by Amy Lillard
“Twenty minutes,” Arlo said.
“Ten,” Helen said emphatically.
“Fifteen,” Arlo countered. She needed at least five more to get up her courage to walk up the stairs to the third floor and confront Sam.
“Fine.” Helen sighed. “But not a minute more.”
Arlo lost a few precious moments showing the toddlers and their mothers the newest book she had for their age group, a colorful tale about animal ballerinas; then, unable to stall any longer, she made her way to the staircase that led directly to the third floor.
The doorway had been blocked with a display until Sam and his PI business had moved into the building. Now they kept it shut but unencumbered so Sam could come down whenever he felt the urge.
Now that she thought about it, Helen had been the one to suggest the change, and Arlo wondered if she had some sort of ulterior motive for the idea. Knowing Helen, no doubt.
She knocked on the door at the top of the stairs and waited for Sam to answer before entering. There was another stairway and door that led up to the third floor directly from the street, the entrance that clients used. Not that she had seen that many people come in and out of Sam’s office. Not that she had been looking. But he could be in a meeting.
“Hey, Arlo.” He was seated behind that overlarge L-shaped desk he had made out of two desks pushed together at right angles. His three laptops were open in a neat little row, and Arlo realized she had never asked him why he thought it necessary to have three at the same time. But that wasn’t why she was here today.
He had made a lot of changes to the space, though a great deal he had left the same. There were no rugs on the planked floor and only a couple of large abstract paintings hung on the exposed brick of the walls. He had set up a large-screen TV in one corner with a futon nearby. In case he needed a nap, she supposed. Weren’t PIs always napping in their offices? Or maybe she watched too many detective shows.
“Are you still willing to do a background check on Camille’s new man?”
“Of course.” The smile froze on his face. “Why? Did something happen?”
“No,” Arlo said. “Not really.”
“Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”
“You saw him last night.” She let out an anxious chuckle. “I keep telling myself not to judge a book and all that. But then she didn’t show up for book club today, and the ladies are worried. She isn’t answering her phone.” She didn’t know why she wasn’t telling him about the possible Joe sighting at Lillyfield. Maybe because it might not have been him. But there weren’t a lot of people in tiny Sugar Springs that were tatted up like Joe Foster.
“Holy crap!” Sam was on his feet in a second. “I forgot all about book club.”
“You really don’t have to come, you know.”
He grinned that Sam smile that swept her heart away all those years ago. Even today, it sent a little pang through her midsection. “I like it.”
“You’re sweet.” The moment she said the words she wished she could call them back.
He stopped, still smiling, but not saying a word. The moment suspended and grew thick, uncomfortable.
“Foster,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Joe’s last name is Foster.”
Sam nodded and jotted it down on his blotter pad. Arlo wondered what it looked like at the end of the month. Did Sam still like to doodle when he talked on the phone? Why did she even care?
She didn’t at all.
“Looks like someone is settling in.” She pointed to Auggie, who had curled up on the chair next to the window. The window where Wally had—
She pushed the thought away and focused on the ginger-striped feline. She had never seen him so content. He had a perfect patch of sunshine and appeared to be soaking up every ray.
“I may have to get my own cat when Chloe decides to come get him.”
“I’m surprised she hasn’t already.”
“She said she didn’t want to move him too soon since he was shuffled around so much when she was in jail.”
Arlo knew what Chloe said. She also knew that since Sam had Auggie, her son Jayden got to bring his dog over when he spent the night on the weekends. Jayden was nine, and having his pup around was a really big deal. And since Chloe had moved out on her own and left Jayden living in her parents’ house, having Jayden happy was a big deal for her.
“Yeah,” Arlo said.
“Are you coming?” Helen’s voice floated up the stairwell to them. “It’s been sixteen minutes.”
“Hey, you don’t think this Joe person had anything to do with Haley, do you?”
“Why would I think that?” Sam asked.
Arlo shook her head. “I don’t know. He’s new to town and…I’m not being fair, but he is one scary dude.”
“Scary doesn’t actually mean dangerous.”
But they both knew that men like Joe Foster were the first ones dragged in when a crime had occurred. She hated herself for the generalization, but there it was. Society didn’t always look favorably on the different. Especially when that different included tattoos and a prison record.
“You’ll check him out though, right?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“Seventeen minutes,” Fern called.
“I gotta go,” she said. She had wanted to ask him again about last night, but time hadn’t allowed. Or maybe that was a good thing.
“I’ll let you know if I come up with anything.”
“Thanks.” Arlo smiled and made her way back down the stairs to the main floor.
“What were you two doing up there?” Fern asked.
“Nothing.” She couldn’t very well tell them that she had seen Joe Foster and Camille out the night before. They would worry about their friend too much. Especially if she told them about his appearance.
“I’m staying here to help Chloe,” Fern said. “You and Helen go on. But text me when you find her.”
“I’ll call you,” Helen corrected. She wasn’t the most tech-savvy geriatric in Sugar Springs.
“Text is easier,” Fern argued.
