The next morning, I skipped my walk, hoping to catch a little more sleep. I'd done a lot of tossing, turning, and pacing, much to Catnip's loathing. Apparently, me interrupting his living room gymnastics in the dead of night irritated him.
Catnip, however, had other ideas. Not only did he dislike me up and about when I should've been sleeping, he also didn't appreciate me sleeping when I should've been up and about. He liked me to keep my schedule.
I felt good about Gary being the killer, but how he got into a locked store... that one I couldn't quite figure out.
After making coffee and doing some light stretching, I hurried downstairs with Catnip at my heels. I swept the floor, dusted the shelving and prepared the deposit. While I waited for the computer to warm up, I made more coffee in the back workroom, knowing full well Annabelle would be needing a cup when she arrived with her beagle, Jack. I sat down in front of the computer and grinned as I printed out the online orders. Making money while I slept? Or, well, paced in the wee hours of the night? Heck, yes. Sign me up for that.
I went to the front door, flipped the closed sign to open, and waited for the first customer. Moments later, Mrs. Pugh strolled in, looking older than she had mere days ago.
“Mrs. Pugh!” I greeted her. “What can I do for you?” Something was terribly wrong, and I hurried over to help her to the counter.
“I'm not sleeping,” she said. “I'm so worried about Bobby.” She shook her head as tears welled in her eyes. “As a mother, I want to wave a magic wand and make his problems disappear, but at the same time, I know I can't do anything, except worry. I've been doing a lot of that.”
“I'm so sorry,” I said, pulling a stool from around the corner and setting it in front for her to take a seat. “It must be a terrible position to find yourself in.”
She nodded. “Do you have children?”
“No. I don't.”
“It's the most rewarding and most heartbreaking thing anyone can sign up for,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “Dang kids rip out your heart.”
I wasn't sure how to respond, so I hurried in back to grab a box of tissues, then sat quietly until she pulled herself together.
“Anyway, I was hoping you could give me something to calm my nerves,” she said.
“Have you spoken to your doctor?” I asked.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “No. All he'd do is give me pills. I hate pills. Look at what they did to my boy. I want something natural.”
“Who's your doctor?”
“Butte,” she spat, as if it were a dirty word. “We need to find someone new, but he's the closest.”
Our area really needed another doctor. Mrs. Pugh wasn't wrong. Butte was a pill pusher—a drug dealer with a license. He and my old boss, Bonnie, had argued about his methods for years.
I sighed and clasped my hands on the counter. “I'll tell you what. I'll give you some stuff, but if it doesn't work, you go see Butte. Is that fair?”
“Why?”
“Because your anxiety may need something more than what Mother Nature can give you,” I said firmly. Herbs were wondrous, but not miracle workers. There was a time and place for modern medicine, and I felt I was looking at a perfect example of that.
“All right,” she said. “It's a deal.”
“We're going to stick with the lavender,” I said. “I know we're using it on your fungal infection, but let's try a tincture for your nerves, and also some essential oils. Do you have a diffuser at home?”
She shook her head. “I don't know what that is.”
I explained that she would add the essential oils to water, and the machine would diffuse the mixture, making steam. “It will be a light scent, but it helps calm the nerves.”
“It can't be anything too heavy or my husband will complain,” she said.
“He may not notice it,” I replied. “I'll be right back.”
I hurried over to the tincture shelf and found the lavender bottle, then beelined for the essential oils and grabbed a small bottle there. Back at the counter, I asked, “Do you want to purchase a diffuser here, or somewhere else?”
“If you have one here, I'll take it. No sense in me running all over town trying to find something I don't even know about.”
In the back workroom, I looked where the diffusers were usually kept, and found some other boxes. I remembered Annabelle and I had had a discussion about the best use of the space and we’d decided to move them. Where had we put them? It seemed my dang menopausal brain couldn’t remember anything for more than a couple of minutes.
“Gosh, these old buildings have so much history,” she said. “Did you know the nail salon used to be a butcher shop?”
“No,” I called, opening the lower cabinet. “I had no idea.”
“Yes. My daddy ran it. I spent so many years in that store.”
That’s right. The closet! I grabbed a diffuser off the shelf and returned to the front of the store, pleased I beat my menopausal brain this time.
“You're all set,” I said, stuffing everything into a bag. “The diffuser has instructions on how to set it up. For the tincture, three drops under your tongue four times a day. It's going to relax you, but not knock you out. You should feel more in control of your emotions. And, as always, you can give us a call if you have any questions.”
I rang up her total and took her card.
“You ladies are lifesavers,” Mrs. Pugh said. “I appreciate you very much.”
“That's sweet of you,” I said, so happy my first transaction of the day had gone so well. “Let us know how you're feeling.”
As Mrs. Pugh left, Deputy Jordan Branson strolled in, hands on his hips, his lips turned up into a sly smile. Okay, he definitely had a George Clooney vibe going on.
He nodded at Mrs. Pugh, then stared at me until the door fully closed behind him. “I missed you this morning while getting my coffee. I was beginning to think we had a standing date.”
