tastes so horrible. I'll talk to you later."
Libby ended the call, went back to the coffee pot, and took a deep breath of fresh air before opening the cover again. She peered into the dark section where she was supposed to pour the water. The water reservoir had white and green polka dots. It wasn't often that a coffee pot had a color scheme on the inside. Libby looked closer.
That was no color scheme.
A large and thriving mold colony was living inside the water reservoir of the coffee pot.
She slammed the lid. She scooped the entire coffee maker off the counter, jerked the plug out of the wall socket, carried it to the trash can on the opposite side of the fridge, and dropped it in. It barely fit.
Next, she grabbed up the trash bag, carried it outside, and set it in the large trash can outside the back door. Problem solved. She still needed coffee but figured that today would be a good day to visit the coffee shop, after all.
She came back into the house just as Marcie walked into the kitchen. She was wearing a bright yellow, button-up blouse and a pair of jeans that were plastered to her wide hips.
"Good morning, I was about to make us some coffee," Marcie greeted her.
Libby felt a moment of panic. She had thrown away Marcie's coffee pot without asking her. It'd probably be better to tell her about it after she had a decent cup of coffee. She didn't want to embarrass Marcie with her lack of housekeeping skills. Libby definitely didn't clean her coffee pot regularly either. So she suggested, "Let's go to that little coffee shop I saw in town. I love trying new coffee shops."
Marcie's face looked relieved. "Oh yes, Jo makes great coffee. They even open at five. Let's walk there so I can tell my doctor I've been exercising daily — for the past two days, at least."
Marcie seemed so pleased with her reasoning that Libby didn't have the heart to contradict her.
They sat next to each other on the entryway bench and pulled on their tennis shoes. Libby snagged her sweatshirt from the coat hook by the door, and Marcie put on her pale blue sweater with a butterfly brooch. The air felt crisp when they stepped outside, nearly as energizing as a shot of espresso.
Cup of Jo stood out bright and cheery as they approached. It was the only business with its lights on. Libby could smell it a block away. The promise of delicious coffee had Libby nearly drooling by the time they opened the door.
No one else was in the shop yet. Jo stood behind the counter arranging pastries and coffee mugs. She glanced up when they walked in.
"Good morning, Marcie! We've missed you. It's not the same when I don't see your face every day. I was worried something was wrong."
Libby looked back and forth from Jo to Marcie. Marcie looked at Libby with reddened cheeks.
"Do you mean to tell me you get coffee here every day?" Libby asked.
"Yes?" Marcie replied sheepishly. "When you said you enjoyed home-brewed, I wanted to make you feel at home. But my coffee is middle-of-the-road kind of brew."
Libby laughed. "I wish you had told me sooner. I stopped in here the other morning after my run."
"I used to be able to brew a good cup of coffee, but evidently, I've lost that gift. The stuff I've made this week has been straight up awful." Marcie shuddered and shook her head slightly.
"Meh, it's not your fault it tasted like that. Your coffee pot was covered in mold. I threw it away this morning right before you came into the kitchen. I'll buy you another one."
Marcie gagged. "I guess that explains the horrible taste. I suppose that would explain my headache, too. I hadn't used that coffee pot in a long time. I didn't know you had to clean them."
Jo grimaced as she handed them two steaming mugs of coffee.
"Let's do this every morning instead of making our own. It might be safer for our health." Libby smirked as she took a sip from her cup.
"I never claimed to be a barista," Marcie declared.
"And I'll never make the mistake of assuming that."
"Good. Now, I could use some help picking out some victims for my next book."
Libby choked on her sip of raspberry white mocha. It was going to be a long summer.
CHAPTER NINE
MARCIE peeked her head around the cereal aisle at Colter's All Food Market. She needed to make sure Libby wasn't close enough to overhear her conversation with Evan. She pulled out her phone and called him.
He picked up after three rings.
"Hi, Grandma."
"She's going to kill me."
"Good grief, I don't think Libby would have any reason to kill you."
"Then she should stop buying all that green stuff!"
"Green stuff?"
"Vegetables." She spat out the word like it was a curse.
"Grandma," Evan chided, "last I heard, the doctor wanted you to eat healthier and try to lower your cholesterol.
"What does he know?"
"Well, he's a doctor," Evan laughed. "He's probably only spent fifteen years in school learning these things."
"What are you up to, sweetie?" Marcie changed the subject. Her health was a touchy subject. A
ging wasn't for wimps.
"I'm heading out to grab lunch with some guys from the office."
"Why don't you come down for a visit? It's been way too long. Libby and I could use the company."
"I want to. I've just been busy getting settled into work and my new apartment. Is anything wrong with Libby?"
Marcie paused before she decided what to say. "You know, she's probably lonely here with little old me. Not very much goes on here. We've just been sitting around talking about knitting. It would be nice if you came down to visit and brought a little excitement with you. Maybe we could all play Scrabble in the evenings together." She coughed into the phone.
"Grandma. You hate to play Scrabble. And the day you sit and knit all day is when pigs start flying."
Marcie choked on a laugh, and it came out sounding like a wheeze. "You know, dear, I'm not quite as spry as I used to be. I've been slowing down a lot with my old age. I'm just glad to know you and your mother live close together. You'll have each other when I'm gone."
Silence.
"I'll head down there next Friday night after work. I can't come this weekend because I'm still getting moved in."
"You're such a dear."
"You're full of — well, something."
"See you soon. I'll be sure to leave the porch light on. Let's surprise Libby. She'll be so glad to see you."
"I'm not so sure about that; she might still be mad at me."
"You didn't tell her that Colter was so small."
"I don't think she would have moved in with you if I had. Besides, she's glad she's there now, isn't she?"
"I think so."
"Then all’s well that ends well."
"One of these days, your plans aren't going to turn out the way you want," Marcie warned him. "And you better stop waiting to ask that girl out, or someone is going to beat you to it."
They said goodbye, and then Marcie began looking around for Libby. She spotted her next to the lettuce.
Marcie couldn't help but worry when she would leave. Colter was small, and nothing was keeping Libby here. She needed a place to belong, and she believed she would find that by busying herself with work. She was young. She had some tough life lessons ahead of her, and she was going to have to face some of her problems rather than hide from them. And Marcie intended to be there to help her when the time came.
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