Plotted For Murder

by ACF Bookens

  * * *

  On the ride back into town, my mind kept spinning, trying to figure out how someone had managed to spray paint the front of the winery and also pry open the bathroom window without being seen. People were in and out of both the front doors and the bathroom all night. There wasn’t a big window of time for someone to do either crime. And while it now seemed less likely that Tiffany had been specifically targeted – how could they have known she’d be in the bathroom just then? – I couldn’t shake the suspicion that this had been about her, that someone was after her specifically.

  I was so tired that my mind just kept spinning the same questions and the same images – blue paint on the wooden winery wall, the trashcan, the knife from the planter box at my shop, Tiffany’s screaming face.

  I could feel my heart rate beginning to climb and knew I had to break through this thought spiral if I had any hope of getting some sleep tonight. So I did what I always did when I needed to calm down. I counted backwards from one thousand. It was a trick my dad had taught me when I couldn’t sleep as a kid. “You might get to one too fast if you start at one hundred, but if you start at one thousand, you’ll be asleep long before you’ve counted all the way down,” he said, and he was right.

  I leaned my head back against the seat and pictured a giant, puffy paint 1,000, then a 999, 998, 997 . . . by the time Daniel pulled in my driveway, my heartrate was normal, and my mind had begun to do that thing it does before sleep, where it starts telling me stories that will become dreams. If I could just get to my bed without incident, I’d be asleep instantly.

  “Stay on the couch tonight,” I said to Daniel as he helped me out of the truck. I wasn’t asking, and he knew it.

  He nodded and followed me through the front door. It was so late that our dogs barely thumped their tails from their dog beds by the front window. I grabbed the extra pillow from my bed and flipped open the trunk full of comfy blankets that we used as a coffee table and handed them to Daniel. “Make yourself at home,” I said as sleep threatened to steal me right there.

  Daniel gave me a kiss on the cheek and then headed to the couch, giving Aslan a gentle shove off her end before folding her throw and dropping it onto the floor. The cat huffed and then padded down the hall behind me as if to say, “You know I sleep with her anyway. You can have that stupid couch” to Daniel.

  I slipped off the yoga pants, pulled a headband over my unruly hair, and dropped into bed. I was barely awake a few seconds later when Aslan curled against the back of my legs.

  12

  The next morning, I woke to the smell of bacon and coffee and smiled. The bacon smelled almost done – I was proud of myself for knowing how “almost done” bacon smelled – so I just slipped my yoga pants back on and headed to the kitchen. I had expected to see Mart at the stove, but she was sitting on a barstool watching Daniel scramble eggs. I felt a flush climb my neck. That guy looked good with a spatula.

  Mart grabbed the coffee pot from the counter near her and poured me a cup, adding a liberal helping of cream and sugar just like I preferred. Then, she slid the mug along the counter like we were in a classic movie bar scene, and I scooped it up with aplomb. The world was feeling right this morning.

  But then, I saw the circles under Mart’s eyes and realized that Daniel was still wearing his suit pants and his undershirt, and I felt the mat of my unwashed and uncombed hair shift on my head. The previous night came flooding back, and I dropped onto the stool next to Mart with a groan. “Did you sleep at the hospital?”

  Mart nodded and took a long sip of her coffee. “Fortunately, there was an extra bed in Tiffany’s room, so I caught a few good hours. Well, a few hours between all the times they came in and woke Tiffany up to see if she was resting comfortably.” Mart rolled her eyes.

  I remembered when my dad had knee surgery. All night after the procedure, the nurses had to come in every two hours to check his blood pressure and temperature. Both of us were glad he only had to stay overnight because the sleep in the hospital was not ideal, not at all.

  Daniel gave each of us two slices of perfectly crisp bacon and a spoonful of eggs before making himself a plate.

  I took one bite of the eggs and moaned. “Did you put cream cheese in these?” I shoveled in another forkful. “They are amazing.”

  “My aunt Judy always made her eggs that way.” He shoved his last piece of bacon into his mouth whole and walked back to the griddle and laid out the rest of the pound.

