by Amy Lillard
“Why wouldn’t she want us to meet him?” Fern asked. She plopped her hat back on her head and returned to the reading nook.
“I don’t know,” Helen said. She gave her sturdy shoulders a small shrug. “It just seems like she doesn’t want us to.”
“Maybe Camille is one of those people who likes to compartmentalize her life. You know, keep the book club separate from personal life and—”
Helen interrupted with a laugh. “Camille? Not Camille.”
“Something is up,” Fern said.
“Kind of like something was up with Pam and her groceries,” Arlo put in.
“There was something up with that woman and her groceries.” Fern’s tone brooked no argument. And Arlo’s comment definitely steered the conversation back to Pam and her grocery purchases.
Way to go.
“But it’s more than that,” Fern continued. “She was there when Haley died.”
“And questioned by the police.” Arlo turned back to the self-help section. At least she got them to stop talking about Camille and Joe, she thought as they started to discuss where she could have been when Haley fell. They were stuck on Pam while Arlo couldn’t get her mind off Joe.
He just didn’t seem to be type Camille would go for, but there they were. Maybe he’s got a good heart. She really hoped he had a good heart.
* * *
Sometime after lunch, the bell over the door rang.
“Where do you want these?” Mads called out, his eyes barely visible over the stack of cardboard boxes he carried.
“I don’t know,” Arlo said, not expecting a shipment. And even then, why would Mads be bringing it? “What is it?”
“Books from Lillyfield,” Jason explained, coming in behind him with a similar stack of boxes.
“Over here.” Arlo pointed to a place out of the way where she could go through them and still be available if anyone needed her help in the store.
Mads and Jason set the boxes down; then Jason jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “There are two more in the cruiser.”
“I’ll let you get them,” Mads said.
“Gee, thanks,” Jason grumbled, but trudged toward the door.
“I take it your investigation at Lillyfield is complete.” At the word investigation, the book club immediately came to attention. If it would have made any difference, Arlo would have slapped her own hand over her mouth to keep the words from escaping.
“Do you know who killed Haley?” All the ladies were on their feet and coming toward them, but it was Helen who spoke.
“Now, ladies.” Mads held up both hands as if in surrender. Like that was going to happen. “This is an official, ongoing police investigation.”
“But you’re letting Arlo have the books, and you wouldn’t let her have them before,” Fern pointed out.
Just then Jason came back into the shop carrying the remaining two boxes. He sat them with the others and stood next to his chief.
Mads turned back to Arlo. “We’ve checked through the books thoroughly, and there’s nothing in them to assist in our investigation.”
“Thank you, Chief.” She resisted the urge to salute him.
And he knew it. Mads shot her a wry look in response to her cheek.
“Speaking of the investigation,” Fern said. “How close are you to making an arrest in young Haley’s murder case?”
Mads looked over to Jason for the answer.
The chief officer stuttered a bit, then finally found the words. “We’re closing in. Yeah. Getting close now. Got a few more leads to follow up. Fingerprints. DNA. You know the stuff.”
“So tomorrow?” Helen pressed. “Next week?”
Jason cleared his throat. “Soon,” was all he said.
Fern geared up to ask another question, but Mads beat her to the punch. “I’ll leave you to it then.” He turned on his heel, but stopped at the door. “By the way,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Haley Adams’s funeral is tomorrow.”
She shook her head. Word hadn’t made it that far. “What time?”
“Ten, I think,” he said; then with a small wave, he and Jason left the shop.
Armed with the news that Mads had just given them, the ladies drifted back toward the reading nook discussing tomorrow’s funeral.
Arlo looked at the stack of boxes that would have to be gone through. At least it would keep her mind busy for a while, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough to completely distract her from investigations, fifty-year-old cold cases, and a friend who might be dating a murderer.
Chapter 9
Tuesday turned out to be the perfect day for a funeral, if there was such a thing. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, but the tears remained bitter and salty.
Mads had finally released the body of Haley Adams so the family could bury the poor girl. Arlo was glad. She’d never had such a loss but knew that the Adams surely needed closure if they were to move on. Killer found or not.
Arlo and Chloe sat in the back row of the folding chairs covered by the tent top as Rufus Campbell, the pastor of the Free Will Baptist Church, talked about life cut short and the tragedies that those left behind had to deal with. The women of the book club flanked them. And still others milled behind, standing on the real grass instead of the turf that had been brought out for the occasion. Most of the crowd were high school students, friends with Haley or her sister, Courtney. Haley might’ve already graduated, but she still had a lot of buddies in town. Arlo figured the school had given the students a pass for the day to miss their classes and come to the funeral. Arlo was certain that some had come out just to skip school, but all the faces she saw wore sad expressions. But none sadder than that of Dylan Wright, Haley’s longtime boyfriend.
He stood next to Courtney, Haley’s sister, their hands clasped together as the pastor spoke. They stood among a group of older kids, no doubt Haley’s friends from Ole Miss. The number of young people at the funeral just went to show how many lives Haley had touched and how far-reaching the grief.
