Bound to Execute Read online

  We stood in that tight hug for a few more moments, and then as we stepped back, I realized we were all crying now. Mart joined us, and the four of us formed a circle with our arms around each other’s waists. “Friends?” Henri said.

  “Always,” Cate answered, leaning against Henri’s shoulder. “I understand. I guess I just feel a little left out.”

  I hadn’t even thought about that, that she was the only one of us who didn’t know. I would have felt left out, too.

  “Well, maybe I can feel you let in again. I have news.”

  Mart rolled her eyes. “Sleuthing news.”

  “Actually no. Just life in St. Marin’s news.” I said as I pointed to the guest bedroom just behind Henri. “In there, I’ll catch you up.”

  I caught my mom’s eye as we slipped through the bedroom door, and she followed us in. “Is this a girls’ gathering?” Mom asked as she climbed up onto the bed with the rest of us.

  “Yep, just us five,” I said.

  “The Chanel girls,” Mom replied.

  “Huh?” Mart said.

  “Like the perfume.” Henri answered. “I like it.”

  I smiled. My mom always had high-end taste. “Okay, Chanel Girls, here’s the scoop.” I caught them up on what I’d learned from Cynthia about the bank’s toxic atmosphere and also about Dillard and Cynthia’s, well, whatever it was. I told them about Tuck dressing Dillard down, and then I ended with the piece de resistance, Renee Forsham’s threat against Henri.

  “Oh my goodness, Henri,” Cate exclaimed. “You might be in danger.”

  Henri shrugged. “Maybe. But let her come at me. These booties are good for some tail-whoopin’.” She kicked up her leg and showed off her adorable suede shoes.

  “Go get ’em, girl,” Mom said, and I cringed. My mom loved her out of date aphorisms.

  “So you think it’s Cynthia?” Mart asked.

  “I don’t know. She seems like a sweet girl, but she is also pretty miserable here. Still, I wonder if Ariel might not be a better suspect?” I made myself comfy against the headboard.

  “Seriously, anyone named after a Disney princess cannot be trusted.” Cate said with a smirk.

  I snorted with laughter. “Cate Cho!” I tried to sound scolding but I couldn’t stop laughing long enough.

  Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Walter popped his head in. “Ladies, I hate to break up this adorable gathering before the pillow fight starts, but we’re ready to eat.”

  I grabbed a throw pillow from the bed and tossed it at the door just as my friends did the same. Walter rolled his eyes but then gave us a big grin.

  “We’ll be right out,” I said. As we stood, I turned to my friends, “Now, not a word of this. The police know all this, but no need to give away their leads.”

  Mom put her hand out, palm down. “Agreed. Hands in, ladies.”

  We all put our hands in, one on top of each other. “One, two, three – Chanel,” Mom prompted.

  “One, two, three – Chanel,” we said in unison. I never would have imagined I’d do a huddle around a perfume with four women I adored, but I was feeling great when we went back out for those enchiladas.

  I spent the rest of the evening moving from person to person, talking with my friends, and enjoying the bonfire down by the river. Eventually Ollie made it upstairs and sat with Marcus and Rocky on the deck. I heard a good deal of laughter from their table.

  The tamales were so good that I almost didn’t save room for one of Lucas’s cupcakes, but thank goodness cupcakes are squishy. By the time Daniel and I went to leave about eleven, I was tired, overfull, and completely content.

  As I started up the truck and waited for Daniel to settle Mayhem and Taco into their crates, I rested my head against the back of my seat. The men in Love! Valour! Compassion! had nothing on me.

  * * *

  Fridays were a bit manic now that the tourist season had started. Rocky and I always came in early to do an extra bit of prep – more coffee brewed, more bestselling titles stocked, etc. – and when we opened the doors at ten, we always had people waiting, mostly for coffee but sometimes for their long weekend reading choices.

