Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Bussy’s had gotten a new cook and new manager at the beginning of the summer that year, and what had been known as the town’s seediest dive bar had been transformed into a trendy gastropub.
Archer opened the door for Scarlett, unable to resist sliding his hand to her lower back as he guided her inside. The room was dim, with a long timber bar lining one wall and a scattering of tables filling the rest of the space. The walls were covered with sports memorabilia, with an old red canoe hanging from the ceiling above the main floor space. A pair of antlers adorned the wall above the hallway to the bathrooms.
The decor looked like it had been cobbled together from various pubs and bars and basements over the decades, but it worked. The place was comfortable and vibrant without being stuffy.
The new manager had replaced the disgusting fabric booths that had lined the back and side walls, replacing them with wooden tables and a few barrels for people to stand at. The transformation had caused some grumbling in town, but the new menu had made up for it.
On Tuesday evenings, when burgers were on special, the place was packed.
They found two seats at the end of the bar, hanging their jackets on the backs of the tall chairs that had replaced the rickety stools of old. Archer scanned the space, nodding to a few familiar faces.
“What can I get for you?” Gavin, the bartender, said as he leaned his huge palms on the edge of the bar. He was a tall, broad man with a thick black beard who had been working at Bussy’s for at least a decade. The man seemed mostly disgruntled to see so many people in his bar, though his pockets probably weren’t complaining about the additional earnings.
“What IPAs have you got?” Archer asked, and he chose one from the list Gavin rattled off.
“I’ll have a margarita on the rocks,” Scarlett said. “But can you only salt half the rim?”
“You got it, babe.”
Archer bristled at the pet name Gavin used with Scarlett, which was ridiculous. First his posturing with Jimmy, and now this? Scarlett hadn’t even reacted. She’d smiled at the bartender and then shifted to scan the room.
“They did a good job in here,” she said while Archer tried to decide whether he was fuming or not, and at what, exactly, he was angry in the first place. Gavin? Himself? His out-of-control emotions?
He cleared his throat. “I’m surprised Ralph came down here on a Saturday night. He doesn’t typically like being around people.”
Scarlett hummed. “Maybe the food makes up for it.”
Their drinks were delivered not long after, and Scarlett leaned forward. “Hey, Gavin, was Ralph Lewis in here on Saturday?”
Gavin arched a thick black brow. “Sure. Comes in like clockwork on Fridays and Saturdays. Came down for a bite to eat and left after about an hour.”
“Do you remember what time it was?”
The big man leaned a hip against the bar and grinned at Scarlett. “This about the murder that happened at your place? You believe that crap Greta Moore’s spouting about Ralph doing it?”
Archer didn’t like the familiar tone Gavin took with Scarlett. How well did they know each other, exactly?
“Maybe I’m trying to clear his name,” Scarlett replied, and she had a twinkle in her eye, which Archer liked even less.
Were they flirting with each other? Right here in front of him?
Archer’s teeth gritted, even though he knew he had no claim over Scarlett. Not yet, anyway.
Gavin huffed a laugh, then shrugged. “I’d guess five o’clock or so. You can ask Candy. She’s the one who served him—always does. She’s the only one he doesn’t frighten away.” He angled his chin toward a waitress with brown corkscrew curls who was carrying a tray laden with what looked like a dozen pints of beer, maneuvering it with ease.
“Thank you,” Scarlett said, picking up her margarita glass. Gavin walked back down the bar and she turned to Archer, who was trying to understand why he had the sudden urge to leap over the bar and go toe-to-toe with a man who had fifty pounds and a good four inches on him.
“How long have you known Gavin?” he asked, voice hoarse.
Scarlett frowned slightly, then shrugged. “Three years or so. I used to stop in here when I first moved over. He listened to me complain about my dating woes more than any man probably ever wants to.” She smiled, but Archer couldn’t muster one back.
“I see,” he said. Scarlett threw him an indecipherable glance, and Archer suspected he was crossing a line, but he couldn’t stop himself. “What kind of dating woes?”
She sipped her drink, pink tongue darting out to lick a small corner of the salt rim. When she set her drink back down on her coaster, she let out a long sigh. “You know, after my ex left, I really took the whole, ‘the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else’ thing to heart. I called it my slut phase.” She glanced at Archer, studying his reaction.
“Right,” he replied. Was she trying to tell him she’d slept with Gavin? Why was that bothering him so much?
“So, my dating woes were basically just me complaining about the various apps and dating sites that I used.” Her lips twisted. “The problem is, when you meet someone by swiping on a photo or two and a few glib lines in their profile, you’re not exactly setting yourself up for a deep and meaningful relationship. Or at least, I wasn’t. I realized after a while that going out on dates and sleeping with men was making me feel worse. Anyway, Gavin listened to me telling him about all these dates and tried to tell me that I would never find what I was looking for by engaging in this revolving door of casual dates. And he was right.”
