The Perfect Plan

by Carina Taylor

  When Libby was young, she had imagined where she would be as an adult. She had imagined what she would do in her free time and what her hobbies would be. In all of her time planning, she never once saw herself playing cribbage.

  Evan would never believe her when she told him.

  LIBBY SCOOPED ANOTHER shovelful of bark dust into the flower bed. Marcie had told Libby that laying fresh bark would help set her apart from the competition. Libby didn't know how someone would go about rating bark for its freshness. Was it rated on its color? Was it the scent? Perhaps each bark fragment had to be laid diagonally across the flower bed. Maybe she should have done a special bark-spreading dance before she started.

  Libby stepped over Carl where he lay, basking in the sun, and shoveled some more bark from the wheelbarrow.

  "Are you heading to your mom's for the holidays this year?" Marcie asked as she trimmed a few wayward twigs from a rosebush.

  "My aunt and I will probably meet up over a weekend."

  "Are your parents no longer around?"

  This conversation usually came up at some point when Libby knew someone long enough. She never liked explaining her origins. Usually, she gave people the condensed version.

  Evan was the only one she had willingly told everything to. He had asked all the right questions without pitying her or acting condescending. They sat on the couch, watching Marvel movies and spilling their life stories. That was when she found out about his dad passing away when he was ten years old. It was when he put his arm around her and let her vent about parents who didn't want her. And then he had told her that no matter what happened in life, he would never walk away from her. She had fallen a little — or a lot — more in love with him that night.

  Libby answered Marcie, "My aunt raised me. She wanted me to walk at graduation so she could come watch, but then we decided it would be way more fun to use some of her vacation time to go on a trip together. She bought us tickets to Belize for the end of summer."

  "She sounds fun. I'd love to meet her. How did she come to be the one raising you?" Marcie glanced at Libby while she scrubbed the bricks with her rag.

  "You know, the usual. Parents that shouldn't have been allowed within a hundred-mile radius of a child."

  "When did you move in with her?"

  "Six years old. Aunt Leanne was twenty."

  Marcie made a small choking sound before she said, "That must have been difficult."

  Even as a young child, Libby had recognized how hard Leanne had worked. "She was a waitress during the week and cleaned houses on the weekend. She was always busy, trying to make ends meet. She sacrificed everything to raise me and still managed to get a bachelor's degree in business."

  "She sounds like quite the woman."

  "She is. I didn't fully realize how much she had done for me until high school. When you see classmates having babies and how it completely changes their life, you begin to understand the repercussions of raising a child."

  Libby set down her shovel and began wiping down the bricks with another rag.

  Marcie asked, "Why did she raise you when she was so young herself? I'm surprised the courts let her."

  Somehow, when Marcie asked intrusive questions, they managed to come across in a matter-of-fact way. Libby didn't even mind answering her. "She was willing to take me, and the courts didn't want to send me into an already overloaded foster care system. Leanne's the best thing that could have happened to me in that situation."

  "Are your parents still alive?"

  Libby coughed instead of laughed. "I don't know. I have no idea who my father is. I think my mom might be in prison; Leanne keeps track, but I never ask. That woman had enough of a negative influence on my life."

  "So you remember living with her?" Marcie asked.

  "It left an impression." Libby absentmindedly brushed the back of her hand against the scar above her left eyebrow.

  Marcie nodded. There was nothing she could say that would make it better or take away the sense of hurt that would follow Libby the rest of her life. The one woman who should have showered Libby with love had been a monster.

  Marcie might not have been able to fix it, but she had already given Libby somewhere to belong. Libby hadn't even realized that was something she was searching for. Marcie had embraced Libby and showered her with Marcie-type love, and Libby was beginning to wonder if this was what home felt like.

  "Leanne was so good at not needing people. She did everything herself. Because my mom "needed" men to pay for her next high, Leanne was determined to never let us be put in that position. She always told me that we didn't need other people to do things for us, that we would manage fine on our own. But now that I'm on my own, I've realized I like having friends. And I think when you have good friends, then you help each other when you need it. My mom wouldn't have known what a friend was if she tripped over one."

