Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
By the time the police left, Scarlett was royally sick of being interrogated by detectives. Rick hadn’t been happy that the ring had been missed by his people. He’d turned a mottled shade of purple and bitten out a string of curse words that made Scarlett cringe.
But he’d taken the evidence and left Pushing Daisies with his phone at his ear, then disappeared into the passenger side of the cruiser he’d arrived in.
She glanced over at Archer, who was standing by the front windows of her shop, watching the police cruiser pull away from the curb. His brow was furrowed, and he rubbed his jaw with his forefinger in a rhythmic, unconscious movement.
“You think he did it?” Lucy asked from her position firmly ensconced in Cormac’s arms.
Scarlett met her gaze and shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“How else could his ring have ended up in here?” Archer asked, not moving from his spot on the window. His eyes were unfocused, though, and Scarlett knew he was hurting.
She crossed the distance that separated them and wrapped her arms around his middle, not caring that Lucy, Amelia, and Cormac were watching her. Resting her cheek between Archer’s shoulder blades, she held him until he placed a palm over the hand she had pressed to his chest. His thumb stroked the outside of her wrist, and he let out a long sigh.
When he turned, his gaze was shuttered. “I guess he fooled us,” he said, voice flat. “We should have trusted his history.”
“So what happened?” Amelia asked. Her arms were crossed as she stared at the spot on the floor where Ethel’s body had been sprawled. “He was here with Ethel, there was a scuffle, and he smashed her over the head with the wrench? His ring came off at some point and landed in the bucket?”
“Still doesn’t explain why they were in here,” Lucy pointed out.
“Or why he had the wrench,” Amelia said.
“Or why he killed her,” Cormac added.
“Allegedly.” Scarlett gave the three of them a loaded look.
She thought of the surly, solitary man living up in the forested hills outside of town. A man who had chopped off another person’s fingers for daring to sleep with his wife. A man who had violence lurking not too far beneath the surface.
But—he was also a man who doted on his tiny dog, and who had been a beloved mentor of Archer’s.
“We still don’t know that it was Ralph who killed Ethel,” she said, somewhat lamely.
Archer let out a bitter snort. “Don’t we?”
“Did Ralph even know her?” Scarlett asked, hating the look of despair in Archer’s eyes.
“Maybe they struck up a romance after his wife left him,” Archer said.
Something twigged in Scarlett’s memory, and it must have shown on her face. Cormac came alive, his eyes burning as he studied her face. At the same time, Archer frowned, his gaze flicking between her eyes.
“What is it?” Archer said, his voice like gravel. “What are you thinking?”
Scarlett shook her head. “It’s probably nothing.”
Cormac approached while Lucy wrung her hands behind him. He gave Scarlett a steady look. “If you just thought of something, Scarlett, you should tell us. We don’t know what detail will crack this case wide open.”
Panic welled up in Scarlett’s throat. She didn’t want to say it—didn’t want to hurt Archer. But she remembered something that her ex-boyfriend had said the day before. Something she’d dismissed without even acknowledging it. “I heard Ethel was having an affair,” she whispered. “That’s why she didn’t leave town.”
Cormac and Archer exchanged a look. Archer shoved his hand through his hair, his jaw clenching. When Cormac’s attention returned to Scarlett, she did her best not to squirm.
“Who told you that?”
She tilted her head, not wanting to say it. “Jackson. My ex. We met for lunch yesterday.”
Cormac gave her a sharp nod, then pulled out his phone and put it to his ear. “Elton,” he said, naming the tech wizard he employed at Elite Security. “Any progress on the car I.D.?” He stared at Scarlett while the man on the line spoke, then said, “I need you to pivot to Ralph Lewis. Yeah. I know he was cleared, but we just found his wedding ring in a bucket of water at Scarlett’s shop. No, he wasn’t a regular customer,” he added wryly, then thanked his employee and hung up. “Elton will liaise with the detective. Scarlett, do you have a security system at your house?”
She flinched. “No. Why?”
“If you and Archer confronted Ralph, it’s possible he’ll go after you if he gets word that he’s back in the crosshairs.”
The first trickle of fear iced Scarlett’s veins.
“She’ll stay with me,” Archer said, his tone brooking no argument. He glanced at Scarlett, challenging her to protest.