Archer saw the tension around her eyes, the way she turned her margarita glass around and around and around, and he felt like an ass. He had no right to be jealous.
“Is that”—he cleared his throat—“is that why you stopped when we…at Camilla and Marlon’s wedding…”
She didn’t lift her gaze to meet his, and the twist of her lips was bitter. “Yes.”
“I see.”
He watched the purple stone at her throat glitter as she inhaled. Exhaled. She seemed to gather herself, and then she glanced at him. “I don’t think I’m capable of hookups anymore, Archer. I tried to go down that road, but I was papering over a hole in my heart, and sleeping with men didn’t fix a thing. What I want…” Another grimace. “What I want probably doesn’t exist.”
“What do you want?”
She didn’t speak for a long time. Then, eyes full of resignation, she shrugged and said, “I want the real deal. True love.” Her lips curled, and she gave him a mischievous grin. “So that’s what you’re in for if you keep going down this road. Still happy you pulled that stunt with Jimmy?”
“Yes.”
Scarlett’s cheeks turned pink as she laughed, and it was the best sound in the world. He nudged her knee with his own, and she nudged him back.
But she took a sip of her drink and shook her head. “I know it probably isn’t realistic to want the fairy tale, but I can’t help it. That’s why you and me… I’m not sure it’s a good idea, Archer. I—I’m attracted to you. That’s probably obvious by now. But I think I might be too messed up to actually make a relationship work.”
Archer lifted his hand to stroke her cheek, tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “No part of you is messed up, Scarlett.”
“Bold words,” she quipped.
“You folks wanted to talk to me about Ralph?” Candy asked, smiling.
Scarlett turned toward the waitress and straightened. “Yes! We were just wondering what time he came in on Saturday.”
“Five o’clock on the dot,” Candy answered with a nod. “He was my first customer at the beginning of my shift. He stayed until the band set up, which was around seven. He always leaves before the live music. Says it’s too loud and he doesn’t understand why anyone could enjoy that kind of racket.”
Archer snorted. That sounded like Ralph.
“And he was here the whole time?”
“Uh-huh!” Candy smiled. “He popped out to have a smoke, but that couldn’t have been more than five minutes.”
“Thank you,” Scarlett said, then watched Candy walk over to one of her other tables. Turning to Archer, Scarlett squeezed his forearm. “It couldn’t have been Ralph,” she said. “He was here when the murder happened, unless he ducked out specifically to whack Ethel across the temple with your wrench. Doesn’t seem plausible.”
Archer let out a long breath. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m glad.”
She nodded, then chewed her lip. “But if it wasn’t him, and it wasn’t us… Who did it?”
“We’ll find out,” Archer said, sounding more confident than he felt. “Now let’s get some food.”
After another drink and a generous helping of delicious greasy food, Scarlett was pleasantly full. Archer had an arm leaning on the back of her chair, which, ridiculously, gave her a little thrill. He’d had his hand down her pants just two days ago, but somehow his arm on the back of her chair gave her a similar feeling. Sometimes, when he moved, she would get a hint of his scent. It was probably the margaritas that caused her heart to thump a bit faster when she did.
He hadn’t kissed her since that night. And even that kiss had been less of a kiss and more of a promise. She found her gaze drifting to his lips as the night wore on, and she knew she was playing with fire.
But she’d told him what she wanted, hadn’t she? And he was still right there beside her.
She protested when he refused to get split checks, but Archer just gave her a sideways glance and handed over his card to the bartender to pay the whole bill.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said when Gavin had walked away again.
Archer shoved his wallet in his pocket. “I know. I wanted to.”
He had to stop saying that kind of thing. It wasn’t good for Scarlett’s heart. When he looked at her with his eyes soft, when he touched her cheek or her hand or her shoulder, it made her want things from him that would get her in trouble.
They’d blow up their friend group. Distantly, Scarlett recognized the risks. But at that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to care.
They stood and donned their jackets again, then waved goodbye to the familiar faces in the bar and made their way outside. The sun had just touched below the horizon as they exited Bussy’s, and the sky was awash with the last brushstrokes of what must have been a spectacular sunset. Even with the streetlights beginning to flicker to life all along the road, Scarlett could see a few stars beginning to poke through overhead. She inhaled a big gulp of clean, cool air and felt more relaxed than she had since before Lucy’s wedding.
“Nice evening,” Archer noted as they turned in the direction of Scarlett’s house.
She hummed, smiling. “The first year I spent here, I went for walks almost every single day at sunset. I’d walk until it was dark, exploring the parks and neighborhoods. I couldn’t get over how quiet it was and how safe I felt. Moving here is one of the best things I ever did.”
