Chapter Thirteen

A few days later, it was time for another book club meeting. Of course, I hadn’t read the book yet. In between logging sales at the register throughout the day, I’d been trying to read a page or two of the thriller we’d picked.

I tried not to frown every time someone interrupted me. This one was a thriller with spies. Man, I love spies. I mean not traitors who are against our country, but like that old show Alias or Whiskey Cavalier. Being able to be a different person and go undercover. It all sounded so cool.

In theory.

In practice, people died, countries were toppled, and it was extremely dangerous work.

If I decided to actually write a book, I’d make it a thriller. Maybe with a spy, who did things like stop nuclear wars. I had to come up with a fake book idea soon, because my brother had asked me about it twice.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave…

Kane had said something to him and for some reason, my brother thought that was the coolest idea ever.

He’d called me the night before telling me so, and said he was available if I needed any kind of background for law enforcement stuff.

Then he said the thing I dreaded most: “What’s it about?”

It’s a perfectly decent question to ask anyone writing a book, unless that person wasn’t really working on one. Then there’s the problem where I’m not great at lying, especially to my brother.

I’d done a few questionable things the last week but that was in an effort to help my friend. Lying and skulking around were not a part of my character—though, I was sort of wondering about that. If my friend’s life wasn’t on the line, this subterfuge might be kind of fun.

“I’m still in the outline stages and fleshing out characters,” I’d said, as if that answered his question. But it seemed to satisfy him. That fleshing out characters phrase I’d heard from an author who had visited my classes when I worked in Chicago.

It saved me from my brother’s third degree. At least now, my fake book idea had a genre. Definitely a spy thriller.

It was almost closing time. I’d thought about going home and letting George do his crazy thing there, but I really needed to read the book if I wanted to lead the discussion.

I decided to take him for a walk, feed him, and then curl up in my office for the next two hours to skim the book.

George groaned beside me. I’d been staring at the back door for goodness knew how long.

“Sorry, big dude. I was lost in thought again.”

He trotted out ahead of me, and I held tight to his leash. After finding Mr. Dean, I never wanted George to stray too far in public. He was preoccupied with something in the grass, which was why I stayed on the sidewalk. Snakes were a very real threat in this part of Texas. Though, my brother had said they tended to leave people alone unless they were trampled on. Unfortunately, George was a great trample-on-everything kind of dog. He didn’t understand how big he was, so it wasn’t his fault.

He paused to check something out, and the hair on the nape of my neck stood up. I turned around quickly to see if someone might be watching us. George didn’t seem to notice anything weird. He sniffed the grass and then gently pulled me forward.

Stop being so paranoid.

Some runners jogged past and another guy on a bicycle headed the opposite way on the path across the river.

But the feeling someone might be watching never went away. I shivered again.

When George finally finished his business and had enough exercise, we went back to the store.

On the back door was a sign.

Stop snooping if you know what’s good for you.

Bile rose in my throat.

George barked, like he understood it was a threat. Maybe he sensed the muscles in my body had tightened into one big knot.

There had been someone.

I quickly unlocked the door and then shut it just as fast behind us. Nerves rattled and hand shaking, I pulled out my phone and called my brother.

He wasn’t in and I didn’t leave a message.

This might be a prank. Local teens had been creating havoc for my brother and his deputies. Tipping cows, I didn’t even know that was a thing, moving portable stop signs used on county roads, just all kinds of mischief.

I checked the security feed for the back door, but it didn’t show anything. I went back a few minutes. And then even more. People from the shop went in and out but no one really paused.

Was it possible I hadn’t noticed it when I locked the door? George had been tugging on me, and it was up higher out of my eyesight. The feed for the security only went back an hour—it was a way to save money. But now I wished I’d invested a bit more to have the continuous feed.

I picked up the phone and called the people who monitored my security to do just that.

Then I shook myself as if to rid my bones of the heebie-jeebies. That’s what Mrs. Whedon called nerves.

