by ACF Bookens
I was just into the first racy scene with Jamie Fraser and Claire when I suddenly remembered something that Dillard had said the night before about Ariel reading a lot in the bank’s attic. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, given how tired I was and how I’d immediately imagined that’s how I’d survive in that situation, but now I realized that Ariel hadn’t mentioned that to me at all. If she was a reader, then we had some things to talk about.
She’d been an amazing guest – cleaning the entire house, baking cookies, even weeding my garden beds so I didn’t have to. I was going to be sad to see her go, but it looked like the flower sale was going to be quite successful. And if so, then we knew there was an apartment ready for her to move into at the end of the week.
We’d thought about keeping the sale a secret from her, but given the flyers and the buckets of flowers and such, we thought it best to clue her in. She’d cried quietly when Mart and I had shared the news on Saturday night, and when we’d told her that we’d set up the fund so that others wouldn’t have to go through what she did, she’d sobbed. The only words I could make out were, “Thank you.”
She’d taken it on herself to do a lot of social media campaigning, getting the word out everywhere she could, and I knew that her efforts were working because we were now getting orders through FaceBook Messenger. I hadn’t even known you could pay for things through FaceBook.
Between her posts and Galen’s regular Instagram stories about the sale, I felt liked we’d covered our online opportunities well.
But this morning, I wanted to talk books, so when she came in the front door, her knees muddy from kneeling to deadhead the marigolds, a little into my reading stint, I popped up. “So I just learned that you’re an avid reader? What do you like to read?”
She gave me a puzzled look and said, “I do love to read. Doesn’t everybody?”
“I knew we were soul mates,” I said. “Favorite genres? Authors? Can you actually pick a favorite book?”
“I am completely incapable of picking a favorite,” she said as she filled a giant Maritime Museum mug with coffee. “You?”
“Able when forced but prefer not to.” I refilled my cup and sat beside her at the kitchen island. “What would you include in a list of your favorites then?”
We spent the next thirty minutes chatting books. She loved YA fiction, but not so much the fantasy stuff. More things like Michelle Yoon’s Everything, Everything or John Green. “I’ll read anything John Green writes,” she said.
“Me, too. Again, soul mates.” I put my coffee cup in the dishwasher. “Which reminds me, I need to get his latest book into the store. Remind me?”
“Absolutely.” She stood and grabbed the dishcloth to wipe down the counter. “Out of curiosity, how did you know I was a reader?”
“Oh, Deputy Dillard mentioned that you spent your time in the attic reading. I totally would have done the same thing.”
She furrowed her brow but then turned back to the sink to wet the cloth and said, “It did make the most of a terrible situation.”
I gave her shoulders a hug as I slipped behind her to go get ready for work. “See you at the shop in a bit?”
“Yep, I’m on note and delivery duty today.” She turned to me and smiled. “Can’t wait!”
* * *
The pace was as fast and furious as a Vin Diesel car chase at the shop that morning. Flower purchases were frantic as more and more people heard about the sale, and we had even started getting some straight-up donations to the Fund a Home Fund. Marcus had come up with the name, and I loved it. Mart has pushed for something with a pithy acronym, but none of us were that good with puns. So “Fund a Home Fund” it was.
I had some bookkeeping to do, so Marcus ran the store while I did the accounting over in the café. Rocky’s mom, Phoebe, had made a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls to take advantage of the flower foot-traffic, and Rocky didn’t even ask before she brought me one. That girl was too good to me.
I was just about done reconciling columns when someone called my name. I looked up to see Cynthia coming toward me. She was cute as always with booties and jeans so skinny that even my legs as a ten-year-old wouldn’t have fit in them. Her hair was twisted up in a perfectly messy bun, and I swear her makeup was on so flawlessly that she looked like she wasn’t wearing any. Either that or she had the skin of an infant and the rosy glow of a day in a breeze.
I, in contrast, looked a bit like a windstorm had swept my hair into an ocean-like wave, and like I was overtired and over forty, so, like myself, because I was actually not wearing any makeup. We were a study in opposites, Cynthia and I.
“Hey Cynthia. How are you? How are things at the bank?” Their new permanent manager’s first day was today, so said the grapevine, and I was dying to know how it was going.
“It’s good, I think. The new manager Gabriela seems nice. She wants to make a few changes, good ones but things that take a little work. But she’s good.”
I smiled. “Glad to hear that. You on break? What brings you in?”
I thought I saw a little fear in her eyes, but before I could be sure, she was grinning and talking. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.” She sat down across from me. “But I don’t want to seem nosy. I’m just curious, and I guess a little nervous.”
“Sure, what did you want to ask?” I was not unfamiliar with nosiness myself, but unlike Cynthia, I had no shame about just blurting out my question.
“I was just wondering if they had any suspects in Wilma’s murder. I know that Henri woman was cleared. But I wondered if they were looking at anyone else?” Her voice was shaky.
“You know, I was kind of wondering the same thing, but no one tells me anything. I’m sure, though, that there’s nothing to worry about. Tuck and Deputy Dillard have it under control.” I winked at her. “Which reminds me . . . you and Dillard?” Nope, no shame at my nosiness at all.