Or it was, until an old woman got murdered in her shop. What would happen to her life if she wasn’t able to clear her name?
“I always wanted to get away,” Archer admitted. He gave her a sardonic smile, his hands in his pockets. His breath puffed out in white but dissipated quickly; the nights were growing cooler with every passing day.
“You didn’t like growing up here?”
“I felt like I could never outrun my reputation as the screwup who almost flunked out of high school,” he answered.
“But look at you now,” she pointed out. She glanced over, but Archer wasn’t looking at her. He was frowning at something down the street.
She followed his gaze to see someone standing at the door to Pushing Daisies. They were about a block away, but Scarlett saw the moment the police tape blocking the door fluttered to the ground.
“Is that Rick?” Archer asked.
“Seems awful wide to be Rick,” she noted. The detective was lanky. The brawny person currently fiddling with the lock on her flower shop door couldn’t be a cop. Plus, they were wearing a black leather jacket. That didn’t look like standard police gear.
“Hey!” Archer called out.
The man glanced in their direction, but he was too far away for Scarlett to recognize him. He took one look at the two of them and took off in the opposite direction.
Scarlett was running before she knew what had happened. Archer pulled ahead of her, his long strides covering far more distance than she was. Her cute, low-heeled ankle boots hadn’t been made for sprinting.
“Stop!” Archer called out as the man turned a corner. He put on more speed, pulling away from Scarlett.
But Scarlett wasn’t going to let anyone fight her battles on her behalf. She found another gear, closing the distance between her and Archer.
They skidded around the same corner the man had taken and saw him wrench a bike from outside the bike rental shop. Normally, the bikes were all lined up and locked on the sidewalk outside the store, but there were only three bikes left outside, and they weren’t locked. The staff must have been in the process of bringing them all inside for the night.
Eddie, the bike shop owner, came rushing out of the shop as the leather-clad perp threw one leg over the bike and started pedaling. “What are you doing? Get back here!” He took a few steps, but the man was already halfway down the street.
“Eddie!” Scarlett screamed, her lungs burning. “He was trying to break into my shop!”
“We need a bike,” Archer yelled, his breaths growing heavier beside her. “He’s getting away.”
Scarlett and Archer crashed to a stop next to Eddie. There were two bikes left outside. One was a child’s bike, complete with pink frame, sparkly streamers on the handlebars, and training wheels bolted to the back.
The other was a tandem cycle.
“We’ll bring this back,” Archer said, grabbing the tandem. “I promise.”
“Take it,” Eddie said, red-faced and furious. “Who was that guy? He stole my bike!”
“Get on, Scarlett,” Archer commanded.
She gulped, looking at the second seat on the double bike. “Um,” she said, “this is probably a bad time to tell you?—”
“Get on, Scarlett, or I’m going after him without you.”
She clenched her jaw. “Hell no,” she growled, and she swung her leg over the seat. There was a wobble as they took off, and then Scarlett’s heart was in her throat because they accelerated faster than she expected. The pedals spun beneath her legs before she could get her feet on.
“He turned left on Elm Street,” Archer said between pants. “We can catch him.”
Scarlett sat behind him, legs sticking straight out, butt bouncing on the hard seat, hands gripping the handlebars like they were her only lifeline, which, at this point, they were. “Uh-huh,” she managed as the world whipped by.
Archer stood on the pedals as he made the turn, the bike angling. Scarlett let out a cry through clenched teeth as the back wheel skidded on loose gravel.
“There he is!” Archer shouted as the perp pedaled for his life a couple blocks away. “You okay?” he asked, picking up the speed again. His legs pumped, upper body swaying with every push of the pedals.
“So, um, funny thing about me,” Scarlett said, finally getting her feet on the pedals and scraping up the back of her calves in the process.
“What’s that?”
They were gaining on the other man, who had grabbed a bike that was too small for him. He glanced over his shoulder and snarled at them, picking up the speed again as he stood up to pedal faster.
Scarlett’s legs pumped as she gripped the handlebars, her stomach sloshing. “Well, I’ve never actually ridden a bike before.”
“What?” Archer glanced back, which made their bike tip dangerously to the side.
Scarlett screamed, her legs freezing, her hands squeezing her handlebars to brace for impact.
The bike righted itself as Archer faced forward again, pedaling harder. “You don’t know how to ride a bike?” He sounded incredulous, then shook his head. “Just keep pedaling, Scarlett. We’re gaining on him.”
“Okay,” she said to herself. “Okay, I can do that.” The heels of her booties hooked onto the back of the pedals, and she focused on pumping her legs. It burned. They went over a speed bump which jarred her into her seat, making her teeth click, and Scarlett whimpered. Her ass would be black and blue after this. Even her hands were sore from gripping the handlebars so tightly.