  I loved that – anyone who would wait on a sidewalk for a book got my best attention. One woman wanted something light but also meaningful, and I was thrilled to recommend Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott, especially since she had a toddler in tow. An older man asked for something Southern in his thick New Jersey accent, and I handed him a copy of Tony Horwitz’s Confederates in the Attic. This book recommendation thing was my favorite part of the job, by far.

  By the time Marcus came in at eleven, I was pretty sure we’d already beat our Friday record in sales, and I gave a quiet word of thanks for tourism. “It’s going to be a busy one,” I said as he came to take over at the register so I could get a quick bathroom break.

  “The best kind,” he said. “By the way, good news about Henri, you stealthy woman you.” He began ringing up the sizable stack of picture books a young woman was buying as her young son kept adding to the pile with frequent returns to the children’s section.

  “I can’t believe Rocky didn’t tell you.”

  “Oh, she’s a trustworthy one, that woman.” He grinned so wide I saw his ears move.

  “Yes, yes she is. I hear some people even trust her with their hearts.” I gave him a smack on the back and headed for the bathroom.

  * * *

  On the way to the bathroom, I stopped to tidy up the children’s section after our voracious reader’s heartfelt, if slightly sloppy, book selection process when someone caught me by the arm.

  I turned and saw Ariel, and she looked either furious or terrified. It was hard to tell. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” she asked in a voice that said afraid, not angry.

  I gazed longingly at the bathroom for a second before saying, “Of course. Are you okay?” She looked pale, paler than her naturally very fair skin, and her freckles were bright.

  Her eyes darted around the store, like she was looking for someone, or hoping someone wasn’t there.

  “You want to go somewhere more, um, private?” I felt like only skeezy dudes in B-movies said things like that, but she nodded quickly, and we headed to the back room. Once again I had the passing thought that it would be wise to make this an actual meeting room given how many semi-clandestine meetings I had in here.

  “Ariel, are you okay?” I was growing more concerned by the minute because now not only was she pale, she was shaking.

  She sat down heavily on a big box and put her head between her knees. Her voice was muffled when she said, “Yeah, I think so. Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” A moment later, she sat up and looked at me. The color had started to come back to her face, and I felt a breath of relief.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I heard they don’t think it’s that woman from the co-op who murdered Ms. Painter.” Her voice was quiet, shy almost.

  “That’s right. The police have cleared her.” I had about forty million questions, but I was going to try out Mom’s tried and true silence technique and not say more than necessary to keep the conversation going.

  “Okay, okay. So then, it’s probably what I thought. Okay, Okay.” She was looking at her hands now, not really talking to me.

  I sat down next to her and started rubbing small circles on her back. The woman was clearly upset, and comfort, however small, was always a kindness.

  She took a deep breath and asked, “Do you think they’ll look at bank employees next?”

  I tried not to react to this question because, well, yes, it must have been obvious to most everyone that if someone at the co-op hadn’t been taking the money then maybe someone at the bank was. “I’m not sure. I don’t know the details. Why do you ask?” And why are you asking me? I wanted to add.

  Her head dropped between her knees again, and I heard her taking whistling breaths through her lips. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  “It is okay, Ariel.
What can I help you with?”

  I felt her shoulders begin to bounce, and when I leaned down to peek at her face, I saw tears falling to the concrete floor. I pulled her to me and let her cry.

  When it felt like she’d settled, she took a long, slow breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You must think I’m such a mess.”

  “No, I think you’re something carrying something heavy. If I can help, I will.”

  She sighed and said to the blank wall in front of us, “I’m living in the bank.” Then, her eyes darted to mine. “But not in the part where the vault is. In the attic. I climb up there at night before the alarm is set and just stay there until morning. There are sensors and stuff, so I can’t come down. I’m not trying to rob anything or anything.” She was talking so fast I thought she might pass out.

  “Okay. Well, that sounds hard.” I said the first thing that came to mind. “I mean being locked up in there from five each night until the next morning, and what do you do on weekends?”

