by Amy Lillard
Camille and Helen nodded.
“Her own physician how?” Sam asked.
“You know for constant care and drugs, maybe even for Botox,” Fern grumped. “How am I supposed to know what the uberwealthy use their personal physicians for?”
“Valid point,” Sam retuned, but Arlo saw the corners of his mouth twitching.
“So you’re saying that Judith was paying for Haley to go to school for ten years or better so she could get free Botox?” Arlo asked.
“Don’t get hung up on the details,” Fern said.
“I thought she was paying for Haley’s school because Judith and Haley’s grandfather had something going on back in the day,” Camille said.
Helen and Fern turned toward her, sharply, as if they couldn’t believe what she had just said. “When and where did you hear that?” they both asked at the same time.
“Last time I was at the beauty parlor of course,” Camille patted the perfect curls at the back of her head.
“We both go to the beauty parlor on Friday, and I didn’t hear anything like that when I was there. And I was there the entire time you were.”
Camille turned pink, not exactly a good color with her mint-green pantsuit. “Maybe I went another time too.”
Helen looked positively betrayed. “When?” she asked. “When did you go?”
“I may have gone back on Monday,” Camille said.
“May have?” Helen’s tone was accusing.
“Yes. A girl has to look her best, you know.”
From her place behind the bar, Chloe sniggered. Arlo shushed her, and thankfully none of the book club ladies heard.
“For Joe, I suppose,” Fern grumbled.
“Of course.” By this time, Camille had returned to her normal color, though Fern was turning a bit red herself now.
“I don’t think that’s the case at all,” Helen said. “I don’t think Judith wants her own doctor, and I don’t believe for a minute that she had an affair with Haley’s grandfather.”
“So why would she pay for her school?” Sam asked. “Assuming that she is indeed paying for it.”
“She’s paying all right,” Fern said.
“Maybe she’s just trying to be kind.”
Everyone stopped.
“Judith Whitney?” Fern scoffed once she had recovered.
“Judith Whitney has never done a kind thing in her life,” Camille said.
“I don’t know,” Chloe put in. “She did adopt a child.”
Baxter. Anastasia’s father.
“Trust me, the woman had an ulterior motive for that one too,” Fern said.
“But all of that doesn’t add up to her granddaughter being slighted enough to kill someone,” Sam pointed out.
“Maybe not for you or me,” Fern said. “But these are the Whitneys we’re talking about.”
Chapter 23
“What about Mary Kennedy?” Arlo asked a little later.
The ladies waved off her question.
“We’ll get back to her,” Helen said. “Right now, we’re working on Dylan.”
“If he’s innocent, he needs to be let out of jail,” Fern said.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Arlo said. “But finding the evidence of his guilt or innocence is up to Jason. And Mads.”
“They’re up to their elbows in calls and false leads.” Fern scoffed. “That’s why it’s important for the citizens to do their part.”
“Book. Club.” Arlo said the words slowly and succinctly.
“That too.” Helen held up her book, filled with little slips of paper and those self-sticking strips to keep the most interesting places marked.
Camille gasped, and all eyes turned to her. “What if this is all a setup?”
Arlo rested her forehead on the shelf in front of her.
Sam came up behind her and squeezed her shoulder. Even with her eyes closed, she could feel his silent laughter.
“OMG,” Fern said. “You might just be right.”
“And they’re off again,” Sam murmured.
“Just as long as they remain in the reading nook and aren’t under Mads’s feet,” Arlo said.
“Or Jason’s.”
“Or Jason’s,” Arlo agreed.
“It makes perfect sense now,” Fern was saying.
“What makes perfect sense?” Arlo asked, but none of the book club ladies were listening to her.
“Great,” Sam said. “Now they believe that Dylan was framed, most probably by the person who killed Haley.”
“Naturally,” Arlo replied.
“And that’s how a sweet kid like Dylan Wright got into such trouble,” Camille intoned.
“What about his confession?” Arlo asked. That got their attention.
“I, for one, believe it was a coerced confession.” Fern gave an emphatic nod. “You see it all the time these days. Police are under pressure to make an arrest, so they find their suspect and basically talk him into believing that he’s guilty and the rest is history.”
“Like the West Memphis Three,” Helen said.
“You were there,” Arlo reminded them. If anyone had coerced Dylan into confessing, it certainly hadn’t been Mads or Jason.
“Do you really believe that Jason was under so much pressure that he found someone and made him think he was guilty? Made him confess? Who would put that kind of pressure on him?” Or Mads?
“The members of the First Baptist for one.” Fern frowned. She and the First Baptist Church had parted ways before Arlo had even moved to town, but she never missed an opportunity to blame them for whatever was wrong. From the heat of the sun to the price of gasoline, as far as Fern was concerned, the First Baptist Church had a hand in it.
“Fern, be serious,” Arlo beseeched.
“I am.” She gave Arlo an innocent look. “That’s where poor Jason goes to church, and I imagine Madge Sanders had a thing or two to say about the matter.”
