It's Just a Little Crush

by Caroline Fardig

  “So what are you two beautiful ladies giggling about?” a smooth voice asks.

  Startled, we turn to find Blake Morgan sitting at our table. “Blake!” I shriek, a little too loudly. (I’m on my second drink now.) “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” he retorts smoothly with a glimmer in his eye. Uh-oh. I hope he doesn’t start running his mouth and fill Julia in on my lunch trip. He’s back to his old self again, which makes me a little edgy. And hot. “So, where are your menfolk tonight?” he continues, flashing his best debonair smile.

  “This is a girls’ night, Blake. No boys allowed,” says Julia firmly. “Shoo.”

  Blake grabs his chest in mock pain. “On behalf of boys everywhere, I’m hurt.” He turns to me. “So, Hart, did Samuel Harper confess when you accused him of murder today during your lunch break?” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are blazing.

  Julia chokes on her margarita. “You did WHAT?”

  Blake Morgan just officially made my shit list. I manage to answer her through gritted teeth, glaring at Blake, “Seems that Blake and I both left our wallets at the fair last night and went looking for them at lunchtime.” Did he follow me and eavesdrop on my conversation with Samuel?

  Blake presses on, smile fading, “So what did he say? Did you catch the killer, Nancy Drew?”

  “We talked about his daughter’s entry for decorated cakes. That’s all,” I lie, leaning back and crossing my arms.

  He nods his head. “Mm-hmm.” Then, suddenly, he jumps out of his chair and says, with his smile and deep sexy voice firmly back in place, “Forgive me for crashing your party, ladies. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” And with that, he strides away and out the door.

  “What the hell was all that?” Julia shrieks. “You thought you’d just swing by on your lunch hour and question the man you believe committed a murder last night? All by yourself? Are you crazy?”

  I flag down our waiter and order another round. We’re gonna need it. I try to calm my voice before I reply, “It was at the fair. There were tons of people around.”

  “That is so not the point!” she huffs.

  “Hey, I found out he didn’t do it, okay? So I really wasn’t questioning a murderer after all.”

  “You didn’t know that at the time!”

  “Someone had to do something. The police aren’t exactly cracking this case.”

  “There is no case. It was an accident, especially if all of your circumstantial evidence pointed to Samuel and then you found out he didn’t do it.”

  Well, she has me there. But, I still don’t like the way this is playing out. Something is missing. I just have to find it.

  “So can you please leave this alone now?” Julia pleads.

  “Fine. I will. For now.” But only because I don’t have any other leads at the moment.

  “Good. Ooh! More margaritas!” she exclaims as our waiter brings round three. “To no more talking about this tonight,” she says, lifting her glass.

  “I’ll drink to that.” I smile as I clink my glass with hers.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Yuck. I was dreaming about choking on a giant dirty cotton ball. Oh, hell. That wasn’t a dream—it’s what my mouth actually feels like. Morning-after margarita breath is the worst. Tragically, it seems I didn’t bother to brush my teeth last night. It’s going to take me a week to scrub this ass-taste out of my mouth. As I try to lift my fuzzy head off my pillow, I try to remember exactly how I got home and into bed last night. I’m still wearing my tube top, but minus the shrug, and no pants. No pants? I gasp and look around, alarmed that I might have had more fun last night than I’d planned. I find my pants and shoes in the bathroom, and I double-check to make sure my bed is empty. Whew! At least in my drunken state I didn’t bring home some random guy, not that I’ve ever done that, but it could happen, right? Now I very vaguely remember not feeling like putting my pants back on after using my bathroom during the night. Ugh. Day Three of not nearly enough sleep before work, here I come. My mind-numbing grief has been replaced by a wicked hangover. I’m grateful for the improvement.

  When I arrive at work, everyone is quiet, just like yesterday. The upside for me is that there’s no staring today. I wonder if that was also discussed in the meeting yesterday. I can hear Sarah now: “If everyone would please quit staring at Lizzie. It’s giving her a complex.” Despite my hangover, I have actually made it to work on time, so I’ll get to see Blake’s daily 9:07 grand entrance. However, I can’t see me having a Blake-vision episode today after what that rat bastard did to me last night at Cantina del Sol. Upon Blake’s entry, I feel nothing. Finally. I am officially out from under his spell.

