Farmers Market Fatality Page 6

  Lucas and Braden were sleeping off the affair. Emily doubted they’d gone straight home when they dropped her off. She imagined the boys eating breakfast and bantering over large cokes. They probably annoyed a waitress or two and terrified the local paperboy before crashing at Braden’s house.

  Braden’s mother worked long hours and left every morning at 5 for the city. Weeknights she arrived in time to devour a bowl of instant soup, shower, and go back to bed.

  Two teens, unfamiliar to Emily, cruised the Victor E. Garden tables. Emily doubted they were trying to shoplift a pot of herbs or an arrangement of succulents. She was shocked to find they admired Victor’s hand-poured patriotic candles.

  “They’re scented with vanilla, cinnamon, and apple extracts.”

  One boy elbowed the other. “Get it?”

  “Yeah,” his friend said, rubbing his prodded rib cage. “American as apple pie.”

  Emily giggled. She always giggled when boys made jokes. She didn’t understand why. Their jokes weren’t all that funny. Joker boy, as Emily nicknamed him, took a candle in hand and turned it upside down. “$65.00,” he hooted.

  Emily’s cheek squished in surprise. “For a candle?” Joker boy showed his friend. “It must be a mistake. Let me see.” Emily flipped three other candles upside down. All of their handwritten tags proclaimed a different price. She knew Farmers Market goods could cost more than the local stores, but this was crazy. One candle was priced at $100. Emily set that one back down. “It’s got to be a misprint. Here,” She handed Joker boy a different candle. “This one’s $20.”

  His friend took the candles and compared the bottoms. “Why does this one have a V on it and this one doesn’t?”

  Emily didn’t know. Lucas hadn’t mentioned Mr. Cotton’s odd pricing. “I guess the V stands for very special. That explains why those candles are more expensive.”

  The faces of each boy beamed with understanding. “Oh,” they said in unison. They turned their backs to Emily and discussed the problem over open wallets.

  Why in the world would they want a $65 candle? They’re all the same. She thought, keeping a businesslike smile on her face. She watched the college boys with her peripherals while pretending to take in the crowd.

  A slice of her focus shifted when she spotted Lydia. The woman waved. Emily returned the greeting. Emily wasn’t ready to renew her relationship with Lydia. She feared her knowing glances and convicting conversations. Emily wanted to be free, and Lydia wanted her strapped down and obedient. Lydia wasn’t going to approach her. She was busy with her crafting crisis and wouldn't be walking over anytime soon.

  Cordelia Muggs sauntered past the Victor E Garden stall. She looked directly into Emily’s eyes. Emily lowered her chin. Cordelia moved on.

  “Okay, all we’ve got is $40. Do you have a candle for $40?”

  Her eyebrows pinched together as she reminded the young men of the $20 candle they’d already picked up. “No, we want one with a V.”

  Emily flipped candle after candle. “The cheapest special candle is the one you’re holding. Honestly, they’re all the same.” The boys talked together some more before deciding to barter. “Listen,” Emily replied to their bids, with a defiant hand to the hip. “This isn’t my store. I can’t change the prices for you. Even if I think $65 for a candle is insane.”

  “How about if we do this?” Joker boy picked up the two original candles and turned his back to Emily. She heard the adhesive detach but looked away. “Now, we’ll take the $20 candle and pay you $30 for it.”

  Emily wasn’t an idiot. Plus, she really needed the money. Glaring right into the boy’s eyes, with more courage than she imagined she possessed, she said, “Give me all $40, and we have a deal.”

  The boys laughed and made the exchange. Emily bagged up their purchase, slipped $20 into the cash box and the other $20 into her pocket. The parties separated, happy with the arrangement. Emily watched her customers eat apple fritters before they left the Market. She startled when Lydia came up.

  The vendors around Victor E Garden tucked away their supplies. Their clattering stirred urgency in Emily. She grimaced and acted busy. Lydia's presence wasn't soothing Emily's nerves.

  Lydia snatched up a candle and sniffed it. “Cinnamon Apples. Yum.” She peeked at the price tag and blanched.

  “They’re high-quality candles,” Emily said.

  “I guess they are,” Lydia responded without shock or falseness in her tone.

  “Are you buying or not?” Emily kept most of her emotions out of the conversation and wrapped a candle in bubble wrap.