  Marcie gathered up the tools and rags and tossed them in the wheelbarrow. "You know, Libby, I understand where your aunt is coming from. She was thrust into a hard situation, and it sounds like she was trying her best to make a go of it and set a good example for a little girl. But there's nothing wrong with having people in your life that you can count on. Friendships and relationships are a good thing. They can make you stronger than you are by yourself. Boxing people out of your life so that you don't need anyone is only setting yourself up for a long, lonely life."

  She tossed a hand shovel into a bucket and turned around to point a gloved finger at Libby.

  "You are not your mother. And you never will be. Don't let that woman keep a hold on you or your aunt's life. She gave up the right to have a say in your life when she made the choices she did. Don't let her keep you from building a life worth living."

  Libby plopped down next to Carl and began scratching his belly. "I'd never thought about it like that — that she would have some kind of power over our lives."

  "Have you ever been to a counselor?"

  "Once. Right when I was taken from my mom. Leanne couldn't afford to pay for a counselor, and the government-funded ones were overloaded. She did her best to help me work through some stuff."

  Marcie nodded. "You probably adjusted to your new life and didn't think about it for a while."

  "Yup. It's funny how resilient kids are. I was great at putting things in the back of my mind and forgetting about them. I was perfectly fine until I started getting older. But Leanne helped by keeping me busy — filled every moment so that I didn't have time to think. You'd like her. She's a real go-getter." Libby smiled sadly. "But now I feel like I'm dealing with some of those issues again."

  "Well, I'll be here anytime you need me. Even if you just need to vent and talk it out. Sometimes it helps to say things out loud. It gives you perspective. Now, come on inside." Marcie chuckled, and Libby was grateful she was changing the subject. Some issues couldn't be solved in one conversation, and Marcie seemed to recognize it. "I'll make you a pot of coffee."

  "Please don't," Libby said with a smile as she picked up the wheelbarrow handles.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LIBBY wasn't sure how she got there. She was sitting in the passenger seat of Marcie's car, gripping the door handle as if it would save her.

  The morning had started relatively normal. Libby went for a jog then stopped in at the hardware store to play cribbage. Not that she actually cared about cribbage, but, turns out, hanging out with Harvey and Bob was a lot of fun. Harvey was a regular old Mr. Fix-it, and he gave Libby a pile of advice for projects around Marcie's. Bob had been around the world a few times and had spent a couple months in Belize. He'd given her all sorts of advice for her trip with Leanne.

  After cribbage, Libby had bought a couple of mochas and walked back to the house where she planned to deliver the coffee to Marcie, knowing that she would still be on the back patio writing. It was part of their regular morning routine now.

  Except, this morning, Marcie hadn't been writing on the back deck. She had been standing in the
front hall, waiting for Libby to return. Marcie had also been wearing a plaid shirt, vest, blue jeans, cowboy boots, and cowboy hat.

  Five minutes later, they were on the road with Marcie driving like it was the Indie 500. Libby had soon become a firm believer in prayers and miracles.

  There had been five near-accidents, four blown stop signs, one deer that narrowly escaped with its life, and possibly a dead squirrel. They'd only been driving for twenty minutes.

  "I have our day all planned out."

  "That's what I'm afraid of." Libby took an extra sip of the fortifying Red Bull she had picked up from the market a couple days ago. She had nearly broken her energy drink addiction, but after their heart-to-heart conversation the day before, Marcie had dragged Libby to an archery club just outside of town. They'd had a blast until Libby saw what an excellent shot Marcie was. Marcie had declared that since she had laid down the rough work for her novel, she now had time to find the perfect victim.

  "What do you have planned?"

  Marcie smiled brightly. "We're going horseback riding!