After grabbing a pair of plastic gloves, I went to grab the sign off the back of the door.

It was gone.

What is going on? My hand shook as I closed it again.

George sat still, staring at me like I was a crazy person.

Did I imagine the sign? Am I nuts? Maybe all this amateur mystery sleuthing was getting to me.

“George, did you see the sign?”

“Ruh-ro.” See crazy. George was doing a Scooby-Doo impression.

When was the last time you ate?

That had to be it. Breakfast. I had a sausage biscuit and that was it. My blood sugar was low, and I imagined the whole thing.

Just to make sure, I checked the security feed. Weird. It didn’t show me coming in and out either. That’s when I realized there was some sort of disconnect and the feeds for all the cameras were stuck. When I’d tried to rewind from my phone, it had just showed me footage from the last time it worked, which had been earlier that day.

After rebooting the system, everything seemed to work just fine. I sighed. I was letting all this murder business make me crazy. All of this had a perfectly plausible explanation. The system had frozen, and that was why the feed from the cameras was messed up.

Perfectly understandable.

Except for the sign, which I very much wondered if I’d imagined.

The book club folks would be there in an hour. I forced myself to eat the prosciutto and cheese snack I’d brought with me, and then settled down on the sofa in the office with the book.

George curled up next to me. But focusing on the words wasn’t easy.

I had a great imagination, but I’d seen that sign, which meant someone had taken it off again in the few minutes George and I had been back inside. And even scarier—it had to be someone my dog knew because he didn’t bark.

I shook my head and forced myself to focus on the book.

But dread sat in the pit of my belly like a giant brick.

My head hurt, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Ms. Helen had possibly bathed in rose perfume. I’d grown to love the busybody, but her scent of choice, not so much. Well, at least not in the quantities she wore it.

“I liked the ending,” Ms. Helen said. “It left more room for adventures in the future.”

Ms. Erma sighed. “They spent so much time together, I can’t believe she just walked away from him. They didn’t even kiss.”

Ms. Helen rolled her eyes. “Not everything has to have a romantic ending.”

“Who knows what happened,” I interjected before the two of them could get into another one of their squabbles. For best friends, they argued like an old married couple. “Maybe the author left it open for the reader to use their imagination about what happened. They could have met later for dinner, or maybe they’re already working together on their next assignment.”

“That would be my guess,” said Jeff, one of my students from the college. “It was kind of a hook at the end so maybe the reader might go for the next book, right?”

I’d only skimmed it but that was something we’d talked about in class. Leaving the reader wondering as a tool to get them to pick up the next book. “Yes. But the question is, did you feel satisfied by the end?”

There were twenty-five people in the larger conference room—even Michael and Shannon had made it. She’d taken him the book while he was locked up.

“It kept my mind busy,” he’d said earlier. “She was constantly in even more trouble than I was.” He’d said it jokingly, but the laughter in the room was kind of sad. It was his first time back in the shop since he’d been arrested. I didn’t blame him. Walking back in here had to be difficult, also sitting with strangers.

I hadn’t brought the murder board up on purpose. Mainly, because I wasn’t ready to share my suspicions with anyone, and I wanted us to be a real book club.

The discussion went on for another twenty minutes and it was a lively one. Everyone had a different opinion on what the heroine was doing next.

We were wrapping up the discussion, when Shannon raised her hand.

“You don’t have to do that, you can just speak out,” I said, and then smiled.

“Well…we wanted to take a look at the murder board. We were wondering if you guys had any more suspects.”

Everyone started talking at once. The stabbing pain behind my eye throbbed just a bit harder.

“How about we adjourn to the smaller classroom downstairs where the board is,” I said. “Then we’ll take fifteen minutes to go over it. We also need to discuss what genre and book we want to pick next from the list we made, if anyone has a preference, and then we’ll figure that out before everyone leaves.”