  Work is actually quite normal today, aside from the deafening silence. I’m able to catch up on the work I missed yesterday afternoon, and Julia, Hank, and I go to lunch down the block at Sam’s Tavern. Sam’s—as in Sam Adams, which is what it used to be called until the beer company trademarked the name and made The Sam Adams Tavern change its name to just Sam’s Tavern.

  Not surprisingly, the town of Liberty is full of cutesy Americana-themed stores and restaurants, but Sam’s is a real-live gritty tavern with the best pub food in town. Hank and I always share the fried combo appetizer, and Julia always sits there and tells us how bad it is for us until she finally breaks down and eats every crumb we leave behind. I don’t know why she doesn’t just join us from the beginning, before the food gets all cold and soggy. Going to lunch and getting to talk and laugh with Julia and Hank is the perfect getaway from all the doom and gloom at the office. That is, until Hank brings up my little trip to the fairgrounds yesterday.

  “I heard you got a new job,” Hank deadpans at me.

  “Huh?” I ask, not following.

  “I heard you’re a private eye now.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Says who?”

  “Blake.”

  What is Blake doing talking to Hank about me? A couple of days ago I would have been on cloud nine to hear that Blake even mentioned me to someone else. Now, however, it’s pissing me off. “Did he tell you he has a new hobby?” I ask icily.

  “What?” asks Hank.

  “Stalking.”

  “Hmm. Sounds to me like there’s not a lot of difference between the two. Who have you guys been peepin’ at?”

  “Blake’s been peeping at me, and not in a good way.”

  “I thought that’d get you all hot and bothered. Didn’t I catch you and McUncool drooling over him a couple of days ago?”

  “That was a couple of days ago.”

  He shakes his head. “Ah, the fickle female.”

  “Can we quit talking about Blake now?”

  “Whatever floats your boat. You never said who you were peepin’ at.”

  “I was not peeping. I was trying to find out if Samuel Harper had anything to do with Hannah’s death.”

  Julia explains, “She thinks Hannah was murdered and that it’s her job to catch the killer.”

  “If the police refuse to do anything about it, someone has to take up the slack!” I exclaim.

  “Get it through your head, Lizzie. It was not a murder.”

  “Were you there?” I fire back.

  “No, but the police were!” she retorts a little too loudly, getting stares from the people at the table beside us.

  “Will you chicks quit your bickering? It’s giving me indigestion,” Hank interjects, belching noisily.

  I ask him, “Did Blake tell you whether he believes there was any foul play?”

  He shrugs. “He’s been pretty fired up since that night, but all he’s said to me about it was that you were snooping around the fairgrounds yesterday.”

  “Did he actually use the word ‘snooping’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hrumpf,” I snort, crossing my arms.

  Snooping. I was so not snooping. I was investigating—and doing a damn good job of it, too. I got Samuel Harper to spill his guts, didn’t I? Granted
, it turned out he was innocent, which leaves me with no other suspects, but I was able to get the whole story out of him easily. I’ll show Blake. I’m going to interview every one of Hannah’s friends tonight when I take them their Cutie Paws orders, and then I’m going to interview her husband. I should be able to get plenty of leads on her killer from all of them. I’ll solve this whole case by myself and then we’ll see who’s “snooping”!

  After lunch it’s back to silence in the office, which is actually kind of good for me while I do my editing. I’m able to get so far ahead in my work that I can take a little time to think about who else might have had something against Hannah. I’m coming up with nothing. Everyone seemed to like her. The only time I’ve ever heard her argue with someone besides Samuel Harper was with Blake.