  Libby set down her drink. She couldn't believe her luck. Horseback riding? Marcie lived on a lot in town, and last Libby had checked, there were no horses in the garage.

  "We're going horseback riding?" Libby asked.

  "Why do you think I'm dressed this way? I have a friend just outside of town who runs a stable where she trains horses and teaches riding lessons. I texted her last night, and she said she had some free time this morning and could take us on a trail ride. I remembered you said you had always wanted to go riding."

  Libby couldn't help feeling excited. She also realized she was no longer surprised at the thought that Marcie had texted someone. The woman took selfies and had a Snapchat account. Libby hadn't expected someone of Marcie's age to be so. . . relevant. Marcie had her finger closer to the pulse of pop culture than Libby did.

  Between Marcie, Bob, and scary Helen, Libby had yet to meet someone who fit the stereotypes she'd heard about old people. Libby couldn't believe how much she had missed out on by not having friends outside of her age range.

  There wasn't that feeling of competition when she was with Marcie. It felt like a simple friendship. Not to mention, the stories Marcie told were incredible. The lady had done just about everything under the sun and still had a lot of living to do.

  Despite her world savviness, she was sweet and thoughtful. Libby knew they were going to ride horses for her benefit, not Marcie's. For someone to plan a special morning like this — albeit in her usual bossy manner — made Libby feel something that felt scarily like emotions. Maybe love and belonging. She couldn't be sure; those weren't common feelings for her. It was the same feeling she had when Evan did unexpectedly kind things for her or simply spent time with her.

  Libby couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy that Evan had grown up with this woman as his grandmother. She was everything someone could wish for in a grandma.

  Except for her crazy ideas.

  Oh, and the murder plan.

  But other than that, she was perfect in Libby's eyes. And that capable woman was telling her something she should probably pay attention to right now.

  "I haven't ridden a horse in years. I used to ride regularly. I wish I had kept that up."

  Libby smiled and nodded. When Libby was young, she had fallen in love with the idea of horses. She had wanted her own horse, and she had begged her aunt to let her keep a horse in her bedroom. It had made sense to an eight-year-old mind that if there was enough room to squeeze a horse in the apartment, then there was enough room to keep it. When she found out that horses needed more room than a twin mattress, she had been devastated.

  Instead, Leanne had purchased her a subscription to an equine magazine. At eight years old, Libby hadn't been the most accomplished reader, but she had learned to be by reading those magazines and pouring over them, consuming every bit of horse knowledge she could. It had made her feel that if ever there came a day when she would be in contact with a horse, she had abundant knowledge of what to do.

  NOTHING IN HER MAGAZINES had prepared her for the size of a horse. She was like a little bug that it could squish.

  Ant-sized.

  Libby looked at the horse. It looked back. The horse stepped closer to her. Libby wasn't sure if it was willpower or fear that held her rooted to the spot, but it wasn't excitement, she knew that. Libby couldn't tell if the look in the horse's eye was mischievous or maniacal. The horse leaned its head toward her and rubbed its nose against her chest.

  Libby didn't move an inch. Did horses bite? Was there ever an instance of a horse going feral? She didn't know.

  All those horse magazines couldn't make up for the fact that she didn't have any real life experience with horses. She forced herself to slide around to the side of the saddled horse.

  When she reached her right foot up into the air and placed it in the stirrup, she realized that couldn't be right. So she quickly pulled her foot back down and stretched her left leg up instead. The horse shifted and so did Libby’s tennis-shoed foot. It slid through the stirrup and got wedged at the heel.

  The horse shifted again, and Libby was forced to hop after it. Her hands clung to the saddle horn with tenacity. Watching people mount horses on TV made it look so easy. The movies didn't show the slight shift of the saddle when a foot is placed into the stirrup. It was the shifting that landed her on her butt twice. The horse finally stood still again, and Libby carefully finagled her foot out of the stirrup so that only the tips of her toes rested in it. That time, when she pulled herself up, the horse stood still. She swung her other leg over the back of the horse and sat down on the hard saddle.

