Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
On Tuesday, Scarlett still hadn’t been handed over the keys to Pushing Daisies. She busied herself with bootcamp with the girls, then coffee at Camilla’s bakery, then cleaning her home from top to bottom. The hours dragged.
She missed Archer.
No. No, she didn’t.
That stunt he’d pulled with Jimmy had been a sign that they were getting too close—even if it had made her smile. She’d never had a guy claim her like that. It felt good, even though it probably shouldn’t, for Archer to claim her like that.
Ridiculous, misguided hormones. That’s all that was. Lust, pure and simple.
She opened the fridge and decided she needed groceries. That would take another hour—an hour when she hopefully wouldn’t have to think about Archer. Grabbing her keys and purse, she headed for her car.
On Main Street, she slowed as she passed the crime scene that was Pushing Daisies. The police tape was still up, and the lights were on inside. That meant the police were in there, still looking for clues.
Scarlett’s stomach clenched.
That shop was everything to her. Not being able to go inside for the past few days had felt like losing a limb. She wandered aimlessly from errand to errand, directionless. She wanted to be back in the shop, surrounded by her buds and blooms.
She loved the scent of flowers. She loved their frilliness, their fussiness, the shortness of their beauty. Flowers were meant to be appreciated and enjoyed before they were gone. There was no purpose to a bouquet of flowers besides beauty.
Scarlett liked that. Flowers didn’t hide their true selves. They didn’t reject and lie and disappear. They budded and bloomed and died, and the only thing you could do about it was enjoy the phenomenon for what it was.
To have made a career from them was unexpected, but she wouldn’t give it up for anything. The only problem was, she might be forced to give it up if she couldn’t clear her name.
She parked in one of the angled spots outside the grocery store. It was set on the corner of the town square, just across from the clock tower, and had an oriole window above the green-painted door. A bell jingled as she went inside.
Martha glanced up from the magazine she perused from her perch in her checkout lane. She smiled. “Scarlett! The most handsome stranger was just in here asking about you.”
Scarlett paused. “Who was it?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Martha flipped to the next page of her magazine. “Tall, dashing, with perfectly styled hair. The whole package. Wish he’d been asking about me, I’ll tell you what.”
“Wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers,” agreed Chantelle, ambling over.
Scarlett grabbed one of the baskets near the door, frowning.
Leaning against Martha’s conveyor belt, Chantelle arched a brow at Scarlett. “You going to tell us why you’ve got all these handsome men sniffing around after you, or what?”
Scarlett snorted. “Maybe they smell something funky.”
Martha cackled. “Honey, you could have your pick of the men in this town and you know it.”
“I’ve sworn off men,” Scarlett said, feeling like a liar.
“Mm-hmm,” Martha replied.
“Heard you’ve been spending time with Archer Jones,” Chantelle noted casually.
“Heard how?” Scarlett asked, exasperated. How did everyone know who she hung around with? The moment she slept with Archer, it would probably be on the front page news.
Wait—no. She wasn’t going to sleep with him. They were friends. Friends who had fooled around a couple of times. That’s all.
“It’s the talk of the town.” Martha grinned. “You could do worse than Archer, honey.”
“It’s not… We’re not…” She couldn’t say it. Couldn’t make herself deny that there was anything between her and Archer, which was ridiculous.
They’d snuggled on the couch and got carried away, that was all. But there was the kiss afterward, the one that had felt like a promise. And there was the way Archer had told Jimmy she was taken.
They weren’t just friends. Not by a long shot.
She was in so much trouble.
“Well, whatever you are, we wish you the best. Don’t we?” Martha nodded at Chantelle, who agreed with a hum.
“The man needs looking after,” Chantelle added.
Scarlett frowned, shifting her empty basket to the other arm. “In what way?”
“Oh, you know,” Martha said vaguely. “But first, you’ll have to shoo off the one who was asking about you today.”
“The stranger,” Scarlett said, frowning.
“Mm-hmm.” Martha flipped another page in the magazine she wasn’t even looking at. “Said he was an old friend.”
“Might get your mind off all that trouble at Pushing Daisies,” Chantelle added, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Sounds more likely he’d get me into trouble,” Scarlett said, and the women laughed. She told the women she had to grab a few things before she could go find the handsome stranger who had them so curious. She wandered down the aisles, staring at canned goods, mind spinning.
Now wasn’t a good time for an “old friend” to come wandering back into her life, whoever he was. Someone had just been murdered in her flower shop, and the police seemed to think she was a suspect. She needed to focus, needed to figure out how to make it through the next days and weeks without ending up in more trouble than she already was.
