Taking the Fall (8 page)

“He had no intention of settling down. And Stacey’s husband wouldn’t take her back,” Amy said.

“But she decided to stay in Bonney Bay anyway?” I said in dismay.

“I guess it was kind of payback, you know? Stacey stayed, and she told everyone she met what happened.”

“How long has she been in Bonney Bay?” Blythe asked.

“About a year now, I’d say.”

A year to win friends and allies in Bonney Bay. A year to plot her ultimate revenge against Ellison. To wait for someone to pin it on. Or, was it an unplanned crime of passion? Had seeing him with Blythe been the final straw that made her snap? Had she taken Blythe’s brush at the party? Had Blythe left it lying in the dance studio bathroom? Or had Stacey been lurking around the bar while Blythe and Ellison were out for drinks?

“Some one’s been seeing Ellison lately, though. Two days ago, he came in right before closing and bought flowers and chocolate covered strawberries.”

“Any idea who it is?” I dared to ask.

Amy shook her head. “That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out.”

Blythe’s face was fixed with a look of friendly concern, but I knew her gears were spinning just like mine. Who could it be? Did Stacey know about her? Did this mystery woman know Ellison was putting the moves on Blythe?

“Thank you, really,” Blythe said sincerely. “I appreciate the honesty.”

Millie said, “Well, we’ll let you ladies finish your shopping. Let us know if you need help finding anything.”

“Sure,” I said. Should we go to Riggins? Did he already know? Would he care? I couldn’t wait to get out of here so I could talk this over with Blythe. My stomach growled loudly. And cook us some breakfast. “Where’s the bacon?”

Blythe gave me a look. She went to fill the cart with ingredients for enough inexpensive meals to last us a week, and I let Millie lead me to the local cherrywood smoked bacon, orange juice, and lemon scones from the bakery. I almost popped one of the scones out of the plastic clamshell container and ate it right there, but even without her by my side, I could hear Blythe hissing in my ear that it was stealing—even if I was about to pay for it in approximately two minutes. I sighed, swinging the basket Amy had fetched for me, and found Blythe at the checkout.

Blythe drove us home. I was busy picking scone crumbs from my shirt and popping them into my mouth.

Blythe backed out of the parking space. “Do you think it was that awful Stacey Goode? Or—what if it was her husband?”

“Then why your hairbrush?”

“And how my hairbrush, either way? I know I never left it lying around.”

“Maybe the killer didn’t take your brush. Maybe it was just there because Ellison took it. You know, like a token.”

“You make him sound like a creepy stalker! Maybe it wasn’t even my brush. Maybe it’s just the same kind of brush, same color, and mine is just missing.”

Yeah, with the same color hair in it.
That
was likely! “We don’t know him! We have to examine every possible scenario.”

Blythe let out a deep breath. She turned into the drive-thru of Espresso on the Bay. “I need some coffee.”

I swallowed with difficulty. “Me too. My throat is scone-dry.”

“Ha, ha.” She frowned at me, unimpressed.

I shrugged. Oh, well. I tried.

11

I sipped my coffee as I flipped eggs and bacon. And of course, ate another scone. Blythe busied herself putting away our groceries and unpacking the mishmash of kitchen essentials we’d brought from her place and mine. We hadn’t lived together since we were kids. It was going to take some getting used to. But I was determined to make this fresh start work. I vowed to try to pick up after myself and keep my comments about Blythe’s freakish neatness to myself.

The smoked cherry wood bacon filled the apartment with an aroma that was exotic and homey all at once. The eggs had come out just right—over hard for me, and over easy, with beautiful unbroken yolks, for Blythe. I had a way with yolks. It would have been a shame, since I didn’t eat runny eggs, but Blythe appreciated them. She loved hers over easy, even though they busted on her every time she tried to cook them.

We hadn’t brought the table up from the trailer yet, but when I was done cooking, she tossed the empty bacon package in the garbage, wiped the counter, and set it as though it were our table—one of my own plates for me, and one of hers for her.

“A little bit of home for each of us,” she said.

We ate standing up. As we slurped up the last of our drive-thru coffees and started in on the pot I’d brewed—hey, what can I say? After the night we’d had, it was a caffeine overdose kind of day—Blythe whipped out her phone, ready to work on another list.

“We’ve got to get the mats down and get the trailer unloaded,” I said.

