The next morning, I woke to the smell of bacon and coffee and smiled. The bacon smelled almost done – I was proud of myself for knowing how “almost done” bacon smelled – so I just slipped my yoga pants back on and headed to the kitchen. I had expected to see Mart at the stove, but she was sitting on a barstool watching Daniel scramble eggs. I felt a flush climb my neck. That guy looked good with a spatula.
Mart grabbed the coffee pot from the counter near her and poured me a cup, adding a liberal helping of cream and sugar just like I preferred. Then, she slid the mug along the counter like we were in a classic movie bar scene, and I scooped it up with aplomb. The world was feeling right this morning.
But then, I saw the circles under Mart’s eyes and realized that Daniel was still wearing his suit pants and his undershirt, and I felt the mat of my unwashed and uncombed hair shift on my head. The previous night came flooding back, and I dropped onto the stool next to Mart with a groan. “Did you sleep at the hospital?”
Mart nodded and took a long sip of her coffee. “Fortunately, there was an extra bed in Tiffany’s room, so I caught a few good hours. Well, a few hours between all the times they came in and woke Tiffany up to see if she was resting comfortably.” Mart rolled her eyes.
I remembered when my dad had knee surgery. All night after the procedure, the nurses had to come in every two hours to check his blood pressure and temperature. Both of us were glad he only had to stay overnight because the sleep in the hospital was not ideal, not at all.
Daniel gave each of us two slices of perfectly crisp bacon and a spoonful of eggs before making himself a plate.
I took one bite of the eggs and moaned. “Did you put cream cheese in these?” I shoveled in another forkful. “They are amazing.”
“My aunt Judy always made her eggs that way.” He shoved his last piece of bacon into his mouth whole and walked back to the griddle and laid out the rest of the pound.
I must have looked puzzled because Mart said, “Everyone’s on their way over for breakfast.”
“Oh,” I said with a grimace at Daniel. I wasn’t sure he was going to be thrilled with talking about this with folks, especially after our discussion last night. “Is that okay with you?”
“Okay with it?” Mart said. “It was his idea.”
I felt something pull in my neck when I whipped my head back around to look at Daniel. “You did?!”
He shrugged. “I figured everyone was going to be talking about it anyway, so we might as well talk about it together.” He flipped the bacon over with our tongs and said, “I invited Tuck, too. I didn’t want any secret sleuthing or anything.” He winked at me.
“Got it.” I swallowed the rest of my coffee and stood up. “How long do I have?”
Mart looked at the microwave clock. “Ten minutes.”
“Just enough time to tame the beast,” I said with a pat on my hair.
Nine minutes later, I reemerged with my hair contained in a bandana, my face freshly washed, and a spray of my favorite scent to mask the fact that I had not had time to shower. As I went to check the front window to see who was going to get there first, the doorbell rang, and the door opened immediately after. My mother and father came in with platters of food. “Told you we’d bring lunch,” Mom said as she kissed the air near my face and moved on through to the kitchen. Dad gave me an actual hug and then picked up the jugs of lemonade and iced tea to follow after Mom. I smiled. My dad had been a CEO at his own company, but it was clear who was in charge in their house. And it was also clear that he didn’t mind that at all.
Soon after, Cate and Lucas, Henri and Bear, Woody, Pickle, Stephen and Walter, and Elle arrived. Everyone grabbed a plate and beginning filling it with the fixings of a world-class brunch. Somehow, we ended up with five-bean salad, green salad, and the Southern concoction of marshmallows and fruit that is sometimes called a salad but is really known more aptly as ambrosia.
I had just eaten, but of course that didn’t stop me from filling another plate with the more lunch side of the brunch . . . well, that and more bacon. Soon, we were all perched around the living room with our plates, and it was only then that I realized Tuck wasn’t here yet. “Daniel, do you know when the—?”
The doorbell rang at that exact moment, and Mart jumped up to let in Tuck and Lu. “We brought dessert,” Lu said with a lilt to her voice. “Do you mind?” She nodded toward the kitchen and looked at Mart and me.
“Please. Make yourself at home,” I stood to help her find spoons for the adorable ramekins she’d brought. “Is this your flan?”
Lu winked. “Of course. We all need custard just now.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I said as I carried the tray of bowls into the kitchen and bent to let each of our friends take a dish. Lu followed with spoons and soon everyone was moaning with delight . . . or overfullness. It was hard to tell.
But the satiated bliss of good food didn’t last long. “How is Tiffany?” Mom asked, looking from me to Mart.