But my words fell onto deaf ears. They were filing out of the classroom as fast as they could.

Shannon and Michael were talking about something in the corner.

“Are you guys sure you want to do this? Won’t it be painful?”

Michael shrugged. “I didn’t like the guy very much, but no one deserves to die like this. I want to find out who killed him, as much as anyone else. It isn’t just about clearing my name, which would be great. I don’t expect us to solve the case, but I am interested in hearing all the theories.”

“If you’re sure,” I said as we headed downstairs. I felt bad about keeping what I’d learned from Kane’s computer from the gang. It was against the law, even if I did it for the right reasons, and then, there was the fact that not a single person in this town could keep a secret—except maybe the killer.

I was curious about why he’d lied to me about Rick hitting on Shannon.

It was standing room only downstairs, and Don had already taken the canvas cover off the board. The loud chatter stopped as Michael and Shannon entered the room.

The crowd stepped back and he stood in front of the board. I’d moved to the far side of the room. We’d set it up almost like a family tree with the clues we’d talked about under each of the main suspects. There was one name that wasn’t on there that I desperately wanted to add, but it would wait.

“My name isn’t on here.” Michael’s voice was little more than a whisper.

“Of course not, son,” Mrs. Whedon said. Tonight’s outfit was a silk avocado-green pantsuit with wide legs, which matched her eyeglasses. She wore diamond studs in her ears; for her, this was a fun night out.

It is for you, too.

True.

“But I’m the main suspect in the police’s case.”

Mrs. Whedon patted his shoulder. “Young man, there’s not a person in this town who believes you did it. Why do you think we’re all standing here? We’re going to do whatever it takes to protect you and help prove your innocence.”

He hugged Mrs. Whedon fiercely. “Thank you,” he said, and then sniffled.

She waved a hand in front of her face as if to keep from crying. I love that woman. Cranky, maybe, but she really did have the sweetest heart.

My head pounded but that didn’t keep the tears from burning my eyes. The poor guy probably thought everyone believed the opposite. Even though I’d only lived here a short time, this was one of the reasons I loved this town so much. People had each other’s back. They weren’t so quick to judge.

It was the very opposite of what I thought small-town living would be.

“All the more reason we should get to work. Anyone have new news?” I asked, though my voice was low and clogged with unshed tears.

“Who’s writing things down?” Ms. Helen asked. “Don? You have great handwriting and did it last time. Do you mind?”

The jovial Santa-like man picked up the washable marker with a smile on his face. “Who wants to go first?”

Everyone started talking at once again and I couldn’t help but laugh.

Shannon blew a shrill whistle with her fingers, which had George barking from his bed up at the register.

We laughed.

“Maybe we raise our hands and go one at a time,” I offered.

Four people’s hands went up. I pointed to Ms. Helen. The woman might be a busybody, but she produced results, more so than just about everyone else put together.

“I’m not supposed to say who said it to me because she could get in trouble for talking about customers at the restaurant.” She stared at me pointedly like I was the one who told on her nephew Deputy Kevin.

Wait. Maybe I did—accidentally?

I made the universal motion for my lips were sealed, and I hid my smile because no one was worse than her at keeping a secret.

“Well, turns out the wife and the girlfriend were seen fighting on the street.” That was something most of us had either seen or heard about already. “And then a few hours later, Margie, who works at the Hoof (the worst name ever for a steakhouse) over in Crankshaw, saw the pair laughing over a dinner. She told me that the wife paid. And there was no yelling and they were both smiling.”

Wait. What? No way. They’d been at each other’s throats. “Did you tell your nephew this news?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I tried to, but he told me to mind my own business. Little toot. I used to wipe his butt when he was a baby. Just because I let slip a little bit what he’d mentioned to me—and your brother yelled at him—he’s not happy with me.”

“I swear I didn’t tell Greg anything he didn’t already know,” I said. “Maybe you aren’t the only one Kevin mentioned things to.”

