A Murder Between the Pages Read online

  “Well,” Helen started, looping her arm through his. “There is one thing.”

  Arlo shot him a semiapologetic smile as he was led away. She had tried.

  Forty-five minutes later, he found her shelving books in the cooking/homelife section.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?” His words were accusatory, but his smile was still firmly in place.

  “First of all, you know how they are from your own personal experience, and secondly, I tried, but you just plowed on in. ‘Just let me know if you need any help.’”

  “Did you know that they—”

  “I know,” Arlo interjected. “I even went with them.”

  “Son of a gun.” Sam shook his head in disbelief.

  She placed the last book on the shelf and turned to fully face him. He was as handsome as ever today in one of the endless pairs of faded jeans he owned. The wear made her wonder if he’d had them since high school. Possibly. He hadn’t gained any weight over the years, just a few more laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. But the shadow of worry still hung around him. “How’s your mom?”

  “The same.” He sighed. “She says she’s all right, but you know how it is. She doesn’t want me worrying.”

  “Of course not. But you do anyway.” Who didn’t worry when their loved one had cancer?

  He smiled. “You know it.”

  A small moment passed between them. It was silent and comfortable, the warmth of old friends.

  “Did you know that Haley Adams was murdered?” he finally asked.

  “Yes. How do you know?”

  “I’m a private dick, remember?”

  “I thought we had agreed that you wouldn’t be telling people that.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not my fault that your mind is in the gutter.”

  Arlo shrugged. “So, who told you?”

  He shrugged in return.

  “You went to the barbershop, didn’t you?”

  He raised a hand to his perfectly sun-bleached shaggy hair. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Gossip. Dye Me a River is the same way. You need to know anything in this town that’s the place to be.” Always had been, always would be. “Wait a minute. You didn’t go to Tony’s; you went to Dye Me a River.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t’ see—”

  “And got highlights!” She almost screeched the words.

  “Lowlights,” he said, moving closer to her. “And not so loud. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

  “With the ladies?” She nodded toward the reading nook where the book club was still going on full strong though the topic had turned from Mary Kennedy to Martha Tubbs’s hummingbird cake recipe and whether or not it was really her grandmother’s or if it came out of Southern Living magazine.

  “All the ladies.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to go on a date with you after all.”

  He looked crushed, but the expression was exaggerated, put-on. “You wound me.”

  “I just didn’t know I had agreed to go to supper with such a Lothario.” She raised her brows and pursed her lips as if to say, prove you aren’t.

  “Now I’m really hurt.” He hung his head, mockingly defeated.

  She shrugged. “I calls ‘em likes I sees ‘em.”

  “I thought we were going as friends.”

  Her heart gave a dull thud in her chest. Was that what she wanted? Or was she disappointed. She didn’t know. Maybe a little of both. “Are we?”

  He chuckled, but the sound rang a little nervously to her. “Of course. What else?”

  What else indeed?

  And if she wasn’t such a big chicken, she would ask him outright. But she was out of dating practice. She had spent the last two years building the store into what it was today, and that hadn’t left much time for anything other than work, books, and Monday night supper with Helen. Though these days, she hadn’t even saved time for that. But she was a big chicken, so she let the moment slip away without questioning him.

  “Did you hear about the movie?” she asked instead.

  “Missing Girl?” he asked. “I did. Pretty amazing, huh?”

  “Really amazing. Who would have thought we would have our very own movie premiere right here in Sugar Springs?”

  “Crazy.”

  “Of course, that’s got the ladies working double time to solve the murder of Mary Kennedy.” Arlo nodded toward the reading nook, where they were still hard at work, marking passages in Missing Girl and discussing things they had already noted.

  “There’s no actual proof that she’s been murdered,” Sam said.

  “What do you know about Mary Kennedy?”

  He shrugged in that so-Sam way of his. “Just what Mama says from time to time.”

  “She knew her?” Arlo raised her brows in surprise.

  “Sugar Springs is the size of a sugar bowl,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Right.” Everyone knew everybody.

  “I think she said they played bridge or something.”

  “Did she mention any abuse?” The question slipped out before Arlo could stop it. She closed her eyes for a moment then opened them again to find him watching her closely. Almost too closely. No, she was letting her imagination get away from her again. “Forget I asked that. The book club has got me doing it now.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Finding a mystery where there isn’t one.”

  “Oh, there’s a mystery around Mary Kennedy for sure,” Sam said. “But if it’ll ever be solved is another matter altogether.”

  Chapter 5

  “What do you think?” Helen pulled her long, iron- gray hair over her shoulder for Arlo to see. The deep red ends had been dyed a deep, dark purple.

  Friday. Beauty parlor day, and with all the happening in Sugar Springs this week, Arlo was surprised her almost-grandmother led with this.

  “It’s…purple,” she finally managed.

  Helen’s shoulders slumped. “You hate it.”

  “No.” Arlo shook her head. “No, I don’t. It’s just different.”

  Helen scooped up a chunk of her hair and studied the ends. “It’s just temporary.”

