Chapter 5
FIVE
Scarlett woke up to an overcast sky and an ache between her legs. She rolled onto her side and stared out the window, ignoring what was happening in her body. A bird hopped on a branch outside, calling out to its mate. It would leave for winter soon. The leaves fluttered in the breeze, two or three detaching to flutter to the ground. Scarlett snuggled under her plush down duvet, cozy, warm, and horny.
The last seventeen months had been mostly free of lust, which had been a relief. She’d tended to her own needs whenever they arose, and that had been that. She hadn’t thought of a man’s touch.
Now she could think of nothing else.
The bird flapped away, and the branch bowed and swayed under the weight of the creature’s takeoff. Scarlett reminded herself of all the reasons she couldn’t be with Archer.
First, they’d gone there once and decided to stop. That was reason enough not to pursue anything else. Why tread over old ground?
Second, they were friends. Their friends were friends. Their lives were already entangled, and those relationships were precious to Scarlett. If she poisoned that particular well, she’d have nothing. No family, no friends, no partner, and a business that would soon be notorious for being the scene of a grisly murder.
Finally, and maybe most importantly, Scarlett didn’t want sex. Or, rather, she didn’t only want sex; she wanted companionship. She wanted a man to look at her the way Leo looked at Amelia, and Marlon looked at Camilla, and Cormac looked at Lucy: like she was his entire world. Like all her little quirks and imperfections were the most fascinating, lovable thing about her. She wanted a man to know her, deep down, all the way to the very core of her, and she wanted him to love her not despite what he found there, but because of it.
Archer wouldn’t give her that. He had a wicked, teasing sparkle in his eye, and he would be fun, but he wouldn’t love her the way she wanted. Besides, she’d already tried to screw her way to feeling whole, and it hadn’t worked. She wouldn’t go down that path again, even for a charming, attractive, successful, funny man who looked at her like he knew exactly where her buttons were and how to push them.
So. She couldn’t be with him. That much was certain.
Her conclusion might have been firm, but it didn’t relieve the hunger inside her. She’d have to use her hand and her imagination for that. She rolled onto her back, forgot about the trees and the birds and the gray skies, and thought of Archer.
In an instant, she was back in that hallway at Camilla’s wedding, but this time she didn’t still his hand when it slid up her thigh. Instead, she spread herself open for him. She begged him to take her right there, just like that, where anyone could walk over and interrupt. And he did, just the way she needed. He panted hot breaths across her ear while she clawed at him, wet and hot and his. Pleasure splintered through her.
When Scarlett came back to herself, there was a sheen of sweat all over her body. She let out a sigh, her thighs still twitching slightly, knowing she’d only made life worse for herself. She was feeding the beast when she should have been starving it.
She should’ve imagined Magnus the werewolf instead.
Throwing the covers aside, she ducked out of her bedroom and into the home’s single bathroom. It had tiny black-and-white tiles on the floor, an old tub with a white shower curtain, and a vanity unit that had been installed sometime in the past decade. It didn’t match the rest of the fittings—a pedestal sink had probably been the original fixture—but the storage was definitely welcome.
When she was clean, Scarlett wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at herself. Now that she’d taken care of her most pressing needs, yesterday’s events began to run on a loop in her head: the embarrassment of her speech, the look in Archer’s eyes when he came to find her in the powder room, the peaceful walk to the flower shop, the body on the floor. The blood. The orchids. The smell.
No matter how many times she tried to make sense of what happened, she failed. She wrapped herself in her favorite satin robe and wandered to the kitchen—a bright, sunny space that had made her fall in love with the home—wondering what the detective would say to her when she went to the station. Hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, Scarlett stared out the kitchen window to her backyard, seeing nothing.
The ringing of her phone made her jump. Setting the mug down, she picked up her phone and saw Camilla’s name on the screen.
Her first instinct was to ignore the call.
After everything that happened, why would anyone want to be Scarlett’s friend? Her life was just one long slog that sometimes spiraled out of control. It would be easier for Scarlett to cut and run before yet another person could abandon her.
The call ended before she could bring herself to answer it—and her phone immediately began to ring once more. Camilla again.
Huffing, Scarlett answered. “Hi.”
“Come to the bakery,” Camilla commanded. “I want to feed you.”
The bakery would be full of people who had eyes that they’d use to stare at her. They would want to know everything that happened. She’d have to put on her mask and pretend she wasn’t dying inside.