  Blake. Wait a minute! She and Blake were arguing a lot that night at the fair! Could this be a coincidence? Surely Blake couldn’t be capable of… No. There’s no way. I glance over at him. He’s focused on his computer screen with a serious expression on his face. The wheels start turning in my head. What do I really know about Blake Morgan? I only know what he’s like at work, which is pretty normal except for the last couple of days. I know what I’ve heard through the grapevine about his love life, which is allegedly sordid, but that’s no crime. I also know that he’s particularly interested in my whole Samuel Harper angle (now debunked) on Hannah’s death, so interested that he was stalking me last night to get a chance to ask me about it. And, I still don’t know what he was doing at the fair yesterday—obviously not searching for his allegedly missing wallet. Was it a coincidence or did he follow me there, too? I sneak another peek at Blake, and this time I find him staring back at me. I quickly look away, ducking my head and fluffing my hair out to shield my face from his gaze. This is getting spooky. Normally you wouldn’t peg a hot guy as a stalker—you’d find his attention flattering, not psychotic. Girls only call guys “stalkers” if they’re undateable. Blake is definitely dateable, but maybe not so much if he turns out to be a murderer. I may need to keep my eye on him.

  ***

  After work, I begin my task of delivering Hannah’s friends’ Cutie Paws orders. These ladies were incredibly gossipy at Hannah’s party, so I’m sure I can find out plenty from them about anyone who might have had it out for Hannah. I may even be able to glean a little more info about Blake.

  I arrive at Karen Fraley’s house first. If I remember correctly from the party, they went to yoga class together. I knock on the door, and she answers immediately.

  “Hi, Karen. I’m Lizzie Hart. I was the Cutie Paws consultant for Hannah’s party. I wanted to deliver your order. I’m so sorry about your friend,” I say all in a rush. I guess I’m more nervous about this than I realized.

  “Thanks. I still can’t believe what happened,” Karen says sadly.

  “I know. We all really miss her at work.”

  “Oh! You’re the one who found her! How horrible for you. Are you doing okay?”

  “Yeah, well, no. I just feel like there was something more to it. I…I…think it might not have completely been an accident,” I say tentatively.

  Karen’s eyes get big. “You mean…you think someone did this to her?”

  I backpedal, not wanting to freak her out, “I’m not sure, I just have a feeling. Do you know of anyone who would want to harm Hannah?”

  “No. Everyone loved her.”

  “Did she mention anything out of the ordinary lately, something that struck you as odd?”

  “Not really. I do know that she’d been preoccupied lately. She couldn’t seem to concentrate and focus on her poses during our yoga class. She also missed a whole week of classes about three weeks ago, but the last couple of weeks she was there every time. I just thought maybe things weren’t going well at home or at work.”

  “Yeah,” I sigh as I hand Karen her Cutie Paws bag. “Well, Karen, thanks for the order. Hope you enjoy it!”

  Upon getting back into my car, I realize that I probably should start writing down all of the things I find out from questioning Hannah’s friends. Karen said Hannah had been preoccupied lately and missed a week of yoga class about three weeks ago. That was before she was assigned the Samuel Harper story for work, so that couldn’t be what was on her mind at that time. There had to be something else going on then, and I’m going to find out what.

  The next person on my list is Olivia Watson. She was one of the more talkative ladies in the group, so it should be easy to get information out of her. A little boy answers the door, and he says his mommy is in the shower. Damn! I reluctantly hand over her Cutie Paws bag and tell him to make sure and give it to his mommy when she gets out. That was a dead end. I think I still have a couple of gossipy ladies left, though.

  I try to deliver my items to three more of Hannah’s friends, but none of them are home. Everyone is probably at the fair tonight, especially since the next two days will bring Hannah’s visitation at the funeral home and her funeral. I doubt her friends will be up to going to the fair on those days. I only have a couple of people left on my list, so hopefully they’ll be home—and be talkative.

  As I roll up to Beth Campbell’s house, I can see lights on inside. Yeah! I hurry up to the door and knock. There’s no answer, so I try to peek into the window, hoping no one is watching me. I certainly wouldn’t want to be accused of snooping or peeping. I see movement and hear glass shattering. All of a sudden, a stumbling, slurring Beth Campbell flings the door open. Not what I would have expected of my teacher Mrs. Bennett’s niece, although Mrs. Bennett did say that she would be particularly upset about Audra Downing’s death. Maybe the news about Hannah sent her over the edge.