Arlo and Chloe made the decision to close the store for the funeral, out of respect and so they could all attend. Now that she was there, Arlo was so glad that she had made that decision.
As far as Arlo could see, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. A few of the young people said things about Haley, but Arlo noticed that Courtney kept her seat. She didn’t know if the young girl didn’t like public speaking or if she was too choked up to do much more than cry.
The pallbearers presented the family with their boutonnieres as a keepsake, and Brother Campbell said his final prayer. Announcement was made that there were cookies and punch in the fellowship hall of the church, which sat just to the north of the cemetery, but only the boys made a beeline for the refreshments. Everyone else milled around, offering their condolences to the family, placing a random rose on the grave, or even just taking the occasion to visit with those they hadn’t seen in a while.
Chloe gave Arlo’s arm a small tug. “I’m going over to talk to Haley and Courtney’s parents.”
Arlo nodded in return. “Give them my condolences as well.”
Her best friend slipped away, and Arlo was left alone with the Friday night book club ladies. Thankfully now was not the time to talk to Camille about Joe, but the woman kept shooting Arlo furtive glances as if the two of them shared a secret. And she supposed they did. A big one.
“I just don’t understand it,” Fern said.
Camille shrugged delicately. “What’s not to understand? You’ve been going around in overalls. Those are quite androgynous.”
Helen lifted one brow. “Androgynous?”
Camille sniffed. “It’s a word.”
Helen shook her head. “I know it’s a word. But do you really think overalls are androgynous?” Arlo just couldn’t imagine they were having this conversation at thi
s time.
“I just don’t understand why girls don’t want to look like girls and boys don’t want to look like boys.”
She shot a pointed look at the teens who remained circled around Courtney.
It was true; Arlo had never noticed it before. Or maybe it was because all of the jock/football player types had headed in for the food that was offered. When they were in the mix, it wasn’t so obvious. However, now that they were gone, all that remained outside were the artistic kids that went to Sugar Springs High School. Boys and girls alike wore cardigans, various colored jeans—though none wore blue—and those flat skater shoes that seem to be so popular these days. Some of the boys had long hair, longer than some of the girls. Some of the girls had short hair, shorter than some of the boys. And almost every one of them had some sort of color mixed in somewhere.
“And not one of them wore a dress,” Fern complained.
“Again…overalls,” Camille said.
“Not at a funeral.” Fern swept an arm down her outfit. She was back in one of her staple housedresses, navy blue with tiny little tan flowers, which matched perfectly to her tan compression stockings and tan running shoes. A floppy hat, as she had been wearing lately, was replaced with the small straw bowler type that boasted a big red poppy on one side.
Camille gave a nod of approval.
“I just don’t understand their hair,” Fern said, once again eyeing the group of teenagers. “There are just so many colors involved.”
Camille laughed. “Your hair is blue.”
Helen caught Arlo’s expression and looked down at her own purple-tipped braid.
Arlo smiled and gave a small shrug.
“What we should really be concerned about is why Judith Whitney didn’t come.” Camille pressed her lips together, a sure sign of her disapproval.
“I don’t think Judith could’ve made it,” Helen said. “Even if she had wanted to, I can’t imagine that her doctor would let her out of the house having only had a stroke a few weeks ago.”
Fern shrugged. “I suppose it depends on how bad the stroke really was.”
“Bad,” Arlo said. “If what I’m hearing is true.” And she was fairly certain that most of it was. Small towns tended to exaggerate but usually got the main details correct. And those were that Judith could neither walk nor speak. She couldn’t sit up on her own or feed herself. She was completely immobile. Even if only half of that was true, Arlo couldn’t imagine Judith coming to a funeral.
“Isn’t that her butler?” Helen asked. She nodded toward a group of people standing close and talking amongst themselves. It was Roberts, the man with the snooty attitude who had been at the mansion the day Haley had died.
“You’ve been watching too much Downton Abbey,” Arlo accused lightly. “He’s not a butler, remember? He wanted to be called house manager.”
Helen shrugged. “And there’s no such thing as too much Downton Abbey.”
“Who is that he’s with?” Fern asked. She squinted and lifted the glasses that hung from a beaded chain around her neck.
Arlo glanced back over to where the butler/house manager stood with his group of co-workers. Pam stood at his side, and as far as she could tell, everyone around him worked at Lillyfield.
“That’s Pam. The nurse or nutritionist or whatever they’re calling her,” Helen said.
“No. That other man.” Camille all but pointed at the shorter man standing next to the others from Lillyfield. “He looks sort of familiar.”
He did, and Arlo had to do a double take. He had a gleaming bald head that shone in the sunlight like polished marble, and he had tattoos. A lot of tattoos—over his head and neck, across the backs of his hands—though these were more colorful than the ones she had seen on Camille’s Joe.
Was he the man she had seen at the mansion? The man exiting the elevator with Roberts? If he was, then that would put Joe in the clear. But she hadn’t gotten a good enough look at the man to tell.
“That’s Dutch,” Helen said.
“You’ve met him?” Fern demanded. “How do you know him?”
