Who Shot the Serif Read online

  Dana let out an oomph and made gagging, gasping noises as she dropped the tire iron out of my reach and clenched her stomach.

  Wimp. You can dish it, but you can't take it.

  The first car pulled to a stop, lights aimed at us. Ridge jumped out of the car. Another police car pulled up behind him. Matt Stewart got out of it, a flashlight in hand.

  Dana recovered enough to catch her breath. Uninhibited by happy pills, her survival instinct kicked right in. She looked around wildly, glancing between the forest and the river as if deciding between the lesser of two evils. Ridge, Matt, and their cars were between her and the forest.

  There was no one between her and the river. She slipped off her shoes and ran down the bank into it, arms pumping like an Olympic track star. I had to hand it to her—she had good running form. If she could make it deep enough into the dark water, she had a chance of escaping. She was a decent swimmer and, like all of us who'd grown up here, familiar with the river. If she could make it downriver, she could find a place to get out and disappear.

  Ridge drew his gun and yelled at Dana to freeze. Matt trained his flashlight on her.

  She didn't listen to Ridge. I didn't expect her to. Probably Ridge didn't, either. But it was his job.

  Dana kept plowing into the river, daring Ridge to shoot her in the back.

  Ridge swore. He couldn't do it, and Dana knew it. But he took off after her.

  She has too big a lead on him, I thought, idly and calmly. She's going to get away.

  I heard Matt on the phone to the chopper, telling it to keep Dana in its spotlight.

  I was beginning not to care about any of it. More of Dana's happy pills must have stayed down than I thought. I had no worries. If she got away? Eh. Who cares? Odd. But why fight it?

  Dana was in waist-deep now. She dove in, swimming toward the center of the river to catch the strongest current.

  Oh, but she'd chosen the wrong spot of the river for an escape. The right spot to dump a body like mine. The current was strong and would carry a body away. But it didn't care whether that body was dead or alive. Either worked.

  The river caught Dana and pulled her under. Yeah, there was a dangerous undertow in this part of the river. Everyone knew that. It took a minute, but I figured it out—she had taken me to the most dangerous spot in the river. The spot with more drownings than any other, the notorious bowl and bend.

  At the riverbank, Ridge shrugged off his jacket.

  "No! Don't, Ridge," I screamed at him, frustrated my hands were still bound. I couldn't cup them and make my voice louder. "Don't. The undertow is deadly."

  He'd be swept away, too. And even though I didn't feel as worried as I should I have, a part of me, deep in my heart and soul, knew that I couldn't lose him, too. I couldn't stand losing both Rut and Ridge.

  Dana bobbed back up and screamed for help.

  Ridge didn't listen to me. But by the time he kicked his shoes off, Dana's screams had stopped. The river pulled her under. Ridge stood on the bank, looking for her and calling her name.

  Danas bob, but they don't bob back, I thought. Yeah, I was becoming silly.

  We waited, but she didn't reappear.

  The copter's spotlight crisscrossed the river, searching for her. Ridge stood on the riverbank staring out at the river as he slipped his shoes on. Matt joined him.

  I struggled to my feet and cleared my throat, hoping someone might notice me and untie me. The moist ground was cold. Dana had been right—I wasn't afraid and no longer nauseated.

  Ridge finally turned, pulled out his phone, and walked back to me. He yelled to Matt to call the King County marine rescue unit. He wasn't giving up on Dana just yet. But I knew it was going to be a body recovery, not a rescue mission.

  I was a mess. I had grass in my hair. My mouth tasted foul. And if I wasn't mistaken, there was blood matted in my hair at the back of my head where Dana had initially clobbered me at the shop, probably with the same tire iron.

  I held my hands out to Ridge. "Untie me, cowboy?"

  His eyes narrowed. "You seem remarkably calm and happy for someone who's just been through what you have."

  I shrugged and smiled. Almost dying seemed like an inconsequential thing at that moment. "I'm happy to be alive. Isn't that enough?"

  He took my hands and made short work of untying Dana's knots. Ridge had always been good with knots.

  When my hands were free, I threw myself into his arms and pressed my head against his chest, listening to the reassuring thumping of his heart. Feeling the warmth of his arms like I had the tens of dozens of times I'd turned to him for comfort and strength. Like I had after Rut died. Lingering. I felt his lips on the top of my hair. And his fingers at the back of my head.

  "James, you're bleeding."

  "Uh huh." I hugged him tighter. "Dana hit me with something at the shop. Maybe the same tire iron she was going to use again. Maybe something else. Check Flourish. Check the trunk. Check the tire iron she dropped on the riverbank. Later."

  "I'll call for an ambulance."

  "No need," I said into his perfectly muscled chest. "I'm in no pain."

  "Clearly," he said. "I think you're concussed."

  "And high. Dana gave me something for the pain—happy pills."

  "I see," he said.

  "A lot," I said. "More than the daily recommended dose. She forced them on me. But I threw some up."

  "Good to know. You need to be examined by a doctor."

