by Mary Frame
She glares at me. “I didn’t forget any such thing.”
She doesn’t seem to like me very much. Maybe I shouldn’t ask any more questions.
“Plus, my plant was moved,” she adds.
“Which plant is that?” Jared asks.
“The one in the front entry.” She nods in the direction of the door and we both turn to look at a table with a small cactus in a colorful pot. “It’s always right there, but when I woke up, someone had moved it to the floor.”
“Did it seem like maybe someone had knocked it down, accidentally?” I ask.
“No.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t spilled or anything, and it wasn’t right next to the table, either. It was over by the wall.” She points to the wall opposite the door.
“Were there any other objects moved around or anything at all that might be helpful?”
She shrugs. “I don’t think so. Oh, there was an umbrella in the plant.” She nods.
“An umbrella?”
“Not a real one. One of those little miniature ones, you know, like the kind they put in cocktails.”
Cocktails. First the sword, then the napkin, now this. It has to be linked to Ben’s somehow. But the umbrella . . .
My mind jumbles around with the information I have, trying to piece it together like a puzzle with pieces that don’t quite fit.
Jared is still talking to Mrs. Newsome.
“Thank you for your time. Do you know where we can find Paul right now?”
Her eyes dart from Jared to me and then back again. She chews on her bottom lip.
“Is he here?” Jared asks.
“Maybe.”
“Sheila,” Jared says, his tone warning.
“He can’t come out right now.” She gives us a slow grin. “He’s been a bad boy.”
I wince, visions of old Mr. Newsome tied up somewhere in the house dancing through my mind. It’s not a pretty picture.
Jared shakes his head. “Well, have him call me when he has time, would you?”
She smiles and takes the card.
Back in the patrol car, I can’t help but laugh. “They are something else.”
“I know.” He starts the car and pulls out of the small driveway. “But it’s worked for them for almost thirty years.”
“How long have they been ‘separated’?” I make air quotes around the last word.
“I don’t know exactly. Maybe five years. Paul bought a small cabin outside of town, but I don’t think he’s ever there.”
I nod and we lapse into a comfortable silence. I’m still thinking about the possible connections between the incidents and Ben. I should say something to Jared; maybe he can help put the pieces together. But in order to keep up the pretense of Ruby, I don’t want to say anything until I know more.
Jared drops me off at the shop, and I take the case file with me. “I want to go through your notes again,” I say as an excuse.
What I really want to see are the dates.
Once he’s gone, I go up to the office and peruse the file, searching for the dates of each incident. All of them—with the exception of the incident here at Ruby’s—happened on Thursday nights.
The break-in here was a Tuesday. But it’s the only anomaly, and it might be because the persons who broke in here were the parents, while the other incidents are connected.
Thursdays. Hmmm. Thursdays.
Mocktail night, Ben told us during trivia.
Are one or more of the old people who go to the mocktail night breaking into people’s houses? Why? Are they getting drunk on the sly?
Even if they are, why would they then break in to people’s houses and do . . . nothing? Except track in dirt and freak people out by cleaning their dishes or putting random items in the freezer.
I should talk to Ben to get more information. I call Tabby first.
“Hey,” she answers.
“Hey, do you know where Ben is?”
“Nope. And it’s awesome. I told him what I told you, you know, about how I’m not his little bitch, and he super stinks, and he can’t make out with me anymore.”
“You were never his little bitch.”
“Close enough.”
“What did he say when you told him?”
She huffs into the phone. “He doesn’t believe me. He thinks I’m overreacting and everything will stay the same and I’m gonna let him stick his stupid tongue down my throat the next time we’re at the bar, but Ruby, I’m telling you, it’s not going to happen. Anyway, that was a couple days ago and I haven’t even thought about him since,” she says, her voice proud.
“That’s great, Tabby.”
“Well, maybe I’ve thought about him a little, but it was only because I was trying to find something to clean my toilet and I found his toothbrush and used that.”
I laugh. “That’s one way to get over someone.”
“Yeah. So why do you need Ben?”
“It’s for the case.”
“Is he a suspect? Because I want to go to the jail and heckle him if he gets arrested.”
“He’s not a suspect,” I say. “He might have some info we could use, though.”
“Bummer. He’s probably at work. They do inventory every Friday.”
“I’ll try him there. Thanks, Tabby. And Tabby?”
“Yeah?”
“You deserve someone who will treat you like a princess. I think he really does care about you, but he’s gotten so used to being able to rely on you, too. Make him work for it, but if you really care about him, don’t be afraid to give in. Once he’s proven himself, of course.”
She’s quiet for a moment and then she sighs. “I know. Thanks, Ruby.”
We hang up and then I dial the number for Ben’s. He is there, but he’s doing inventory, like Tabby said. He’ll come by the shop when he’s done.
I spend some time reviewing the tapes from the general store.
I have the file playing in fast forward, not really anticipating seeing anything of importance. But then something catches my eye. I stop the recording and rewind, then hit play, watching the scene more carefully.
