Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
One thing about small towns was that where there was gossip, there were people. Pushing Daisies might have been the scene of a murder, but judging by the crowd that showed up for the impromptu grand re-opening party, you’d think an A-list celebrity was stopping by for a meet and greet.
Scarlett played the gracious hostess, accepting well-wishes from all the friends and acquaintances she’d thought would turn their backs on her after the crime.
Little did she know, they craved gossip like a vampire craves blood. Her being the center of this particular storm only gave her that much more cachet. It would fade, of course, but at least she knew she wasn’t shunned.
“It’s just such a shame that it had to happen here,” Martha said, waving one of Camilla’s salted caramel and chocolate chip cookies around in a wide arc. “Of all the places for that horrible woman to be murdered, here ?”
“Still doesn’t make sense,” Chantelle agreed.
“Town’s on the expressway to hell, if you ask me,” Mr. Petrovski grumped from behind Scarlett.
She shifted to let him into their conversation. “Did you ever see anyone visit Ethel at her place?”
“Oh,” the old man said, dragging out the word. “There were people in and out of there at all hours. I had to call the cops half a dozen times because they wouldn’t shut up! It used to drive Her Majesty up the wall. Literally,” he said, naming his beloved cat. “Her Majesty never had any time for that old hag, I’ll tell you that much.”
“Animals can always tell the truth about people,” Martha added sagely.
“I’m just glad I was able to help in a small way,” Greta Moore said, elbowing herself into their ever-growing circle. “The minute I saw Ralph Lewis skulking around town, I knew something was fishy. That man is a menace.”
“We’re lucky to have you to watch over us,” Martha said, a bit placatingly. She exchanged a sideways glance with Chantelle, who pursed her lips. They clearly didn’t enjoy being watched over by Greta so closely.
Scarlett excused herself and moved to the snack table. She consolidated some of the trays of cut fruit, then restocked the crackers next to the cheese tray. Drinks were running low, so she grabbed some spares from the stock in the back of the shop and set them on ice to cool.
“These are gorgeous, Scarlett!” Vicky called out, brandishing a vibrant yellow bouquet. “They’ll look just fabulous in my breakfast nook.”
Moving behind the register, Scarlett smiled as she rang the other lady’s purchase through the machine. “Do you want some water at the bottom of the plastic when I wrap them?”
“I’m heading straight home,” the older woman replied. “But wow, what a turnout!”
“Murder is good for business,” Amelia said, joining them at the register. “I estimated fifty people for drinks and snacks, but it looks like we might run out. Camilla’s gone to pilfer the stock at her bakery to tide us over.”
“Thank you,” Scarlett said, wrapping a ribbon around Vicky’s bouquet.
“Of course,” Amelia said, smiling at Scarlett. “We’re just glad to see you smiling again.”
Warmth flooded Scarlett’s chest. She felt loved and supported for the first time in a long, long time. And better than that, she felt like she was part of something bigger than herself. A tragedy had occurred here, but dozens of people were rallying around her to get her through it.
But there was one person who was conspicuously missing. As the minutes and hours ticked by, Archer remained absent.
An old, familiar worry began to gnaw at the insides of Scarlett’s gut. She ignored it for another fifteen minutes while she endured Mr. Petrovski’s ranting and listened politely to Greta’s news about every townsperson’s comings and goings, then excused herself and pulled out her phone.
No messages from Archer. Frowning, she called him. It went straight to voicemail. Either his phone was dead, or he’d ignored her call.
Forcing herself not to panic, Scarlett took a deep breath and slipped her phone under the register. She’d be patient.
He wasn’t Jackson. He wouldn’t ignore her without reason or warning. He wouldn’t walk away from her and break her heart.
She was sure of it.
They’d made plans to come to this event as a couple, but a lot had happened. Maybe he’d been called onto a job to do some work that he’d neglected when he was taking care of Scarlett this week.
Or maybe he was hurt. Dead in a ditch somewhere.
The logical part of her mind tried to walk her back from the edge. She’d felt this kind of panic before, the worry that grew and grew and grew until it became too big to handle. She’d felt it for days before Jackson’s mother called to inform her their relationship was over. Clinging to the edge of her sanity, Scarlett tried to stop herself from going over.
But… She’d just try him one more time. Just to be sure.
Scarlett crossed to the register and grabbed her phone again. No answer for a second time. She jumped when someone put their hand on her shoulder, turning to see Leo behind her.
He frowned. “You okay?”
“Have you seen Archer?”
“I saw his truck heading toward the interstate a few hours ago when Amelia and I were picking drinks up at the grocery store. Why?”
The interstate? As far she knew, Archer hadn’t had any plans to leave town today. Her stomach knotted, pulse beginning to pound. “He said he’d be here. There hasn’t been an accident reported, has there?”
