4 Arch Enemy of Murder

by Vanessa Gray Bartal

  She pushed herself up on her hands. “How can you tell? Do you read German?”

  “No, but L and R are the same in any language.” He bent her right foot, showing her the giant L on the bottom of the shoe.

  “Oh. I didn’t see that,” Lacy said.

  “Can you stand?” Tosh said.

  “Theoretically? Yes. In actuality? I can’t feel anything from the hips down, which is good because the pain before the numbness was intense.”

  “Guess I’m going to have to carry you,” Tosh said, grinning.

  “No,” Lacy blurted. She didn’t want him to carry her. That would feel awkward. Things with him had been borderline awkward since she returned from New York. She didn’t want anything to make it worse.

  “All right, let me help you up and I’ll drive you home.” He put out his arm and attempted to lever her up while she scrambled like Bambi on ice. What sensation she had left in her legs felt rubbery, but as soon as she put her weight on her feet, the shooting pains began again and she yelped. Behind them, Pearl clucked her tongue and shook her head in disapproval.

  “Here,” Tosh said. He turned his back to Lacy and crouched. “Hop on, Yoda.”

  She couldn’t hop, but she somehow managed to climb up on his back. He carried her out of the church, down the steps, and to his car.

  The drive home was quiet, and not the good kind. He parked in her grandmother’s driveway and surveyed the house. “When am I going to get to meet your phantom sister?”

  The dislike in his tone was heartening. “How’s Sunday night?” she asked before launching into an explanation about Travis.

  Tosh agreed to go, all the while shaking his head. “What’s Travis thinking? I don’t even know her and I know it’s not going to work out between them.”

  “Some people aren’t logical when it comes to love,” Lacy said.

  “That’s for sure,” Tosh said, sounding dismal all over again. Lacy thought of her twisted trio with Jason and Tosh. Right now no one was happy or getting what they wanted. With effort, she pushed the depressing thoughts away. Her friendship with Tosh was secure, Lacy had no doubts about that. Whatever trouble they were having was temporary. They understood each other; they would work through whatever was going on. Things with Jason, however, were much more uncertain. She had no idea what was going to happen there, and the insecurity made her anxious.

  “So, Sunday,” Tosh said. Lacy knew it was her cue to get out of the car.

  “Sunday,” she repeated. She put her hand on the door when he spoke again.

  “I have a date tonight.”

  Lacy paused and turned back to him. “With whom?”

  He grinned. “Whom, Lacy? Really? Who uses that word in real life?”

  “Someone who majored in English,” she said. “Are you holding out on me?”

  “Nope. Her name is Nancy. She’s the secretary for a pastor I know a couple of towns over. She’s sweet, pretty, and stable. She has pastor’s wife material stamped all over her.”

  Lacy couldn’t contain her surprise. “Oh.” She blinked at the dashboard a few times, trying to process. “Are you going to call me after and tell me how it went?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Have you met me? Since when am I not nosy?”

  “Good point. All right, I’ll call after. You can give me the girl perspective on how you think it went.”

  “Sounds good,” Lacy said, hoping it was true. Suddenly it felt like everyone was moving forward but her. This was a good thing, though. She knew Tosh was lonely and ready to settle down. Of course she would have to meet this Nancy person to make sure she had the Tosh stamp of approval. Could anyone be worthy of Tosh? Lacy had her doubts.

  She waved goodbye and limped into the house, peeling off her shoes as soon as she entered the door. By all rights, they should be filled with her blood. She sank to the floor and leaned against the door until she heard Riley’s step on the porch. Then she jumped up and scurried to her room, trying in vain to convince herself that she wasn’t actually hiding from her little sister.

  Chapter 2

  Work had become Lacy’s refuge. With the help of her grandfather, Lacy finally set up an office for herself in the unclaimed portion of the third floor of her building. The rational part of her mind told her that having an office was ridiculous. She was a glorified landlord. The emotional part of her loved the fact that it was all hers, that it represented what she was trying to do with the Stakely building and, most importantly, that it had a coffeemaker. Perhaps it was silly, but she felt like an honest-to-goodness professional when she put on a skirt and blouse, went to the Stakely building, and made a pot of coffee in her office.

  At first she had been concerned that she wouldn’t have anything to do, that she would simply sit behind the desk all day twiddling her thumbs and trying hard not to consume the chocolate pie she kept in her bottom drawer for emergencies. But almost from the moment she attached her phone, it started ringing, and Lacy had been busy ever since. Not only was she consumed with the Stakely building, but people in town had started calling to ask her opinion on things. Lacy couldn’t figure out why she was suddenly important in the scheme of the town’s daily operations, but the questions were steady nonetheless. Now she kept regular working hours. It was she who opened and closed the Stakely building every day in a routine that was becoming comfortingly familiar.