“I already had breakfast.”
“But did you have a fresh-baked croissant with homemade jam? Did you have a cinnamon bun that’s still warm from the oven? Did you have a perfectly flaky danish with a crispy-sweet garnish of perfectly caramelized pecans?”
Scarlett couldn’t help the smile curling her lips. “No.” Her smile faded. “Is everyone talking about the—the murder? I don’t know if I can face that.”
“They are,” Camilla admitted, “but if they bother you, I’ll beat them back with a rolling pin. Come to the bakery, Scarlett. Let me give you a hug and a treat. Amelia and Lucy are here already. Lucy’s telling us about her new cat.”
It was tempting. How long had Scarlett wanted a home, a family? How many times had she wished she had exactly this—people who cared enough to check in?
Was it possible that despite what had happened the day before, these people still wanted her in their lives? After all the rejection Scarlett had experienced, it was hard to believe that she wasn’t on the cusp of being abandoned again. Hard to believe her friends actually wanted to keep her around.
But she had an appointment.
“I can’t,” Scarlett finally said with a sigh. “I’m supposed to go talk to Detective Holden to give a statement this morning.”
“Ugh. Fine. We’ll wait, but don’t take too long.”
The thought of Camilla waiting for her gave Scarlett courage; she might as well go give her statement and then reward herself with way too many pastries afterward.
They hung up, and Scarlett busied herself getting ready. She blow-dried her hair, did her skincare and makeup routines, then chose a cute, fall-appropriate outfit. She wore dark jeans that hugged her curves along with a black lacy camisole under her favorite oversized cardigan. Fall meant layers, and layers were wonderful.
She always wore her grandmother’s amethyst necklace—the only item she had that proved she’d had family somewhere, at some point—but today she’d added two other delicate gold chains and a pair of chunky gold hoop earrings. Her armor was made of beautiful things. Feeling pretty wouldn’t stop a bullet, but it did make it easier for Scarlett to face the world. She slipped her feet into black ankle boots and put her pea coat on.
Draping her scarf over her neck, she left the jacket and scarf open until she could tell how cold it was outside, and she opened the door.
Archer stood on her stoop, his finger extended toward the doorbell. In his other hand, he carried two coffees from Camilla’s bakery.
They both froze.
Archer blinked, his gaze flitting from her eyes to her lips to her throat. Then his gaze continued all the way down to her black booties, lingering at her hips on the way down and on the way back up again. He sucked in a quick breath, gulped, met her gaze, and lifted the tray. “Brought you an oat milk latte. Camilla said that was your usual.”
“Thank you. She called me a little while ago and didn’t mention anything about a coffee delivery,” Scarlett said, accepting the drink with a nod.
“I’m supposed to bring you to the bakery when we’re done at the station,” Archer grinned, looking edible.
A little zip of heat went through Scarlett’s stomach, which was not good. Could he tell what she’d been imagining this morning? Was it written all over her face?
Oh, God. Her cheeks were tingling. She was blushing.
But this new awareness of Archer wasn’t only physical. Something was shifting between them, and she wasn’t quite sure why.
Maybe it was the way he’d checked up on her after the speech—or how he’d noticed that she was upset in the first place. People weren’t normally able to see past the masks she wore; she’d gotten good at putting on a brave face.
And after Archer had checked on her, he’d stayed by her side until he knew she was home safe. It had been a long, long time since a man had shown that kind of care for her, without any expectations in return. It made her feel slightly pathetic to be so affected by it.
And today, with a chill in the air bringing redness to his cheeks, his hair in perfect disarray, and that flirty smile curling his lips, Scarlett found herself wanting to burrow into the warmth of his arms and let the rest of the world fall away.
But if she did that, she crossed a line. If she crossed that line, Archer would eventually get bored and leave. Not only would that be disastrous for Scarlett’s heart and mind and soul, but it would also cause a rift in their friend group. Scarlett’s friends were the one thing holding her together; Camilla’s phone call was the only reminder she needed.
Scarlett locked her front door and followed him down the pave-stone path that bisected her front lawn. Her boots clicked on the stone pavers, the coffee warm in her hand. They fell into step together and turned in the direction of the town square, where the police station was located.
“How did you sleep?” Archer asked.
Scarlett let out a long breath. “Not great.”
“Same.”