“You might be right. What do you think about that news, Ainsley?”

I was about to ask how she talked to the waitress. But she raised her hand again. “I have a standing date with a gentleman friend every other Thursday there,” she said. “Margie has been waiting on my table for years and I’d told her the last time about the murder. She said she’d keep an eye out.”

Leave it to Ms. Helen to have a snoop network, and a standing date? I hadn’t been on a date in ages—and the one coming up with Kane didn’t count. “Interesting. Was there something else?”

“Well, she said later on she was taking a break. When she went to the bathroom, the girlfriend was throwing up. What if she’s really pregnant?”

I sat down with a thump on the conference table, which had been pushed to the side to make room for everyone. But why would they be talking if that were the case? If there was any kind of estate, the baby might have a claim. None of this made any sense.

“Go head and write all that down, Don.” I wished there was some way I could talk to the girlfriend. I’d thought about taking her a pie or cookies, but I was worried she might remember me from the street that day she fought with the wife.

And she might know I was the sheriff’s sister. If he found out I was talking to suspects—well, I didn’t want to go there.

Ms. Erma raised her hand. “Yes, ma’am,” Don said, as he pointed at the older woman with the marker.

“Well, my friend Mr. Green works at Calworth Funeral Services. I was there for a funeral the other day and he said that the widow had come in. At first, she’d been crying but then when it came to picking out the casket and flowers—well, she said whatever was cheapest. That the man wasn’t going to get one more dime from her. What do you think that meant?”

I wouldn’t blame her since he had a mistress. “Does she have money or did the husband?” I asked. “Do you think she was talking about the life insurance? Or maybe she was subsidizing him?”

Michael laughed. “Slow down, Ainsley, poor Don is writing as fast as he can.”

Maria held up her hand and I realized I hadn’t held up mine. “Well, um, my husband runs the bank where they do their business. But no way he’s going to share anything with me. I have no way of finding who has the money.”

“Is there a way to run a credit check? I mean, if the person you’re running it on isn’t getting a loan or anything.”

Everyone shook their heads, except my student Jeff. He and Lily had been whispering and writing things down all night. “If someone makes a large purchase, there’s sometimes a credit check. But I have a friend, who might be able to look into the finances,” he said, somewhat sheepishly.

“No. Nothing illegal,” I said. “We don’t step over those lines, got it? Besides, I told you that your role here is to observe only.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I still had to get used to people calling me that. In the South, it wasn’t because you were old, it was a phrase used to show respect for a woman.

Though, I was probably the last person to talk about crossing lines. I’d done it more than once.

There were a few other comments and then everyone agreed to keep an ear out if they heard anything.

By the time we finished it was almost ten.

George and I headed home. I didn’t have to be at the store until noon, to cover the later shift at the register, but I was exhausted. After putting down my purse, I went to check on George. He was running around the yard like a maniac but there wasn’t any barking involved, so there was that. The lights did come on, but for once, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He ran and ran, and then came inside.

After drinking a bowl of water, he climbed up on the sofa and drifted off. I started to go upstairs, but my mind was whirling with so many things.

I grabbed my phone out of my purse and opened the files I’d taken pictures of on Kane’s computer.

When the close-up of the head wound came up, I was glad I hadn’t eaten much. I read the notes to the side. Kane said the size of the wound wasn’t consistent with breaking a wine bottle over the man’s head. Was not. So, had he hit his head earlier and then someone pounded him with the bottle?

I read down. Kane had asked the same question.

Interesting.

Still, even with all the new conjecture about the wife and the girlfriend, they wouldn’t have been strong enough to do this.

Ugh.

No wonder my brother had his hands full. Every clue just brought more confusing questions.

Grabbing a journal that I used to write down ideas for the shop, I copied what I’d seen on the board. And then added my own notes to it. By the time I was finished, George snored loudly.

My mind whirred with possibilities.

I was so engrossed that when a loud bang slammed against my door, I screamed.