Besides, she didn’t like the sound of “tall, dashing, with perfectly styled hair.” That sounded a lot like someone she knew very well…a man she didn’t want to see ever again.
Shaking her head, she grabbed what she needed for dinner, paid, and endured some more gentle ribbing from the two women.
“At least I’m keeping you well-supplied with gossip,” Scarlett said, slipping her card back into her wallet after having paid. “You’ll probably figure out who killed Ethel Brown before the cops do with everything people tell you when they’re buying their groceries.”
“You know, three months ago, Greta told me she thought she saw Ethel at the Wal-Mart in Concord,” Martha told her in a low voice. “I said she was crazy; Ethel would be in South America by now. But she insisted.”
Scarlett frowned. “What was Ethel buying?”
“Groceries, as far as Greta could tell. She followed Ethel outside and saw her take off in a black car. A man was driving, but she didn’t know who. The windows were too dark for her to see.”
Scarlett’s heart thudded. Black-tinted windows on a black car? Was it the same car she’d seen at the payday loan place?
“She get the license plate?” Scarlett asked. That would be something they could tell the police, something that would make them look at a suspect other than Scarlett.
Martha shook her head. “She was too far.”
Scarlett hummed, hooking her reusable grocery bag over her shoulder. “I wonder why Ethel decided to stick around. If she were clever, she would’ve left town as soon as her counterfeiting business got busted.”
“No kidding. It cost her her life.”
“Horrible,” Chantelle put in, shaking her head. Her hair swished around her chin. “Just terrible that it happened in your shop.”
“If you need to talk to someone, we’re always here,” Martha offered.
“Thank you,” Scarlett replied, just as the grocery store door opened. The three women turned to see who the newcomer was.
Martha brightened. “Ada! So good to see you. How’s the new apartment treating you?”
“It’s small, but it’ll do,” the older woman said. She ambled closer and stuck her hand out in Scarlett’s direction. “Ada Lewis. You’re the Pushing Daisies woman.”
“Scarlett Westbrook,” she answered, shaking the other woman’s hand.
Ada Lewis was tiny. She couldn’t be much taller than five feet, but the energy she exuded was powerful. Scarlett guessed she had to have a strong personality to be married to Ralph for so long.
And Ada apparently wasn’t afraid of asking hard questions when she narrowed her eyes at Scarlett and said, “I heard you were harassing Ralph yesterday.”
One day, Scarlett would get used to the speed at which gossip went around in this town, but that day was not today. “I wouldn’t say harassing,” she replied.
Ada harrumphed. “He didn’t do it.”
“How do you know?”
“You think I don’t know the man I married?”
Scarlett was surprised that Ada was so quick to defend the man, considering they’d separated. Ada dismissed her with a wave, then headed for the aisles to do her groceries.
Martha arched her brows at Chantelle, and the two ladies looked at Scarlett. “Remember what I said,” Martha told her. “You need someone to talk to, we’re here for you.”
Scarlett thanked them both, said her goodbyes, and walked outside. Martha and Chantelle were nice women; they had good hearts. But only a fool would confide in them, unless they wanted their business spread to every willing ear in town.
Mulling over what she’d discovered, Scarlett headed for her car.
So far, she still had no idea why Ethel was in her store. She didn’t know who had wielded the wrench, or how they’d gotten it from the back of Archer’s truck. She didn’t know why the woman had died.
Ralph Lewis hadn’t been any help. He might be capable of going after someone with an axe, but he’d have to be emotionally invested enough to snap. And his wife didn’t seem to think he’d done it, for whatever that was worth.
As she got her keys out, she thought of that line of pale skin on his finger and the bitter twist of his lips when he said his wife had left him eighteen months earlier. Would Ethel have been involved somehow? Could something have driven Ralph to want to murder once more?
And there was the silver car, and the black one. Did either or both of them belong to the murderer?
“There you are,” a deep, familiar voice said from behind Scarlett. Its tone was warm, but the sound of it turned her blood to ice.
She’d suspected it was him but hoped she’d been wrong.
Turning slowly, Scarlett forced herself not to react to the sight of her handsome, successful, intelligent, coward of an ex-boyfriend with his stupid, perfectly styled hair.
“Jackson,” she said, voice robotic.
He grinned at her like nothing at all had gone wrong between them. A soft breeze teased the hem of his wool coat and the strands of his dark hair. His dimples made an appearance as his smile grew, revealing perfect white teeth.
He really was a handsome man, if you ignored the rot on the inside.