Madge was one of the few over-eighty crowd who hadn’t shown up for Friday-night-turned-every-day book club. Chances were great that she had heard that Fern was coming and opted out. Yes, their feud was that strong, though Arlo was certain neither one could remember what it was about.
Then again…Fern did have a mind like a steel trap.
And Madge did tend to be a little…strong at times. If she wanted something done, by God she got it done.
“Why would it be so important to Madge?” Arlo asked. Madge might be a force living in Sugar Springs, but she usually had to have a stake in whatever it was before she got involved.
“She lives next door to Dylan,” Helen said. “I’m sure having a murderer so close was a little unnerving.”
“Only if he’s truly guilty,” Arlo said. “If he isn’t—and I don’t think he is—then the real murderer is still out running around.”
Everyone stopped.
“We have to do something.” Helen was on her feet in a heartbeat. “We have to do something now.”
“Like?” Camille stood, and Fern followed suit.
“We could go down to the police station and demand that Mads let Dylan go,” Helen suggested.
“Please,” Arlo begged. “Don’t.”
Chloe checked her watch. “I have to get Jayden from school.” She shot Arlo a forgive me look but went to retrieve her purse.
Arlo waved her away. “Go. Get your boy.”
The ladies started shuffling around the reading nook deciding what to take and what to leave behind when they walked down to the police station.
“I could go with them if you want,” Sam said.
Arlo nearly wilted in relief. “Would you? I promised Mads I would keep them off Lillyfield grounds, but I have a feeling he really meant that I needed to keep them fully in check.”
Sam chuckled. “Yeah,
good luck with that.”
* * *
Jayden was seated at the coffee bar doing his homework when the ladies and Sam returned to the Books and More.
Sam’s phone rang right as he walked into the door. He checked the screen, then shot Arlo an apologetic look as he motioned that he had to take the call. She nodded and he headed back out onto the presummer sunshine.
“That took a while,” Arlo said as the ladies drew near.
“Well, you know Mads,” Helen said. She settled down in the reading nook.
“Where’s Sam?” Fern asked, looking around.
Arlo nodded toward the window, where they could just see Sam pacing back and forth as he listened to the person on the other end. “Phone call.”
“What did you find out?” Chloe asked.
“They’ve already released Dylan. A clerk at the jewelry store where he bought a promise ring with Courtney’s help confirmed Courtney’s story,” Camille said.
Arlo frowned. “What I don’t understand is why he didn’t tell that story earlier.” It was almost as if he was willing to go to prison rather than tell the truth. And if Courtney hadn’t stepped up, then that truth would still be unknown. The whole thing was strange.
“It’s weird, I tell you.” Fern settled back in her place on the couch.
“Weirdo! Weirdo!” Faulkner called.
“I agree,” Helen said.
“And I stand by the theory that it’s a setup. Dylan was a patsy for someone,” Fern added.
“The question is who,” Camille chimed in.
“It is not a setup,” Arlo protested. “He’s not taking the fall.”
“So how do you explain the false confession and him not telling the whole truth when Mads arrested him?” Helen asked.
“I can’t explain it. But things like what you’re talking about just don’t happen in places like Sugar Springs. Or in real life even.”
“‘Truth is stranger than fiction,’” Camille quoted.
“There you go.” Fern gave a satisfied nod. “You can’t argue with Mark Twain.”
“Actually, it was Lord Byron,” Camille said.
Fern frowned as if Camille had committed a grievous error. “You’re an Aussie; what do you know about Missouri philosophers? That was Mark Twain.”
“‘’Tis strange—but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction; if it could be told, How much would novels gain by the exchange!’” Camille nodded in satisfaction.
“Looks like we’ve got a second Revolutionary War waging.” Chloe chuckled softly.
“I know how to solve this.” Arlo made her way over to the large quote book she had in the living section. But before she could even find the page the quote would be on, Helen spoke.
“‘Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; truth isn’t.’ Mark Twain said that.” Helen held up her phone for all to see.
Fern gave a satisfied grunt. “See?”
“But Lord Byron said Camille’s quote a few years before Twain was even born,” Helen continued.
“Score one for down under!” Camille raised her hands in victory.
“I thought Lord Byron was British,” Chloe said.
“I don’t think it matters to them,” Arlo replied.
Chloe nodded. “Right.”
“Exactly.” Arlo reshelved the book.
“Look at you, using your phone like a seasoned professional.” Camille smiled, obviously still tickled at winning the quote war.
Helen stood and took a bow.
Arlo returned to the reading nook as the bell over the door rang. She turned toward the sound expecting to see Sam coming in after his call, but it was Joe Foster who stepped into Books and More.
“Joe.” Camille stood. “What are you doing here?”
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I was down at the police station.”
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her voice heavy with concern.
“Yeah, just…you know. They wanted to question me about Haley.”
Camille pressed her lips together and shook her head, her frustration evident as she asked, “Why would they need to talk to you again?”
“You know, just normal stuff.”
