by Hillary Avis
“Yes, you. Why not?”
She shook her head, her tangle of dark brown curls bobbing around her cheeks. “Don’t be silly. It’s too late for me.”
I barked a laugh. “I might have agreed with you at this time last year, but a man literally bought a farm because he wanted to spend time with me, and I wear grubby overalls and cargo pants six days out of seven. Look at you—you’re gorgeous. You’ve got a rack to die for. Trust me, there’s someone out there who’s interested. Probably a bunch of someones.”
Color rose up Ruth’s cheeks even as she made a face at me. “You know what they say. The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”
“Keep your eyes open. That’s all I’m saying.” I grinned at her, but my smile slipped away when I caught sight of the clock on the wall behind her. “Shoot! We better hustle into town if we’re going to make it on time.”
“Speaking of keeping our eyes open,” Ruth said as she pushed back from the table, “we should keep an eye on Jillian at the ceremony.”
“She’s going to have her pageant smile on. I doubt she’ll let anything slip through it.”
“Every liar slips up at some time,” Ruth said knowingly. “And I’m going to have a talk with Luna, too, and find out if she was just covering for her kid.”
“You going to squirt her with the hose?” I joked.
“Whatever it takes, we’re going to sort this thing out.” Ruth nodded toward Dylan and Ollie as they remerged from the bedroom in their matching red-white-and-blue, holding hands. “For those two.”
THE MOOD AT THE CROWNING ceremony was unusually gloomy given the brilliant blue sky and warm summer breeze that blew through the covered bridge behind the library. A small stage had been set up nearby, and all the figures standing on it—Doc and Margie, Terry, a glamorous woman I didn’t recognize, and Jillian—wore black. The Girl Scouts were passing around baskets of small tokens they’d made, lengths of red ribbon the same color as McKenzie’s Miss Honeytree dress with an “M” painted on each end, so when looped on safety pins the ribbon spelled out McKenzie’s initials.
The boys didn’t seem to notice all the stares directed their way. Thank goodness, they didn’t even ask why Ruth and I both pinned “MM” ribbons to our T-shirts. Anyone who approached us, their mouth already open to ask about Tambra, Ruth gave the evil eye and a slight shake of her head. She wasn’t letting anyone near them. Though she’d never parented kids of her own, she was in full mama-bear mode. Or maybe broody-chicken mode, the way she had her hackles raised.
Her focus on the boys let me focus on Jillian. The white Miss Honeytree sash cut a stark swash across Jillian’s black strapless dress. I guess that was as close to mourning attire as a beauty pageant contestant could muster. Her face above it was pale, her eyes darting around the crowd above her practiced smile. She was looking for someone.
“I’ll be right back,” I murmured to Ruth, and edged to the side of the crowd where I had a better sightline on Jillian’s point of view. Her gaze finally settled on someone, and her forehead relaxed. Her smile almost looked genuine now—whoever it was made her feel safe.
Of course, that was the moment that the whole high school basketball team had to jostle their way in front of me so I couldn’t see a thing. “Excuse me!” I said hotly. They completely ignored me. Apparently, getting a good view of a pretty girl outweighed any respect for their elders they might have.
Annoyed, I shouldered my way between the two tallest boys just as Doc Morrow stepped forward tapped on the microphone and the crowd of people fell silent.
“Before I begin, a moment of silence for McKenzie,” he said. He closed his eyes, and so did many people in attendance. I kept mine open and watched Jillian. The smile slipped from her face momentarily as she looked to the crowd again. This time, I could see who she was looking at—Archer stood a half-head taller than everyone around him. And he was staring right at her.
My blood chilled.
Archer nodded at Jillian, and to my utter shock, her smile reappeared just as Doc opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “Now we can proceed. Though our hearts are heavy, this is a celebration of our community’s unbreakable spirit in the face of...”
I zoned out Doc’s droning platitudes. Archer and Jillian were still exchanging glances between the stage and the audience. Whatever fear Jillian had of Archer yesterday was gone. If I had to guess, they’d been in more than just friendly contact. Either they were back together, or they never broke up to begin with. I couldn’t help but wonder whether Jillian’s tears yesterday were all just an act.
