didn’t say that. Not in so many words.”
I stopped myself from saying more. When was I going to learn? Arguing with him like this was futile.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Ellie, what am I going to do?” Harris repeated, his voice starting to rise.
“Well, for one thing, stop telling people I killed your girlfriend.” I hungup.
CHAPTER 6
A STRID ’ S fists were on her hips, and her expression was livid. “Harris can’t go around spreading lies about you, Ellie. Your ex is classically passive-aggressive.”
I sighed. She was right, of course. He was an expert manipulator. He’d even turned around the fact that I’d walked in on him boffing Wanda, somehow making it my problem.
Thinking about that day brought anger I’d thought I’d let go of to the surface again. Today had been a long terrible day already, and the last thing I needed was Harris fueling Detective Lang’s suspicions against me.
I looked at my watch. “It’s almost five o’clock. And I don’t know about you, but after today, I’m ready for a drink.”
“Well, then, let’s go to the Sapphire. We’ll hit happyhour, and I’ll even buy you some of those bacon jalapeño bites you like so much.”
I shook my head. “Nope. We’re going to the Roux. Josie was close to Maggie—the head bartender? And I want to stop by and see how she’s doing. And while we’re there, maybe I’ll just have a little talk with Harris.”
One of Astrid’s eyebrows slowly lifted. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A grin lit her face, but quickly dropped away. “Do you think he could have had anything to do with Josie . . . you know?”
I blanched. “You don’t think Harris killed . . . ? No. He is, as you have so often put it, a jerk. But he’s not a murderer.”
“Maybe. But neither are you. And now the police think you had a reason to kill her. That’s on him. I’m with you, Ellie. You have to let him know what he did is
not
okay.” She marched toward the door and opened it. Pausing on the threshold, she looked at me over her shoulder.
“I’m coming,” I said. “Let me put Dash inside the house and grab my wallet.”
• • •
A S Astrid and I walked down Corona Street, our footfalls on the wooden boardwalk reflected the sounds from more than a century and a half earlier, when Poppyville had erupted near the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains to support the herds of gold miners. The closer we got to the Roux Grill, the more my stomach roiled.
Two years older than me, Astrid had become my great friend in college, where I’d studied horticulture. She’dbeen there when I arrived, and still there when I left, a perpetual student and late-blooming flower child who changed her major from anthropology to women’s studies before transferring to veterinary medicine. We’d stayed in touch, and on a visit to see me in Poppyville, she’d fallen in love with the place. I still remembered the phone conversation when she told me she was moving to my hometown.
I’d known from the day I met her that Astrid Moneypenny would rush to my defense in any situation or support me in any endeavor—which was exactly what she was doing now.
Poppyville’s Corona Street was only six blocks long. Scents & Nonsense was on one end, and the Roux Grill was very near the other. We sauntered past Flyrite Kites, the Kneadful Things Bakery, and the quaint Poppyville Library where Maria Canto had an unnerving ability to know what people needed to read as well as the ability to track down the answer to any obscure question a patron might ask.
There was Tessa’s Tea Room and Cynthia’s Foxy Locksies Hair Studio and the Juke Diner, all interspersed with shops selling T-shirts, tchotchkes, and gold-panning kits. The sporting goods store shared a wall with Rexall Drugs, and Rosen’s New York Deli was on the other side. Flaubert’s Department Store had been a staple of Poppyville since the 1950s, and they still used an old pneumatic tube,
I stopped myself from saying more. When was I going to learn? Arguing with him like this was futile.
“I have to go,” I said.
“Ellie, what am I going to do?” Harris repeated, his voice starting to rise.
“Well, for one thing, stop telling people I killed your girlfriend.” I hungup.
CHAPTER 6
A STRID ’ S fists were on her hips, and her expression was livid. “Harris can’t go around spreading lies about you, Ellie. Your ex is classically passive-aggressive.”
I sighed. She was right, of course. He was an expert manipulator. He’d even turned around the fact that I’d walked in on him boffing Wanda, somehow making it my problem.
Thinking about that day brought anger I’d thought I’d let go of to the surface again. Today had been a long terrible day already, and the last thing I needed was Harris fueling Detective Lang’s suspicions against me.
I looked at my watch. “It’s almost five o’clock. And I don’t know about you, but after today, I’m ready for a drink.”
“Well, then, let’s go to the Sapphire. We’ll hit happyhour, and I’ll even buy you some of those bacon jalapeño bites you like so much.”
I shook my head. “Nope. We’re going to the Roux. Josie was close to Maggie—the head bartender? And I want to stop by and see how she’s doing. And while we’re there, maybe I’ll just have a little talk with Harris.”
One of Astrid’s eyebrows slowly lifted. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A grin lit her face, but quickly dropped away. “Do you think he could have had anything to do with Josie . . . you know?”
I blanched. “You don’t think Harris killed . . . ? No. He is, as you have so often put it, a jerk. But he’s not a murderer.”
“Maybe. But neither are you. And now the police think you had a reason to kill her. That’s on him. I’m with you, Ellie. You have to let him know what he did is
not
okay.” She marched toward the door and opened it. Pausing on the threshold, she looked at me over her shoulder.
“I’m coming,” I said. “Let me put Dash inside the house and grab my wallet.”
• • •
A S Astrid and I walked down Corona Street, our footfalls on the wooden boardwalk reflected the sounds from more than a century and a half earlier, when Poppyville had erupted near the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains to support the herds of gold miners. The closer we got to the Roux Grill, the more my stomach roiled.
Two years older than me, Astrid had become my great friend in college, where I’d studied horticulture. She’dbeen there when I arrived, and still there when I left, a perpetual student and late-blooming flower child who changed her major from anthropology to women’s studies before transferring to veterinary medicine. We’d stayed in touch, and on a visit to see me in Poppyville, she’d fallen in love with the place. I still remembered the phone conversation when she told me she was moving to my hometown.
I’d known from the day I met her that Astrid Moneypenny would rush to my defense in any situation or support me in any endeavor—which was exactly what she was doing now.
Poppyville’s Corona Street was only six blocks long. Scents & Nonsense was on one end, and the Roux Grill was very near the other. We sauntered past Flyrite Kites, the Kneadful Things Bakery, and the quaint Poppyville Library where Maria Canto had an unnerving ability to know what people needed to read as well as the ability to track down the answer to any obscure question a patron might ask.
There was Tessa’s Tea Room and Cynthia’s Foxy Locksies Hair Studio and the Juke Diner, all interspersed with shops selling T-shirts, tchotchkes, and gold-panning kits. The sporting goods store shared a wall with Rexall Drugs, and Rosen’s New York Deli was on the other side. Flaubert’s Department Store had been a staple of Poppyville since the 1950s, and they still used an old pneumatic tube,
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