  I must have looked puzzled because Mart said, “Everyone’s on their way over for breakfast.”

  “Oh,” I said with a grimace at Daniel. I wasn’t sure he was going to be thrilled with talking about this with folks, especially after our discussion last night. “Is that okay with you?”

  “Okay with it?” Mart said. “It was his idea.”

  I felt something pull in my neck when I whipped my head back around to look at Daniel. “You did?!”

  He shrugged. “I figured everyone was going to be talking about it anyway, so we might as well talk about it together.” He flipped the bacon over with our tongs and said, “I invited Tuck, too. I didn’t want any secret sleuthing or anything.” He winked at me.

  “Got it.” I swallowed the rest of my coffee and stood up. “How long do I have?”

  Mart looked at the microwave clock. “Ten minutes.”

  “Just enough time to tame the beast,” I said with a pat on my hair.

  Nine minutes later, I reemerged with my hair contained in a bandana, my face freshly washed, and a spray of my favorite scent to mask the fact that I had not had time to shower. As I went to check the front window to see who was going to get there first, the doorbell rang, and the door opened immediately after. My mother and father came in with platters of food. “Told you we’d bring lunch,” Mom said as she kissed the air near my face and moved on through to the kitchen. Dad gave me an actual hug and then picked up the jugs of lemonade and iced tea to follow after Mom. I smiled. My dad had been a CEO at his own company, but it was clear who was in charge in their house. And it was also clear that he didn’t mind that at all.

  Soon after, Cate and Lucas, Henri and Bear, Woody, Pickle, Stephen and Walter, and Elle arrived. Everyone grabbed a plate and beginning filling it with the fixings of a world-class brunch. Somehow, we ended up with five-bean salad, green salad, and the Southern concoction of marshmallows and fruit that is sometimes called a salad but is really known more aptly as ambrosia.

  I had just eaten, but of course that didn’t stop me from filling another plate with the more lunch side of the brunch . . . well, that and more bacon. Soon, we were all perched around the living room with our plates, and it was only then that I realized Tuck wasn’t here yet. “Daniel, do you know when the—?”

  The doorbell rang at that exact moment, and Mart jumped up to let in Tuck and Lu. “We brought dessert,” Lu said with a lilt to her voice. “Do you mind?” She nodded toward the kitchen and looked at Mart and me.

  “Please. Make yourself at home,” I stood to help her find spoons for the adorable ramekins she’d brought. “Is this your flan?”

  Lu winked. “Of course. We all need custard just now.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I said as I carried the tray of bowls into the kitchen and bent to let each of our friends take a dish. Lu followed with spoons and soon everyone was moaning with delight . . . or overfullness. It was hard to tell.

  But the satiated bliss of good food didn’t last long. “How is Tiffany?” Mom asked, looking from me to Mart.

  “She’s okay. Terrified, but coping as well as anyone could expect,” Mart said. She turned to Tuck. “Thanks for sending someone to guard her room. I don’t think she would have slept a wink without that.”

  “No problem. I’m glad it helped, but it’s also necessary,” Tuck said.

  “So you are certain she was the target?” I asked, eager to clarify my own thoughts from the previous night.

  Tuck nodded. “We are. I can’t say why j
ust yet, but we have evidence that confirms she was the target.”

  I bit my tongue to keep from asking what evidence. I had heard Tuck say he couldn’t share that information, and I needed to respect that. For now.

  “But why? I mean she’s pretty new here. Why go after her?” Cate asked.

  “We’re still figuring that part out. I don’t know her well enough to determine why someone would have come after her specifically, but some of you know her better. Any guesses?” Tuck looked around the room, but eventually his gazed rested on me.

  “I don’t know what of what I know might be useful, but I can tell you what I’ve learned.” I glanced at Mart. “Given the circumstances, it’s probably okay, right?”

  Mart nodded. “I actually asked Tiffany this morning if we could share.”