“I’ll text,” Arlo said and led Helen outside and into the overwarm late morning sun.
They climbed into Helen’s car and started toward Camille’s house.
“I didn’t tell Fern this,” Helen started. “But I am really worried about Camille.”
“Fern’s really worried too,” Arlo reminded her.
“Yeah, but I googled him, and I couldn’t find anything. Nothing at all.”
Arlo blinked. “Wait. You googled him? You?”
“Don’t act so surprised.” Helen shot her an exasperated look. “I know how to use a computer; I just choose not to.”
“What computer did you use?”
“The one in my office at the inn.”
Arlo stifled a snort. The computer was so old, it was one step from an electronic paperweight. “No wonder you couldn’t find anything. Does that thing even have internet?”
“Don’t get cheeky.”
“I thought you didn’t know his last name.”
Helen gave a negligent shrug. “She told me the other night. I just didn’t remember when you asked.”
Which was not like Helen at all. The woman had a memory like a steel trap.
“And that really made me wonder,” she continued. “What if he’s not a real person at all?”
Arlo shook her head. “He’s real. I mean, of course he’s real. Do you think Camille just made him up?”
“Maybe she’s…slipping.”
Arlo let out a choked laugh. “Camille? No. She’s as mentally fit as ever.” Helen, on the other hand, she wasn’t so sure about.
“Then he must have roofied her, and who knows what he’s done with her by now.”
&
nbsp; “Camille has not been roofied. How do you even know such things?”
Helen shot her a look. “I have cable.”
“Fern told you.”
Helen sniffed. “Maybe.”
“She’s fine,” Arlo said again.
“What if she was roofied? She could have been kidnapped or maybe sold into sex slavery.”
If Arlo hadn’t been so worried, she would have laughed.
“So much could have happened.” Helen shifted in her seat, and Arlo wondered how comfortable she was in the tiny car. Arlo was tall enough, but Helen was even taller, more statuesque. Like a bedazzled Jane Russell. Curvy, robust, and with really great hair. Especially for eighty-something.
“I’m sure Camille is fine.” She used her most reassuring voice, but it did nothing to soothe her own nerves.
A few minutes later, they pulled into the subdivision where Camille lived. She had paid off her house before leaving teaching—or so Arlo had been told—and had never seen the need to sell and move to something smaller. Condos were for old people, she would say with a sweet smile. Somehow that Aussie accent took all judgment out of the words.
A wave of worry washed over Arlo.
Please let her be okay.
“Her car’s not here,” Arlo said as they pulled to a stop in front of Camille’s pale-blue two story. There were cream shutters and a raspberry-colored front door that somehow made the whole setup look like candy.
“She parks in the garage,” Helen said. She cut the engine, and they got out.
Arlo swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and tried to get her nerves under control. If something had happened to Camille, she would never forgive herself. She had seen Camille at the restaurant the night before. She had noted her potentially dangerous situation, and she had done nothing. She was a terrible person.
Helen peeked into the windows of the garage. “Her car’s here.”
“Thank heavens,” Arlo said. It could be a good sign. She hoped it was a good sign. “Ring the bell.”
Helen stepped around the pots of pink geraniums and pressed the doorbell. They waited. She pressed it again. They waited longer. No answer. Helen pressed it a third time. They waited an eternity.
“Let me.” Arlo stepped forward and pressed the button, not letting up until Helen opened the storm door and started pounding on the deep-pink painted wood.
“I think I hear something.”
They stopped their summons and listened.
“Unless you have Girl Scout cookies, go away.”
“Camille?” Arlo asked.
She opened the door, and Arlo nearly melted with relief.
“Camille!” Helen exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
Camille blinked innocently at them. Her normally perfectly coiffed hair stood on end. And seeing as how it was Saturday after Beauty Parlor Friday, that was something to behold. “I was sleeping.” She yawned and covered her mouth with the back on one hand.
“It’s nearly twelve thirty,” Arlo said.
Camille squinted at her watch. “Is it?”
“You missed book club,” Helen’s tone bordered on accusatory.
“Oh, mercy, I did!” She looked up at them, her expression clearing from sleepy cobwebs to alert and remorseful. “Oh, I’m sorry. Let me get my things. Come in, come in.” She stood back to allow them to enter.
Arlo shook her head. “I have to get back to the store.”
“Of course you do, love.”
“We just wanted to make sure that you were okay.” Helen didn’t add anything about Camille’s date the night before. Arlo thought it best to follow suit.
“Why didn’t you just call me?”
“We did,” Arlo explained. “Your phone went straight to voicemail.”
“Oh, shoot.” Camille frowned. “I called myself plugging it up last night on the charger. It was almost dead, and we’d had some wine…” She smiled in remembrance.
“Get yourself ready and over to the bookstore,” Helen grumbled. Then she reached in gave Camille a tight squeeze. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
* * *
Arlo could feel the secret stretching between her and Camille. Even from all the way across the store, it was like an invisible line linking them together. She felt it. She was pretty sure Camille felt it, but she prayed that no one else was aware.