“She’s okay. Terrified, but coping as well as anyone could expect,” Mart said. She turned to Tuck. “Thanks for sending someone to guard her room. I don’t think she would have slept a wink without that.”
“No problem. I’m glad it helped, but it’s also necessary,” Tuck said.
“So you are certain she was the target?” I asked, eager to clarify my own thoughts from the previous night.
Tuck nodded. “We are. I can’t say why just yet, but we have evidence that confirms she was the target.”
I bit my tongue to keep from asking what evidence. I had heard Tuck say he couldn’t share that information, and I needed to respect that. For now.
“But why? I mean she’s pretty new here. Why go after her?” Cate asked.
“We’re still figuring that part out. I don’t know her well enough to determine why someone would have come after her specifically, but some of you know her better. Any guesses?” Tuck looked around the room, but eventually his gazed rested on me.
“I don’t know what of what I know might be useful, but I can tell you what I’ve learned.” I glanced at Mart. “Given the circumstances, it’s probably okay, right?”
Mart nodded. “I actually asked Tiffany this morning if we could share.”
Mart looked at Mom who looked at me. I then told everyone about Coach Cagle had done to Tiffany in Minneapolis. I tried to be as specific as I could because any detail might matter, but when I had finished sharing and Mart and Mom had filled in the detail I’d missed from the story Tiffany told us at the steak house, Tuck still looked baffled.
“Well, that’s just awful, but it actually makes Tiffany have motive in the murder more than it explains why someone would attack her,” the sheriff said. Then, he raised his hand as if to stop the words that might come toward him. “Now, I’m not saying she is the murderer. I’m just saying that this information doesn’t really help me solve this crime.”
I let out a long breath. “Right. Sorry. That’s all I know.”
Mart and Mom nodded.
I sat back against the base of the couch and stared out the window over Cate’s shoulder, hoping something would come to me. But Cate’s sudden leap to her feet broke my train of thought.
“I just remembered something. Scott is from Minneapolis, too, isn’t he?” she shouted.
“Scott? The hair dresser?” Stephen asked.
“That’s right,” I said. “Maybe he knows something. I mean that kind of story would have been in the news, right? Maybe he knows things Tiffany didn’t think to tell us?”
The sheriff took out his notebook. “This is the guy who owns the new salon on Main Street, right?”
“That’s the one,” Cate said. “He’s a really nice guy and very good at his work.” She pointed at her own hair and then at mine but frowned when my bandana sort of blunted her illustration. “I’m sure he would help if you ask him.”
“Good thought. Thanks.” The sheriff stood from the couch and helped Lu to her feet. “Well, this is helpful information. I’m still not sure how it all fits together, but we will figure it out,” he said with a pointed look at me. “And by we, I mean the police.”
I raised both hands over my head. “I have no desire to figure this one out, Sheriff.” When he rolled his eyes, I said, “Well, I have the desire, but no intention of doing that. This one is all yours.”
Tuck laughed. “Okay, then. Well, thanks for lunch. See you all around.”
Mart helped Lu gather the ramekins and carry them to their car, but when she came back, she was frowning. “What?” I asked as she dropped to the floor and put her head on my shoulder.
“I just realized that we probably need to go tell Tiffany that the sheriff knows her story and that he’s going to ask Scott about it.” She sighed. “She said she was fine with us sharing, and I know she meant that. But it’s only fair that we give her a heads up that other people have heard it, too.”
Henri stood up and helped Bear to his feet. “Please assure her that we will keep her story in complete confidence. But also tell her that we’re all here for her if she needs anything.”
“Yes, please do,” Walter added for himself and Stephen. “Thanks for lunch, Mama Beckett,” he added as he bent to kiss Mom on the cheek.
Pickle handed me his card as he left. “If she needs me, tell her I’m waiving my fee.” He gave me a quick hug and headed out the door.
As Daniel, Mart, and I watched our friends leave, I felt a surge of joy at their kindness. Tiffany’s story was definitely safe with them, but clearly, she wasn’t safe until we figured out what in her story had made her a target.
It was after one p.m. when I finally made it in to the shop, but Marcus and Rocky had the place running like a well-oiled machine. Marcus had even spruced up the pumpkin display to make it a bit more Thanksgiving-like, and it looked wonderful. Little gourds and squash had joined the pumpkins, and the books dealt with everything from recipes to Native American history to how to deal with family conflict at the holiday. The books were tastefully arranged, and I knew we’d be reordering a lot of titles soon.
