Entitled to Kill Page 11

  I punched my friend in the arm and put my menu in front of my face. “Mart, order for me. You know what I like. I can’t look.”

  “He’s coming, Harvey. Put the menu down. You look ridiculous.” Mart was teasing, but she also reached over and lowered the menu from my face.

  I knew Max had waitstaff – I had just seen a young woman waiting on the other couple – but apparently, we were getting special attention. Mart ordered some kind of pork dish, and Stephen and Walter got seafood. But when Max got to me, he said, “I have something just for you, Harvey.” He started to turn away but looked back quickly with a smile, “If that’s okay.”

  “Um, sure,” I said, and then as soon as he walked away, I whispered, “I’ll need frozen pizza when we get home if this goes bad.” I shivered. This felt all kinds of icky.

  But the food was incredible. Max brought me the most amazing Dijon chicken dish with my favorite mushroom risotto, and I ate every bite. We also finished both bottles of wine and asked for a third to take home. I laughed hard at Walter’s jokes and got all the gossip about the fundraising agency where Stephen and I used to work. Aside from Max staying far too close and being much too attentive all evening, it was a beautiful meal.

  Stephen and Walter ran interference when it looked like Max was heading our way as we put on our coats to leave. As Mart and I slipped out the door, I heard Stephen say, “So we’re thinking of moving to the area. We need to be sure we’re here to help with Harvey and Daniel’s wedding.”

  I laughed hard and made a note to thank them, and then as Mart and I sauntered up the block, she got a little sappy from too much stress and too much wine. “So a wedding doesn’t sound so bad, huh?”

  I really wish a poker face was in my wheelhouse. I looked over at my friend. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

  “What wouldn’t?” Stephen said as he and Walter caught up.

  “Oh, Harvey was just thinking she’d like you in town to help with the wedding she hopes to have soon.”

  “Wait!” Walter stopped walking. “Is there talk of a wedding?”

  “No. No! And don’t you go saying anything to Daniel. We are nowhere near that. I just heard what you said to Max – thank you by the way – and I let myself dream for a minute.”

  “Well, as I see it, you won’t have too long to wait. That guy is totally smitten with you, and in a good way, not in the kind of way that orders for you. Ew,” Stephen said with a little shiver.

  I smiled at my friend. “Right!?”

  “But there was something I wanted to run by you.” He slipped his arm through mine. “Walter and I have been talking, and we were wondering, well, if you—“

  “Honey, spit it out. Harvey, would it be okay if we also moved to St. Marin’s?”

  I spun to face the two of them, grabbing Mart close. “Don’t tease me, men. Are you serious?”

  “As serious as me giving my two weeks’ notice yesterday,” Stephen said.

  “And I sold the business last week,” Walter added.

  “You quit, you sold. . . . what is happening?” I was bewildered, but in the most delightful way. “You’re moving here? You’re really moving here?”

  “If it’s okay with you,” Stephen looked a little sheepish.

  “Of course it’s okay with me. I love it!!” But then I scowled. “But what if I had said no?”

  “Then we would have been in trouble,” Walter laughed. “We know and love you, though, Harvey, and we knew you’d be in.”

  “Tomorrow, we start house hunting.” Stephen shouted.

  “Ooh, I need ALL the pictures.” I said as I skipped down the sidewalk backwards.

  We stopped into the shop and picked up Mayhem and Taco, who had barely noticed we were gone on their big bed by the register. The dogs were having a sleep over for the first time because I didn’t want Daniel to have to come out just to get his pup, and it looked like they had already started without us.

  Our little group fell silent as we walked the last few blocks home. As we turned the corner, I said, “So you know there’s been a murder?”

  Mart sighed. “We almost made it through the night without sleuthing, Harvey.” She was teasing, but I could also hear a little edge to her voice. I knew she’d support me in anything I did, but I also knew my endless curiosity was exhausting to her. I had to admit, it was a little exhausting to me, too.

