Lainey Quilholt Mysteries Collection

Chapter 1-2

“Funny how Poe didn"t much care for him,” she remarked.

“Really? How do you mean?”

“He hissed and growled at him. Then he ran off. I haven"t seen him since.”

“Wow.” Weeks chuckled. “That"s pretty much how he reacted to me at first.”

“He"s still not sure about you,” my aunt teased.

“Ha-ha,” Weeks said, his hoarse voice going slightly more gravely. “He pay credit or cash?”

“Poe?” she was still in a joking mood. Weeks made a hoarse sigh at her response.

“No. That man.”

“Is it a crime to do either?” my aunt said. She, apparently, found his cop curiosity a bit much. But I was on his side in this.

“Quit being cute,” he said, slightly perturbed at her banter. Which was odd, as they did a lot of cute bantering most of the time. It gets a bit sickening at times, but it was good that they had one another.

“Oh, thank you for the complement. I wasn"t fishing for one, by the way,” she said. See?

Hands at his waist—which for a cop with all that crap on their belt makes this one stance a challenge—Weeks made a wheezing sigh. It sounded like he"d had a bad morning. “No problem,” he said. “Nice earrings, too.” He"d bought them and the matching necklace for her at a shop in Iowa City a few weeks ago. “I"m just wondering because if he paid credit, you"d have his name, wouldn"t you?”

Aunt Jessica"s frame sagged as she finally looked up at him. “Seriously? You want to look at his receipt?”

“If you don"t mind,” Weeks said, sounding put out. “It"ll bother me, wondering who he is, all day if you don"t. And I"d rather not spend hours looking at mug shots, okay?”

Aunt Jessica moved to the cash register and opened it. “It was really an unusual reaction by Poe. I"ve never seen him do that with anyone. Not even to you.” She handed him the slip of paper the man had to sign. “Do you recognize his name?”

“Hal Lassiter. Huh. Maybe. I"ll go look it up in the files. There might be wants on him, or a prior. You never know. At the very least, he may have over-due speeding tickets. If so, I"ve got him dead-bang.”

My aunt snickered again. “Wow. You"ll do anything to write out a ticket.”

Ignoring my aunt"s comment, he took a sip from his coffee. The cup was from Miranda"s Café au lait. He had quit eating long johns, as part of his trying to lose the fifteen pounds he"d gained over the winter. He liked his coffee strong and black. Weeks was more burley than what I would call paunchy, and he did workout at a local gym, sometimes he jogged, and my aunt jogged with him, but she preferred her gentle yoga to his sweaty running. He often blamed his weight gain on my aunt"s good cooking—more good natured bantering, of course, because my aunt cooked the best meals. Weeks keeps his chocolate brown hair, with a little silver sprinkled in, trim to within a millimeter of his collar. He also sported the usual cop mustache. He"d been town sheriff for ten years. He was always talking about taking time off and taking my aunt fishing, someday, but they both seemed too busy to do it. I kept hinting to my aunt, if she wanted to she had Mondays and Tuesdays off. It seemed when she was off, he wasn"t, or something came up. Being sheriff he was always on call. But he had several deputies to mind the town and rest of the county while he was gone. Nothing really exciting happened here. Not usually, and not since I"d moved here. Only the usual things, like accidents, bar brawls, or the “hooligans” who often raced through town on Harleys. That sort of thing. Once a man fell into the river off a fishing boat, but that took the river patrol, which was state-run, yet he was there to meet the boat along with the paramedics.

Café au laitThe tap on the window behind me twirled me about. There he was. The bane of my existence. Handsome. Tall. Cleft chin. Athletic. Blond and eighteen. The combination would throw most girl"s hormones into a state of emergency, but not me. Anthony James Beaumont the Third—AJ to his friends. His groupies called him Beau. I was not one.

the Third—I stared at him through the window of the bookstore wanting to curse aloud, but did it in my head. He brought both broad hands up and pressed them against the glass, leaving large finger and palm prints, and then made a face at me. Like that was supposed to impress me. Oh be still my beating heart! I gave him a squint of disapproval, especially since we"d just had the windows cleaned the other day. I rolled my eyes. His smile broadened, revealing the dimples some women go for, and pointed to the door. I turned my back on him. I knew he"d walk in and pester me for a date, despite my trying to ignore and discourage him repeatedly. For some reason AJ Beaumont III had begun asking me out three weeks ago when he saw me at Miranda"s down the way. I"d rebuffed him then, and every time since. But he kept asking me out. I don"t know. Maybe he thought I was playing hard-to-get like some girls do. I don"t play games. I simply wasn"t interested in AJ. To me he was A Pain In The Neck. His family had been one of the founding families of this town—back when the steam engine was the only power. They"ve remained here for three generations. Maybe four, but who"s counting? AJ"s family lives in a very large red brick mansion on the tallest snob hill overlooking the river. They owned one bank, plus his father was a big lawyer. The annoying thing is he doesn"t buy anything when he comes in here. I suppose that only proved he didn"t read.