  Mart looked at Mom who looked at me. I then told everyone about Coach Cagle had done to Tiffany in Minneapolis. I tried to be as specific as I could because any detail might matter, but when I had finished sharing and Mart and Mom had filled in the detail I’d missed from the story Tiffany told us at the steak house, Tuck still looked baffled.

  “Well, that’s just awful, but it actually makes Tiffany have motive in the murder more than it explains why someone would attack her,” the sheriff said. Then, he raised his hand as if to stop the words that might come toward him. “Now, I’m not saying she is the murderer. I’m just saying that this information doesn’t really help me solve this crime.”

  I let out a long breath. “Right. Sorry. That’s all I know.”

  Mart and Mom nodded.

  I sat back against the base of the couch and stared out the window over Cate’s shoulder, hoping something would come to me. But Cate’s sudden leap to her feet broke my train of thought.

  “I just remembered something. Scott is from Minneapolis, too, isn’t he?” she shouted.

  “Scott? The hair dresser?” Stephen asked.

  * * *

  “That’s right,” I said. “Maybe he knows something. I mean that kind of story would have been in the news, right? Maybe he knows things Tiffany didn’t think to tell us?”

  The sheriff took out his notebook. “This is the guy who owns the new salon on Main Street, right?”

  “That’s the one,” Cate said. “He’s a really nice guy and very good at his work.” She pointed at her own hair and then at mine but frowned when my bandana sort of blunted her illustration. “I’m sure he would help if you ask him.”

  “Good thought. Thanks.” The sheriff stood from the couch and helped Lu to her feet. “Well, this is helpful information. I’m still not sure how it all fits together, but we will figure it out,” he said with a pointed look at me. “And by we, I mean the police.”

  I raised both hands over my head. “I have no desire to figure this one out, Sheriff.” When he rolled his eyes, I said, “Well, I have the desire, but no intention of doing that. This one is all yours.”

  Tuck laughed. “Okay, then. Well, thanks for lunch. See you all around.”

  Mart helped Lu gather the ramekins and carry them to their car, but when she came back, she was frowning. “What?” I asked as she dropped to the floor and put her head on my shoulder.

  “I just realized that we probably need to go tell Tiffany that the sheriff knows her story and that he’s going to ask Scott about it.” She sighed. “She said she was fine with us sharing, and I know she meant that. But it’s only fair that we give her a heads up that other people have heard it, too.”

  Henri stood up and helped Bear to his feet. “Please assure her that we will keep her story in complete confidence. But also tell her that we’re all here for her if she needs anything.”

  “Yes, please do,” Walter added for himself and Stephen. “Thanks for lunch, Mama Beckett,” he added as he bent to kiss Mom on the cheek.

  Pickle handed me his card as he left. “If she needs me, tell her I’m waiving my fee.” He gave me a quick hug and headed out the door.

  As Daniel, Mart, and I watched our friends leave, I felt a surge of joy at their kindness. Tiffany’s story was definitely safe with them, but clearly, she wasn’t safe until we figured out what in her story had made her a target.

  * * *

  It was after one p.m. when I finally made it in to the shop, but Marcus and Rocky had the place running like a well-oiled machine. Marcus had even spruced up the pumpkin display to make it a bit more Thanksgiving-like, and it looked wonderful. Little gourds and squash had joined the pumpkins, and the books dealt with everything from recipes to Native American history to how to deal with family conflict at the holiday. The books were tastefully arranged, and I knew we’d be reordering a lot of titles soon.

  The crowd from the festival was still enjoying a last afternoon in town, so sales were still brisk. I was especially thrilled to see that Galen and Mack had come back to pay a visit. I loved that guy. He always made me feel so good about my business, and when I felt good about my business, I felt good about myself.

  Today he was shopping for mysteries that featured LGBTQ+ characters because he was preparing, already, for next June’s Pride Month. He wanted to feature one book written by a member of the LGBTQ+ community or with a LGBTQ+ main character every day that month on his Instagram page. So he and I spent a couple of hours scouring the internet for lists of appropriate books, and when he left, he had all the titles we’d found and already stocked and had special ordered ten more. Now, he was sitting in the café reading a copy of The Body in the Bookmobile by Connie B. Dowell. It was one of my personal favorites, and it featured a bi character so it was a great fit for Galen’s project.

