That night, Mart and I completely vegged out. We didn’t even make dinner but opted instead for an a la carte menu of cold cuts, cheeses, and peanut butter crackers. Her wine event had been a big hit with the giant corporation from outside DC, and she had been asked to coordinate similar events for their clients over that way in the next few months. The work was going to be good, but that much small talk and strategizing always left Mart tired.
And with the big event coming on Friday, I really needed to do something to distract my mind. So we opted for watching The 100, a sci-fi show that was just enough drama and romance to keep us occupied, especially while we let ourselves gawk at the teenage hero Finn.
Four episodes and almost a whole jar of peanut butter later, we let the dogs out, tidied the kitchen, and headed to bed, where I found Aslan asleep on my pillow. She was less than thrilled when I moved her over so I could actually lay down, but I was so tired I didn’t even care when she went back to sleep on my neck.
The next morning, though, I woke up feeling revived and ready to go, which was good because when I picked up my phone at six-thirty, I already had three texts from my mother, all asking for me to call her as soon as I got up.
I recognized this kind of urgency brought on by her early morning planning stints and waited until I had a cup of coffee for stamina before I called her back. When I did dial her number, she didn’t even say hello before she started asking for my opinion on whether or not we should get a liquor license for the event, how we should handle parking, and what kind of signage was necessary to direct the visitors.
As I sipped my coffee, I gave the appropriate “I’m listening” sounds as she worked her way around to her own answers. I got my need to verbally process things from my mother, and these calls were simply a way for Mom to talk through solutions she was quite capable of determining on her own. It was a new part of our relationship, one I actually treasured, even early in the morning, because we hadn’t always been close. That I was the one she called and trusted to just let her spill out her thoughts felt special and good.
Fifteen minutes after the call began, Mom took a breath and said, “Thank you, Harvey. You are always so good at helping me think through these things.”
“You’re welcome, Mom,” I replied with the first words I’d said since Mom first picked up the phone. “Happy to help. See you later at the store?”
“You bet. I’ll bring the signs by mid-morning so you can tell me if you think they are easily readable from the road.” She said her good-bye and hung up.
I smiled as I scrambled up an egg with cheese and washed some grapes. The signs would be perfect when Mom came with them, but I’d need to find some small suggestion that didn’t require her to redo them, just so that she felt good about including me. Maybe I could offer a note about color, suggest some balloons or such.
The notion of color got me thinking, and I texted our friend Elle, who ran the local Farm Store and sold the most amazing cut flowers, to see if she could donate some bouquets for the picnic tables on Friday. Her reply came quite quickly because she, like Mom, was an early riser. “Absolutely. Your mom already contacted me about a bouquet for the library counter, but I’ll do a few small ones for the picnic tables, too. Come by later and pick out some stems?”
I always loved going into Elle’s shop because it smelled so good and because the flowers were so beautiful. Plus, Elle had become a dear friend, and it was only her gardening expertise that had kept me weeding and seeding in my own small plot of vegetables and flowers. That little garden had become a respite for me, and this morning, I slipped on my rubber shoes and went out into the dew-laden grass to stare at my tiny cabbage plants and the rosemary and sage that had wintered over so well.
I could see the leaves of my hollyhocks poking up in the small bed against the house, and I thought the foxgloves were beginning to show, too. Elle had wisely suggested I keep those separate from my food stores since they could be very poisonous. She knew that I was a novice gardener and didn’t want me getting all experimental with edible flowers that might kill me. I appreciated her caution.
As I stared at the tiny first leaves of my flowers, something prodded at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite grab it from where it was just beginning to grow in the folds of my brain. So I took another sip of coffee and headed inside to finish my coffee and see if Mart was up.
If I was my mother’s sounding board, Mart was mine, and while she stood patiently and sipped her own first cup, I rambled on about foxgloves and poison and somehow found my way to talking about how scared Joe Cagle was . . . I knew there was a connection, but my thoughts kept interrupting themselves with the phrase, “Laura Lippman is coming to your house,” and I couldn’t put the ideas together.
Fortunately, the caffeine had activated Mart’s synapses, and she said, “You think Sidney was poisoned and Cagle saw it happen.”
I stared at her for a moment as the statement sunk in, and then I nodded, a little stunned at how clearly my friend had understood my verbal meanderings. “Yes, I think I do. Or at least I wonder if that’s what happened. We didn’t see any blood or anything, so I don’t think he was hit or stabbed. I’m guessing the killer hoped people would think it was just a natural death . . .” My thoughts were spinning faster than I could catch them.