Cynthia went completely white and began frantically searching her purse for something.
“Oh no, I’m sorry. I’ve embarrassed you.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s okay. Just, no, there’s nothing going on. I just think he’s cute is all. I thought maybe he felt that way, too, but then, well . . .”
I thought about Tuck calling Dillard away and warning him off and immediately felt bad for Cynthia. She’d liked the guy, and he’d probably been forced into giving her the cold shoulder.
“Ugh. Dating is so hard. I hate it. Maybe give him time?” Perhaps when the investigation was over, the conflict of interest for Dillard would go away, I thought.
“Yeah, good idea.” She didn’t look at me as she stood. “Thanks, Harvey. My break’s over, so back to the bank.”
She scurried out, and I watched her go, feeling so glad I wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend.
8
By late Tuesday morning when Galen and Mack made their weekly visit, we had already raised four thousand dollars from the flower sale. Mom had begun a press release campaign for the last day’s sale with the hopes we might top seventy-five hundred. Given her enthusiasm – i.e., intense loud-talking and pacing through my shop several times a day – I thought people had probably handed over their cash and thanked people with flowers just to avoid her wrath.
Galen did a video with Marcus about the sale and popped it into his Instagram stories and, within minutes, we had even more donations from all over the country. If Mom’s press releases didn’t do it, Galen’s followers would put us over the top.
On Monday, we’d delivered another five hundred flowers, and this morning before work, Daniel and I had gone over to help Elle harvest again. Mart and Cate had done Monday’s harvest shift, and Ariel had offered to go today, but I really wanted to get out there and move my body. Ariel’s work in my own garden had meant I hadn’t had to do as much physical work as I might have. So this was my chance to burn a few calories and get my muscles moving again. I was ready after the full two days of recovery from the last time.
> We’d picked more tulips and peonies, and this time, Elle had let me bring in some sweet peas, too. The beauty of all those blossoms had stayed with me all day.
Now, I was going to take my first and only delivery run because Marcus was in the shop. I had my bucket of flowers – peonies and tulips, the flowers I was coming to think of as my specialty – and my deliveries were right here in town. I’d asked for that circuit so I could personally thank the other merchants for participating, and the flowers I’d purchased for each of them were in my pail, too.
I started at the end of the block with the sewing store where I bought my embroidery floss for my never-finished cross-stitch projects. Then, I moved on down to the stationary shop and the boutique that specialized in clothing made from alpaca fiber. My next stop was Max’s restaurant, and I was thrilled to be able to leave his flower with my hopefully innocuous “Thanks, Max” note with his hostess and prayed she followed my instructions to say nothing about who brought it by. I wasn’t sure, however, that her knowing wink indicated that she was on my side of this weird thing with her boss.
The guys at the hardware store both blushed when I dropped their tulips off, and Pickle guffawed when I handed him his at his office. “You shouldn’t have, Harvey? Matilda will be jealous,” he said with a smirk. “I’m going to put it in a vase on the table when we have dinner. It’ll make her day to think you thought of me this way.” I hadn’t yet met Pickle’s wife, but she sounded lovely, as lovely as her husband at least.
Finally, I made my way to the bank, where I had flowers for at least six people including Cynthia, Ariel, and the new manager. I was just crossing the street to the front door when I noticed two people in a car in the back of the parking lot. I tried not to be nosy, but I stared just long enough to see it was Cynthia and Dillard . . . and they weren’t talking. Nope, that was some serious making out going on.
I smiled to myself as I went in the door. I bet Cynthia was happy now. My next thought was, I bet Tuck isn’t.
But in all things love, I knew to mind my own business, so I just handed out my flowers, leaving Cynthia’s at her teller window, and scooted back out quick as lightning.
Back at the shop, though, I couldn’t shake the image of Tuck’s face as he saw Dillard and Cynthia together at the barbecue. He was livid, and my friend was not someone to fly off the handle for no reason.
Still, I didn’t know what reason he had for being so adamant about Dillard staying away from Cynthia, or at least that’s what I surmised Tuck had been telling his deputy on the deck that night. I imagined his concern could be because there was still an open murder investigation going on that involved her boss and, frankly, her, but maybe it was something else. Maybe Dillard wasn’t kind to women. Or maybe Cynthia wasn’t kind to men.
I eventually got myself so befuddled and frustrated with all my guessing that I decided I need to break my own rule about getting involved with affairs of the heart and texted Tuck. I tried to keep it casual: “Stop by when you can. Have a question for you.” But given that I texted him only when in dire need, I imagined I’d see him in moments.
Sure enough, within ten minutes, Sheriff Tucker Mason was in the shop, his Cocker Spaniel, Sandy, with him. “Sandy and I were out for a walk anyway, so we came right over.”
I knelt down and gave Sandy’s fluffy ears a rub. She did this amazing groan when you rubbed her ears, like she was getting the best massage of her life and didn’t care who knew it. It made me happy every time.
“Thanks for coming,” I said as I unlatched Sandy from her leash and watched her waddle over to where Mayhem was asleep in the history section. “It’s probably nothing, but I thought I should check.” I told him what I’d seen in the parking lot, and his face got redder and redder beneath his dark brown skin.