But why would she point Eli toward Archer as a suspect if she was still in love with the guy?
A shuffle at the microphone interrupted my thoughts. Doc Morrow introduced the fancy lady as a state pageant representative. She gave a little spiel about what the pageant and Miss Honeytree crown represents—apparently, the ideal of female virtue and accomplishment. They weren’t calling it a beauty pageant anymore.
The pageant lady introduced Terry and his mom’s historic role, and then she called Jillian up and sung her praises for a bit. It was everything I knew about Jillian, too—how hard she worked at the diner, her ambition to be a music teacher. Her poise and confidence, her brains and talent playing the flute. Her good character.
I wished I was still as confident in Jillian’s good character as the pageant lady seemed to be. But either Jillian lied to Eli about Archer writing that note, or somehow Archer had convinced her that he didn’t have a hand in McKenzie’s death. Was she as persuaded by his mom’s alibi as Detective Crisp had been?
Another possibility struck me. Perhaps Jillian had pointed Eli toward Archer because she knew he had an alibi. She might have known he’d be ruled out as a suspect once Eli went to talk to him. What better way to protect him than tell an easily disprovable lie? Rather than being suspects in a murder investigation, she and Archer could be a couple again.
“She’s someone your city”—now that was an overstatement; Honeytree was barely a town—“can be proud of when she competes in the state pageant tomorrow,” the pageant lady finished. “Your new Miss Honeytree, Jillian Wynwood!”
Terry stepped forward, looking like he was serving Thanksgiving dinner on the good china as he balanced his mom’s tall crown gingerly between his palms. His hands shook a little as he placed it on Jillian’s head, wiggling it a little to make sure it was secure and wouldn’t fall. The pageant lady shoved a huge bouquet of flowers into Jillian’s arms.
Archer let out a whoop just as the crowd began to applaud their new Miss Honeytree, and I saw, on the side of the crowd near the covered bridge, Eli’s head jerk toward Archer, too. He frowned. I knew that he was thinking what I was thinking.
Something was different. Something had changed.
A line of well-wishers formed in front of the stage, and I realized that might be my only chance to speak with Jillian before she left for the state pageant in Salem.
“Hey.” I tugged on the sleeve of the hulking boy next to me and pointed to Jillian. “Can you get me to the front of that line? It’s really important.”
For the first time, he registered I was there, the way you might suddenly notice an ant on the sidewalk.
“The sheriff is my boyfriend,” I wheedled.
The boy grunted, looked back and forth between me and the stage, and then without a word, swooped me up in his arms and threw me over his shoulder. His buddies hooted with laughter as I let out an involuntary shriek. Several heads turned toward me as the boy pushed through the onlookers toward the line. He set me down directly in front of Jillian.
I smoothed my ponytail, ignoring the openmouthed stares directed my way. “Thanks for the ride,” I said to the basketball player, who grinned down at me and flexed one bicep. “Stop by my booth at the farmers market and I’ll hook you up with some eggs, as long as you promise not to throw them at anybody.”
He chuckled and headed back toward his teammates. With a jolt, I remembered why I’d cut in line to begin w
ith. Sure enough, Jillian was looking down at me with a puzzled expression on her face, her new crown glittering like a galaxy of stars. It was almost blinding. Terry stood beside her looking uncomfortable in his black suit and bolo tie, but he wasn’t looking at me—his attention was out on the crowd.
“Congratulations!” I held my hand up for Jillian to shake. As she grasped it, I pulled her toward me slightly so the people around me would be less likely to hear my question. “I noticed Archer in the crowd. Did you two make up last night?”
She gave a slight incline of her head. With her teeth still pressed together in a practiced smile, she said quietly, “We talked. He said he only followed us to the parking lot to break up with McKenzie because he was in love with me.”
You don’t believe him, do you?!” I forgot to keep my voice low.
Jillian flushed, and her smile faded. “He didn’t write the note. He swore to me,” she said hurriedly, pulling her hand from mine and moving to the next person in line. The movement made the pink stone in the center of her crown wink in the sun.