“Take a breath, Harvey,” Mart said quietly. “What do you think Cagle could have seen if it was poison?”
I stared at Mart and blinked for a few seconds. She had hit on the key question. “I have no idea, but I think it’s time I talk with Tuck again.”
Mart nodded and smiled. “Your brain just can’t let things go, can it.”
I gave my head a little shake. “Apparently not.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “I better hustle if I’m going to stop by the station before work.”
Within a couple of minutes, Taco, Mayhem, and I were on our way, this time with far fewer pauses for pee and sniffs since I had a timeline to work with. Soon, I was tying them up by the bowl of water that the dispatcher left outside the station for passing pups and heading inside to talk to Tuck.
Our sheriff was very patient with my “curiosity,” or what he called nosiness, but given how much stress he’d been under, I didn’t know if he was going to love my visit this morning. I could only hope that his day off made him patient or at least gave him the resources to be kind when he told me to buzz off.
The young woman at the front desk told Tuck I was there, and he said I could come on back. As I walked the few yards to his office, I decided to use Mom’s concerns about parking and traffic as a smokescreen for my real reason for visiting. I doubted that Tuck would buy it, but at least I would feel a little less intrusive. Maybe.
When I came in, Tuck smiled and said, “I wondered how long it would take you to come in.”
I furrowed my brow and put on my best “whatever do you mean” look as I said, “You knew I would come in to talk about parking and traffic patterns for the Friday night fundraiser?” My voice was higher than usual, and I silently kicked myself for not practicing my lines before I came in.
“Oh, is that why you’re here?” Tuck said with a smile. “Well, you’ll be glad to know that your mother and I just spoke, and everything is set up in that regard. No need to worry.”
I nodded and swallowed. Now that my smokescreen had been blown completely out of the room, I felt a little stymied.
“Was that all, Harvey? If so, and I don’t mean to be rude, I have a killer to catch.” Tuck gave me a serious look, but I could see the corners of his mouth bouncing.
“Okay, fine,” I said with a pout. “I’m here to ask you what Sidney’s cause of death was. I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Tuck’s grin was wide and full. “I thought so. It took you long enough to ask.”
“I was a little preoccupied by the fact that Laura Lippman is going to be staying at my house on Friday night,” I said as a flutter of anxiety pounded in my chest at just the thought.
“Wow, that’s great, Harvey. Maybe she’ll come into the store and sign her books,” Tuck said.
The pace of my heart picked up a tick more. “I hadn’t even thought of that, but yeah. I need to get more copies of her books in.” I glanced at the phone in my hand. Twenty minutes until I needed to open, and I had to get that order in this morning to have it on time for Friday.
“To answer your question, it wasn’t poison. I can’t tell you more, but that information will likely be common knowledge soon enough since I think Pickle might have overheard me talking about it with Watson when he was in visiting his client this morning,” Tuck frowned.
Pickle was another good friend and a very good attorney. “Pickle is representing Joe Cagle?” As far as I knew, Cagle was the only person who would need legal representation at the sheriff’s office, so it seemed like a good bet.
“Yes. Cagle has not been willing to tell us anything yet, although he was smart enough to ask for an attorney. So he’s clearly not as terrified.” Tuck ran a hand over his bald head. “Pickle’s a good man. I expect we’ll get some more information from Cagle soon.”
I nodded and sighed. “I hope so. I hate to think of Sidney suffering while he lay there alone.”
Tuck grimaced. “Yeah. It’s not a pretty picture.”
“I better go. Sorry to bother you, but you know me.”
“I certainly do,” Tuck said as he walked me to the door. “You care, Harvey. I know that. Just be careful you don’t care too much.”
I smiled and walked out the door. Caring too much had always been my problem.
As I walked with the dogs to the store, I tried to shake the image of Sidney suffering under that table from my head. I had long ago learned there was no value in dwelling on things I couldn’t change, and fortunately, I was finally able to control my thoughts, at least a little bit. Walking helped soothe me, and when we got close to the store and saw our friend Galen and his English Bulldog Mack waiting outside, the day got even better.
Galen was my favorite customer, mostly because he was a wonderful person and a fellow dog-lover, but also because he was a great champion for my store. Surprisingly for a white man in his senior years, he had built up a huge Instagram following, and he used it often to promote the shop and the events we held. My financial stability was, in part, due to Galen’s faithful sharing of what I was doing here.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” I said as the three of us approached and the dogs did the rounds of sniffing each other’s various parts. “You’re out and about early?”
“I am. I’m out of books, and I have an idea to run by you,” he said with a smile.