  “Hey, Joe,” she said as soon as she approached the building. Joe Anton, the man Lacy had unwittingly befriended when she visited him in prison, sat in his usual spot on the second from top stair. He looked as scruffy and disheveled as he had the day Lacy visited him in jail. Sometimes she worried that he slept on the stairs of the Stakely building, but she knew the police checked the place nightly. She also knew that Joe had lived with his sister ever since his release from prison. Almost immediately after he was free, he returned like a stray cat to his old haunt, the Stakely building. He looked a little like an old cat, Lacy thought as she took in his scruffy white whiskers and pinched face. And, just like an old cat, he was friendly, sweet, and kept to himself.

  “What do you think are the chances I can make a decent cup of coffee today?” she asked.

  “Not good, Lacy,” he said, scooting in behind her as she unlocked the door. He dogged her footsteps on the way up the stairs, too. The freight elevator was in good working order, but Lacy took the stairs because since Riley came home, she had been overindulging in her grandmother’s treats in an effort to ease her ever-present anxiety. She forgot until she was halfway up that her feet weren’t working properly. Joe paused while Lacy popped her shoes off and carried them on the tips of her fingers. They resumed their walk, not stopping until they reached her office. Joe waited while she unlocked that, too, and then shimmied inside before the door could close as if he was afraid to touch it for himself.

  He sank into the chair beside the coffee pot and waited expectantly while she began her brew. Coffee always reminded her of Jason and the lesson he gave her on how to make it. It hadn’t stuck because she inevitably messed it up. She could never remember the proper ratio of coffee scoops to water so that the coffee was alternately too strong or too weak each day. Joe drank it nonetheless, a grimace to show his displeasure on the worst of days.

  At first when Joe had started showing up in the mornings, Lacy had tried to talk to him. The silence made her edgy, and she tried to fill it. Now she found it comfortable. Joe was a people person who had lost the ability to relate after so many years in prison. Lacy was an outwardly friendly person who was secretly shy. Together, they made the perfect combination.

  She sat and scanned some paperwork, enjoying the quiet. During the week, she shared the second floor with doctors, dentists, a chiropractor and a music instructor. Between their clients and ringing phones, there wasn’t much chance for peace. Lacy liked the routine of Monday through Friday, but Saturdays had become a reprieve from the chaos. Soon that would end, too, but she couldn’t feel bad about it because
it meant the realization of her dream.

  Since she bought the Stakely building, she had wanted to return the first two floors to a useable marketplace. The renovations were almost complete, the spaces half-filled with prospective tenants. One of those tenants knocked on her door and entered without being invited.

  Michael, a guitar maker and fellow redhead, plopped down into the chair across from her desk. “How’s it going, boss?”

  Lacy fought the urge to remind him that she was in no way his boss. He liked to annoy her; he did it well. “Well. What can I do for you, Michael?”

  He struck an affronted expression. “I have to have a reason to come see you? I can’t just stop in to chat?”

  Lacy rested her chin in her hand and waited him out.

  He sat back, deflated. “Fine. I want to know if we’re still on schedule. Things are taking longer than I thought, and money is getting tight.”

  She fought another wave of annoyance. She had given him a prospective opening date, and they were still within range. If things were getting tight, it was due to his own poor planning. He didn’t have to move to town so soon before he could open his store. Again she refrained from telling all this to him, though. Perhaps it was because they both had red hair, but for some reason, she and Michael didn’t communicate well. “The opening is still on schedule,” she said instead. “My grandfather is making sure of it.” She had never seen contractors work faster. She had no idea what he did to terrify them into submission, but he had definitely missed his calling as a construction tycoon.

  Michael grinned at her. “Or maybe it’s because they can’t stand to disappoint a beautiful woman.”

  Lacy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Michael was seemingly one of those men who couldn’t stand it if every woman in his presence didn’t bow to his good looks. She glanced at Joe. “Is he flirting with me, Joe?”

  “I think so, Lacy,” Joe said.

  Michael twisted to look at him with a frown. “You don’t have to take her side just because she’s the boss, Joe.”

  Joe smiled and took another sip of his coffee. Michael turned back to Lacy. “I’m only half joking. I’ve seen the way some of those men look at you when you and your grandfather aren’t watching. Careful there, love.”

  He was gone before Lacy could fathom a reply. He was serious. She knew because his accent showed up, lilting his words so the ominous warning sounded almost cheerful. “That was weird,” she said. The last few weeks, she had added the habit of addressing her internal monologue to Joe. He tipped his head and took another sip of coffee. She smiled. “You’re a good sounding board, Joe.”

  Lacy tried to return to her work, but another distraction arrived in the form of her sister. Riley let herself in without knocking and plopped in the same chair Michael had vacated.

  “So this is your office,” Riley said. Somehow in those few words, Lacy knew the gig was up. Riley had learned her secret. Just in case, she decided not to give anything away.

  “This is my office,” she agreed.

  “It’s ugly. You should let me redecorate.”

  “It suits my needs,” Lacy said.

  Riley narrowed her eyes as if trying to figure out what those needs might be. “I know you bought this building,” Riley said. She flung the words between them like a challenge. “I went to the courthouse and looked up the deed.”