  "Let's mount up," Mandy said to Marcie, who was texting next to a Paint horse.

  Libby watched Marcie and Mandy mount. Her hands were gripping the saddle horn like the lifeline that it was.

  "How tall is this thing?"

  "Fourteen hands."

  "That's huge, right?"

  Mandy laughed. "No, Cleo is on the small side."

  "Small side? It looks so far down right now."

  "Don't worry, you'll be fine. Cleo hasn't thrown anyone in over a year. I think she's getting too old for that kind of funny business."

  Libby couldn't answer because she was busy trying not to screech as the horse lunged to get closer to Mandy's horse.

  "She's a little herd-bound," Mandy told her as if that explained everything.

  Maybe next time Libby did something unexpected, she would explain it away as being herd-bound — whatever that meant.

  "Off we go," Marcie said as she and her horse trotted off across the pasture.

  Mandy and Libby's horses followed behind. Libby wrapped the reins around her wrist and clutched the saddle horn as the horse trotted after Marcie. Mandy and Marcie made it look so simple to ride across the field, but Libby had to hold on for dear life. The jolt from each trotting step made her butt slam into the saddle, jarring her spine all the way up to her head. She stiffened her legs and tightened her grip on the saddle. Her muscles were already cramping, and they had barely gone fifty yards.

  She tried to think of what she had done to deserve this. Why had riding horses sounded like so much fun? It was pure torture — not fun. Right now, all Libby could think about was trying not to die and hopefully not shatter her tailbone.

  "Are you coming?" someone called to her. Libby couldn't be sure who since her teeth were slamming together so loudly.

  And then the horse stopped. Libby slammed forward with the momentum of the sudden stop. The saddle horn rammed into her stomach.

  When she sat up again, she saw that Marcie and Mandy had pulled their horses to a stop next to her. That explained Cleo's sudden stop.

  Mandy smiled at Libby. "Let's walk for a while and let Libby get used to being in the saddle."

  "Sorry, Libby. I forgot you haven't been riding before."

  "I never knew it was so bone-jarring."

  "Cleo has the choppi
est trot I've ever sat. She's not the easiest to ride because of that," Mandy explained. "We'll walk slow until you get the hang of it."

  The three of them started off again until they hit the edge of the pasture where Mandy leaned down and opened a gate — all while remaining on horseback. She made it look so easy, but Libby knew that if she were to try and do the same thing, she would end up flat on her face.

  Mandy pulled ahead a little, and Marcie pulled her horse parallel to Libby's. "I've been thinking."

  "That's a good thing to do, I guess," Libby gritted out as she tried to adjust to the horse's walk.

  "Yes, that's what I tell myself too."

  Libby took a deep breath and tried to find the rhythm of the horse's steps. Now, she merely swayed with each step the mare took. She took a deep breath and relaxed her legs. They immediately cramped, so she tried flexing them again.

  "What were you thinking about?"

  "How to plan the perfect murder."

  Libby laughed, but she sounded like a deranged hyena that had been run over by a bus. Libby had never done well with subtle. "Of course you were."

  "Writing a mystery, I want it to be perfect. You know it's my first in that genre. It has to be authentic. So tell me, how would you pull off the perfect murder?"

  Libby thought about trying to ignore her, but she had a feeling Marcie would become more persistent if she tried that. Maybe it would be better to play along for a while.

  "What do you mean “the perfect murder”? Do you mean having a good reason for it?"

  "Do people have good reasons for murder? I doubt it. But I want to know the best possible way to get away with murder. How to never get caught."

  Libby was starting to sweat, and it wasn't from the sun. "Everyone gets caught."

  "Come on, play the game. For my book's sake. How would you never get caught at murder?"

  "Medical mishap. Make it look like it was due to poor health. No one would question that."

  Marcie smiled. "You know, you would make an excellent criminal."