“Ooh, you know I always love your ideas. Come in. I’ll just need to get the store opened up, and then we can chat.” I unlocked the door and led our canine entourage in as the bell chimed above us.
“Perfect. Mind if I browse right away? I have some Lippman books to catch up on.” He headed right for the mystery section, his favorite, and I got to the computer and ordered three copies of every book Laura Lippman had written as well as fifty of her newest release. I hoped that would be enough.
As soon as I finished turning on the lights and the open sign, I stopped by to see Rocky, who as usual had been here a while to get her café ready for the day’s first guests. She and I had talked a little about hiring an assistant so she could stop working all day every day, and she wanted to do that but had her own financial figure in mind where that would be viable. I hoped she reached that goal soon because I wanted her to have some kind of life outside of the store.
The bell over the front door rang again, and I turned to see Marcus coming in right on time, a huge smile on his face and his skateboard under his arm. When he saw me his smile brightened, but when he saw Rocky, he practically shone.
I glanced back at her and sighed. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that she was here every day. She seemed to like the company.
Greetings done, I headed over to the mystery shelves to find Galen and see if we had what he needed to complete his reading of Lippman’s oeuvre. Galen was, like me, a completer when it came to books. He rarely gave up on a title even if he didn’t enjoy it, and he liked to read a series in order whenever possible. Normally, he was a cozy mystery lover, but he also appreciated any kind of intrigue, well, any kind of book really. I think that’s why he felt like a kindred spirit; our love for books ran deep.
When I found him and the three dogs tucked in and around a club chair near the mystery titles, he was already deep into the third book in Lippman’s Tess Monaghan series, Another Thing To Fall. He smiled at me briefly before returning his eyes to the page, and I took the universal hint of readers everywhere and left him be.
Marcus and I had gotten out most of the new releases the night before, so all we had to do for this, my favorite book day of the week, was freshen the display table at the front of the store. We did that quickly, moving a few less-well-selling titles to the back or onto the main shelves and sliding the new ones into the prime spaces. I was especially excited to read The River Has Teeth by Erica Waters, a YA fantasy with a mystery at its heart, and I set aside a copy for myself.
I didn’t buy a lot of books these days because my budget didn’t allow it and I wanted to keep our stock for customers because I wanted to please them and, if I’m honest, because they paid full price and I didn’t. But sometimes a book caught my eye, and I knew I wanted to have my own copy to read. If I loved it, it would go onto my shelves. If I just enjoyed it, as I did most books, I’d donate it to our library or put it in a Little Free Library when I was done.
My chores finished, I spent the next little while perusing the shelves for returns, a job I hated but one that was necessary to keep my shop from being buried in the financial weight of unsold titles. I was just about to cull from the self-help shelves when Galen found me and asked if I had time for a latte.
“I always have time for a latte,” I said as I checked in visually with Marcus to be sure he was solid. He smiled, and the three dogs trailed Galen and me to the café. I tried to buy our drinks, but Galen insisted and so with my free latte in hand, he and I took a table by the window.
I was dying to know what Galen had to share with me, but I was also Southern enough that I needed to do my best with small talk for a bit. “You doing okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “Doing great. Had my physical last week. Clean bill of health.” He grinned. “Okay, so I’m on TikTok now.”
I laughed. “Of course you are.” This particular social media phenomenon was totally lost on me, just as Snapchat had been. I was fully ensconced in the middle-aged world of Facebook and content to stay there, but I loved that Galen was branching out.
He smiled. “I’ve started doing book reviews there, and they’re taking off.” He took out his phone and showed me an article about how young book reviewers were launching titles onto the bestseller’s list with their honest, often tearful reviews of books on TikTok. “It’s super easy and really fun, actually. Mack even makes cameos.”
I was not in the least surprised by this bit of dog-related info given that Mack had a very popular Instagram following himself. “That’s wonderful, Galen. How can I help?”
“Oh, I don’t need your help, Harvey, although I appreciate the offer. What I need is a bookish space to film a few times a week? I thought the store might work.” He raised his eyebrows and looked at me hopefully.
I stared at him for a minute and then said, “You want to film videos here, live, in my store? Like while we’re open or after hours?”
“Oh while you’re open. Each video is about one minute long, and the ambiance of the store will be great. No need to worry if I’m interrupted or anything. I just want to have good internet to do them, mine at home can be spotty for video, and bookshelves behind me. You won’t need to do anything at all.” He took a sip of latte and watched me over the rim of the mug.
My first instinct was always to say yes to everything, but I’d finally begun to learn to pause, think, and then answer. So I took my own sip of my sweet beverage, looked out the window for a few seconds, and then asked my question, “I love this idea, Galen, but I have to say that I really don’t have space or energy to coordinate anything. Do you really mean I won’t have to do a thing, not even steer customers away from where you’re recording?”