  “Oh, not today. Maybe next weekend. I wanted to say hello.”

  “Hello.” Emily snipped. “I’ve got a lot to do. So, I...”

  “Sure, sure. Me too. I’ll see you around, then.”

  “It’s a small town.” Emily wanted to say more, but the words evaporated on her tongue. Instead, she turned away and packed up supplies in their labeled totes.

  “Emily,” Lucas wrapped his arms around her waist and hoisted her in the air, still holding a plastic crate. “Who were you talking to?”

  “Just Lydia.”

  Lydia wasn’t standing at the booth, anymore. She’d returned to her duties. Lucas’ eyes trailed Emily’s. He dropped her. She stumbled. “The Sheriff’s wife?”

  “She came looking at the booth. I was doing my job.”

  “Did you sell her one?” Worry creased Lucas’ expression.

  “No, they’re crazy expensive. “

  “That’s Mr. Victor’s business. Not ours. Definitely, not the Sheriff’s or his wife’s.” Emily placed both hands on Lucas’ arm. Her attempts at calming him succeeded and he packed up the booth alongside her.

  Gathering courage to pry, Emily forced a whimsical easiness to her voice. Playing dumb and friendly worked in her favor most of the time. “I thought you were meeting me here, tonight. I didn’t think I’d have to handle the shop all on my own.”

  Lucas didn’t look at her. He kept working. “It’s a 3-hour shift. What’s the big deal?”

  Emily braved another question. “Well, when do we... I mean you get paid?” Lucas either didn’t catch her slip or was choosing patience over anger. It didn’t matter to Emily. She was happy for his companionship and help.

  “Braden’s working it out with him. When we drop this stuff off, we’ll get Braden too. He’ll give us our money then.”

  Emily pouted. She hoped Braden was sick at home, or something. She didn’t like who Lucas became when his friend was with them. Emily wasn’t going to cause a fight, though, and enjoyed the moment while it lasted.

  She remembered all her mother’s boyfriends. None of them had been church boys, like Lucas. They were never nearly as attractive or wealthy as Lucas, either. Compared to her mother’s men, Lucas was a saint and Emily was lucky to have him. She slowed her pace. Lucas rewarded her with a warm smile and a lingering hug. That was her boyfriend. She loved him and deep down he loved her. She knew it, even if he didn’t say it.

  ✽✽✽

  Armed with a plastic satchel and a trash skewer, Lydia stabbed loose wrappers and receipts. Her job took her back over the cross memorial. It stunned her, how many people dropped their garbage anywhere.

  A chill flurried up her back when she passed the area she discovered Hobo Joe. Though her mind kept returning to how he looked, bleeding and bashed on the lawn, she forced it to picture him laughing on Miss Jacqui’s recliner. She wanted to check on him. It would reaffirm her memory and perhaps erase the bad one. However, Miss Jacqui would be there, and she didn’t want to chance a nasty confrontation. She’d narrowly escaped the last one.

  ✽✽✽

  Kat Miller no longer lived in fear of the church pillar. She and Miss Jacqui had an understanding. After finishing the Market clean up, she headed straight for Miss Jacqui’s house.

  The Sunday school matriarch took longer than usual to answer her door. “I’ve got a present for you and Hobo Joe.” Kat said, holding up h
er overnighted parcel.

  Miss Jacqui nodded. “Finally, a woman with sense.” She ushered Kat inside and shut the door, double locking it.

  Chapter 12

  Lydia soaked in her tub. Ambient music and rainfall sounds played from the cellphone on her vanity. Her muscles still ached. She felt hung-over, and she didn’t understand why. Lack of coffee was her best guess. However, Dr. Lawrence suggested the opposite. Ethan sided with Dr. Lawrence and pleaded with his wife. The doctor commanded twelve hours without her favorite brew.

  Ethan suggested she double his time limit. Nine hours to go. She’d be asleep when the deadline hit. She mourned over her need for sleep and dumped the rest of her bag of Epsom salts into her bathwater. In an hour she was on babysitting duty. Lydia was thankful that Scout would be sleeping for most of it.