“And carry the furniture up here. And then return the trailer to the rental place.”

And all I wanted was a jog and a nap. And to know my sister was safe. I got out my phone and did a little surreptitious research on the Bonney Bay Police Department. Could they really handle this murder business? I found a picture and profile of Chief Sanders, a slim, sleepy-looking elderly man with a neatly trimmed silver mustache. There seemed to be no one with the title
detective
or even
deputy
. I couldn’t figure out how many officers they employed. Based on what happened last night, the same officers who patrolled the quiet streets must handle investigations. They called in the Chief for the big stuff, like murder.

All too soon, we were carrying more boxes, then our kitchen table and chairs into the studio and up the narrow staircase to our apartment. The couch was next. Blythe climbed the ramp into the truck and grabbed one end. I took the other, walking it backwards down the ramp. Good grief, my knee did not like lifting heavy objects, especially while walking backwards. Blythe caught the strained look on my face.

“Put it down!” she insisted.

I shook my head. “Let’s get it out of the truck first. Then we can turn around.”

“Maybe we need some help.”

“I’ve got it. I just need to—”

“Hello-o!” I glanced over one shoulder, then the other, searching for the source of the friendly greeting.

Blythe lowered her end, and I dropped mine with a bang on the metal ramp. A slender young woman jogged across the parking lot, dark shoulder-length hair bouncing. A young guy trailed behind her. He looked about eighteen, but strong and stocky.

The woman smiled shyly. “I’m Lourdes Vargas. I promised Mama Ruth I’d keep an eye on you, and here you are, breaking your backs! Mama Ruth wouldn’t stand for it.” Her deep, slightly raspy voice contrasted with her slight, feminine frame and her reserved politeness. “Here. Here is my brother, Carlos.”

Carlos removed his cap and shook our hands.

Blythe scrambled out of the truck and around the couch. “You’re related to Ruth?” she asked.

Lourdes laughed, a light, scratchy laugh. “No, not really. Mama Ruth is my best friend, Sandra’s mother. We were like sisters, until Sandra moved to North Carolina to go to school. Carlos is my baby brother. Ten years younger than me. When our mother died, I got Carlos, and Mama Ruth sort of adopted us both. I don’t know what we would’ve done without her.”

“How old were you?” I said.

Carlos answered for his sister. “Lourdes was twenty-one. Poor Lulu. I was a handful. Mama Ruth didn’t make me a ballerina, but I had fun chasing them around and tying their slippers together.”

Lourdes gave him a gentle elbow. “He was an absolute terror.”

Carlos tried to scowl, but it looked more like a smile. His dark eyes twinkled with a mischievous affection for his older sister. “So,” he said, “let us help you. For Mama Ruth, yes?”

My pride wanted to say no, but the pain in my knee told me to say, “That would be great. Thanks.” I actually stood off to the side while Carlos took the walking-backwards end of the couch and Lourdes and Blythe teamed up on the other end. I gave my knee a rest while I opened doors for them and guided them around corners and up the stairs.

Blythe and I showed Lourdes and Carlos how to carry the big rolls of judo mats. They were made of vinyl-covered, high-tech open-cell foam, designed to absorb the high impact of judo throws. Though they resembled rolled-up wrestling mats, all the air in those foam cells made them lightweight. Secured with seatbelt-like straps, they were easy to carry, though because of their size, it took two people per roll. We set the rolls on end on the former dance floor. I couldn’t wait to get them rolled out and set up, but our helpers were sweaty and out of breath—visibly thirsty.

“Why don’t you two come up for a minute? We don’t have much yet, but we do have cold orange juice.”

“Yes, please, come on up,” Blythe said.

“Okay,” Lourdes agreed in her quiet, raspy way.

Upstairs, Blythe went to find some more cups in one of the kitchen boxes, and I grabbed a couple of the chairs to position near the couch. Carlos came alongside me to help.

As he dragged a chair into place, he said in a hushed voice, “Your sister, she’s lucky. About Ellison Baxter, I mean.”

I froze. Ellison Baxter. For the past hour, I’d managed to all but forget about him and our little dilemma. Just what was going on here? What was Carlos getting at? “Lucky?” I braced myself for an accusation. Lucky she hadn’t been arrested yet? Lucky the whole town didn’t hunt her down and deliver mob justice?