  "Take me for a ride in the squad car. You can drive me to emergency. Like old times." I felt him hesitate. "Thank you for not going in the river," I said before he could protest and say he was needed here. I needed him. I needed him more than I ever had. "You're the one who's always warned me not to swim at the bowl and bend. And we all know I'm the better swimmer."

  I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to refute me. But he didn't. "Even if you could have reached Dana, she would have been determined to drown you. Panicked people always do. She was a lost cause. She called for help, but she didn't really want to be 'rescued.' She wanted to escape." I looked up into his eyes.

  I caught him by surprise. There was that hungry look that he veiled most of the time. I only saw it when he thought I wasn't looking. I knew what it meant. I knew the power of the emotion behind it. I felt it too. I hid what I felt, the same as he did. We both danced around it. But the desire was there. In this fearless, near-death moment, it seemed ridiculous to fight it.

  I licked my lips and lifted my face to his. "Ridge, I couldn't stand for you to die. I can't live without you and Rut. I need you. I've always needed you."

  He took my chin and stared into my eyes.

  I stared back. "I think I love you." I closed my eyes, waiting for his kiss.

  "What kind of drugs did you say Dana gave you?"

  That was not what I'd been expecting or wanting.

  "Happy pills," I said, unconcerned. And surprisingly not hurt or stung the way he'd just ignored my profession of love. "Like oral surgeons use. But I already said I threw most of them up."

  He took my arm and yelled to Matt, "Dana drugged Jamie. Gave her some kind of sedative. I need you to take her to emergency. I'll wait for marine rescue and finish up here."

  I pouted and batted my eyelashes at Ridge, totally unfazed that he didn't echo my sentiments of love. Or that I was probably making a fool of myself. Or that I wasn't really sure I meant love love and not deep friendship kind of love. Or maybe I did. I felt something very deeply.

  Matt hustled over to escort me. Ridge handed me off.

  "Wait a minute! Wait a minute." I struggled against Matt and yelled at Ridge, "How did you find me?"

  "I picked up your call just in time to hear you grunt in pain and go silent. I must have caught you right when Dana clubbed you. Someone hung up. When I called you back, you didn't answer. I knew you were in trouble."

  "Impeccable timing, as always," I said. "But how did you know Dana had me and where she'd take me?"

 
"I've suspected Dana for a while. I did some looking into her family finances to make sure she really didn't need money. There's some fishy stuff going on there. They spend like there's no tomorrow, but they're up to their eyeballs in debt. Credit cards all maxed out. Her husband had more than half the attributes of an embezzler. So I talked to the startup he works for. Asked them to take a look. They were already getting suspicious. The finances didn't add up. Sure enough, a quick audit turned up enough to charge him. They'll haul him in anytime now. They were waiting, hoping Dana would make a move."

  "You're welcome," I said, laughing. "She certainly made her move."

  "Yeah." He didn't look like he thought it was funny. "I knew Dana was at your event tonight. When you didn't answer when I called back, I put out an APB for her car. Someone saw it heading out of town. I made a guess this is where she'd head."

  "You were always a good guesser."

  "Yeah," he said.

  "Ridge?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You know I really do love you. You're my best friend. You and Nora."

  "I know," he said. "I love you too. Now do me a favor and go with Matt. Your happiness is creeping me out."

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Several Weeks Later

  I don't put out subscription boxes every month. I do them maybe ten times a year or so. Some for holidays—Mother's Day, Halloween, Christmas. Some with themes, like my popular annual bridal and birthday boxes. Some by season—my spring, summer, and fall boxes. I spread them out throughout the year. When it's time to put them together, I throw a work party. My friends and family come over and help me sort, stuff, pack, label, and mail. We drink wine and coffee. Eat chocolate and snacks. And when the job is over, I thank them each with one of the boxes and a heartfelt hug.

  For my spring box, I had been planning another theme. But after all that had happened, I changed course and themes. I had to get past the horror of the last weeks and make something good out of it. So my new theme was simple—You Make My Heart Smile, being thankful for all the people you love. Included in the box were a set of notecards with the quote, made by me, and a mug, also with the quote, tea, heart-shaped chocolates made by a local chocolatier, a small, high-end rose-scented perfume. Not Madame Rose. I think it will be a longtime before I can stand the scent of that again. And in every box was a surprise gift item from Culp's that I got at liquidation prices. Maybe a picture frame. Maybe a pen.

  Dana was dead. I had been right about that. Marine rescue became marine recovery. A fisherman found her body two days later beneath a bridge down river. The day before her body was discovered, the authorities arrested her husband Dwight for embezzlement. Dana's boys inherited Culp's and Earleen's house. The estate hired a liquidator to dispose of Culp's stock at pennies on the dollar. And I bought enough of it for the boxes. It was my way of honoring Earleen's memory, and helping Dana's boys, who were being packed off to live with their dad's parents. Surprisingly, among all the gaudy stuff Culp's carried, there were some elegant things, too.