Helen shrugged. “Chefs have to stick together.”
“How come you’ve never mentioned this?” Fern paused, eyes narrowed. “His mama named him Dutch?”
“I’m sure it’s a nickname,” Arlo said. Then again…her parents and named her after a folksinger.
“He looks…” Fern started but trailed off.
Arlo was glad. He looked too much like Joe, though Fern had no idea, and Arlo wasn’t sure how Camille would take the criticism. Then again, she might not have even made the connection.
“I heard he spent time in prison,” Fern said.
Great.
“I didn’t think you knew who he was,” Helen pointed out.
“I know him by name, not by sight.” Fern flipped a hand toward him and the other Lillyfield employees.
“If he spent time in prison,” Fern started.
“He could be the killer.” Helen finished for her.
Double great.
“Just because he’s been in prison does not mean he’s a killer.” Arlo needed to remember those words herself. As far as she knew, Dutch, the cook from Lillyfield, had been an upstanding part of the Sugar Springs community for many years now. Well, he hadn’t caused any trouble, anyway. Like the rest of the household, he mainly kept to himself.
“But they say the killer always returns to the scene of the crime,” Camille said.
“This isn’t the scene,” Arlo pointed out, sweeping an arm toward the cemetery.
“But it’s sort of like that,” Fern protested.
“I think she’s right,” Helen said. “It’s in all the shows. Someone dies, and the killer comes to the funeral, all sneaky like.”
“But he’s not sneaking,” Arlo said. She wished she had Chloe for backup, but she was still talking with Courtney’s family. “He’s standing there, side by side with Pam and the not-butler.” And he was looking into the grave as if he had lost his best friend.
“I don’t know,” Fern said in an almost singsong voice. “It seems pretty suspicious to me.”
“You were just suspicious of the teenagers’ hair,” Arlo pointed out. But the ladies were too far gone to pay her much mind.
“As far as I’m concerned, he’s our number one suspect,” Fern said.
“Do you think we should tell Mads?” Helen asked.
Arlo sighed. Her guardian was usually the voice of reason, but lately she seemed to have lost her stable footing. “No, we should not tell Mads. Just because you think someone might be a killer doesn’t mean you should go tell the police.” She couldn’t believe she even had to say the words.
Thankfully Camille nodded. “I agree with Arlo. I don’t think he did it.”
“But he looks so—” Fern flicked a hand in his direction, unable to come up with the words to adequately describe him. Not that they needed it.
“Looks can be deceiving,” Camille said.
“She’s right,” Arlo said.
“And just because he attended the funeral doesn’t mean he has any sort of connection to the murder. They did work together,” Camille added.
“And Haley was a real sweet girl,” Helen added.
“He seems awfully attached to her.” Fern didn’t take her eyes off the man as she spoke. He did seem overly upset by the entire matter.
As they watched, the big, bald cook with his many colorful tattoos pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbed his eyes. Of all of them, except for maybe the pastor, he was dressed the most appropriately for the funeral. The man had donned a black suit, white shirt, and gray tie that reflected the somber day.
“Maybe they were friends.” But even to her own ears it sounded strange.
Why would the two of them have been friends? It didn’t appear that the
y had anything at all in common; the man was old enough to be her father. Or maybe the question was why wouldn’t they have been friends? They worked in the same household. Haley’s father was a good man, but perhaps Dutch offered less biased advice to the young med student.
The questions and reasons jumbled around in Arlo’s head until they were as tangled as a ball of yarn after a cat attack.
Did Dutch have anything to do with Haley’s murder? That was the real question.
* * *
“When is the big move?” Fern asked a little later that same afternoon.
Arlo returned to the bookstore immediately after the funeral, still wearing her slim black pencil skirt and sleek kitten heels. That morning she had donned a white button-down with crisp darts in the front. The ensemble broke her three major rules for work—uncomfortable shoes, skirt, and white. White anything in a bookstore that handled used books as well as new was a big no-no. As far as she was concerned anyhow. Nothing stayed white there long. Uncomfortable shoes went without saying, though more often than not she found herself in love with a pair that was inappropriate for work, and she bought them and wore them regardless. A shortish skirt was a disaster waiting to happen with all the ladders in the place.
But she hadn’t taken the time to go home and change. Chloe had stayed with Haley’s family a little longer, with Fern promising to look after the coffee bar. Arlo wasn’t sure how much traffic she would get after such a solemn occasion, but she couldn’t sell any books—or coffee—if she wasn’t open.
“Jayden, you mean?” Arlo asked. That was the only move she could remember as looming on the horizon, Jayden moving into the little cottage with Chloe.
“That’s the one,” Fern said. Of the Friday night book club, Fern was the only one to return to the Books and More with Arlo. But since no one was stopping in for a drink, she was—under the guise of “helping out”—currently rummaging through one of the donation boxes Arlo had gotten from the mansion.
“The one what?” The male voice spoke from behind her.
Arlo whirled around one hand on her chest. “Seriously, Sam. If you don’t stop sneaking up on me, I’m gonna put a bell on you.”