I froze, numbly taking Terry’s hand as he held it out to me to shake.
“Thanks for coming and supporting Miss Honeytree,” he said, pumping my arm up and down. “It means a lot to me and my family to carry on my mom’s legacy.”
I nodded, my mind still whirring as I stared at Jillian. “Is that the same crown your mom wore?” I asked. “The one McKenzie—”
Terry dropped my hand. “No. We had to order a new one.”
“I see,” I lied. I knew Terry was lying, too. That crown was identical to the one in the photos he had on his wall, right down to the replacement pink stone. There was no way an exact replica of the crown had been made in less than a week, and that meant Jillian was wearing the original crown. The crown McKenzie was wearing when...
I swallowed hard.
Maybe McKenzie hadn’t been wearing it when she was killed. Maybe, after the photoshoot, she’d returned the crown to Tambra or Terry. But if that were the case, then why would Terry claim the crown was new?
A creeping sense of dread crawled up my spine. I glanced over my shoulder to spot Eli—he’d be able to sort this out. It took me a few seconds to locate him at the back of the crowd, where he was directing traffic out of the library parking lot. But when I looked back at the stage, Terry was gone.
My heart raced as I swiveled to search for him in the crowd, but the basketball team had taken their place in line to meet Jillian, blocking my view. I squeezed my way through the line and then weaved through the crowd toward Eli. I didn’t notice the curb by the edge of the parking lot and tripped, careening into someone’s back before landing, sprawled out, on the pavement.
Chapter 22
“Sorry!” I said quickly. I ignored my painfully stinging knee as I scrambled to my feet, my eyes still trained on Eli.
“No worries. Where’s the fire?” a familiar voice asked. It was only then I realized that I’d crashed into Ruth. She was holding hands with the boys, one on each side of her, so she could keep track of them in the crowd. She followed my gaze. “Oh, I see,” she said knowingly.
I shook my head. “No, listen. I think I know who killed McKenzie.”
Ruth gasped and clutched Dylan and Ollie’s heads to each side of her, covering their ears with her hands to block them from hearing our exchange. “What? How?”
“The crown,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “The one Jillian’s got on. It’s the same one McKenzie wore. I’m sure of it.”
Ruth frowned. “So?”
“So I assumed it was taken into evidence after she was killed, right? But Terry just told me he had a new one made.”
“Maybe he did.”
I shook my head. “There’s no way. He didn’t have time, and that crown is an exact match to the old one. It even has the pink replacement stone in it. Terry said they had to repair the crown in 1995 and they couldn’t match the stones.”
Ruth’s eyes went wide. “You said 1995?”
“Yeah, why?”
“It’s just that...” Her voice trailed off and she looked like she was going to be sick. “That was Ella Barry. She was Miss Honeytree 1995.”
“How in the world do you remember who won the pageant that long ago?”
“I remember because she skipped town right after she won. Didn’t even go to the state pageant. Everyone in town was talking about it, but we didn’t think...”
“Didn’t think it was weird that she just disappeared?” I finished.
Ruth shrugged. “A boy she liked left town at the same time, so we figured they ran off together. She was always a bit of a wild child. Drinking, smoking, hooking up.”
“Like McKenzie,” I reminded her. Adrenaline surged through me again, and the skin on my arms prickled into goosebumps. “Did Ella ever turn up?”
Ruth shook her head, her hands still clamped over the boys’ ears even though both were struggling to escape, their faces scrunched as they kicked their feet. “You don’t think...”
I nodded. “I do think.”
“Think what?” Eli asked. I jumped and he grinned at me. “It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention.”
I growled at him. “You know I hate surprises.”
“Tell him!” Ruth said urgently.
“A question first,” I said, my heart hammering. “Was McKenzie wearing her crown when you found her body? Was it taken into evidence?”
“I didn’t see it at the scene.” Eli frowned. “And wasn’t on the list—or I don’t remember it being there, anyway. Why?”
“I think the killer took it,” I blurted out. “I think he took it because it was something special to him.”