But Scarlett felt only gratitude and relief. She gave him a nod. “I’ll grab a bag at home and head over. I guess we should cancel the party?”
“Screw that!” Lucy exclaimed. “They’ll pick Ralph up today, and we can celebrate his arrest tomorrow.”
Cormac shot her a dark look.
She scowled right back. “Babe, don’t look at me like you want to barbecue me with your dragon fire breath. You know I’m right. Scarlett needs this. The town needs this.”
“ If they pick Ralph Lewis up, the party will go ahead,” Cormac decreed.
Lucy nodded, relenting, then glanced at Scarlett and winked.
Archer put his hand on Scarlett’s back to get her attention. “I’ll follow you to your place so you can pack a few things for tonight.”
Throat tight, Scarlett nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
There was one silver lining to the day: when she went to grab her phone from the wall outlet, it turned on, and Archer’s did too.
Archer watched the little purple Volkswagen Beetle turn into the driveway to Scarlett’s house, then scanned the surroundings. He still couldn’t quite believe what they’d found. There was only one explanation for that ring being in that bucket: Ralph had been in the shop when Ethel was killed. Which meant in all likelihood, Ralph killed Ethel. Ralph . Of all people—his old mentor? The man who’d given him his life, his career? The only person to treat him with respect?
The only real father figure he’d ever known?
As he cut the engine to his truck and followed Scarlett to her front door, he couldn’t quite make sense of what was going on inside him. His chest felt hollow, like it had been scraped out with a gigantic ice cream scoop. His steps were wooden, and his arms felt gangly and strange.
“I’ll be fast,” Scarlett promised as she locked the door behind him. They stood in the foyer for a moment, listening to the creaks of her old house, and then Archer made a quick sweep of the few rooms that comprised her home. It was empty, so he left her to pack her bag while he stared out the front window.
Ralph had been the first person to treat Archer like he was worth something. He hadn’t cared that Archer struggled with dyslexia. In fact, it was Ralph who had urged him to get checked out when he noticed his trouble with reading, spelling, and language skills. When he’d been diagnosed with dyslexia as a young adult, he’d confronted his parents—and found out they already knew.
They’d told him they ignored the diagnosis because no child of theirs could possibly have a disability. He’d struggled for years with no help because of that decision.
Ralph, on the other hand, treated Archer like he was capable. He’d taught Archer that being able to think of workarounds—to look at a problem and see a dozen possible solutions that might not be written in a textbook somewhere—was a superpower that most people didn’t possess. Archer didn’t have to be hemmed in by imaginary rules. He could look at a joint between two pieces of wood, for example, and figure out a new way to conceptualize it. He could build templates instead of relying on measurements and calculations that made his head hurt.
Under Ralph’s tutelage, Archer hadn’t just felt normal. He’d felt talented . He’d learned everything he could, and he’d been good at it. And then he’d taken that confidence and turned it into a successful business. He hadn’t thrived in spite of his disability; he’d learned to thrive because of it.
Ralph had been the only person to see his potential and nurture it.
And that man was a killer. In the few minutes that he’d left Bussy’s for a “smoke,” he’d stolen the wrench out of Archer’s truck and whacked it across Ethel Brown’s head.
The man who had given Archer his life was the same man who had snuffed out another’s.
For someone who prided himself on reading people, Archer sure had missed a big, neon, flashing sign about his beloved mentor.
“Hey,” Scarlett said, voice soft. She had a small duffel bag clasped in her hand, but she dropped it when she came to a stop in front of him. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking the stubble on his cheeks. “It’ll be okay,” she told him.
Her eyes were liquid and deep brown. She was so gorgeous and intelligent and driven. Why was she with him? What could she possibly see in him when he was the type of person who associated with murderers?
She pressed her lips to his, and Archer could hardly muster the energy to kiss her back. But she persisted, nibbling on his lower lip, kissing his jaw, his neck, until he relented and wrapped his arms around her. Her body molded to his, all her soft curves fitting perfectly against his hard lines. He inhaled the scent of her and finally allowed himself to soften.
“There,” she said, stroking his face like he was something precious instead of a broken idiot who couldn’t do a single thing right. “Now let’s go home. Yeah?”
His throat was too tight to speak, but he managed a nod. Then he picked her duffel up and followed her back out the door.