Carlos’s eyes betrayed a sort of smoldering bitterness I wouldn’t have thought possible in the friendly kid with the sweet smile. “I heard that worm was picking up on her. The first day in town. He didn’t waste any time trying to get to that one. Guess he wanted to get things done before she found out he has a reputation now.”

“He didn’t get—”

“No matter. He was good. Real good. I’m not sorry he’s gone.” Carlos’s expression darkened even more. He took off his hat and ran his hand anxiously through his hair. “That rat took advantage of my sister,” he whispered fiercely. “All the women, he seduced them. Many, many, women. None of them knew then. They thought they were the only one. He’s—he was—clever, that one. Kept it all a secret.”

I kept my voice even, tried to sound just mildly curious and concerned, not elated that not only was Carlos not here to accuse or trap us, but that he seemed to have a lot of information to share about Ellison Baxter. “How’d he manage that?”

He grunted. “Stuck with the women who want to hide it too, even after. Married women. Women who don’t do these things.”

“Like Lourdes?”

“Yes, like Lourdes. Not married, but a good girl. She was so ashamed. You ask me, one of them—or one of their husbands—finally gave him what he deserved.”

Or maybe a brother. I kept that thought to myself and said, “Just how many women are we talking about?”

“Carlos!” Lourdes stood there with two glasses of icy orange juice in hand. “Are you talking about Ellison? It’s not right to speak ill of the dead!”

Great. She sounded just like Blythe. Let the man tell me what I needed to know, for goodness sake. He was just about to spill a complete list of suspects, as far as I was concerned. At the very least, I wanted to know if he knew the name of Ellison’s current girlfriend.

My irritation evaporated when I saw the heat in Lourdes’s cheeks, the look of mortification in her eye, and the obvious contrition in Carlos’s.

“I’m sorry, Lulu. I—”

“It’s alright. Everyone knows.” Was that a tear Lourdes was holding back? Her lip quivered a little. She turned to me and said, “I told Stacey Goode about Ellison and me. Trying to make her feel better, you know? You heard about what happened to her?”

I nodded, taking one of the glasses of orange juice off her hands.

“And she told everyone.” Lourdes shook her head sharply. “I didn’t know she had no shame. That she’d think my story was for the whole town.” Lourdes moved to sit on one of the wooden chairs, but Blythe took a seat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her, inviting her to take a more comfortable seat. Lourdes took a long drink of her juice. “I almost left town after that, but Mama Ruth begged me to stay.”

I gripped the cold glass, feeling a little like beating Ellison with a hairbrush myself. “But now she’s gone.”

“It must’ve been really hard to say good-bye to Miss Ruth,” Blythe said.

“It
is
hard. But I understand. She felt it was time for her to go. Her good friend, Marta—she was Mayor Conway’s personal assistant. Did you know that? Anyway, Marta passed away a couple months ago. After that, Miss Ruth started talking about leaving Bonney Bay. She’d never mentioned that possibility before. She made me promise to help you two, and she also made me promise not to take the position Marta had left open in the mayor’s office. It’s still open. I guess Mayor Conway can be difficult to deal with. But I made her promise to let me know if she ever wanted to come back, so I could help her out the way she helped us.”

“She’ll come back, I think,” Carlos said.

Would she?
I wondered. Bonney Bay was a great place to retire. Maybe they were right.

“Whatever happens, I know it’s for the best. I can’t run from my mistakes. And this is home for me and Carlos. I’m learning to live with it—what happened, what everyone knows. And Miss Ruth is learning to live without her friend, in her own way.”

12

We drove twenty miles to civilization in order to return the trailer to the rental chain, then stopped and grabbed some fast food for dinner. By the time we got home, I was dragging from the sleep I’d lost the night before and the chicken strips I’d inhaled were sitting in a knot in my gut, but I was also dying for some exercise. A short, evening jog would do me good, maybe even help make sure I got a good night’s sleep. I put on some shorts and running shoes and secured my phone in my armband holder, then took off with the warmth of the setting sun on my back.

Sprinklers sputtered on in the carefully maintained gardens all along the street. In the distance, a dog barked and children laughed. But there was another sound. Much closer. Were those footsteps behind me? I looked warily over my shoulder. A male silhouette jogged toward me, his strides widening, his pace advancing. He was gaining on me. Was he following me, or was I just paranoid? I tried to get another look at him without appearing like I was doing so. I failed on both counts.