  “What do you want?” Beth bellows. Oh, boy. It’s Miller time, or rather, whiskey time, from the stench of both her breath and her house.

  “Hi, Beth. I’m Lizzie Hart. I have your Cutie—”

  “I don’t want what you’re selling!” she slurs and begins closing the door.

  I don’t have the time or the patience for this. Not today. “This,” I say as I shove the bag in front of her face, “is yours. You bought it at Hannah’s party.”

  “Hannah?” Beth breathes faintly, gazing at me wide-eyed. Then, she slumps against the doorframe and breaks down into sobs. “Poor Hannah. Poor sweet Hannah. I feel so awful. She didn’t have to do this!”

  “Do what?” I ask, thoroughly confused.

  “Go and kill herself,” she sobs, head in her hands.

  Okay, it’s official. Beth Campbell is a crazy drunk. I don’t recall her being a crazy drunk at the party—in fact, she was rather quiet. She acted the way I thought a partner in an accounting firm would—calm and rational, and frankly, kind of boring. She is none of those things tonight.

  I have to yell to be heard over her overly dramatic boo-hooing. “WHAT? She didn’t kill herself! What are you talking about?”

  “Yes she did, and it’s all my fault!” she wails.

  “Your fault? How could it be your fault?” I demand. Like I said—crazy drunk.

  “Because…because…because I told Hannah that Jed was cheating on her with his secretaries. I knew about Jed and Audra, but Audra and I were friends, and I promised her I wouldn’t tell anybodyyyy.” She stops a moment to wipe her nose on the sleeve of her robe. “Besides, she broke it off with Jed a couple of months ago, and he fired her for it. I thought his two-timing was over, so I didn’t tell Hannah. Then when I caught Jed and his new secretary together in his office, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut any longer. Damned cheater.”

  At this revelation, I’m speechless. She continues, between sniffles, “Do you know how hard it is to keep a secretary when my partner insists on screwing her brains out? He gets tired of them after the new wears off, and then it’s up to me to get him another one. I feel like a…a…pimp!”

  I stifle a giggle at the mental image of Beth Campbell with a big fuzzy hat and a pimp cane procuring a steady parade of mistresses for Jed. Has she seriously not considered
simply telling him “No”?

  I can’t help pointing out, “Why don’t you just hire a male secretary?”

  Beth stares at me, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “Wowww, I never thought about that.”

  I’m afraid all of the booze has fried a brain cell or two in poor Beth’s head. I really need to try to steer this trainwreck of a conversation back to Hannah. “So, back to Hannah. What happened after you told her about Jed’s cheating?”

  Beth continues to stare at me, so I snap my fingers in her face. She breaks out of her trance, mumbling, “Wha…?”

  “I said, ‘What happened after you told her about Jed’s cheating?’”

  “Oh. Uh…Hannah was furious after I told her, and she confronted Jed.”

  “When was this?” I need to try to keep my timetable straight.

  “Ummm…about a month ago.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “After she confronted Jed…she seemed happier for a while, then got really depressed all of a sudden. She told Jed last week she wanted a divorce.” She stops to wipe her nose on her sleeve again. “Jed, of course, never said a word to me about any of it. That jackass.”

  “Oh,” I reply quietly, sad and angry about how much this must have hurt Hannah. “I had no idea about any of this. But, I don’t think that she killed herself. Please don’t blame yourself, Beth.”

  “How would you know?” she snaps.

  “Well, I was with her on the night she died. She ran over to the barn to see her niece’s rabbits, stumbled into the water, and that’s it. She had told me she’d be right back. She wasn’t planning on this happening. I know it.”

  “I need another drink,” Beth slurs as she slams the door in my face.

  I am truly blown away by all that I’ve learned from Beth. That was a serious jackpot of information that the crazy drunk had for me! I hope it’s accurate, considering she had to be close to the point of alcohol poisoning. I should be able to put all the pieces together after my final two deliveries, which are to Hannah’s best friend and Hannah’s cheating husband. They both ought to know something, if I can just get it out of them. After talking to Beth, I’m beginning to wonder if Audra’s death and Hannah’s death could be connected in some way.