She tried to ease off, tried to copy Archer’s comfortable, relaxed power, but every time the bike wobbled, she tensed up.
They were going so fast . Elm Street was one of the long drives that had a moderate incline all the way to the river. If you turned left at the end of Elm, you could then take the first right onto the pedestrian bridge that crossed to the other side of town. It was just beside the main vehicle bridge that connected the two halves of the town. That had to be where the fleeing man was headed.
But that meant they’d pick up speed for another three blocks, until Elm took a steep dive right before the river, and then they’d have to execute two quick turns to make it onto the narrow bridge.
Scarlett’s heart rattled. She tried to suck enough air in, but her lungs burned.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Archer said encouragingly. “We’re going to get him. Just a little bit harder. You’re doing great.”
Scarlett tried to reply, but all that came out was a wordless moan. Inside her head, there was just screaming.
But they were gaining on Leather Guy.
That is, until he pulled something out of his pocket and threw it at them. Archer had to wrench the handlebars to the side as a metal object—no, a candy bar wrapped in silver—went bouncing along the asphalt near their wheels. Scarlett clung on, but one foot slipped, and then the other. The pedals spun through empty air.
They dodged the candy bar in its gleaming wrapper as the man took something out of his other pocket and threw it at them. A packet of Skittles exploded on the ground in front of them.
“Try a banana peel next time, asshole!” Archer shouted, lifting his butt so he could pedal faster.
Then the man swapped hands and pulled something bigger out of his other pocket. For a second, with the streetlights glinting off it, Scarlett thought it was a gun.
But no. A can of Dr. Pepper came flying at them, crashing into the front wheel and ricocheting against a car, whose alarm began to blare. Soda sprayed Scarlett’s legs, her pedals, and the back wheel of the tandem cycle.
The bike wobbled. Scarlett stuck her legs out wide and leaned forward, screaming.
Archer gave a mighty push to the pedals and navigated the bike onto the sidewalk. It stopped wobbling so much, and then he angled it back down a ramp at the next intersection and aimed for the street.
“He just turned onto Riverview,” Archer said. His voice was hoarse, his breaths heavy. Scarlett was dead weight. She should have let him take the bike on his own.
She glanced at the pedals to try to get her feet back on them once more, but the sight of the asphalt rushing by below the spinning pedals made her feel nauseous. She stared at Archer’s back instead, her legs still sticking out to the sides.
“We’re going to have to make a sharp turn, sweetheart,” Archer warned her. “And then a quick right. He’s aiming for the bridge.”
“Yep,” Scarlett called out. She closed her eyes, but that was worse, so she opened them and stared at the back of Archer’s head.
“You ready?”
“Uh-huh!” Her voice cracked under the pressure of the lie, but Archer didn’t seem to notice.
He leaned forward on the handlebars and angled his body into the turn. Scarlett would have done the same, but she was still keeping her legs up and out of the way of the pedals, so if she leaned, she was liable to fall right off. Their bike flew around the corner, taking it a little too wide. They wouldn’t make the next turn.
“He’s already across the bridge!” Archer called out. “Hang on, Scarlett, we’ve got to take this pretty tight.”
“Yep!” She gripped the handlebars and hoped Archer didn’t glance back. He’d see her legs sticking straight out in the air, her knuckles tight on the handlebars, and the whites of her eyes wide and panicked as she stared back at him.
But he didn’t look back. He was focused on making the turn. They’d crossed almost to the opposite side of the street when they’d made the left turn from Elm to Riverview, and now they had to turn on to the narrow pedestrian bridge with almost no room to maneuver.
Across the bridge, a car was skidding to a stop. A black Mercedes with dark-tinted windows. Scarlett gasped. Frank Smith? Or someone who had visited his shop? The fugitive leaped off his bike and let it tumble into the reeds lining the edge of the river.
Archer banked right, but they were never going to make it.
The back wheel of their tandem bike skidded in a wide fishtail. Scarlett screamed, clinging on for dear life as she sailed horizontally, her butt barely keeping its seat.
And then her wheel hit the curb, stopping abruptly—and her body kept going.
She held on until it felt like her arms would be wrenched from their sockets, then let go of the handlebars. The world blurred as she flew through the air.
“Scarlett!” Archer yelled, and she heard the crash of the bike against the end of the bridge.
Screaming, Scarlett landed in a bush, bounced, and tumbled down the steep bank, rolling on her shoulder then her legs and her shoulder until she tucked her head in and wrapped her arms around her neck. Then all bets were off. She somersaulted down, down, down, kicking up earth, tearing up grass, shrieking like a maniac.
A second later, the river swallowed her, her cries turned to gurgles, and she went under.