The crowd from the festival was still enjoying a last afternoon in town, so sales were still brisk. I was especially thrilled to see that Galen and Mack had come back to pay a visit. I loved that guy. He always made me feel so good about my business, and when I felt good about my business, I felt good about myself.
Today he was shopping for mysteries that featured LGBTQ+ characters because he was preparing, already, for next June’s Pride Month. He wanted to feature one book written by a member of the LGBTQ+ community or with a LGBTQ+ main character every day that month on his Instagram page. So he and I spent a couple of hours scouring the internet for lists of appropriate books, and when he left, he had all the titles we’d found and already stocked and had special ordered ten more. Now, he was sitting in the café reading a copy of The Body in the Bookmobile by Connie B. Dowell. It was one of my personal favorites, and it featured a bi character so it was a great fit for Galen’s project.
That man was going to keep my business going single-handedly if he kept buying that many books at a time. I didn’t mind.
Mart came by late in the afternoon. For obvious reasons, the winery was going to be closed for a while, so she’d spent the afternoon at the hospital with Tiffany. “She’s okay,” Mart said as she sat down on the stool behind the register with a huge pumpkin spice latte. “The doctors decided to keep her one more night under observation, but I honestly think they are just trying to give her some rest. Don’t tell her insurance company though.” Mart smiled thinly.
“Did you tell her about . . .” My voice trailed off. I didn’t really want to say, “Did you tell her about the big meeting of all the people we love where we shared her most painful life experience?” but that’s what I was thinking.
Mart nodded. “I did. I told her everyone who was there and gave her all their messages.” She smelled the spicy goodness of her drink before continuing. “When I handed her Pickle’s card and told her he was offering his services pro bono, she started to cry. At first I thought she was upset because of our violation of her privacy, but instead she said, ‘I should have trusted people sooner. I was just so scared.’”
Tears sprang to my eyes, and I reached over to take Mart’s hand. “Oh that’s so hard. I know what it’s like to carry around a painful experience because you’re afraid to share it.” I thought back to how painful my marriage had been when I lived in San Francisco and how no one, not even Mart, had known. “Well, then, I’m glad we told people for her.”
“Me, too,” Mart said. “She got nervous when I told her Tuck was going to talk to Scott, but not because she didn’t want him to know, she said. More because she had hoped they could be friends since they had both lived near Minneapolis.”
“I get that. The places I’ve lived have flavored my life, and I love meeting people who know that flavor. She understood why Tuck was going to talk to him, though, right?” I glanced back over my shoulder to see if any customers were waiting to check out behind me. All clear.
“Totally. She even wanted me to tell Tuck that she’d meet with Scott herself if he thought that would help.” Mart stood and stretched. “I thought that was a good sign, that she wasn’t so scared anymore.”
I walked with Mart to the front door. “Thanks for the update, Mart. You headed home to rest?”
“Nah. I am tired, but I feel pretty restless. I’m going to put on my running clothes and jog out to the winery. Tuck gave the all-clear for us to begin clean-up.” She leaned over to hug me. “He said the wine in the cellars was in good shape, but I just want to check.”
“You have your phone on you?” I didn’t want anyone I loved far away just now, but I couldn’t very well keep Mart in the shop or at home. But if she had her phone, I could check in.
“Right here,” she said, patting her back pocket. “I’ll text you when I get to the winery and again when I leave, okay?”
“Thanks.” I watched her walk down the sidewalk before taking a deep breath and spinning around to tend the shop. Marcus was ringing up an entire stack of The Foxfire Books for a gorgeous young man in patchwork shorts who carried a giant backpack. I couldn’t imagine carrying all fourteen of those books on any kind of hike, but then I remembered how Cheryl Strayed had burned pages of the books she read and thought maybe this guy was looking forward to a year’s worth of kindling. I kind of liked the image of him reading a chapter and then burning that chapter. It felt, well, very Foxfire.
I was still imagining him by his campfire when Tuck came in and silently pointed to the backroom. I glanced at Marcus, who raised his eyebrows but then gave me an assured nod that said he had it all under control.
I followed Tuck to the backroom, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind me, Tuck said, “How well do you know Scott?”
I studied Tuck’s face and held off on the hair flip that I’d thought about giving as an answer. “He cut my hair once, and then I’ve seen him a couple of times here in town.”
“So not well, then?”
“No, not well.” I sat down at the table in the corner. “Why?” The sheriff’s expression was somber, and I could feel a knot growing in my stomach.