  Ivy would drive to Mission House. She hoped Emily would come downstairs and visit with her. Lydia thought she would. Emily was moody and dramatic. She was fickle and flighty when frightened. But Ivy was a sister figure for a girl with an absent mother. Part of Emily needed Ivy.

  Perhaps that was why she was so harsh with her, Lydia thought. Girls were odd creatures. Lydia recalled Joan growing before her. There were days her beautiful girl made perfect sense and days she was an absolute tyrant. There was no control by which to measure her mood swings. They rocketed at will, destroying any peace in their path.

  Ivy had not yet shown her crazy side. Lydia worried it was on the way. However, perhaps she was all hormoned out from having Scout. Maybe the Baby Blues and the lactation weepies were all she would have to endure from Ivy. Her wishful thinking did nothing for her nerves. Lydia allowed the water to swallow her up to the crown of her head. Her hair drifted beside and above her cheeks. When she emerged, she prayed that her tension would remain in the bath. She hoped it would sink down the drain.

  ✽✽✽

  “She’s out.” Emily’s roomie delivered the news without detaching her eyes from her phone.

  “Out as in she’s gone?” Ivy needed clarity.

  “No!” The roommate snipped. Her phone held much more interesting things to do. She sent a frowning emoji followed by a yawning one to the friend on the other end of the wireless. “Out as in sleeping. I can’t wake her. It figures.”

  Ivy shifted from foot to foot. She cleared her throat and willed the teen to make eye contact without success. “Is there someone else I can talk to? Someone else that can try to wake her?”

  As a nonresident, Ivy was not allowed upstairs. All visiting occurred in the two main living areas — the formal living room and the casual gaming room, which doubled as a study. Ivy needed a live-in girl to arouse Emily.

  “It’s not like she knew you were coming.”

  “Could you try again? Please?”

  The girl huffed and popped a grape bubblegum bubble. Her thumbs flew across the screen of her mobile. “Fine. Wait here.” She turned and walked away at a snail’s pace. Ivy watched holding in a scream of frustration. She refrained from tapping her foot by twisting her wrists in a gentle calming stretch. A tap on her shoulder saved her from storming out of the room.

  “She’s not coming back.” A girl with onyx colored hair said with somber assuredness.

  “What? Why? How do you know?” Ivy smiled. The monotone girl made eye contact — a rare and fading quality to be sure. Ivy often wondered about other kids her age. Half of them were whiny and caustic. The others seemed dead inside like meat shells for their online avatars. Ivy ached for real life. She wanted outlandish things like conversations and relationships. Her search was not without obstacles.

  “She’s watching the boys play foosball.”

  Ivy gasped and looked around this new girl, spying phone girl in the game room. “Great.”

  “Maybe I can help. You’re Emily’s friend, right?” A light glimmered in the shadows.

  “Yes, I’m Ivy.”

  “Right. I’ve seen you in pictures. You’ve got the little girl?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Jasmine. Emily’s other roommate. But Tiff is right. She’s out, cold. She’s been working the market.” Ivy’s lips puckered. “That and she’s been out all night, every night.” She whispered the last sentence. “But you already knew that.”

  Ivy hadn’t known that but what she said was, “Of course.”

  Chapter 13

  Monday morning was beautiful. Lydia remembered to draw her blackout curtains the night before. Her room remained dark and cool even as the sun rose at 4 am. She remained cozy and comfortable three hours longer than the sun.

  Ethan stirred in the bed beside her. It was his day off. Lydia squirmed lower in the crisp fresh linen and pulled a pillow between her knees. She curled into a C and shut her eyes.

  Birds tweeted outside. Distant roosters called and answered other leaders of the flock. Happiness was Lydia's for the grasping. No more tension knots. No more market for the day. She wanted nothing else but to lounge in bed all day, beside her husband.

  Instead, her phone jittered on her bedside table. She snatched it. Ethan moaned and drifter deeper into REM. One new text. It was from Kat.

  You’re not going to be pleased.

  Another text vibrated Lydia’s palm.

  But come and see. I’ll meet you at Jacqui’s.

  Lydia grunted, startling her husband. He sat up quickly and spouted a reprimand to an unseen delinquent. Just as suddenly, he dropped back onto his pillow and snored himself back to sleep. The night shift always left him with restless dreams. He’d snooze for at least another couple of hours. Lydia had time to catch up with Kat, grab some fresh 3 Alarm coffees and scones, and make it back before Ethan’s feet hit the carpet.