  Her eyes were huge when she looked at me. “It is hard. So hard. Now that it’s warmer, sometimes I sleep out in the park by the museum. It’s quiet, and I can hear the water. That’s what I do on weekends when I don’t stay with Cynthia.”

  I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes, but I knew this woman didn’t need my pity. “And you’re afraid someone is going to find out and think you killed Wilma because she knew.”

  She nodded frantically. “But I didn’t. I didn’t kill her.”

  I took a long, slow breath. “Okay, so then the best thing to do – and I know this is going to sound terrible – is to tell the sheriff what’s been going on.”

  The low keen that came out of her throat sounded somewhere between a whimper and a whistle, and I quickly put my hands on her knees to calm her. “I’ll go with you. I know the sheriff. I trust him. He won’t tell anyone about this unless necessary, and since you didn’t kill Ms. Painter, it won’t be necessary, right?”

  She slowly nodded her head. “But it’s trespassing. He might arrest me.”

  She wasn’t wrong, but somehow, I couldn’t see Tuck arresting a young woman for being homeless because, honestly, that’s what this was. Another case of homelessness right here in St. Marin’s. First Ollie, now Ariel.

  “I don’t think that will happen. I do think, though, that he might be able to help us find you a place to live.” I was actually already considering an option about that, but I had to talk with some folks first before I offered that up. “We can go now if you want. Get it over with.”

  If anything, she looked more terrified than when she came in, but she nodded. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “I think you were right to find help, Ariel. It would definitely be worse if it was discovered during the investigation.” I stood up and offered a hand to help her to her feet. She took it and didn’t let go.

  I gave another longing glance toward the bathroom on our way out, and as I stopped to grab my purse at the register, I told Marcus that I was getting an early lunch. Ariel had let go of my hand, but she followed me right to the counter. Marcus was as perceptive as they come, though, and gave me a small nod followed by, “Have a good one, Ms. B. I’ve got this.”

  Like everything in St. Marin’s, the sheriff’s station was within walking distance, just a little off Main Street on the South end of town. It was a lovely day out, low seventies and sunny, so the fact that my truck was back at the house didn’t matter. Ariel and I strolled down Main Street, Mayhem ahead of us actually not tugging. She did always know when I needed her best behavior. I was hoping that the stroll would both calm Ariel’s nerves and give me a chance to learn a bit more.

  “Forgive me, Ariel, if I’m being nosy, but I want to be sure I understand. How long have you been living in the bank?”

  She glanced at me before looking straight ahead. “Since February.”

  Three months then. “That’s a long time. You must be a very quiet person.”

  She smiled at that. “Believe it or not, it was kind of nice. The quiet was peaceful, unlike at home. My brother was in a band, and they were hella loud.”

  “You have a brother?”

  She smiled again. “Yep, he’s twenty-one, four years younger than I am. But we were super close until—“ She stopped talking.

  “Until?”

  I heard a catch in her voice when she said, “Until my parents kicked me out.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Was it one of those, we want you to get your feet under you things? Or something else?” I asked out of genuine curiosity but also concern.

  “Oh, they would have been happy to have me stay at home forever. They loved that my brother and I were still there . . . I guess they thought of our family as the most important thing in their lives.”

  Something about the way she said that made me think this wasn’t about priorities, like putting your family first. “So, then, why kick you out?”

  “I got pregnant.” Her voice was monotone.

  I stopped walking, but she kept going. Clearly I was missing something. She’d just said she was in her mid-twenties and had gotten pregnant. I had a forty more questions now.

  Ariel was a few dozen steps ahead of me when Mayhem and I jogged to catch up. “They weren’t happy you were pregnant and not married.” My brain finally caught up, too.

  “Right. We are, well, they are, pretty religious, and it didn’t matter to them that Julian and I had been together for years and that we were going to get married.” She choked up then. “It didn’t matter to him either, I guess.”