She pinched her lips and tried to smile at him. “Any epiphanies about Ethel Brown?”
“None so far.” His eyes glimmered as he smiled at her again, and another thrill ran through Scarlett’s gut. Then Archer curled his fingers around her elbow to guide her around a puddle on the sidewalk, and the thrill became more violent. It almost became a throb. The man had his fingers pressed into her jacket- and cardigan-clad elbow, and that was enough to make Scarlett’s thighs tremble.
She definitely should’ve imagined Magnus.
He dropped his arm and drank his coffee once they’d cleared the puddle, oblivious to the explosions happening in Scarlett’s nether regions. The man was made of muscle and charisma. It was probably automatic to do a gentlemanly thing like make sure she didn’t step in a puddle of dirty water. It didn’t mean anything.
“How do you feel about going to give a statement today?” Archer asked, and, yep—confirmed. Scarlett’s nether regions hadn’t been on his mind at all.
How did she feel? She took a sip of her drink while she tried to decide. She was so nervous she wanted to puke, for one. She was still reeling from the sight of Ethel on her shop floor the night before. She was disproportionately relieved that Archer was beside her. None of those options seemed quite appropriate to say, so she settled on, “I think if we tell the truth, everything will be okay.”
Archer hummed.
“You think I sound naive?”
“I just hope you’re right,” he replied.
She didn’t have the chance to respond, however, because a car screeched to a stop next to them. Archer threw out his arm to catch Scarlett around the stomach and shove her behind him, then let out a harsh curse. His shoulders were broader than she’d realized. She had to take a full step sideways to be able to see who was in the car.
The window rolled down. “Mom’s mad you haven’t called,” a nasally voice said a moment before a man leaned across the passenger seat. The man appeared to be a few years younger than Scarlett, with hair that was probably white-blond in youth but had darkened to dirty gold. His lips were thin, curled in a knowing smirk. He had dark sunglasses on, which he lowered an inch to stare at Scarlett for a second before swinging his gaze to Archer. “Did you forget?”
Archer bristled. “Of course not. It’s not even nine o’clock in the morning.”
“It’s her birthday,” the other man said, then nodded at Scarlett. “She the one who helped you kill Ethel Brown?”
“We didn’t kill Ethel Brown, Ryan.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Ryan said, then the window went up and the car zoomed off.
“Great. Everyone thinks we did it,” Scarlett mumbled, glancing at Archer. His jaw was tight as he watched the car disappear around a corner, his shoulders hiked up near his ears. When he finally met her gaze, Scarlett said, “Your brother?”
“The little shit,” Archer confirmed.
“I never got you those flowers for your mom’s birthday,” Scarlett said, “and now I can’t get in the shop until the police are done with the crime scene.”
“Don’t worry about the flowers,” Archer grumbled. “They wouldn’t make a difference, anyway. Ryan’s always been the favorite.”
“You want to call her? I don’t mind waiting.”
Some kind of deep existential crisis happened within Archer, and then he sighed. “Fine.” He pulled out his phone and tapped it a few times before putting it to his ear. “Happy birthday, Mom.”
Scarlett took a few steps away to give him some semblance of privacy, sipping her coffee, watching a woman trying to wrangle her toddler who was hell-bent on climbing a wrought-iron fence separating him from a pond full of ducks on the other side. The toddler was winning.
“I didn’t forget, Mom. I just got up, and I was going to head over right after I went to the police station to give a statement.”
A long pause followed.
Scarlett glanced back to see Archer with his head tilted back, eyes closed, total exasperation written in every line of his body. His phone dangled from his hand at his side, and a woman’s voice blared from it. He brought the phone back up to his ear, listened for a moment, then said, “Okay. I’ll see you this afternoon. Happy birthday.”
After he hung up, Archer stood staring at his phone screen for a long moment. For a man who had an easy smile and an addictive charm, he looked remarkably upset. Some old, old hurt was carved into his features, and the sight of it made Scarlett ache for him.
There were layers to this man that she never would’ve guessed existed. She’d thought he was like her ex, like all the men that had come and gone in her life: a bit of a playboy, a bit selfish, mostly out for himself. She’d judged him, and it was uncomfortable to think that maybe she’d had it all wrong. What if he was one of the mythical good ones, but she’d lost her chance at ever having him?
She was the one who had pushed him away, after all.
“Archer?”
He came back to himself, facing her with a small, forced smile on his lips. “Ready to keep going?”