He smiled. “I totally understand, Harvey, and you won’t need to do a single thing. In fact, I won’t even let you know when I’m coming. That way, you can’t even try to prepare. I’ll just come in, sit down, and record.” He took a deep breath. “But also, you can say no, and I won’t be offended at all.”
I sipped a few seconds more and then I said, “I love this idea. Please use my store.” I smiled and felt the excitement I’d been holding back a bit for the sake of caution rise up.
Galen tapped his hands on the table in excitement. “Great, and of course, I’ll talk about the store and tag it in my videos. My hope is that it’ll bring in more customers for you, too.”
I reached over and took his hand. “Friend, that would be great, but really, I’m just glad to be able to help you after you have done so much for us” I stood up. “Now, though, I need to go sign up for TikTok so I can watch your videos.”
He laughed and stood, too. “Before you do, mind ringing me up?” We strolled toward the register, and I saw a teetering stack of paperbacks waiting at the end. “I have a few things to purchase.”
As usual, his total was huge, and I gave him as I always did, the employee discount. He was, basically, our press team, and even if he wasn’t, he bought in such volume that I would have felt inclined to give him the discount anyway.
We said our goodbyes, and Marcus helped him and Mack carry his purchases to the car while I checked out the gaping holes in the mystery and thriller sections and upped my order of Lippman’s books. If I knew Galen, he’d be in soon to review his reads of her titles, and I expect that would mean quite a few more sales. I just hoped they’d arrive in time for Friday.
The rest of the morning passed easily with customers in and out and a few phone calls about Friday’s event since Mom had listed the store number as the main contact. It was looking like the turnout would be great, and I hoped we raised a lot of money in Sidney’s honor. Of course, that part I wasn’t worried about. My mother had never missed a fundraising goal, even if she had to kick in the difference herself.
Around noon, I took my lunch break and decided to settle on a bench overlooking the stream by the library to eat the sandwich I’d packed. I could feel the sadness over Sidney’s death finally creeping in, and I wanted to honor my feelings while also paying him a small tribute of attention.
I grabbed the dogs’ long lead lines and headed out with my reusable lunch bag that Mart had scored at some wine convention. I loved the thing because it kept my sandwich cold and meant I didn’t have any trash to throw away when I was done. Also, it kind of reminded me of having a lunch box, something I’d loved when I was a kid. Mine had been covered in Shirt Tails, a short-lived cartoon that I had loved when I was little. I wondered if Mom still had it. Probably.
I found a nice sunny bench that would allow me to see the stream, watch the joggers going by, and give the dogs plenty of space to roll and tumble on their leads without tripping anyone. With them tethered to the leg of the bench, I opened my bag and smiled at my lunch of a ham and cheese sandwich, chips, and a fresh, super-dill pickle. Something about this meal made me happy. Maybe it was the simplicity, maybe some sense of nostalgia for the days when I was working as a fundraiser in San Francisco and couldn’t even afford to buy a drink if I wanted to pay my rent. Whatever it was, I loved this food, and I savored every bite even as I thought about Sidney and how tragic it was that he had died.
Taco and Mayhem tumbled around together for a brief time, and then they sprawled out on their sides in the sun and slept hard. I know because they both snored, much to the delight of everyone who walked past. I took out my e-reader and dove back into Midnight at the Bright Ideas Bookstore. I was so engrossed in my reading that I jumped when someone sat down next to me.
Out of instinct, I scooted over and grabbed hold of the dogs’ leashes, but when I looked up, it was my friend Pickle with his own brown bag lunch in hand. “Sorry, Harvey. Didn’t mean to startle you. I forget how you get with your books.”
I blushed and shook my head. “Sorry. It’s good to see you. Perfect day for a lunch outside.”
“I agree . . . but I have to admit I was actually looking for you. Marcus said you might have come this way.” He took a sub out of his bag and studied it before taking a bite.
“Oh?” I figured this must be about Joe Cagle, but why Pickle would look for me I had no idea.
He finished his mouthful and swallowed. “I need your help.” He took another bite from his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “Cagle is innocent, but he’s too scared to tell Tuck what he knows.”
As he took another bite of his sandwich, I sighed. At this rate, it would be mid-afternoon before I got the details, so I decided to try and fill some in for myself while Pickle ate. “You think I could convince him to talk to Tuck?”
Pickle nodded and continued to eat.