  “Ariel, he left you when he found out you were pregnant?”

  She nodded, and I could tell she was trying hard not to cry again.

  “I had nowhere to go, so I took this job here in St. Marin’s and hoped I’d be able to get my feet under me and find a cheap place to live for the baby and me . . . then, for just me.”

  When she took a breath, I said, “Oh, Ariel, I’m sorry.” I paused and took a deep breath. If she didn’t want to talk about the baby, I wouldn’t push. “There are not many safe, cheap places to live here. Believe me I know.” Mart and I had considered renting an apartment while we got established here, but it quickly became clear that buying a house – since we had the down payment – was the smarter move for the sake of both our finances and our comfort.

  She looked at me then. “Exactly. I tried to save, but I just couldn’t afford everything – clothes for the new job, food, the deposit and renter’s insurance. Plus, I have student loans. My salary is good, and I have benefits. But my parents kept the car they’d bought me, so I didn’t have a way to get anywhere that I had to drive and couldn’t afford insurance even if I’d been able to buy a used car . . .”

  I stopped her then. “You don’t have to explain it to me, Ariel. I know how expensive it can be to be out on your own.” I thought of all the times in San Francisco that I’d just wanted to buy one of those fancy Starbucks drinks for a little treat on a Friday afternoon but couldn’t because I only had four dollars to make it until pay day.

  We’d reached the police station by then, but before we went in, I needed Ariel to understand something. “No matter what happens in here, Ariel, you are not alone. You understand that, right? I am here. I will still be here at the end of this conversation.”

  Tears welled in her eyes again, and we walked in the door.

  7

  As I expected, Tuck was amazingly kind. He hadn’t asked any questions when I told him that Ariel and I needed to talk to him in private. Then, when she’d told him about her current residence, the only thing he’d said was, “I understand. Sounds to me like you had every reason not to kill Ms. Painter since a new manager might have meant new procedures that would risk your secret.”

  At those words, I could see the relief cross Ariel’s face.

  The police business out of the way, I asked Tuck if there was any way we could get into the bank today to g
et Ariel’s things since she was going to be staying the night with Mart and me. She had tried to protest, but I had shushed her. “Just for a couple of days. I have a plan for something more permanent, okay?”

  She just seemed so relieved by letting out her secret that she didn’t protest further. I knew what it was to keep a much smaller secret, and so I couldn’t imagine how good it felt to not have to carry this huge one for so many months.

  Tuck made a phone call to the temporary branch manager, and he agreed to meet Tuck at the bank in an hour. “I have reason to inspect your attic,” was all he said on the phone, and I admired him all the more for his discretion.

  By mid-afternoon, Ariel was settled into our guest room. Mart had agreed the second I’d called her from the bathroom at the station. (I had taken advantage of the facilities when Harriet had taken Ariel into the breakroom for a coffee and some of the ever-present cookies that Lu made for the officers.) “I can’t believe that all these young people are homeless,” Mart said. “So awful.”

  “I agree. But we know that finding an affordable place to rent can be almost impossible. Remember that one apartment you had in San Francisco, the one with the burger place below it that vented its grill right into your bathroom?”

  “Oh the smells,” Mart had gagged. “It was so bad. But it was cheap.”

  “Exactly.”

  I left Ariel on the couch with Aslan, the remote control, and a stack of fresh towels. I had no idea how she had showered – maybe at Cynthia’s – but I knew that if I’d been living in an attic and a park for months I’d just really want clean linens, some mindless TV, and hot water.

  A small part of me worried that I was maybe being naïve, trusting this woman I barely knew in my house, but the larger part of me preferred to be trusting and deal with the consequences if someone broke that trust than to walk around suspicious of everyone I met.

  Back at the shop, Marcus, of course, had everything well under control, so I texted my friends and asked them to meet me at the shop at seven. “We need a plan,” I wrote but then quickly followed up with, “And no, this isn’t sleuthing.”