“It’s been a while,” he said, like they were old friends catching up. “How have you been? Still got the purple Bug, huh? Thought you would’ve upgraded by now.”
She backed up a step and knocked into her car. Words failed her. The sun seemed to love shining on all the beautiful angles of Jackson Blackburn’s face, showing his close-cut shave, his square jaw, his masculine throat.
“What are you doing here?”
His bottom lip jutted ever so slightly, a playful pout. “Come on, kitten. Don’t be like that.”
“Don’t call me that.”
A hardness flashed across Jackson’s eyes. “So you’re still angry. It’s been over four years since we went our separate ways, Scarlett. I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“You thought wrong,” she said, baring her teeth. If she had an axe, Scarlett might consider aiming for Jackson’s fingers. “If you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.” She turned back toward her car and opened the door, but Jackson’s palm forced it shut again.
“Wait.”
Scarlett froze. Tightness banded around her chest, her stomach. Her breaths suddenly felt too shallow. She turned, eyes narrowed. “Do not ,” she said quietly, “do that again.”
The ex-boyfriend who’d gotten his mommy to break up with her threw his hands up and gave her his best charming grin. “My apologies. No need to get upset. I was just hoping we could talk.”
“We can’t. Goodbye.”
She tossed her groceries into the back seat and got behind the wheel. When she was reaching for the door to slam it shut and get herself safe inside her purple Beetle, Jackson said, “I heard what happened at your shop.”
Hand still wrapped around the door, ready to pull it shut, Scarlett stilled. There was something in his voice… Did he know something about the murder? She met his gaze. “And?”
“It made the news in Boston. That’s how I knew where to find you after you blocked me on everything.”
If she’d been a cat, her hackles would have risen. It almost sounded like he was trying to make her feel bad for cutting him off, when he was the one who’d ghosted her .
He shoved his hand through his hair, looking like a poor, lost puppy who needed a cuddle. “And I’m sorry that happened, okay? Is it so bad that I care? That I want to make sure you’re doing all right when something like that happened in your business?”
“We aren’t together, Jackson,” she said. “We haven’t spoken for years. We ‘went our separate ways,’ remember?” Scarlett threw his words back at him like daggers. “I don’t need you to care about me.”
His brows arched, and Scarlett understood why Chantelle and Martha had been so taken with him. Jackson Blackburn really was exceedingly handsome. Until he opened his mouth, of course. “Have dinner with me. Let me explain myself, at least. You owe me that much.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Jackson.”
“Please?”
A refusal was right there on the tip of her tongue, but Scarlett couldn’t get it out.
When the breakup had happened—or rather, the abandonment—all Scarlett wanted was to know why . Why had he decided to throw all their plans away? Why had he lied to her face for so long? Why hadn’t he had the guts to actually break up with her?
It had taken a long, long time to stop ruminating. She’d slept with a number of men in the four years since he’d left her, thrown herself into the dating pool, tried to move on. She’d accepted that she’d never find out what really happened between her and Jackson. Between her and the man who’d promised her everything she wanted.
If she went out with him, he could explain what he did. She might be able to finally put that part of her history to rest, to finally move on. The niggling questions that crept out after midnight, when she struggled to sleep, might finally stop crashing around her skull.
Or, he’d waste her time, give her pointless excuses, and she’d feel worse than she had before.
“I’m not having dinner with you,” she told him, and she began to close her door.
“I heard something about the woman who died. Something you’ll want to know.”
Scarlett froze, and the triumph flashing on Jackson’s face made it clear he knew she wouldn’t refuse. But she set her jaw. “I’m not having dinner with you. Say what you have to say and go home, Jackson.”
“Lunch. Tomorrow. I saw a sign for a lunch special at the Italian place around the corner. One o’clock? My treat.”
“How about you just tell me now?”
“I don’t think I will,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “You’ll have to have a meal with me first.”
Gritting her teeth, Scarlett pulled the door closed and heard him knock on the roof of her car as if to tell her she was free to go. Her gut roiled. She hated him. She hated his stupid, smarmy face. What had she ever seen in the man? How had she been so hurt by him? How could she have possibly let him in?
But he knew something about Ethel, so she had to meet with him to hear him out.
Frustrated, Scarlett pulled out of the parking spot and hightailed it out of there, not even sparing a glance at the police car that was now parked outside her flower shop.
She needed to get home, lock herself inside, and take as many deep breaths as it took to recover from whatever the hell just happened.
Then she’d shower and get ready for a dinner date with a man that she did want, and they’d find out whether or not Ralph Lewis had lied.