  “It’s different is all.” As traditional as Arlo was when it came to her own hair, she did like Helen’s adventuresome color. She might be over eighty, but she was still as hip and stylish as she had ever been. In her own way of course.

  “I told you she wouldn’t like it.” Fern came in next, a scarf tied neatly under her chin.

  “Wait…” Arlo said as Fern undid the knot at her throat. “Did you go to the beauty parlor today?” Fern usually set her curls at home, preferring instead to bank the money and get her gossip in the new fashion—Facebook.

  Fern shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “And what are you wearing?” Arlo tried not to sound overly shocked. She couldn’t ever remember seeing Fern in anything other than a flowered housedress, except for maybe a plaid housedress, and today she was wearing—

  “Overalls.” Her tone clearly conveyed that she thought Arlo had lost her mind if she didn’t know what overalls were.

  “I can see that,” Arlo stammered. “But why?”

  Fern looked down at herself and turned a little from side to side. The wide legs of the overalls had been rolled up to just above the ankle. Fern’s standard tan-colored running shoes were missing and, in their place, a worn pair of Converse Chuck Taylors. Her tan compression stockings were clearly visible. She had a white T-shirt on underneath and a pearl-button gingham top over it all. “I’m taking up gardening.”

  Arlo did her best not to giggle. She didn’t want to laugh outright at Fern and hurt her feelings, but the whole idea was silly at best. “Isn’t it a little late to be starting now?”

  “That’s what I told her.”

  Fern
shot Helen a withering look. “It’s just May.”

  “Where’s Camille?” With Helen’s change in hair color and Fern’s change of dress and haircare venue, Arlo needed something to be the same. With any luck, Camille hadn’t gone and dyed her hair cotton candy pink or joined the circus.

  “She was right behind us,” Helen said.

  Fern frowned. “She got a call from her beau.” She said the last word as if it tasted bad in her mouth.

  “Has anyone met him yet?” Arlo asked.

  Fern and Helen shook their heads.

  “She’s keeping him under wraps.” Helen said.

  “You don’t think he’s…” What was the word she wanted? Not on the level, bad, a charlatan?

  “Too young for her?” Fern supplied. “That’s exactly what I think.”

  “Criminal was more what I was thinking.”

  Fern shrugged. “He could be both.”

  Helen elbowed her. “Not helping.”

  Fern rubbed her arm. “Might be true though.”

  And that was the greatest concern.

  “Anything new happening at the beauty shop today?” Arlo looked from one of them to the other.

  Helen made a face. “Now you want the Friday gossip.”

  “No, I just thought—” But she couldn’t finish because it was exactly as Helen said.

  “You just thought with Haley’s murder there would be big news at Dye Me a River.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  She waited for Helen to elaborate, but the seconds ticked by, and Camille breezed into the bookshop. “Hello, lovelies.”

  “Finally decide to get off the phone?” Fern grumped.

  But Camille continued nonplussed. “It’s a beautiful day, n’est-ce pas?”

  Arlo looked to Helen. “French?”

  Her guardian shrugged.

  “She’s in love,” Fern said.

  Camille beamed. “It’s true that I am.”

  At least that was all in English.

  “This is with the man you met on the internet?” Arlo asked.

  “Dating site,” Camille corrected, though Arlo wasn’t sure exactly what the difference was.

  “I’m so happy for you,” Arlo managed.

  “Hear, hear,” Chloe chimed in.

  “When do we get to meet this new man of yours?” Helen asked.

  “You sure you want another one of those hanging around?” Fern asked.

  “Another what?” Camille asked.

  Fern opened her mouth to reply, but Arlo cut in. “Man. She’s talking about a man.” She hadn’t been exactly sure what Fern would have said, but it was a safe bet it wasn’t G-rated.

  “Men have their uses, love.” Camille beamed.

  Helen started to say something, but Arlo shook her head. Now was not the time to talk of such things. With the sparkle in Camille’s eyes, Arlo was fairly certain Camille wouldn’t be up for any lectures on dating, the dangers involved, or the question of if she really wanted to get involved with someone at her age.

  “He hasn’t asked you for money, has he?” Fern demanded.

  “Of course not, love.” Then she must have really looked at Fern for the first time since she came into the shop. “What are you wearing?”

  “Overalls.” Fern raised her chin as if daring her to say more.

  Arlo wasn’t sure if Fern was really picking up a new hobby or if she bought the outfit spoiling for a fight.

  “Have you been wearing them the entire time?” Camille asked, eyes still sparkling.

  “Yes.” Fern crossed her arms with a frown.

  Arlo was pretty sure what Fern was thinking. If Camille had been paying more attention to what was happening around her instead of this new man of hers, maybe she would have noticed an hour ago. But it was simply speculation on Arlo’s part.

  “Well, they’re quite lovely. Quite lovely indeed.” The power of love was tremendous.

  “As long as he’s not asking you for money,” Fern grumbled.

  “He’s not.”

  “Then he’s retired?” Helen asked.

  “I suppose,” Camille said. “We haven’t gotten around to talking about that.”

  “But he’s retirement age?” Helen pressed.