  I caught Stephen and Walter up on all the details about Harris’ death and then on Rafe’s, and I told them about Miranda. They were horrified for her. “Poor woman. Why do abusers do what they do? Is it a cycle of abuse? Passing down of generations? Or something else? Man!”

  We walked a bit further. “Tell us how we can help, Harvey. I used my vacation days for the next two weeks, so as of now, we are all yours. I’ll have to get a job eventually, but as of tonight, we are officially residents of St. Marin’s . . . and your assistant sleuths, if you’ll have us.”

  I grinned. “You mean you’re not going back?”

  “Well, we’ll have to go back in a couple of weeks to pack up, but pretty much, we’re here to stay.”

  “And you’ll help me look into Harris’s murder?”

  Mart groaned. “You two are not helping.”

  “Sure we are. Call us Harvey’s assistant sleuths.”

  Another groan from Mart . . . and an echo from Taco who was getting very close to the “carry me” point. We picked up the pace.

  We were just turning onto our block when I heard a vehicle start behind us. The street was pretty much empty of cars and people, as usual, so the bright headlights of what must have been a truck shone without obstruction. We kept walking as the truck got closer, but when it didn’t pass us, I started to feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. Mart grabbed my hand, and I saw Walter drop Stephen’s – how awful to worry that your relationship was dangerous.

  We started to jog, letting Mayhem and Taco pull us all along. As we sprinted up our driveway, the truck slowed down then stopped before speeding off with a spin of its tires. It was ominous.

  I couldn’t see the driver or the license plate, but it looked to be an older silver pick-up. Time to call the sheriff. Again.

  We all rushed inside and locked the door. I dialed the sheriff’s office, and the dispatcher said she’d send over a car immediately. “You want me to let the sheriff know, too, Harvey?” she asked.

  I paused. I wasn’t sure. I knew he’d find out in the morning first thing, and I hated to disturb him this late in his evening. “Nah. The truck is gone, and we’re safe. Nothing more he can do before morning anyway.”

  The officer came by right away and took statements from each of us. Unfortunately, the bright lights of the truck combined with the couple bottles of wine meant none of us could say more than it was a pick-up truck, gray or silver. At least we were consistent in that bit of information.

  After the patrol car left with assurances from the office that he’d do a careful scout of the area and then come back through regularly overnight, we settled in with hot cocoa and a fire. Aslan settled her black and white girth on my lap as if she knew I could use the support and found it necessary to show Mayhem the proper way to love a human. The dog would NOT leave my feet and kept licking my hands. Taco had adopted Walter and was draped across his legs in an act of relaxation that was enviable.

  “Well, message received, huh?” Mart gave me a pointed look.

  “I’d say so, but what message and from whom?” I tried to look innocent, like I wasn’t doing the exact opposite of what Mart would like me to do here. I knew she wanted me to drop this, but it felt impossible, especially now.

  “Do you guys know that truck?”

  I looked at Mart, and she sighed. “No, I don’t recognize it. Harvey?”

  Sitting back against the cushion and trying not to incur the wrath of the chubby cat, I tried to think about whether I’d seen it before. I felt like I had, but in the dark, I didn’t get a good enough look to be sure of that . . . and even i
f I had, I wasn’t recalling why it felt familiar. “Maybe. But I’m not sure.”

  “The sheriff might know it,” Walter said as he dropped another marshmallow in his mug.

  “Maybe. But here’s my question, why is someone threatening us? I mean the person who had a reason to worry is now dead,” I paused as I pictured Rafe’s terrifying face in his kitchen, “and I can’t think of another person who cared enough about Harris or Rafe to be bothered by my, um, curiosity.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Mart said under her breath and then winked at me.

  “I don’t know all the details yet,” Stephen said, “but there is one person who cared about both of those men, right?”

  Mart and I locked eyes. “Miranda.”

