Chapter 9
Nine
Under cover of night, we return to my house so I can pack an overnight bag.
Moving out was Elliot’s idea. Personally, I think it’s a hassle (not to mention outrageous) that I have to flee my home and move to a safe house like I was part of the eyewitness protection program.
“Not only did someone go to great lengths to defecate under your Christmas tree,” Elliot had argued, “but someone broke into you basement to shit again. It’s likely the two cases are connected.
It’s possible we have a second shitter. You’ve been targeted.
Do you want to be home alone when someone breaks in a third time? ”
He’d made his point.
“Where do I go?”
Shouldering open the door, Elliot dumps my suitcase on the floor. “Don’t make yourself too at home,” he says, switching on the lights. “The sooner we solve the case, the sooner we can end this charade.” He frowns at the giant fuzzball in my arms. “Did you need to bring the cat?”
Stroking Grizzy’s back, I step over the threshold into Elliot’s bachelor pad. “How can you ask that? I can’t leave Grizzy alone.”
Grizzy yawns and lifts her head, scrunching up her healthy eye at Elliot.
“She’s got a self-cleaning litter box and a robo-cat feeder. You can move out for a year and she won’t notice.”
“I need Grizzy for emotional support,” I say. “Besides, what if the perp breaks in and takes her?”
“Hmm,” Elliot grumbles. “I suppose she can stay. But if she shreds my furniture… If I find cat hair in my cereal, she’s gone.”
I hold up Grizzy’s declawed paw and say, in a voice that I think sounds like Grizzy’s voice, but comes off as a bad British accent: “I solemnly swear to not cramp your style.”
He rolls his eyes, unfazed by Grizzy’s cuteness and apparent British-ness. “If only you can stay at a hotel...”
That’s the one thing we agree upon.
“Believe me, I would gladly stay at a hotel if I could.”
Unfortunately, I couldn’t. Marina, the owner of the Mapledale Bed & Breakfast, is part of the town council and friends with my mom. She’s also a notorious gossip. If I suddenly checked into the B&B, all of town would know about it by morning.
Then I’d have to face a barrage of questions: Why did I move out of my home? Why not move into your boyfriend’s home?
Yes. By now, all of Mapledale have been made aware that Elliot and I are a couple. I’ve received several calls from my mom and a slew of texts from my Aunt Cheery to confirm this. Thanks Jen.
So now that Elliot and I are in a fake relationship, I guess the next logical step is to move in together. We’ve made our bed of lies, now we have to lie in it.
I glance around my new lodgings. “This is… This is actually… nice.”
If his cold and spartan office was any indication of personal taste, I’d automatically written off his apartment as a potential army barracks, but this was a surprise.
The apartment was tiny, yet clean and warmly lit.
I migrate to the floor to ceiling shelves crammed with tattered Stephen King paperbacks, retro video game cartridges, and old DVDs.
I pick up a whelk shell and thumb the polished surface before setting it down to admire a framed photo of Elliot, looking about five years younger. He had his arms around two elderly people and a pretty girl with the same dark hair and sharp nose.
“Are these your parents?” I ask, picking up the photograph.
“Yup.”
I squint at the girl. “Girlfriend?”
“My sister Emily.”
My shoulders relax. Had I been tense? “What does Emily do?” I ask.
“She graduated medical school last spring,” he says with a note of pride, “just started her first year of residency. She plans to be a pediatrician.”
“A doctor…” I set the photo down, impressed and just a little envious.
Elliot’s kid sister is going to be a doctor while my sister is engaged to my loser ex and may have shat on my living room floor.
My life, which had been chugging along on a speedy uphill climb, now feels like it’s in shambles. I’m backsliding big time. Blinking back tears, I hone in on the items on Elliot’s shelf to keep myself from losing it.
You can tell a lot about a person based on their bookshelf. And despite being a grump, Elliot seems like an interesting guy — if I were to base his character on his book collection alone.
“Do you read all these books?” I call over my shoulder. I like him a little more now that I know he’s a bookworm.
“Most of them,” he says, lugging Grizzy’s sleep pod inside. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the sofa bed.”
“I’ll take the sofa bed,” I say. “I don’t want to cramp your style either.”
“I insist.” He pops open the fridge and hands me a beer.
“Do you have iced tea?” I say.
“I have water.”
“I’ll take water.”
With a sigh, I slump on the sofa. Grizzy slips from my arms and rolls onto my lap. I scratch her tummy, eliciting a symphony of purrs.
“I thought for sure we’d rule out Jen and Paige,” I declare. “But now I think they’re both in on it. Along with Brian. If Jen’s guilty, then he’s definitely in on it.”