“If you need to head over to your parents’ place, I can make my own way to the station.”
His smile became a bit more genuine, and a little wry around the edges. “Scarlett, if there’s a choice between spending an hour with you or spending an hour groveling to my mother about some perceived slight, I’m going to choose you every time. Even if we’re going to be interrogated for murder.”
“I’m flattered,” she said, her voice deadpan while butterflies rioted in her stomach.
“Hold on,” he said, placing his hand on her mid back as they started walking again. She could feel the pressure of it through all her layers. “Let me rephrase that: if there’s a choice between spending an hour with you or spending an hour doing literally anything else, I’m going to choose you every time.”
That made her laugh, even if it was a blatant lie.
By the time they made it to the station, Scarlett’s stomach was a hard ball. She tossed the empty coffee cup into a garbage can near the entrance, then smoothed her sweaty palms over her wool jacket.
The police department shared a building with the town council. It was a brick structure with decorative off-white cornices, stately and imposing. The windows were large, dark eyes staring down at the two of them accusingly. Scarlett tried to remind herself that the building wasn’t sentient, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
They entered together and walked up to the uniformed officer at the front desk. Not long after, they were led to separate rooms. Scarlett sat on her own for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only half an hour or so. Were they talking to Archer first? Was this a scare tactic? Because it was working.
Then Detective Holden walked in with a female officer that sometimes bought flowers from Scarlett. Her name was Chrissy, and she was normally a smiley, warm woman. Today, her face could have been hewn from stone.
The detective stated the date and time, and then the interview started. Scarlett answered their questions with as much detail as she could. She told the truth: they’d left around sunset, she’d seen the silver car, they’d turned the corner and noticed the smashed glass. She estimated the time between seeing the smashed glass and calling the police to be less than five minutes.
The two of them seemed exhausted and stressed. They’d probably worked all night. Still, there was a certain look in Detective Holden’s eyes when he stared at Scarlett that made her have to focus very hard not to fidget.
“Can you give me a reason why Ms. Brown would have wanted to break into your flower shop?” he asked.
Scarlett spread her hands. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen or spoken to her before.”
“But your friends have.”
Scarlett blinked. “Well. Yes. She was Amelia’s neighbor before… Before.”
“And she threatened your friend Lucy Barlow.”
Scarlett nodded. “Y-yes. But that’s been over for more than a year. I didn’t even know Ethel was still in town.”
“Were you upset when Lucy was in danger?”
Where was he going with this? “Of course,” she answered. “Lucy’s my friend.”
“Upset enough to hold a grudge?”
Scarlett froze. The two officers watched her, unmoving.
“Excuse me?” she whispered.
“Scarlett, did you kill Ethel Brown?”
“What?” She jerked back. “No! Of course not.” She clamped her lips shut.
Rick and Chrissy only stared at her. The three of them sat in a weird, tense staring contest that Scarlett was definitely losing until her smartwatch began to beep. She glanced down to see an alert for elevated heart rate, and right then and there, Scarlett decided that she was done with technology. She’d toss her watch, her phone, and her laptop into the heart of a volcano, become a hermit, and never speak to another person ever again.
Clicking the button on the side of her watch to turn the alert off, Scarlett grimaced. “Am I a suspect?”
“We’re just trying to eliminate you from the investigation,” the detective answered, which sounded like a big, steaming pile of bullshit.
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“We’re only having a conversation, Scarlett.”
Scarlett met the detective’s hard eyes, and this time she didn’t lose. Her voice had more strength than she expected when she said, “I think I’ve had enough of these questions,” she told him. “I’ve told you everything I know. I’d like to leave now.”
The detective leaned back with a sigh and nodded to the other officer. After writing and signing a statement, Scarlett was led out of the room, her heart in her throat. The room blurred as she rushed toward the exit, throwing the glass doors open with a violent thrust.
Fresh, cool air washed over her, and Scarlett gulped down a deep breath. Then another. Then another.
Finally, she came back to herself enough to notice Archer leaning against the brick wall to her left. His lips were set in a grim line.
“This is bad,” he said. “Really bad.”
“They think we did it,” she confirmed, a chill walking down her spine. She gulped. “Thanks for waiting for me.”
Archer sighed, his face softening. “Always, Scarlett. Come on. Camilla was very clear about where I’m supposed to bring you now.”