  The air in the room got heavy. None of us, not even Stephen and Walter who only heard her story, wanted that idea to be true, but it sounded, again, like the most likely suspect was Miranda.

  “But wait a minute,” Mart stood up. “Surely Miranda doesn’t drive an old pick-up, right? We saw her SUV in her garage, remember?”

  I sat forward. “True. But she could have hired someone.”

  Mart looked out of the top of her eyes at me. “What reason would Miranda have to send someone to intimidate—Oh, right.” She sat back down.

  “Right, if she thinks we’re getting close . . . I can’t imagine it, especially after what she’s been through. It seems like she’s barely getting through the day – at least I know that’s how I would be.” I sat back and rubbed my hands over my face. “But I can’t say we rule her out, I guess.”

  Walter sat forward. “I don’t like the idea either, Harvey, but how else would anyone know you were there yesterday? I mean, why would anyone else have any reason to feel threatened by your, er, inquiries?”

  Walter had a point, but I had hit the wall. I couldn’t think about it anymore. I needed to get some sleep and let my subconscious mind do the work while my conscious one dreamed of gorgeous libraries lined with jewel-toned books and not a body in sight.

  The next morning, I was awake before anyone else, well, except for Taco, who seemed to think that six a.m. was a reasonable time to scratch on my door and ask for both a bathroom break and a snack. I was one of those people who could not get back to sleep if awakened any time after five a.m., so I put on my fluffy Doctor Who robe, let Taco into the fenced backyard, and made my way to the coffeepot. I was always grateful that either Mart or I premade the coffee before we went to bed every night, but this morning I was especially grateful. I had slept hard, but not well. I kept dreaming of pick-up trucks slamming into my store. It was not a restful night.

  Taco knocked at the French doors, and I let him in and fed him and Mayhem, who had peeled herself off the dog bed by the fireplace to eat before immediately returning to her warm spot. Aslan, apparently sensing that the dogs were going back to bed, joined me in the kitchen, and I gave her a little treat of the horrible-smelling cat food that I kept for special occasions like the administration of medicine. But she’d slept curled against the back of my knees all night and was what grounded me each time I woke. I owed her.

  The menagerie fed, I took myself to my favorite reading chair – a wing-backed antique covered in a paisley upholstery woven from the most brilliant reds, purples, greens, and blues. In some homes, it would look outright garish, but here, it was lovely against all our wood tones and book spines.

  I wrapped up in the crazy quilt Mart had made for me three years ago in her quilting phase – we were in the time of the wood-carving now – and picked up my latest read, Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis. It was the first book in his space trilogy, and I was loving it. I’d read the third one, That Hideous Strength, for a class back in college, but this was my first time to try the whole trilogy, and I was not disappointed.

  As I read about Ransom’s escape from his captors and pondered the idea that to save some you might have to sacrifice one, I felt it, that tiny sense that my brain was onto something but wasn’t quite ready to let me in on the secret yet. I kept reading, confident my mind would clue me in when necessary.

  By the time the rest of the humans in the house started to rouse about eight, I was more relaxed than I’d been when I woke. Reading always did that for me – took me out of my own head and gave me a space to float apart.

  When I heard showers start up, I got out the griddle, opened the bacon that I’d thawed overnight, and started to cook. As Mart, Stephen, and Walter each made their way to the kitchen, I served them bacon, eggs, and coffee, made to order for each of my dearest friends.

  The silence around the kitchen island made me smile, and I pattered off in my slippers to get my own shower. By the time I’d tamed my wild hair and gotten back to the kitchen, it was spotless, and I knew I’d gotten the best end of that deal. I hated trying to clean all the dots of bacon grease that mysteriously appeared whenever I cooked that deliciousness.

  Mart headed out to the winery with a promise to be back in time for dinner at Cate and Lucas’s house, and I walked into town with Stephen, Walter, Taco, and Mayhem, where the two men would meet up with their real estate agent and the two dogs and I would head into the bookstore. I kind of wished the pooches could run the shop today, and I’d curl up in one of the armchairs and play their role. But alas, the no-opposable-thumbs situation made that untenable.