“I see,” he said with that tone that signaled he was working hard to keep his temper under control. “When was this?”
I glanced at the clock on the register. “About thirty minutes ago?”
He gave me a curt nod. “Can Sandy stay here for a while?” His words were clipped.
“Of course. As long as you want. I’ll take her home with me if you can’t make it back before we close for some reason.”
“Thanks, Harvey,” he said as he stormed out the front door and took a right toward the bank.
A few moments later, he marched past the front of the shop, headed, I assumed, toward the police station. If anything, he looked more angry than ever.
But between the steady stream of customers looking for books – including one woman who was looking for an introduction to personality types to whom I recommended Reading People by Anne Bogel – and the flower sales, I lost track of the sheriff and of time. When I finally got a minute to think about Cynthia and Dillard again, it was almost six-thirty, and the rush of the day was finally subsiding.
Marcus stayed at the register, ringing up our last few customers, and I did the rounds, picking up magazines and reshelving titles. I was just coming out of the romance section when the sheriff came back in, and he looked downright exhausted. I pointed toward the fiction section, and he went straight there, dropping into a chair before I even got there. Sandy trotted over, lay her head on his foot, and waited. Dogs know when we need comfort, and what kind. Clearly the sheriff needed quiet companionship, so I took Sandy’s lead and simply sat in the other chair next to him.
After a few minutes, he took a long breath and looked at me. “Thanks again for the information, Harvey.”
I felt a little guilty about potentially ruining Cynthia’s romance, but I also felt like I’d done the right thing. “All sorted then?” I said, trying to be all sly and laid back when really I had seven questions lined up ready to go.
Tuck looked at me out of the corner of his eye and smiled. “It’s killing you, isn’t it?”
I huffed and collapsed against the chair. “It is. What in the world is going on?”
“You did well, I have to say, to hold out that long given your innate, er, curiosity.” His humor was coming back, and I took that as a good sign. “Okay, so Cynthia is a person of interest, as you’d say, in Wilma’s murder.”
I wasn’t surprised to hear that, but still, it made me a little sad. “Okay, got it.”
“It’s not that we have anything in particular on her. Just that we’re looking at everyone at the bank since that seems the most likely person to have access to the co-op’s accounts.”
“So you do think there’s a connection between the thefts from the co-op and Wilma’s murder?” I was finally getting some solid information, and I wasn’t about to lose momentum now.
“We do. Our working theory is that after her confrontation with Henri, Wilma did a little digging and discovered some anomaly, some digital trail that either told her who the thief was or that made the person think she was on to them at least.” The sheriff sighed. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this, Harvey, but I’m tired, and you’re here. You cannot share this information, okay?”
I nodded, and I wouldn’t. I wasn’t a good liar, but I was good at keeping confidences. “Dillard was compromising the investigation?”
The sheriff laughed. “There you go with the fake police-speak. Yes, he was creating a massive conflict of interest for himself and the department. Not to mention, if Cynthia is our killer, he’s putting himself in a compromising situation as an officer.”
“Not to mention as a man. Talk about a Lady Killer.” I smiled at my own off-color joke, and the sheriff rolled his eyes. “He’s going to break it off?”
“If he wants to keep his job, he is. He wasn’t happy about it, but I expect he’ll do it.”
I sighed. “Poor Cynthia. She really liked him.”
The sheriff smiled. “I suspect she’ll recover.” He stood, and Sandy stood with him, her nub of a tail wagging furiously. “Thanks for watching my girl. The older she gets, the more she wants to be around me.”
“With me, it’s that the older I get the more I want my girl near
by.” I smiled over at Mayhem who was still snoozing amongst the Civil War books. “Have a good night, Tuck.”
“You, too, Harvey.” He attached Sandy’s leash and let her lead him out the door.
I made my way back to the register, where Marcus was just handling our last customer. “Sheriff Mason looks tired,” he said as he came around the counter to lock the front door.
“He does. I think this murder investigation is getting to him. It’s got to be hard to not solve it quickly.”
Marcus nodded. “I hate unfinished business.”
“Me, too!” I said as I pulled the register drawer and began to reconcile it.
We’d had a good day, both in book and flower sales, and I decided to do a night deposit to get the excess cash out of the store and into the bank. I typically just ran the deposits over during the day, but we had a sizable stack of bills in our safe tonight. I knew I’d feel better if I just took care of getting it to the bank tonight.
Marcus and Rocky headed out, locking the door behind them, as I finished up the deposit slip. Daniel would be by any minute to walk me home, and he and I could go by the bank’s secure deposit box together.
I had just gotten Mayhem onto her leash when there was a knock at the front door, and I looked out to see a sobbing Cynthia. I tucked the deposit envelope back into the safe, swung the door shut, and went to let the poor girl in.
She collapsed onto my chest as soon as she stepped in the door. “He broke up with me. Why would he break up with me?”
I sighed and led her to the café so that Daniel would see us when he walked up. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Cynthia.” And I was.
“He came by today, and things were amazing, like better than ever, but then, tonight he sent me a text saying he couldn’t see me anymore.” She dropped her face into her hands and cried even harder.