  “Oh, yes, love.”

  Arlo didn’t bother to remind her guardian that retirement age could be as young as midfifties these days. She was a little more concerned with the fact that Camille and her new man hadn’t discussed something so basic as income.

  “Are we going to talk about the mystery or not?” Fern demanded.

  Arlo thought it best not to point out that they were really there to discuss a book that they had all read at least three times. After all, when she had started the book club, they had been planning to read To Kill a Mockingbird. And who knew how many times the ladies had read that one.

  “Of course.” Camille breezed over to the reading nook like only an eighty-plus woman in a pink pantsuit and matching running shoes could.

  Fern and Helen shook their heads and followed behind.

  Arlo breathed a small sigh of relief. With Camille in love, she might not have to check the book club so often. With any luck, Camille’s afterglow, or whatever a person would call it, would put a damper on any harebrained ideas the other two could concoct. Arlo might just be able to get a little work done today. And daydream a bit about her date that evening with Sam.

  No such luck.

  The bell over the door sounded, followed by, “Hello, good people.”

  They turned as Baxter Whitney strolled into the Books and More.

  “Hi,” Arlo said, making her way over to where he stood, hovering just inside the door as if afraid to come any further. “What can I do for you, Baxter?”

  “Arlo Stanley,” he said. He was dressed like a 1940s gangster with a flowing silk shirt, pleated trousers, and two-toned wing-tip shoes. But Baxter had always been that way. Overdressed, overimportant. Pretty much over-everything.

  “I thought that was you. Is this your little shop?”

  “Yes.” She smiled at his description, wondering how many Arlos he knew in Sugar Springs. The idea that there was more than one was laughable.

  “Nice, nice,” he said, but he was looking at the papers he held in his hands rather than the store itself. The superb manners of the well-to-do.

  “How’s your mom?” She was aware of the rustling behind her and knew the book club had gathered around to hear the answer.

  Baxter frowned. “The same. But you know Mama. She’ll bounce back. She always does.”

  And Arlo hoped he was right.

  “Speaking of which…” He held up the turquoise blue flyers he held in one hand. “She wanted me to hand these out to everyone.” He gave one to Arlo, then proceeded to hand them to the book club ladies one at a time.

  Come one, come all to the Thirty-Fifth Annual Lillyfield Barbecue and Funfair.

  “You’re still having the party this year?” Camille asked.

  “There was a lot of debate over it. But Roberts won. He thinks it’s important to keep things the same. For Mama’s sake.”

  “And others there didn’t want to have it?” Arlo asked.

  The barbecue was important for the community. Who wouldn’t want to have it? It wasn’t like the entire event fell to the Whitneys. There was a town committee that gathered volunteers, students in need of community service. And there were other people involved as well. Like the high school principal who manned the dunk tank every year, allowing his students an opportunity to dunk him into the water.

  His mouth twisted into an ugly shape, then morphed into a tight smile. “Well, Pam—”

  “Dad-dy.” Anastasia Whitney Boudreau interrupted as she swept into the shop as if she were walking the red carpet. Which was amazing, since she too w
as carrying a handful of the blue flyers. But her dress was too odd to be anything other than couture, and her shoes would have given any normal person a nosebleed to go along with their bunions. But that was Anastasia, and she had been this way long enough that people in Sugar Springs never gave her a second glance. Not for the way she dressed, anyway. Thirty-five, divorced, and living at home (technically), she appeared something close to comical with her glittering, stacked bracelets and Yorkie tucked under one arm. Eccentric…wasn’t that the polite term? “How many more of these are we going to have to hand out?” She pouted in a way that only the entitled jet set can.

  “All of them, dearie. It is your birthday celebration after all.” Baxter’s expression became a bit apologetic as he turned back to Arlo. “What was I saying?”

  Arlo managed a genuine-looking smile. Well, it felt genuine anyway. “I can’t remember.”

  She had forgotten that the annual barbecue had begun as a celebration of Anastasia’s birth. Mostly because since she had lived in Sugar Springs, Arlo could count on one hand the number of times she had actually seen the woman at the event, but that was neither here nor there. Judith Whitney held the affair every year as her way of giving back to the community. And of course raising money for charity.

  “This year’s event is to benefit St. Jude,” Baxter continued.

  “Always a worthy cause,” Arlo replied. And a certain crowd-pleaser.

  The book club ladies, still gathered behind her, echoed her sentiment.

  “Hope to see you all there,” Baxter said. “It’ll be good to have some positive after all the unpleasantness of late.” He gave a wave, then left, his daughter trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

  “Some things never change,” Helen said.

  They broke and started back to the reading nook.

  Fern chuckled. “They have no reason to.”

  “I disagree,” Camille said as she sank back down into her favorite armchair. “I’ve never seen Baxter and Anastasia handing out flyers before. That’s new.”

  “You’re right,” Fern said. “But it’s a small change. Hardly worth mentioning.”

  “I wonder what he was going to say about Pam,” Arlo said, then resisted the urge to slap her hand over her mouth. She didn’t need to give them any more to talk about.