Chapter 6
Walking out the front door of my bookstore, I choose to take a small detour before heading directly to my breakfast with Sheriff Too-Hot-To-Handle. The Bell, Book & Candle sits squarely on the corner of First Avenue and Main Street. Main Street comes to a dead end in a shallow cul-de-sac beside the store, overlooking the great lake that brings so much beauty and commerce to our small town.
Humidity is a new concept for an Arizona desert girl. But one of the advantages of living this close to a massive body of water is the interesting weather patterns pushed upon us by the unpredictable wind. No matter the level of humidity, a brisk breeze across this beautiful lake does quite a bit to remove the stickiness from the air.
I glance over at the front door of the bookshop and smile. A thick wooden door intricately carved with whimsical vignettes, such as: a centaur chasing a maiden through delicate woodland; a faun playing a flute for a family of rabbits dancing around his cloven feet; the shadow of a winged horse passing in front of the moon; a wildcat stalking a small boy—a cat who bears a striking resemblance to Pyewacket.
The massive door was a grand opening gift from Silas to Grams. The singular key to the door hangs on a chain around my neck. It’s a hefty brass key with a unique triangle-shaped barrel. I used to wear it around my neck every single day when I first came to Pin Cherry, but after a few undercover missions requiring low-cut tops or very tight corsets, I generally enter through the alley door using a regular-sized key.
But today I missed the weight of it around my neck and tucked it under my T-shirt. The image emblazoned across my cotton tee is a snarky little cat pushing a glass off the counter above the message, “I do what I want.”
I feel like Erick and I are at a place in our seedling relationship where he can truly appreciate the depth of this sentiment.
After hustling down Main Street toward Myrtle’s Diner, despite the breeze rolling in from the shore, I’m grateful for the cool blast of air conditioning that envelops me when I push open the glass door.
Odell gives me his standard spatula salute through the red-Formica-trimmed orders-up window, and I smell my delicious breakfast already sizzling on the grill.
Ever since I met him, I’ve been impressed with the way he seems to have a sixth sense about his regular customers’ dietary needs. And he absolutely knows I needs me some scrambled eggs with chorizo and a side of golden-brown home fries.
The snug, flame-red bun of my favorite waitress, Tally, pops out from the kitchen, and in one smooth move she scoops up a coffee mug and fills it en route to the corner booth, which holds the true reward for my early morning rising.
Erick smiles in that way that makes my tummy tingly and warm, and as I slide onto the red-vinyl seat across from him, he steals one of my moves.
He walks his fingers across the table and turns his palm upward in a clear and enticing invitation.
Blushing, in spite of our familiarity, I eagerly place my hand in his.
He gives it a little squeeze. “Did you have that shirt custom-made?”
I’d already forgotten what I was wearing, and I nearly spit out my first sip of delicious coffee. After a ferocious struggle, I manage to swallow the coffee and answer. “You’d think, right?”
He smiles and pulls his hand back to grip his coffee. “So your dad seemed pretty cozy with Jimmy . . .”
For a moment I struggle with the propriety of the story that my father told me, but I’ve seen local law enforcement go after the easy mark of an ex-con one too many times. Looks like I’ll have to break my promise, in order to keep my dad off the suspect list. At least it’s for a good cause. “My dad did time with Jimmy’s son down at Clearwater. Story is, he saved the kid’s life in the yard one day. They’re not friends or anything, but Jimmy gives him prison respect or whatever you call it.”
Erick’s coy grin sends my extra senses into overdrive. There is an odd combination of smugness, appreciation, and surprise.
“But you already knew that.”
His eyes widen. “Remind me never to play poker with you.”
Shaking my head, I take another slow sip of coffee before I reply. “For your sake, I hope you never play poker in this town. We don’t need another member of local law enforcement under Leticia’s thumb.”
Erick raises his mug of coffee. “Hear. Hear.”
“When do you expect to get your hands on the medical examiner’s report?”
He grins. “And there’s that toss from left field I can always count on.”
Odell slides our breakfasts, and a bottle of Tabasco, onto the table and raps his knuckles twice before he saunters back to the kitchen.
Our discussion is temporarily placed on hold while I douse my home fries with spicy sauce and we fill our bellies with comfort food.
“The medical examiner should have something for me this afternoon. I don’t expect any surprises. Vassili was clearly strangled. All we have to do is figure out by who.”
It pleases me to hear him use the word “we.” “I think you mean by whom.”
He rolls his eyes lightly and smiles. “Any hunches?”
Unsure about his tone, I launch into a defensive, “Look, mister, I’ve—”
“Hey, I’m a believer. I think it was you who mentioned that your hunches have solved a lot of cases since you came to town. My job is to enforce the law and see that justice is served. I don’t have to be picky about how I get there.”
My scrambled-egg-laden fork halts halfway to my mouth. Either I’m having another one of my daytime hallucinations, or Sheriff Erick Harper has welcomed me aboard the investigative team.
He must sense my shock, because he chuckles softly. “You heard me right. I’m a believer.”
I’m not even going to ask what he believes, or what kind of access this new belief will grant me. “Great. Then I’m going to keep doing what I do best. Stumble upon corpses, interfere with investigations, and ferret out criminals.”
Erick nods his nonverbal agreement and, for a moment, I sense a wave of something close to pride rolling my way. He’s proud of me. He’s really proud of me.
“What are you grinning about, Moon?”
“Nothing.” Painting my face in a portrait of innocence is becoming increasingly more difficult.
“Right.” He shakes his head and dives back into his breakfast.
I’m not ashamed to say I finish first. Which is fine, because it gives me the opportunity to ask questions. “Who’s your lead suspect right now?”
He wipes a little syrup from the corner of his mouth and licks his finger, which causes me to blush and swallow uncomfortably.
“I’d love to say it’s Whitecloud and her goons, but so far there’s nothing pointing at them. And you discovering her in that hidden room below deck gives her one heck of an alibi.”
“Well, I’m not ruling her out. I barely know my way around that boat and I found that hidden room in under two minutes. She could easily have killed Vassili and made it back there before I discovered her.”
Erick nods. “True.”
I offer him my hunch. “But my favorite suspect has got to be Roman, the brother.”
He tilts his head. “I thought you said in your statement that he was drinking at the bar on the main deck?”