“No, I don’t know.” Camille’s agitation grew.
“You just went down there and told Mads that he had the wrong suspect,” Arlo said. “What did you expect him to do?”
“Not bring my…friend in for questioning. Again.”
“It’s no problem, Camille.” Joe wrung his hands, obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation.
“It is. The only reason they brought you in was because of how you look. And that’s discrimination.” Camille propped her hands on her hips as if daring anyone to disagree with her.
She was right, of course, but at the same time, Arlo wondered how men like Jason and Mads, Sam even, started a successful investigation.
“He’s just kicking over rocks,” Arlo said. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard Mads call it.” Or maybe it was Sam.
Camille turned to Arlo with a frown. “Rocks? What are you talking about?”
“He’s investigating,” Helen explained. “Leave no stone unturned.”
“I suppose you want to credit that to Mark Twain as well.” Camille shot a pointed look at Fern.
“Greek mythology.” Helen raised her phone as if they could all see the screen.
“All I’m saying is he’s probably looking at everyone and everything.” Arlo replied.
“Then why wasn’t I called in? Or Chloe? Or Helen?” Camille asked.
“Camille,” Joe protested.
He really was a sweet man, prison tats and scary appearance aside. But the fact that Joe had been in prison, came to town, and then a young girl was killed was enough to warrant at least a little investigation into his whereabouts on the day in question.
“Really. I mean it. If he’s questioning everyone, then he should be questioning everyone.”
“He is,” Joe said. His voice had turned strangely quiet for such a large man. “Everyone who happened to be at Lillyfield that day.”
Camille whirled to face him fully. She turned so fast it almost made Arlo dizzy. “What are you talking about?”
“I was at the mansion the day Haley died.”
Camille blinked as if that would better help her process the information.
“I knew it!” Arlo couldn’t stop the words from escaping her.
“You knew what?” Helen asked.
“What were you doing at the mansion? You have no reason to go out there,” Camille continued.
“I knew I saw Joe. Well, I thought it was Joe. Now I know for certain,” Arlo said, turning to Helen.
“Joe?” Camille prompted.
“I was there on a personal matter.”
And definitely not to tour the house and grounds.
“A personal matter?” Camille looked as if she had been punched square in the gut. “Can you explain that to me?”
Joe stared at his hands for a moment, then settled his attention back on Camille. “No.” One word. Short, sweet, simple. Final.
“I see.” Camille’s voice turned cold, and Joe took the hint.
“I guess I should be going.” He let out a nervous-sounding chuckle. “I’ll let you ladies get on with your book club meeting.” He leaned in to give Camille a kiss, but she turned her face, and his buss landed on her cheek.
For a moment, Arlo thought he might say something. Then that moment was gone. Another moment passed, and so was he.
Camille looked around at all of them, even the few customers who had witnessed the exchange. “Why do I feel like I’m the only one in the room who doesn’t know the secret?”
“No one’s got any secre
ts,” Fern said. “You’re just being overly sensitive. No wonder, since lover boy has been stringing you along.”
“Stringing me along?” Camille looked to Helen to see if she felt the same about Joe.
“Maybe,” Helen said with a shrug.
The door leading to the third-floor staircase opened, and Sam stepped into the shop. “Hey,” he said, by way of greeting.
“I didn’t expect you to come in that way,” Arlo explained.
He nodded. “I needed my computer, so I went up the side staircase.”
Something was wrong, really wrong judging by Sam’s pained expression.
“What is it?” Arlo asked.
He sighed, then moved toward the reading area. Arlo followed while Chloe came out from behind the coffee bar to join them. She leaned behind Helen’s chair. Fern was still sitting, and Camille still hovered.
“You’re going to want to sit down for this,” Sam said.
Camille shook her head. “I don’t think I want to know.” But she sat anyway.
“Once you started seeing Joe, Arlo came to me and asked me to check into him.”
“But you couldn’t find out anything older than six months ago,” Arlo said.
Sam took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. At least it seemed slow to Arlo. Why was he just sitting there breathing and not explaining? “I just had a lead that panned out.”
“And?” Arlo asked. She seemed more anxious than anyone else to find out just who Joe was. Maybe because on some level she felt responsible for the ladies in her book club.
“Joe Foster is really Jeff Kennedy.”
“Kennedy?” Helen muttered. “Jeff Kennedy?”
“As in Mary Kennedy’s husband?” Fern screeched.
Sam nodded. “As in Mary Kennedy’s husband.”
Chapter 24
“Wait, wait, wait,” Fern said.
Camille sat still as a statuette.
Helen’s mouth fell open. “Mary Kennedy of Missing Girl?”
“Mary Kennedy who disappeared over forty years ago,” Sam amended.
Fifty, but no one bothered to correct him.
Fern rubbed at her temples. “I can’t process this.”
Camille looked as if she was having the same problem. “Joe is Jeff,” she muttered. “Not who he said he was at all.” She turned to Arlo and Sam. “Why would he lie about that?”