Oh be still my beating heart!A Pain In The NeckI wasn"t sure why he was attracted to me. Because I wasn"t blonde, which I know his last girlfriend was. I don"t usually wear make-up, but I"ve been told I"m pretty. I simply don"t like to put gunk on my face and look like something between a hooker and a super-model. Once in a while I might put on mascara, just so that my eyes don"t look lost, but that"s it.

AJ stepped in, his big feet clomping over the wooden floor making a bee-line for me. Both my aunt and Weeks looked up. My aunt"s gaze darted my way with a certain glimmer in them.

My face flushed, the heat rose from my neck to my face. This wasn"t happening. I ignored AJ while straightening things on a shelf that didn"t really need straightening.

“Hi, Lainey,” AJ said, leaning up against a pole in the middle of the store.

“Hi,” I said, my voice flat, not looking at him. I stepped away, pulled out a couple of books on a shelf, which were in the wrong place, and walked away to put them where they belonged. AJ followed me. He was playing with a small ball. I hazard a glance his way and saw it was a Hacky Sack ball. He"d throw it up and catch it, repeatedly. With his jerking motions, a necklace he wore jiggled a little bit. Made of gold, the light shimmered on the small diamond in the "o" part of the year we graduated high school—2017. Some of us bought necklaces instead of rings. Others, who had money, like AJ, bought both. Everyone usually ordered their birthstone for the gemstone. Mine was the peridot. I bought the ring, whereas some of my friends went with the necklace. For one reason, it wasn"t quite as expensive as the ring. My aunt helped pay for mine, saying it was something I would keep for life.

“I bet you thought you wouldn"t see me today,” AJ said.

“No such luck,” I said, deadpan. He chuckled.

“I"d like to ask if you"d like to go out with me tonight.”

“Sorry. I"ve got plans.” Which I did, this time. Really.

“Oh, too bad. Thought I"d take you to The Huddle. Some dude is going to be playing there tonight.”

“Brett Rutherford.” His name popped out of my mouth before I could take it back. A nervous smile spread across my face at AJ"s sudden look of surprise. I turned away, and went around the shelf to the other side. He followed me, but wasn"t playing catch with the ball any more.

“Do you know him, or something?” a note of jealousy in his voice. I felt he had no business feeling jealous. We weren"t dating. I wasn"t about to go out with him so he had no right to ask me anything like this.

“Maybe I do.” I actually knew Brett from when I went to school in De Witt, before I moved here. He had been dating someone else at the time, but I"d always had a crush on him. I hadn"t seen him in two years, after I moved here.

“So…” AJ leaned against the shelf where I was aimlessly trying to rearrange some books that didn"t need rearranging. “You know this dude?”

“I went to school with him, back in De Witt,” I said.

“Ohhh,” he said, head leaning back as he eyed me. “So, you haven"t seen him or, like, talked to him since?”

“No.” Was it getting hot in here, or was it me? I moved away from AJ.

“So, why won"t you go with me?” he pressed.

I stopped and turned to him. “I"m going with a couple of my friends.” There I said it. My hands were shaking as I moved a book from one spot to another.

“I see. So you"d rather go out with your stupid little friends than go out with me?” he sounded both insulted and insulting.

“That"s right,” I said, setting my jaw.

AJ"s blue eyes were burning. “Fine. I"ll ask someone else.” AJ turned away and was out the door in two seconds. Good riddance.

I watched him dart out of the shop, and walk toward his red truck, and open the driver"s door. A car approached from behind and the driver honked their horn. He turned to the white convertible. Angry at first, he spun to give them grief, but stopped. Hand raised, he greeted them and stepped over to the passenger"s side. Two women in the convertible smiled and began talking to him. I recognized at least one with the short-cropped hair dyed an extraordinary blue, red and purple. Nose rings looked like snot, and tats up and down her arms looked more like she needed to go home and wash the dirt off. Not that I"m against tattoos, mind, but I like them small and discrete, such as on the ankle, small of the back, or perhaps the left boob.

The name didn"t come to me right away, but I thought her name was Bridget-something. The girl beside her had snaky dreads, and it was hard to say what color hair she was born with, as it graduated down starting with electric blue, pure white and black at the ends. Her eye make-up done in such a way it would have sent me screaming in the other direction had I met her in a dark alley, thinking I"d walked onto the set of a horror movie about evil clowns and dolls.