He pulled out a chair across from me. “I talked to him today, and he claimed to have only a faint recollection of the news story. I guess that’s possible, but Tiffany’s case was the top news story for almost a week there. So I decided to do a little digging.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay,” I said quietly. “You found something?”
“Did Scott mention anything to you about being an athlete?” Tuck’s voice suddenly took on the tone he used for police work, heavier and slower.
I pictured Scott’s salon as I tried to remember our conversation, and I had a flash. “Yes, he was some sort of back-thing on a football team.”
“A running back,” Tuck said as he suppressed a smile. “Your knowledge of sports terminology is really quite remarkable, Harvey.”
“Yes, that’s it. He said he was fast, I think.” I made a mental note to read a few sports books just to brush up on the terms. It’s hard for me to remember things if I can’t connect them to things I already know. I hoped this didn’t mean I was going to have to actually watch a football game.
“Right. Running backs are the ones who catch the ball, and they have to be quite quick. Usually, they train as runners, some of them were even runners first.” Tuck looked at me while I let that sink in.
I studied the sheriff’s face and let his words process through my brain. “OOH,” I said.
“There she is. Right. Yep, Scott was a runner . . . and he trained with Coach Cagle. I guess he didn’t mention that.”
“No, he most certainly did not . . . and we were talking about Coach Cagle directly. Actually, I remember him saying something about the “guy who was killed.” At the time, it sounded like he just didn’t know the guy, but now—”
“Now it sounds like he was trying to hide that he did know him.” The worry lines on Tuck’s face had gotten significantly deeper. “Alright, so was anyone else there while you two were talking.”
“Yes,” I practically shouted. “Cate was. Want me to call her?”
Tuck pulled his hand down his face. “I was trying so hard to keep you out of this investigation, but yes, I think I need you to call her.”
I sighed and took out my phone, and within five minutes, Cate was sitting with us at the table. Tuck had prompted me not to tell Cate any details, just that we needed to talk to her about Cagle’s murder, so I let Tuck lead the conversation.
He walked her through the same questions he’d asked me – how well did she know Scott? What did she know about his time in Minneapolis? Did she know he was a runner?
That last question was what tipped her off, and she gasped. “He knew Coach Cagle in Minneapolis!” She looked from Tuck to me. “Why didn’t he tell us that? He acted like he didn’t know him at all.”
Tuck dropped his head back and looked at the ceiling. “So that confirms it. He was lying.”
Cate looked at me, and I could see the panic in her eyes. The big connection had been laid bare, so I didn’t think there was any harm in sharing what Tuck had told me. “He trained with Cagle . . . as a runner.”
“What?!” She paused and looked into the middle distance. “Oh, because he’s a running back. He needed speed training.”
I dropped my head and turned my eyes up at my dear friend. “You knew that running backs got training in, well, running?”
“You didn’t?” she asked with a laugh.
“Harvey is not up on sports, apparently,” Tuck said, a tiny smile softening the worry in his face.
“Well, there’s a difference between “not up on sports” and “oblivious,” but that’s a conversation for another day.” Cate took a deep breath. “What are you going to do now?”
The sheriff folded his hands on the table. “I’m not sure, but I feel I’m missing something. There’s some tie between the events of last night and Coach Cagle’s murder, but I just can’t get my hands on it.”
I leaned back and stretched, hoping that a little more blood flow would help me tie those threads together for the sheriff. But I never could get anywhere just thinking. I had to talk things out, so I started to do just that. “Okay, so we know that Cagle and Scott knew each other in Minneapolis, trained together in fact. And we know that Cagle trained Tiffany, too.” I felt like one of those cartoon characters with a light bulb over their heads as I made the connection. “So do Tiffany and Scott know each other then?”
“Nope, not possible. Remember, they talked on Saturday, before the parade. It sure looked to me like they were meeting for the first time,” Cate said.
I sighed. She was right. Neither of them had shown even a flicker of recognition. ”Still, it’s worth asking Tiffany, don’t you think? Maybe she had one of those moments where his face looked familiar, but in a new setting, she couldn’t place him. That happens to me all the time. I ran into this guy from Baltimore once on a random street in San Francisco, and even though he was calling my name, it took me a couple of minutes to place him.”
Tuck stood up. “Harvey’s right. We need to talk to Tiffany, but it’s not urgent. She’s coming home tomorrow. I’ll talk to her then.”
Cate and I stood, too, and I felt the lack of sleep and the overwhelm from the past days finally catching up to me. I looked at the clock on the wall – almost six o’clock. Good. Only an hour more to go before I could collapse on my couch with a chunk of cheese, some Ritz crackers, and The Big Flower Fight on Netflix. I needed some giant flower sculptures and no drama for one night.