“I don't date,” I said, sighing.
“Ah, yes. You've reminded me of that before.” He chuckled, still staring me down. “Well, if not a date, an appointment. I was very disappointed when you didn't show.”
I shrugged trying to remain calm as heat rushed through me. I hated menopause with every ounce of my being. “Sorry. I slept in this morning.”
“How come? Were you busy yesterday?”
Narrowing my gaze, I couldn't help but think he was alluding to something other than my work at the store. “Not particularly. I just didn't sleep well.”
“Hmm.”
He walked around the store, glancing at our offerings. He picked up some tinctures, studied them, then set them down. He did the same with a few of the soap gift boxes.
“Looking for a gift?” I asked. “If so, it would help to know who you're shopping for.”
“No, I'm not shopping for a gift. I just came by to see why you weren't at Cup of Go this morning.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I wasn't sure how to answer him, so I remained quiet while he continued to browse.
“I had an interesting phone call yesterday,” he said, not meeting my gaze, but studying the vanilla bubble bath quite intently. “Do you know who Mrs. Gomez is?”
“No idea.”
“Sweet lady. Her family has been around this area since the town was first established. She's one of a kind.”
“That's nice. I haven't met her.”
“I doubt you ever will,” he said. “She doesn't get out much. She's afraid to leave her house. The only time she does is for a doctor's appointment.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Anyway, she called me yesterday on my cell phone. I gave her the number a few years ago after she had a nervous breakdown in her house. Long story. I wanted her to have my direct line.”
“How nice of you. Heroic.” I had a few other smart mouth things to say, like him being the modern-day Superman, but I kept them to myself.
He set down the bubble bath and walked over to the counter, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on me as he pulled out his phone. “She sent me these.”
When he turned his phone toward me, I glanced at the screen. To my utter horror, it was a blurry picture of me and Annabelle in Gary's yard. Well, not quite. Mrs. Gomez had snapped the picture as Annabelle bent over to heave me up to the window, so it was a picture of Annabelle's butt. I was peeking in the house, but it was impossible to see my face with my curls having a life of their own.
Keeping my features neutral, I asked, “What am I looking at?”
“Two women who are somewhere they don't belong.”
I took the phone and squinted. “I can't even tell if they're women. How can you be so sure?”
The more I studied the unfocused photo, the more I realized there was no way for him to know for certain that it was Annabelle and me. The only remarkable thing I noticed was Annabelle's neon pink coat and matching legwarmers. I made a mental note to have her stuff those in a closet for a couple of years.
“I find it odd that the one looking inside the house reminds me a lot of you,” Jordan said.
Okay. How should I play this? Indignant? Innocent? Shocked? Furrowing my brow, I handed him back the phone, deciding to go with innocence. “Why in the world would you say that?” I asked, batting my eyelashes for full effect.
“Maybe it's the hair,” he replied, stuffing the phone back in his pocket.
“Are you sure all that was hair? Maybe that person had on a hat. Or a wig.” Or racoons nesting on top of her head.
He rolled his eyes. “What were you doing in Gary's yard?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about.”
We stared at each other in a standoff.
“Okay, Sam. Listen carefully to me. You're right. I can't make out who this is in the picture, but I know that it's you. Stay away from Gary's place, okay?”
I shrugged and shook my head. “Jordan, I have no idea where Gary lives. None. I couldn't get there if you asked me to take you.”
He grumbled something under his breath, then turned around and headed toward the door.
Just as Annabelle was walking in, Jack in tow… wearing her neon pink parka and matching legwarmers.
Jordan held the door open for her, and she smiled and greeted him. As she walked toward me, he pulled out his phone and pointed to Annabelle, then the phone. The evidence made it clear exactly who was in the photo. I'd never witnessed anyone else in town wearing such an ensemble, even though Annabelle swore legwarmers were coming back into fashion and she'd be the first on the trend.
“Hi, Sam!” she chirped while I groaned.
“Hey,” I said.
Just as Jordan stepped outside, I called to him and he turned.
“Why don't you ask Gary why he's got over a dozen boxes of horse tranquilizer sitting on his kitchen table?”
“Sam!” Annabelle hissed, her eyes wide. “Oh, my gosh! What are you doing?”
I held my hand out to her. The jig was up because of her clothing choices. We were busted.
“I'll definitely make sure to do that,” Jordan said, arching his eyebrow. “You two have a nice day.”
“You just admitted we were there!” Annabelle yelled once Jordan was out of sight. “Why in the world would you do that?!”
“The neighbor took a picture of us,” I said. “He's got it on his phone.” I didn't bother to mention it had been blurry and it would have been close to impossible to identify us if it hadn't been for her clothes.
“Are we, like, going to jail?” she whispered, her face paling as tears welled in her eyes.
“No. We aren't.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, laying her hand across her heart.
“But we are going to keep searching for Ralph's killer.”
Gary was definitely a good suspect, but there were also others that needed to be checked out, and I was more determined than ever to free Gina.