  Lacy was impressed with her detective skills, but she didn’t say so. She sometimes fell for her sister’s airhead act, usually to her detriment. Riley was smart, smarter than Lacy. If she had applied her intelligence to school instead of making herself popular, she could have done anything. As it was, she had skated by with a low B average but had innumerable friends and boyfriends. “I own this building,” Lacy said.

  “Why?” Riley practically yelled. “I mean, come on, Lacy. You came into some money. I still haven’t worked out that part of things. But it must have been a lot, and you used it to buy the Stakely building. You could have bought an apartment in New York. You could have gone to Paris. And you stayed here and bought this.” She flung out her hands, encompassing the drab gray walls with her disdain. “What is wrong with you? I don’t understand you at all.” She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest.

  Lacy wondered if the real problem was that Lacy had come into money and hadn’t shared it with her. Would Riley have approved of anything that didn’t involve her getting ahead or getting her own way? Doubtful. “They were going to tear it down,” Lacy said.

  “So? Good riddance. It’s old and falling apart.”

  “It’s not falling apart anymore, and it’s beautiful. This building is the anchor of the entire downtown. If it goes, then the town goes.”

  “This town is already gone,” Riley said.

  “It’s coming back,” Lacy stubbornly insisted. She slid out from behind her chair. “Come with me, I’m going to give you the grand tour and show you what I have planned.” She looked for Joe to see if he intended to follow, but he was gone. He sometimes disappeared so that she found herself talking to him when he wasn’t really there. Sometimes she felt like he was her imaginary friend.

  She led Riley down to the main floor and began showing her the renovations, filling in the blanks for the work that hadn’t been completed yet. Riley didn’t comment. She remained uncharacteristically quiet as if she was actually listening, thinking, and trying to picture Lacy’s vision. Lacy was heartened by this first display of sisterly interest. Then Riley spoke and ruined the illusion.

  “It’s opening in a couple of weeks, right?”

  “Two weeks from today,” Lacy said.

  “You know what that means. You have to throw a party. And you need a party planner.” She turned her back on Lacy and surveyed the room again. “We’ll need to rent chairs, decorations, a DJ. I’ll give you the family discount for my fee; that’s ten percent off.” She took off in the direction of the entrance.

  Now Lacy was the one trotting to keep up with her. “Hold up, I’m not having a party.”

  “You’re opening a huge new venture. You have to have a party.”

  “No, I don’t. People will come here because they care about the community and because they want what we have to offer. I don’t need to blow ten grand on a party for that to happen.”

  “I could probably squeak in under eight,” Riley said.

  Lacy had thrown out a random number. Riley sounded serious. “Eight thousand dollars for a party?” she yelled, the sound of her voice echoing in the cavernous space.

  “That’s a bargain,” Riley said. “Believe me. I once put together a party in Manhattan that cost three hundred thousand dollars.”

  “I am not spending eight thousand dollars on a party that I don’t even want.”

  Riley stopped short and faced her. “How much are you willing to spend?”

  Lacy almost answered before realizing she was about to fall for a trick question. She knew her sister. If she named a workable budget, then Riley would take it as a contract. “Nothing.”

  Riley tipped her head and quirked her eyebrow. “Nothing? You want me to make toilet paper streamers and set out a punch bowl like prom? Because that’s beyond tacky, Lacy.”

  “No, I don’t want you to do a party. No party. Do you hear me, Riley? We are not having a party.”

  “You,” Riley yelled, pointing over Lacy’s shoulder. “Come here.”

  Maybe it was wishful thinking that made Lacy think Riley was talking to Joe. Her hope was shattered when Michael joined them and draped his arm comfortably over Lacy’s shoulders. She elbowed him in the ribs and he removed it.

  “Yes,” he said. “How can I be of service?”

  “Don’t you think we need to have a megawatt party to celebrate the grand opening of this place?” Riley asked, putting forth her most coquettish smile.

  “What does the boss think about it?” Michael asked. He tipped his head to indicate Lacy.

  “She doesn’t want it,” Riley said.

  “The
n I’m all for it,” Michael said. “If you want a live band, I know some guys.”

  “Something classy, no punk music,” Riley said.

  “They can play whatever you want,” Michael said. “I’ll give them a call and set it up.” He reached for his phone. Lacy made a dash for it, and he held it over his head out of her grasp.

  “No, no bands, no party. Is anyone listening to me?”

  “Does anyone ever?” Riley asked. She and Michael walked off together. Michael draped his arm over her shoulders, and she didn’t remove it.

  “I don’t want a party,” she muttered. She stamped her foot in frustration and instantly regretted it when pain radiated from her foot to her hip and back again, a cruel reminder of her pre-work workout. She remained standing on one foot for a few minutes until she realized that Riley and Michael weren’t coming back. Upstairs, more work waited on her, but her foot was killing her and she lacked the perseverance to climb back up the stairs. Her attention had been blown by Riley anyway; she might as well call it a day.