As the three of us walked out, I noticed that the shop was mostly empty. The last tourists of the season had headed home, and we were back to the barebones of the neighborhood customers for the next few months. I would miss the extra income, but I was also looking forward to quieter days and more time with the people I loved.
Just as we were about to say good-bye to Tuck, Elle came in, and she was pulling a cart full of flowers. “I wanted to replace the ones in the box out front if you don’t mind. The image of your blood and that knife against those plants – I just didn’t want everyone to keep seeing that every day.”
I stepped forward and hugged my friend. “You are too sweet. It’s not necessary for my sake, but if you’d feel better, please replant away.” I turned to Tuck. In the excitement of the past few hours, I’d pretty much lost track of what was happening with the knife, my sore fingers notwithstanding. “Any news on that?”
“Nope, not yet. Unlike on TV, the crime labs are closed on weekends.” He winked at me. “I’ll let you know what you need to know when I know it.” Then he waved and headed out the front door.
Elle winked and said, “He gotcha.”
I laughed and helped her wheel her cart back out to the sidewalk and install the plants before dusk came on. This time she’d brought mums, gorgeous orange ones with red and yellow stripes. She planted them close together, so the finished look was a solid, undulating band of color that looked amazing. I gave her a tight squeeze and giggled as she pulled her wagon down the street. All she needed were some pigtails to finish the picture of a little girl with her wagon.
A few minutes later, Mart came back.
“That was a short run,” I snarked.
The blush on her cheeks told me something was up.
“I’m here to escort you home,” she said as she swung a teetering pizza box from out behind her back, “with dinner.”
The smell of melted cheese, fresh bread, and tomato sauce made me weak in the knees, but I got distracted from my hunger by the fact that I didn’t recognize the pizza box. “Where did that come from?”
Mart blushed again, and I knew the answer. “Symeon is making pizza now?” I asked.
She smiled. “They just put in a pizza oven.” After a long sigh, “the scent lured me in as I jogged by.”
“I’m sure it was just the smell of pizza crust that drew you,” I winked at her. “But really, a pizza oven at the French restaurant?” I couldn’t see Max going for this plan.
“Apparently,” Mart said, “they’re morphing into more of a fusion European bistro vibe. I hear that manicotti is next on the list followed by Belgian fries.”
I laid my hand over my heart. “You need to stop before I rush right over.”
“Max is there.” Mart said with a laugh.
“Alrighty then, urge to eat fries suppressed.” I scanned the shop. It was empty except for Marcus who was closing out the register. “It’ll just be a minute.” I walked over to Marcus and nodded at the total. It had been a good day, a very good day.
We tucked the cash into the safe, signed out of the register, and did a last walk-through of the shop. Rocky turned off the lights in the café, and we turned off the neon OPEN sign before setting the alarm and closing up for the night. Rocky and Marcus headed toward his apartment over Daniel’s garage, and Mart and I scooted in the other direction as fast as our tired feet could take us. Cold pizza is good, but nowhere near as good as fresh, hot, wood-fired pizza.
Once we were home, I grabbed a couple of cheap paper plates and paper towels, and we slid our legs under the coffee table and turned on the finale of The Big Flower Fight. Secretly, I was rooting for Jim and Ralph because I am a sucker for the underdog, but I actually thought Henck and Yan would win.
We had just gotten to the final minutes of the competition when Mart’s phone buzzed against the table. She glanced down, and then grabbed the remote to pause it. “It’s Tiffany,” she said.
I leaned back and waited as Mart replied before asking, “She okay?”
“Yeah. She’s just wondering if I can pick her up from the hospital tomorrow. Feels like she needs a little moral support.”
“Of course she does. You told her you’d be there? Can you be there?” I asked. I didn’t think Mart had a consulting job for tomorrow, but sometimes she booked things last minute.
“Yep. I told her I’d be there at ten.” Mart stretched. “I wish you could come. I think she could use a couple of shoulders just now.”
She reached for the remote, but I grabbed it before she did. “One second.”
I dialed Marcus’ number, feeling a little guilt for interrupting his evening with Rocky but also thinking he deserved a phone call, not just another text to ask if he could cover for me. Within a minute, he had readily agreed to open – with me taking his closing shift – and said to tell Tiffany and Mart hello. “I’m in,” I said as I handed Mart the remote, and we watched the floral victors be crowned.