“Not that I know of, but let me ask Marlon. Elton’s usually monitoring the police chatter on the radio. He’ll know.”
“Thanks,” Scarlett said.
As talk and laughter surrounded her, Scarlett was teleported to a time four years earlier, when another man had left her without a word. With her feet on the floor of her own shop, and her hands leaning against the counter, she knew, logically, that it wasn’t the same.
There was some explanation. Archer would walk through the door, wrap her in his arms, and everything would be okay.
But he’d been distant. Ever since they’d found Ralph’s ring in that bucket, Archer had pulled away.
The pain of Jackson’s cowardly abandonment had been so acute that the echoes of it still lingered in Scarlett’s psyche. Now, in a completely different situation, those same wounds began to throb.
What if she’d opened herself up to another man, and he left her? What if Archer was no different from any other? What if she’d allowed herself to hope for something more, only to realize it would never happen?
With every doubt that entered her mind, Scarlett fought to bring herself back down to a grounded place. He’d gotten horrible news about his mentor. That had rocked him. Scarlett was being selfish for thinking he’d want to face a roomful of gossips in the aftermath.
But…why couldn’t he just tell her? One text. That’s all she needed.
One single text would have made the difference with Jackson too. If he’d sent her even two words— I’m done —it would have been agony, but at least she would have known .
“Scarlett?” Camilla frowned as she approached. “Are you okay?”
Feeling foolish for spiraling so badly, Scarlett forced herself to smile. “I’m fine. It’s been a long week.”
“I can imagine. Where’s Archer? Wasn’t he supposed to be your date? He’ll miss all the food.”
“I’m not sure,” Scarlett answered. “I haven’t heard from him.”
Camilla’s frown deepened. “What?”
“No accidents,” Leo said, shoving his phone in his pocket. “Elton says all is quiet. Sounds like something’s going down, though. He thinks maybe Ralph’s arrest is only the beginning.”
“The beginning of what?” Scarlett asked.
Leo shrugged. “Beats me. You ladies okay for drinks?”
Scarlett nodded, then put on her best customer service smile when Candy came in with a bunch of roses. She rang the waitress up and endured the polite conversation, making all the right noises when Candy brought up Ralph’s involvement in the murder.
“I just don’t see how he would have had time,” Candy said, inspecting the roses. “He was only gone for five minutes. But what do I know? I’m sure we’ll find out the whole story in the end.”
“Right,” Scarlett said, ripping off the receipt and handing it to Candy. “Thanks for stopping by.”
She smiled at the other woman, then grabbed her phone when it buzzed. Archer’s name flashed on the screen, and she let out a breath. Sweet relief coursed through her—or it did, until she answered his call.
“Archer. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, sounding pretty far from fine. “I don’t think I’m going to make it to the party. I know we were supposed to go together, but… Scarlett, I’m sorry. I just can’t do this right now.”
Scarlett’s stomach hollowed out. “You can’t do what right now?”
“Just…”
“Just?”
“Scarlett, a lot has happened in a short amount of time. I need some time to process.”
This was Jackson all over again. As soon as things got hard, he cut and ran. When she answered, her voice was flat. “I see.”
“Don’t—please, Scarlett. This isn’t about you and me.”
“It kind of sounds like it is about you and me, actually.”
“I still want you.”
“Lucky me,” she spat, knowing she sounded bitter. Would a man ever want her for her ? She’d slept with Archer, and now he was already pulling away. Just like all those men she met on the apps. The men who had used her just as she’d used them. The casual relationships that had slowly worn her down, until she wasn’t sure she even deserved a real relationship for herself.
She’d told herself she got exactly what she’d wanted from those trysts. But the difference was with Archer, she’d wanted more.
She straightened, turning her back on the crowd of people in her shop. She stared at the wall where her rolls of ribbons hung in a neat line, just above the wrapping paper she used for bouquets. After a deep breath, Scarlett felt a little calmer. “If you think we’re moving too fast, I can respect that. I never meant to push you.”
There was a long silence. “I just need time to process everything that’s happened, sweetheart.”
“Don’t—” Scarlett sucked in another breath. “Please don’t call me that right now.”
“Scarlett—”
“I have to go. Someone’s waiting at the register. I’ll talk to you later.”
She hung up the phone before she could hear his response. She didn’t want to hear it, whatever it would be.
And she realized that maybe Jackson had done her a favor by ghosting her. At least then she’d had the moral high ground. She’d been allowed to be angry, to shake her fist at him, to curse his existence.
What could she do now, other than try to hide the agony tearing through her chest?
Her old, faithful beaming smile made an appearance as she turned to face the customer waiting with a bunch she’d arranged just that morning. “Let me ring those up for you,” she said to the woman on the other side of the counter. “They’re just beautiful, aren’t they?”