“And you’re sure he didn’t kill Sidney?” I knew that was a dangerous question to ask an attorney about his client, but before I’d agree to participate in anything, I needed his confidence that he was representing an innocent man.
After wiping his mouth with a napkin, Pickle looked me dead in the eye and said, “I do. I know it’s my job to defend him no matter what, and I do my job well, no matter my personal beliefs about my clients’ guilt or innocence. But in this case, I really do believe he didn’t do anything but be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He winced slightly as if he’d said too much.
But I nodded. “So he did see who killed Sidney?”
Pickle’s face was completely neutral. “You know I cannot reveal anything he said to me, Harvey, but I think he would talk to you. Will you see if you can get him to share what he knows with Tuck?”
I sighed and for the second time that day forced myself to pause and consider the request. A murderer was on the loose. A witness was too terrified to talk. A friend was asking a favor. It was pretty much as easy a choice as letting Galen film in the store, just with a lot higher stakes involved. “Okay, but I want you to be there. I don’t want him telling me anything that might get him in trouble because I can’t promise not to tell Tuck what I learn if Joe won’t.”
Pickle grinned. “Exactly what I was hoping you’d say. You free now?”
I glanced at the time on my e-reader. The after-school rush was still over an hour away, so I nodded and took out my phone to text Marcus and let him know I had to run an errand. Then Pickle and I gathered our things, untethered the dogs from the bench, and made the few blocks’ walk to the station.
When we came in the door of the station, Tuck was standing straight and rigid in front of a very large man in a fedora. The guy looked to be about six feet six, and under his silver hair, his pale skin was bright red with what seemed like anger given how loudly he was shouting. “I want to talk to Cagle, now. He’s shirking his contract to work on my house, and I need that bathroom finished this week.”
I caught Tuck’s eye, and he gestured with his forehead to tell us to wait where we were.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Reeves, but Cagle is in my custody. He cannot leave, and you may not speak to him. Your bathroom will just have to wait.” I could see the muscles in Tuck’s jaw flexing as he stared the larger man down.
“You think you’re going to win this election when you treat your constituents this way, Sheriff Mason? I doubt it.”
“Mr. Cagle is also my constituent, sir. Now, please, leave.” The sheriff stepped toward the man, and for a second, I thought Reeves might punch the sheriff. But he looked briefly at Cagle, who was watching from the cell, at the receptionist, and then back at the two of us and thought better of it, probably because Pickle had taken out his smartphone and was filming the whole thing.
“Fine, but I will find him when he gets out. Don’t doubt that,” Reeves said as he spun toward the door.
“The law doesn’t take kindly to threats, Mr. Reeves,” Tuck said.
“Oh, that wasn’t a threat. Simply a fact,” the large man said as he turned back in the doorway. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, Sheriff.” Then he strode out onto the sidewalk and away.
Pickle looked from me to the sheriff and then strode right over to his client. “Joe, are you okay?”
Cagle nodded and then said, “I hope you understand now.”
The sheriff walked over to the cell. “I do, and I think it would be better if we got you to a more private location. I know you can’t go home, but we can find you a safe house.”
“I may know somewhere he can stay,” I said quietly.
“He cannot stay at your house, Harvey,” Tuck answered.
“I wasn’t thinking that.” There was a little defensiveness in my voice because I had thought of it briefly but dismissed it because I didn’t feel comfortable, for once, having a stranger – a second stranger really – in my house. “I have a guest coming this weekend, so that’s not going to work anyway. What about Stephen and Walter’s place, Tuck?” I suggested.
Tuck looked at Pickle, and Pickle took a minute to consider the idea. “They’re fairly isolated out there, and as far as I know, they’ve had no involvement in this case, right?”
I sighed. “They were there when we found Sidney’s body, but after that, no.”
Cagle said, “I don’t know about this.”
“I know you’re scared, Joe,” Pickle responded. “But I think the sheriff is right. It’s too public here, and you obviously can’t go home. If Walter and Stephen agree, I think that could work.” He turned to the sheriff. “Make the call.”
I started to take out my phone, but Tuck stopped me. “I need to do this officially, Harvey.” His voice softened. “Thanks for the idea.”
I smiled. “Of course.” I looked back at Pickle. “Maybe we should have this conversation later, when Joe is settled?”
Pickle nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
I smiled, tried to give Joe Cagle my kindest look, and headed back to my shop. I was glad the dogs were out front because I felt a little unnerved by Reeves’ behavior and didn’t want to run into him alone on the street. Secretly I hoped Mayhem and Taco had tried to take a bite out of his leg as he went by. I doubted it, but allowing myself that tiny bit of imaginary justice felt good as I walked back to the store.