The ladies held their book club meeting while Arlo half-heartedly listened to their chatter and shelved the new releases on the front book display. Should she say anything to Camille about Joe? She shouldn’t. Definitely not. She didn’t want to be that person, the one who meddled in all her friends’ affairs. Camille was a grown woman. She knew what she was doing. Who she was dating. Arlo had no stake in it.
She used the box knife to slice open another carton, careful not to cut anything she didn’t want to cut. Like the books or herself. She needed to get her mind back on the matter in front of her, but her thoughts kept drifting toward Camille and Joe.
What if something happened to her? What if Arlo said nothing about possibly seeing Joe at Lillyfield, and then he hurt Camille? How would Arlo feel about it then?
Awful, that’s how. She needed to talk to Camille. Now. Today. But away from the book club.
“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong.”
Arlo had been so lost in her own thoughts and the chore at hand, she hadn’t noticed that Camille had joined her.
“You know what I’m thinking?”
Camille nodded. “Joe looks a bit…unusual.” Arlo would have gone with scary. “But he’s a sweetheart.”
“It’s just a bit of a shock.” Arlo let out an uncomfortable chuckle.
Camille just gave her a serene smile. “It was for me too, love. But that’s the way it goes sometimes.”
“I suppose. Just…have you looked into his man? Do you know where he comes from? What he did for a living? Does he work now?” She kept her voice low so the others couldn’t overhear, but she could feel her tone rising with each question.
Camille patted her hand, that serene smile still firmly in place. “You’re so sweet to be concerned, but Joe is a teddy bear.”
Arlo wished she had Camille’s confidence in the matter. “So when does everyone get to meet him?”
Camille looked back to Helen and Fern, who were side by side on the couch, their copies of Missing Girl open in their laps as they compared marked passages within the book. “Soon,” she said. “Just not yet.” She turned to walk away.
“What if I told you I think I saw him at the mansion the day Haley was killed? Would that make a difference?”
Camille stopped. “Thought you saw him or know for certain you saw him? Those are two very different things.” She started back toward the reading nook. This time Arlo let her go.
Chapter 7
Sunday mornings were Arlo’s mornings to sleep in. And she enjoyed the luxury. On the list of whether she should get a pet or not, not being able to sleep late on Sunday went on the con side of a getting a puppy. She wouldn’t be able to sleep in if she had to get up and let the dog out. Of course, a cat would be easier, but she could just as easily get one like Auggie as she could get one she could truly enjoy.
She stretched once more, then picked up her phone to check the time. She already had a text from Chloe.
The Diner at 10?
Arlo typed back.
Meet you there.
It was a Sunday morning tradition for the two of them to eat breakfast at The Diner. Though usually it was after church. Arlo slept in, and Chloe went to the nondenominational church just off the highway. But if they were meeting at ten, that meant Chloe had skipped out on today’s sermon.
Arlo rose from the bed, took a quick shower, and pulled on a pair of jean shorts. Her waist-length hair went into a ponytail that she pushed through the
back of her Mississippi State baseball cap. One comfy T-shirt and a pair of running shoes later, she was out the door and headed to The Diner.
The place had a real name, though it had been forgotten long ago, not reinforced with even a fading sign. Now the place was simply The Diner.
“No church today?” she asked after giving Ashley Porter, the teenage daughter of the café’s owners their order. The biggest question was who was cooking this Sunday morning. Ashley’s mother and father took turns so the other could attend church. Today was Tyrone’s turn to be at the restaurant and that meant melt-in-your-mouth omelets. Truly everything on the menu was good, down-home cooking, but when Ashley’s mother Neddie was behind the grill, Chloe and Arlo always ordered her biscuits and gravy. When Tyrone was cooking, it was eggs all the way.
Chloe gave a sigh that Arlo couldn’t interpret.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I…I just want to be able to go from here directly over to the house to get Jayden. You know, not waste any time.”
Chloe had just graduated from high school when she found out she was pregnant with her son. Wally, the boy’s father, had skipped town, and Chloe remained living with her parents. But there came a time when she wanted to be out on her own. Yet doing that would mean shaking up Jayden’s life and taking him away from the comforts Chloe’s family could afford. So she had allowed Jayden to remain living with his grandparents. It was a decision that Arlo knew she contemplated daily. Chloe couldn’t move back in, but she surely couldn’t ask Jayden to come live with her in her tiny cottage that had once been the servant’s quarters for Lillyfield mansion.
“You going to take him to the park today?”
Chloe shot her an apologetic smile. “You up for that?”
“Me?”
Chloe didn’t answer as Ashley arrived back at their table with Arlo’s coffee and Chloe’s hot water for tea.
“How’s Courtney doing?” Arlo asked. Ashley was Courtney’s best friend. The pair were rarely seen apart. They hung out together, cheered on the Blue Devils varsity squad together, even came into the bookstore together. In fact, Ashley’s weekend shifts at The Diner and Courtney’s afternoons at the coffee bar were some of the few times that the Sugar Springs residents didn’t see the girls together.