The camera is facing the front checkout counter. The woman in line is the one who caught my eye. She looks like nearly everyone else in town, gray hair, old, and slightly hunched over, but she’s wearing high heels.
And not just any high heels. Those are a top-of-the-line, eight-hundred-dollar pair of Jimmy Choos. Old people don’t wear those shoes. They have bad hips and knees and wear orthopedic flats.
That’s not an old lady. That’s my mother.
I pause the tape and peer at it closer. She’s wearing a wig. I press play and watch her fake an arthritic shuffle.
My heart thumps dully in my chest. I thought they were here, I knew they were, but part of me had hoped I was wrong.
Where have they been hiding?
A pounding downstairs derails my thoughts.
Shutting off the computer monitor, I hasten downstairs.
Ben’s the one knocking. That was way faster than I thought it would be.
“Hey,” he says when I open the door and let him into the shop. “Is Tabby okay?” He pulls his baseball cap off his head, holding it in front of him.
Is that why he came straight over here? He’s worried about Tabby? “She’s fine. I called you about the case, actually.”
His arms fall to the side, the ball cap in one hand. “Oh. Right. Yeah. That’s what you said on the phone but I thought . . . whatever.” He shakes his head. “How can I help?”
I tilt my head at him. His face is scruffier than normal, and he has gray smudges underneath his eyes. He looks like hell. I knew he would miss Tabby, but I wonder if he even realizes how much he needs her. And with that thought, an idea emerges.
I did want to help Tabby, after all.
“Come with me.”
He follows me into the reading room, where I have him sit across from me.
“I need you to close your eyes,” I tell him.
“Trust me.”
He finally complies, his eyes falling shut, although his shoulders are still tense.
“Now I want you to relax.” I keep my voice soothing and low. “Take a deep breath, hold it in. Now release the breath slowly.” I perform the motions with him, letting him hear my own breathing to help him comply and relax himself. “Imagine all your worries leaving your body along with your breath.” He relaxes even further. It doesn’t take terribly long. If his tired eyes are any indication, he hasn’t been sleeping well.
“Concentrate on the sound and the feel of the air moving in and out of your lungs.”
When nearly all tension has left his body, I reach over and smack him upside the head.
“Hey!” He startles, his eyes flying open. “What was that for?”
“That was for Tabby. And for you. Stop being an idiot.”
He opens his mouth to protest but then shuts it. “You don’t understand.” He frowns, his face the picture of misery.
Except I do. “You love her, and it scares you. You don’t want to lose her and are willing to be just friends if it means having her in your life. Even though that’s not what you really want.”
His eyes widen. “How do you know?”
“Everyone knows, Ben.”
“Everyone?” he whispers.
“Miss Viola knows and she’s half blind and deaf.”
“Does Tabby know?”
“No. She’s almost as big an idiot as you are. But she’s right to push you away. If you truly care about her, you need to let her know and stop screwing around.”
“What do I do?”
“Talk to Tabby. Tell her how you feel.”
“But what if she—”
“Don’t make me smack you again,” I interrupt. “You do love her, right?”
His gaze sharpens on mine, his jaw set. He swallows. “I always have.”
“Then stop making this so difficult. You’re hurting, she’s hurting, you can fix this.”
“Do you really think she’s hurting?”
“You think she doesn’t care about you?”
“I know she cares about me, but you’ve met Tabby. She’s all bright and happy and perfect, and I’m . . . a bartender.”
“That is so lame. You really think she cares about any of that?”
“She should.”
“Maybe you should let her make her own choices.”
He shakes his head and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I am. You need to find a way to show her you care. Show her you’re willing to try. Prove to her you’re not the total jackass you’ve been for the last . . . however many years. You might not be perfect, but you can be perfect for her.”
He nods at me and then his eyes fall to the table. A moment later, he nods again to himself and then his jawline firms. When he meets my eyes again, they are clear and determined.
Maybe something good will come out of this.
“Was this the real reason you called me?”
“No, just part of it. I also need to ask you about something else.”
“What is it?”
“Mocktail night.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“So you’re telling me you think some of our elderly townspeople are drinking nonalcoholic drinks and then breaking into people’s homes?”
“Well, when you put it like that.”
We’re back at Jared’s house. Paige invited Naomi over and they’re swimming in the pool. Their laughter and splashing provides a happy accompaniment while Jared and I talk by the patio kitchen.
I try not to think about what happened in that same pool last week. Jared has been teaching me how to swim—not anything fancy or more than doggy paddling at this point—but every time I get in the water with him, it gets a little bit easier. I even bought a one-piece swimsuit that was on sale at the general store. We are working up to the point where I’ll actually be able to get in and paddle around without his arms holding me, ready to catch me if I falter.
He’s the hottest security blanket I’ve ever had.
“Listen,” I say. “I have a feeling about this. Plus the break-ins are happening on Thursdays and there’s been martini paraphernalia at two of the crime scenes.”
“Yours didn’t happen on a Thursday.”