  That man was going to keep my business going single-handedly if he kept buying that many books at a time. I didn’t mind.

  Mart came by late in the afternoon. For obvious reasons, the winery was going to be closed for a while, so she’d spent the afternoon at the hospital with Tiffany. “She’s okay,” Mart said as she sat down on the stool behind the register with a huge pumpkin spice latte. “The doctors decided to keep her one more night under observation, but I honestly think they are just trying to give her some rest. Don’t tell her insurance company though.” Mart smiled thinly.

  “Did you tell her about . . .” My voice trailed off. I didn’t really want to say, “Did you tell her about the big meeting of all the people we love where we shared her most painful life experience?” but that’s what I was thinking.

  Mart nodded. “I did. I told her everyone who was there and gave her all their messages.” She smelled the spicy goodness of her drink before continuing. “When I handed her Pickle’s card and told her he was offering his services pro bono, she started to cry. At first I thought she was upset because of our violation of her privacy, but instead she said, ‘I should have trusted people sooner. I was just so scared.’”

  Tears sprang to my eyes, and I reached over to take Mart’s hand. “Oh that’s so hard. I know what it’s like to carry around a painful experience because you’re afraid to share it.” I thought back to how painful my marriage had been when I lived in San Francisco and how no one, not even Mart, had known. “Well, then, I’m glad we told people for her.”

  “Me, too,” Mart said. “She got nervous when I told her Tuck was going to talk to Scott, but not because she didn’t want him to know, she said. More because she had hoped they could be friends since they had both lived near Minneapolis.”

  “I get that. The places I’ve lived have flavored my life, and I love meeting people who know that flavor. She understood why Tuck was going to talk to him, though, right?” I glanced back over my shoulder to see if any customers were waiting to check out behind me. All clear.

  “Totally. She even wanted me to tell Tuck that she’d meet with Scott herself if he thought that would help.” Mart stood and stretched. “I thought that was a good sign, that she wasn’t so scared anymore.”

  I walked with Mart to the front door. “Thanks for the update, Mart. You headed home to rest?”

  “Nah. I am ti
red, but I feel pretty restless. I’m going to put on my running clothes and jog out to the winery. Tuck gave the all-clear for us to begin clean-up.” She leaned over to hug me. “He said the wine in the cellars was in good shape, but I just want to check.”

  “You have your phone on you?” I didn’t want anyone I loved far away just now, but I couldn’t very well keep Mart in the shop or at home. But if she had her phone, I could check in.

  “Right here,” she said, patting her back pocket. “I’ll text you when I get to the winery and again when I leave, okay?”

  “Thanks.” I watched her walk down the sidewalk before taking a deep breath and spinning around to tend the shop. Marcus was ringing up an entire stack of The Foxfire Books for a gorgeous young man in patchwork shorts who carried a giant backpack. I couldn’t imagine carrying all fourteen of those books on any kind of hike, but then I remembered how Cheryl Strayed had burned pages of the books she read and thought maybe this guy was looking forward to a year’s worth of kindling. I kind of liked the image of him reading a chapter and then burning that chapter. It felt, well, very Foxfire.

  I was still imagining him by his campfire when Tuck came in and silently pointed to the backroom. I glanced at Marcus, who raised his eyebrows but then gave me an assured nod that said he had it all under control.

  I followed Tuck to the backroom, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind me, Tuck said, “How well do you know Scott?”

  I studied Tuck’s face and held off on the hair flip that I’d thought about giving as an answer. “He cut my hair once, and then I’ve seen him a couple of times here in town.”

  “So not well, then?”

  “No, not well.” I sat down at the table in the corner. “Why?” The sheriff’s expression was somber, and I could feel a knot growing in my stomach.

  He pulled out a chair across from me. “I talked to him today, and he claimed to have only a faint recollection of the news story. I guess that’s possible, but Tiffany’s case was the top news story for almost a week there. So I decided to do a little digging.”