  I had just gotten the shop ready – cash to the register, door unlocked, open sign on – when Sheriff Mason came in, and he didn’t look happy. Specifically, he didn’t look happy with me.

  Trying to lighten the mood, I said, “That looks like the face of a man who needs a cup of coffee.”

  He grunted. Literally grunted. This was not going well.

  “Well, I need coffee. Do you mind?”

  A brisk nod was my only permission, so I scooted over to the café and poured a big mug of Rocky’s dark roast while giving her the universal of shrug of “I have no idea.”

  Back at the counter, the sheriff looked a little less peeved, and I took a deep breath and a long sip before I said, “So the truck?”

  Apparently, I broke the seal on his frustration because he let it all out. “Harvey Beckett, I have told you time and time again that your snooping would bring trouble. You KNOW it brings trouble, and yet over and over, you put your nose where it can get chopped off.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was just trying to make things easier for you—“

  “Oh, that’s rich. You think it’s easier for me if I’m having to chase down trucks that threaten to run people down. That makes my job easier? More work makes my job easier?” His voice was getting louder and louder.

  I stood up a little straighter and took another sip. I didn’t want to cry, and I didn’t want to shout back, especially since a couple of customers had just come in. Coffee seemed the best option.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  He stared at me, “And . . .”

  “And nothing. I screwed up.”

  He kept staring.

  “Really. I’m done. No more sleuthing. I quit.”

  “Okay, then.” He put his hands behind his neck and leaned back. “Now, tell me about this truck.”

  I repeated all we knew – silver, older model, not exactly pristine.

  “But no one saw the license plate or the driver?”

  “No. None of us did. We’d had a couple of bottles of wine, and he’d been following us so our eyes were a little wonky from his lights.”

  He was writing all this down in his notebook, and so I had a minute to think. I figured since I really was serious about not sleuthing anymore, I probably needed to just tell him that we had thought maybe Miranda could still be guilty.

  “Sheriff, after the truck incident last night, the four of us were talking – you know, just trying to calm down and figure out what had just happened. I guess maybe it’s natural to just want to figure out who scared you so badly and why . . .” I paused to get my breath.

  “And you came
back to Miranda, thought I might have missed something.”

  I winced. I hadn’t thought of it like that. “It just seemed like she had the most reason, and since Mart and I screwed up so bad with her the other day . . .”

  He sighed. “The thought had occurred to me, too. But I have no evidence, and to be honest, it just seems unlikely to me.” He looked me in the eye. “I think you know what I mean.”

  “I do. Something just feels like she’s not to blame for this.”

  He slid his notebook into his shirt pocket. “I agree. But I have to follow the evidence. I will keep you posted, Harvey, as a courtesy. But you have to stay out of things okay? Really?”

  “Really. I hear you, Tucker. And I really am sorry.”

  He squeezed my forearm. “I hear we’re going to have new residents of St. Marin’s.”

  I grinned. “I may never get used to how quickly word travels in this town.”

  He laughed. “I hear that. Well, tell Stephen and Walter welcome for me.”

  As he walked out the door, I turned to see who had come in while we were talking and found Pickle and Bear glowering at me from the poetry section. This didn’t look good.

  8

  I took a deep breath in preparation for what was going to be, apparently, my second difficult conversation during my first cup of coffee. “Gentlemen, what can I do you for?”

  Bear growled. Literally growled, and I took a step back. Then he cracked up laughing.

  “Nothing, Harvey,” Pickle said. “We heard about what happened last night and just wanted to stop by and show our support.”

  “After breakfast, of course. You do know that the gas station just north of town has the best bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits on the Eastern Shore, don’t you?” Bear patted his stomach.

  I laughed. “I was not aware of that, but I do hear the one south of town has the best fried chicken in the State.”