  On my way in 15, she replied.

  ✽✽✽

  Flora nursed Enoch. It seemed like all she was doing, recently, was nursing Enoch. She didn’t resent it. She loved nurturing her children. What she hated was being left out. Typically, the babysitter and thus not in the middle of most of the action, Flora resigned herself to being the last to know.

  During their last adventure, Flora was able to play more than a minor role. She figured out clues before her team. It was wonderful to be valued. Flora missed it. She hated not being in the loop.

  She felt confident, especially after helping at the craft fair, she merited a catch-up call. However, none had come. No texts. No emails. No spontaneous late-night knocks on her door. She had been listening. Every two to three hours she was up with Enoch. He ate. She drank water. They both waited to be summoned.

  Flora was not the self-pitying type. The moment tempted her to try it out. Maybe a hissy fit is what her friends needed to remember she was here. She rejected the idea. She’d do something creative instead.

  As soon as Enoch fell asleep and detached, she swaddled him and tucked him into a football hold. Quiet, as to not wake the household, she opened her china cabinet drawer and retrieved her scrapbooking supplies.

  ✽✽✽

  Lydia’s mouth hung slack. Her eyes equally widened. She wanted to jump and clap her hands with glee. Lydia knew she was being watched and for her own sake, she needed to feign apprehension and exasperation. Her reaction would get back to Ethan. Her attempt at annoyance needed to be believable.

  Kat pressed the buttons on her little remote control with ecstatic glee. In black and white, four rectangles split the computer monitor. With each press, a different scene took the limelight. One: Miss Jacqui’s view of the street. Two: A direct eye line to the Muggs’ garage. Three: the curb in front of Cordelia’s, where her trash cans rested. Four: the street away from Jacqui’s, pointing at an angle towards Victor Cotton’s house.

  Miss Jacqui cradled her arm in the palm of her opposite hand. She glowed with the bliss of mischief. She never looked younger or happier. Hobo Joe was up and about. He paced in a hobble, never groaning over his injuries. “This will nab the trash smashers,” Jacqui interjected, finally taking a seat.

  “We’re not breaking a
ny laws, right?” Kat peered into Lydia’s face.

  “I don’t think so. You’re not peeping on the neighbors, and you’re not broadcasting the feed. You’re not, right?” Lydia knew better than to assume anything when it came to Miss Jacqui.

  “Of course not. At least, not yet.” Hobo Joe crackled with laughter at Miss Jacqui’s reply.

  Lydia slid a dining room chair beside the quilting queen. “So, what’s the plan?”

  ✽✽✽

  Emily fidgeted in her seat. Lucas sat beside her in the booth. Across the room, at the café counter, Ethan Everett ordered coffee and scones to go. Emily squished against the vinyl, trying to disappear. Lucas was too preoccupied talking with Braden to notice.

  The dreaded happened, Ethan picked up his brown bag of treats and his cardboard drink holder. He turned and spotted Emily shrinking into the scenery. He nodded and smiled, but did not come over. Emily whooshed with relief.

  Lucas’ gaze followed the man out the café doors and trailed him until he disappeared around the building. “You never told me you were friendly with the sheriff, just his wife.”

  Lucas reached up a hand and gingerly spun Emily’s earring. His gestures were sweet and simple, but his eyes reflected a fire that shook Emily down to her sneakers.

  ✽✽✽

  Ivy, Ethan, Lydia, and Scout dined at the family breakfast table. Lydia did not beat Ethan home, as she’d planned. Instead, she came home to coffee and scones and Ethan scrambling eggs sprinkled with dried chives.

  Ivy stirred up a bowl of baby cereal mixed with smashed peas. “How do you think she’ll take it?” Lydia walked into the middle of a conversation.

  “If she’s like my Joanie, she’ll spit it out all over herself and you.” Ethan’s face brightened with memory.

  “Yes, and then rub it into her hair,” Lydia added as she wrapped her husband in a hug. The couple chuckled at their shared history. Ivy’s lips arched downward.

  “Maybe I should wait.”

  “You’ve been worrying over this step for a while. Scout will be okay. You’ll be okay. Follow your mom's gut.”