As if in slow motion, all our eyes shifted toward the stage. Though the state pageant lady and the Morrows were still milling there, shaking hands, both Terry and Jillian were notably absent. Ollie and Dylan took advantage of Ruth’s inattention and struggled free from her grasp, dashing toward the covered bridge and the baseball field on the other side. Ruth looked back and forth between me and the rapidly disappearing kids, her forehead creased with worry.
“Go, go!” I said. “We’ll take care of it.”
“Be careful.” She gave me a stern look and then ran off after the boys, one arm clamped over her chest and the other hand holding up her long broomstick skirt as her purple purse bounced against her hip.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Eli said quickly, though he couldn’t hide the doubt creeping into his voice as he stared at the stage. “McKenzie probably wasn’t wearing the crown by that point. It couldn’t have been comfortable.”
“Let’s ask Jillian,” I said, an eerie sense of calm settling over me. Even as Eli began visually searching the crowd, I knew he wouldn’t find her.
“I don’t see her,” he said tersely, after a few more seconds.
“Archer, then. Just in case his alibi was false. He might have seen McKenzie in the parking lot.”
A few more seconds, and Eli shook his head. “He’s gone, too.”
“He took them, Eli,” I said urgently, putting my hand on his arm. “I know it. He did it before to Ella Barry and her boyfriend back in the Nineties, but nobody realized it.”
“Maybe Jillian and Archer just left together,” Eli mused, rubbing his jaw. “I saw them making googly eyes at each other earlier.”
“I saw it, too. Everybody saw it,” I said impatiently. “Terry saw it. That’s why he grabbed them!”
He finally met my eyes. “OK. I’ll put out a bulletin for Terry’s truck and then swing by Archer’s and Jillian’s places to check if they’re there.”
“They’re not there! Don’t waste your time!” I protested. “You have to look where Terry would go. He’s going to hurt them, Eli!”
“Listen.” Eli grasped me by the upper arms. “I’m going to do this the right way. Please, trust me. I can’t start skipping steps now, or it will jeopardize the whole investigation. It’ll only take a minute to check on th
ose two, and then I’ll be out looking for Terry, along with everybody else. I swear. Go home and wait there.”
He left before I could say anything. My heart thudding as I jogged across the parking lot to my Suburban, I knew I couldn’t wait. Jillian and Archer might not have time.
Ignoring all the stop signs on the way out of town, I took the Curves without even tapping the brakes, leaning into them like a racecar driver. I hadn’t attended driving school at the LA Porsche track for nothing. When I hit the Flats, my accelerator hit the floorboards. I flew by my driveway without a second look. I was headed to Duma. Terry lived and worked there, so he was most familiar with that area. If he’d grabbed Jillian and Archer without prior planning, he’d need to stop for supplies—or his gun. I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused on the road ahead. The city limits sign flicked by and mere moments later, Edison & Sons came into view.
At first, the place looked deserted—dark windows, only a couple of small sedans parked in front. But as I passed, I caught a glimpse of a truck tailgate peeking out from behind the south side of the shop. Terry’s truck.
I stomped the brakes, bracing myself for a jolt. But it never came. The brake pedal hit the floor but the Suburban only slowed the tiniest bit, just the amount I’d expect from letting up on the accelerator.
The brakes were out.
My vision swam and my ears rang—was all this just a bad dream? I pumped the brake pedal a few times again, but nothing. With one panicked eye on the road, I yanked on the emergency brake.
The Suburban didn’t even slow. Now I knew it wasn’t a fluke—my brake lines had been cut on purpose. And only a car-savvy person would know to cut both the main brake lines and the emergency cable, too. Terry. He must have cut my brakes in the library parking lot before he snatched Jillian and Archer.
Every hair on my body stood on end as I checked all my mirrors and scanned the road ahead for cars and pedestrians. For all I regretted about my time married to Peterson Davis, I didn’t regret that he’d forked it over so I could go to driving school. Because while I was learning to drive my Porsche like a speed demon, I’d also learned a couple of tricks to stop an out-of-control vehicle.