I bite my lip. I should have known he would remember. “But all the other ones did. And I talked to Ben.”
“Here,” he hands me the spatula, “watch this for a second.” He turns to open the package of cheese on the counter. “What did Ben say?”
I stare at the burgers on the grill, not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing. “He said he hasn’t seen anything stranger than usual at mocktail nights, but he did say he thought it was weird how they all act like they’re really drinking when he knows they aren’t. Maybe we should check it out.”
“Fine.” He turns back around and puts the cheese on the burgers. Once his hands are free, I immediately hand him back the spatula
He takes it with a knowing smile and shuts the lid on the grill. “When’s the next mocktail night?”
I frown, contemplating his question. “It’s not until next Thursday.”
“You in a rush for some reason?”
“No. But . . .” We won’t be here much longer after that. After next week’s Thursday-night mocktails, we’ll have two days. Paige’s last day of school is Friday, they have a half day. Our plan is to sneak away that same night, after the dance.
That leaves a week and some change. That’s it.
I’m still not sure where we’re going, but I think it might end up being as far as the rickety old car will take us. The anxiety is still keeping me awake at night.
“We’ve already been staying with you for over a week. I’m sure you want to get rid of us. Nobody likes houseguests who overstay their welcome, right?” I make a face.
“I don’t know, I’ve been enjoying having someone live with me who’s completely useless in the kitchen. Makes me feel needed and manly.”
I laugh. “Oh yeah, so manly.” I tug on his apron.
Troy got it for him as a gag gift. It has the curvy outline of a woman in a bikini on the front of it—sans head so it looks like it should be his body.
He sways toward me, and we have one of those moments where I think he’s going to kiss me or hug me or something, but before he gets too close, he leans back and then glances over at the girls in the pool.
“Dinner’s ready,” he calls out.
I grab a platter from the counter to the side of the grill and hold it while he loads it up with food. The girls chatter and squeal as they exit the pool.
I focus on the sound, shoving down a huge dose of disappointment. I wanted him to kiss me. I still do. If the girls weren’t watching, I would probably be throwing myself at him right now.
I carry the food to the table a few feet away. The girls help themselves to drinks from the mini fridge, and we all sit down to eat.
The girls chatter about the dance next weekend, how all of the high-school kids in the county are bussed into the same school, and this year it happens to be in Castle Cove. They also chat about how some boy asked Naomi to go with him and she turned him down.
Then Naomi asks, “Are you guys going to the swap meet Sunday?”
“What swap meet?” I ask.
Jared answers. “It’s at the old fairgrounds north of town. Retailers from Castle Cove, Roseburg, and Trinity meet up for a big sale. There is a bunch of stuff, clothes, trinkets, anything you could imagine. We could all go together. You too, Naomi.” He lifts his brows toward her.
Paige and Naomi exchange an excited glance. “Yes!” Paige says.
“I have to check with my grandma,” Naomi says but she’s grinning right along with Paige.
“Do either of you have dates for the dance?” I raise my eyebrows at them.
Paige roll
s her eyes. “No way, all the boys at school are so gross.”
Thank god for that.
Jared catches my relieved look and gives me a wink.
The girls keep the conversation going, and I pretend to listen while I think about the other item on my own agenda, one I haven’t shared even with Paige.
The parents.
Once Ben left the shop earlier, I made some calls and a list of places they might be staying.
If I can find out where they are, maybe I can get ahead of them somehow—figure out what their plan is.
One of their biggest downfalls is how predictable they are when it comes to certain things. Like, they won’t stay anywhere that isn’t ultra classy and high-end. They have a reputation to uphold, and well, they like to have the nicest things possible. Always. That significantly narrows down where they could be staying. It’s possible they’ve rented a house, but there aren’t many places for rent in little Castle Cove—Paige and I got lucky with Ruby’s. More likely, they’re staying at one of the hotels on the beach. There are two, one on the north side of Castle Cove and one a few miles south, outside of town limits.
I called both of the hotels and it only took a few attempts to figure out which hotel they were at. The Seaside Inn, in Castle Cove. They used the same alias they were using at the last place we stayed, which surprised me. The hotel didn’t tell me which room they’re in, they only offered to connect me. I hung up. Then again, maybe it’s not so surprising. They’re confident enough that I won’t go after them and that if I try, I’ll fail.
I’ll have to show them otherwise.
Tomorrow.
~*~
The next day after Jared drops me off, I make my way to The Seaside Inn. It takes me a little over a half an hour to walk there.
It’s a beautiful hotel, towering, white, and pristine. Every room on the backside has beach access. They also have a pool, a spa, and a French restaurant on the ground floor by the lobby.
People outside on the restaurant patio are drinking mimosas and enjoying the late-morning summer sunshine without a care in the world.
Must be nice.
I walk into the elegant front entrance. A few people stand in line at the check-in desk, so I wait my turn while covertly glancing around. There are high ceilings and sprawling windows with ocean views, and the floor has been polished so clean I can see my reflection.