Propped on a barstool at the kitchen counter, Elliot pokes his head up from this phone. “Pizza tonight?”
I chew on my bottom cheek. “I’m in the mood for Indian.”
Elliot researches for a minute. “How about that new Indian Pizza place?”
For the next hour, we dine on tandoori chicken pizza and an Indian-style cucumber salad on Elliot’s coffee table.
We eat in companionable silence as a Sam Cooke vinyl spins and skips on Elliot’s ancient record player, a hand-me-down from his dad.
It felt nice not to talk about shit and shitters.
And Elliot was quite amiable when he wasn’t accusing me of the most heinous crimes or implying that everybody in town had cause to hate me.
He dished out an extra helping of salad and when Grizzy belly flopped onto his lap, he reluctantly stroked her soft orange fur.
“Elliot,” I say, wiping my mouth on my napkin. “I’m starting to think Paige hates me.”
He swigs his beer. “What makes you think that?”
“Come on! You’ve been trying to prove that she’s not my friend all day.
She resents me for buying her that espresso machine.
I read it in her face when the topic came up.
And now she likes blue all of a sudden? That’s the first I’ve heard of it.
If she liked blue so much, why did she paint her cafe yellow? ”
Elliot watches the exasperation flicker across my face as I try to piece together the puzzle of my best friend. “Why did she let you talk her into painting her cafe yellow, you mean?”
“I didn’t talk her into it!” I snort. “I merely held up the paint swatches and offered my opinion.”
“Perhaps to someone like Paige,” Elliot says, dishing the leftover pizza onto a clean plate, “you’re a hard friend to say ‘No’ to.”
“Perhaps.” I fall into silence, reconsidering the dynamics of my friendship with Paige.
“I can be a bit… insistent,” I clear my throat, “when it comes to getting my way.”
I suppose that’s why Paige and I got along so well.
We complimented each other. She never fought me, never challenged me, and always went along with everything I wanted to do.
I had always considered her so agreeable, so easy to be around, always up for anything.
Now I see that she was too agreeable, even when she should’ve spoken her mind.
I didn’t intentionally try to dominate her, yet dominate is exactly what I’ve done.
Now Paige quietly resents me for the yellow cafe.
But has her resentment curdled into hate?
Does she secretly hate me?
Hate me enough to take a dump on my floor?
Memories of Paige’s miserable face swirls through my mind. “Now I wonder if Paige even wants to be a barista.” I pinch my brow, massaging a blossoming headache.
“I’m assuming you had a hand in steering her toward opening up the cafe,” Elliot says.
“When her family’s mortuary went under, Paige wanted a career change. She asked me what I thought she should do, so we listed all the things she was good at and what made her happy.”
“Hold on,” Elliot flops down on the couch and pulls up his notepad. “Paige was a mortician?”
I shrug. “Can you see it?”
“Actually,” he smiles, “I can.”
“I can too,” I say, “but at the time, Paige wanted to see what else she can do besides embalming corpses. And she happened to make a mean cup of coffee. So I advised her to try swapping corpses for coffee. It’s a natural progression.”
“Naturally,” Elliot says dryly.
I grab a navy throw pillow and bury my face in it. “Now I wonder if she’d rather go back to corpses.”
“Holly?”
I lift my head. “Hm…?”
Elliot’s face is a few inches from mine. Strange how I thought his eyes were cold and black, but up close, I can see flecks of warm hazel.
“When were you going to tell me about the loan between the two of you?” Elliot asks, his words measured. He’d been waiting for the perfect moment to go for the jugular.
I tilt my head back, analyzing him. “How did you find out about the loan?”
“I looked into town records while you were gathering your cat’s things.”
“You are efficient, aren’t you?” I sigh.
I suppose an ex-insurance fraud investigator wouldn’t be worth his salt if he couldn’t pull up a simple loan document.
“It’s just a small loan between friends to help her with start-up costs.
No interest. The paperwork is just a formality. I would’ve settled for a handshake.”
He snatches up his phone and pulls up his research. “A small loan that comprises sixty-five percent of the start-up costs,” he summarizes, “including the fancy espresso machine, the remodel, even the pretty milk jugs.”
“Not the milk jugs! Those were a gift.”
“That’s a pretty hefty piece of the pie. By my estimation,” Elliot says, side-eyeing me, “you own the Honey Latte Lounge and Paige works for you.”
I lower my head sheepishly. “I was only trying to help.”
“I can see why you’re running for mayor,” Elliot snorts. “You practically own this town. Why not make it official?”