  After my name was cleared and the media made a big deal of me solving the murder, I became famous in a good way. Clients came flocking back. New business poured in. I went to the wedding fair and was single-handedly responsible for record turnout. And my subscription boxes sold out in record time. Flourish was flourishing again.

  Rosemary came to help me get organized and set up. I paid her, of course. She was my employee. A crowd of our eager workers gathered on the sidewalk in front of the store. When we were ready for them, I opened the doors of Flourish. "Let the packing begin!"

  I greeted and hugged each person—Auntie Opal, Nora, Angel, Wanda and the wine and lettering gang, Hallie, Sue, even Jack. Many of them had come by the hospital to see me. More of them had brought me meals and flowers and sat with me while I convalesced at home for the next week.

  My crew got right to work, laughing and enjoying themselves without restraint. There was no tension now.

  I hauled boxes from the storeroom. Auntie Opal fluttered around me. "You should be taking it easy. You had a head injury. You were in the hospital four days."

  I looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

  She broke out laughing. "Am I overdoing it?"

  "I think you can tone it down now," I said. "All this hovering isn't like you. I've put up with it for weeks now. Can you go back to the slightly gruff Auntie Opal I know and love?"

  "You got it, kid. What do you want me to do?"

  I pointed her to a table and a stack of tissue. "You can line boxes with tissue paper."

  She saluted and got to work.

  Over at her station, Wanda's crew was carefully packing boxes according to my instructions. "Jamie, did you hear? The Culp's building sold. Paul said he got a good, but fair, price for it."

  "Who bought it?" I asked. "Phyllis and Artie?"

  "No." Wanda laughed. "Rest easy. As it turns out, Earleen's life insurance turned out to be a lot less than Phyllis was counting on. Enough for her funeral and maybe an inexpensive vacation. Maybe a new sofa. Think about it—why would a single person need life insurance except for funeral expenses?"

  Wanda made a good point. I shouldn't have been, but I felt a little sorry for Phyllis.

  "Someone from out of town bought the building," Wanda said. "A young guy. Paul says he's quite personable."

  "An out-of-towner? He must be brave. What's he going to do with the building?" I asked, curious as to whether I'd have new competition.

  "No idea," Wanda said. "Paul said he was kind of vague. Something high-tech, maybe? A small startup? Something in the wedding business? I don't know. Don't quote me. He outbid everybody, all the local businesspeople. They're pretty furious. If the new guy doesn't do something in the wedding or event business, people will really scream. I mean, the building is right on the edge of Lighthouse Gardens."

  "Yeah. And it has a great view."

  The front door opened. I looked away from Wanda just in time to see Ridge walk in.

  Wanda nudged me. "Go say hi to the man."

  Easy to say. Things had been awkward between us since that night by the river when I professed my love for him. And he abandoned me for the duties of the job. To be fair, he hustled to the hospital as soon as he could. And sat by my bed until the doctor assured him I should recover completely. There were a few dicey hours where my brain started to swell before they got it under control without drilling. Fortunately, the drugs worked.

  It turned out Dana had hit me with the tire iron at Flourish. Yeah, glad I hadn't known that then. Or just how much damage she'd done. I had a bald patch on the back of my head and stitches that were beginning to itch. I'd never been so thankful for my hard head. She hadn't been lying when she said she'd hoped I wouldn't wake up.

  "Hey," I said to Ridge, and pulled him into a hug.

  "Hey to you." He motioned with his chin. "Where do you want me?"

  There were several answers that came to mind. None of them appropriate here. None of them I was sure we were ready for. "I could use some brawn in the storeroom. Jack's managing it single-handedly right now."

  "You got it."

  We broke our embrace before it became obvious we were holding on too long. He took a step toward the storeroom.

  "Ridge."

  He paused.

  "Thanks for coming. You know I really do love you? There's no way I could live without one of my two best friends in the world."

  "I know," he said. "Back at you." He leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Relax, James. I know that was the happy drugs, as you called them, talking." He kissed my cheek and headed for the storeroom.

  But was it, Ridge?

  I looked out at the happy, busy group in front of me.

  You make my heart smile. Each and every one of you.

  NEXT UP: Jamie’s excited to be working with her good friend and master penman, Ralph Coggins. When Ralph turns up dead, it’s up to Jamie to find his killer.

  Keep reading in KU for free or purchase IN THE
NIB OF TIME. Book 2 of the Hand Lettering Mystery series.

  About the Author

  Jessa Archer writes sweet, funny, warm-hearted cozy mysteries because she loves a good puzzle and can't stand the sight of blood. Her characters are witty, adventurous, and crafty in the nicest way. You'll find her sleuths hand lettering inspirational quotes, trying to lower golf handicaps, enjoying a scone at a favorite teashop, knitting a sweater, or showing off a dramatic side in local theater.

  Jessa's done many things in her long career, including a stint as a journalist and practicing law. But her favorite job is spinning mysteries. She loves playing small town sleuth and transporting readers to a world where the scones are delicious, wine pairs with hand lettering, and justice always prevails.

  If you want to know when Jessa's next book will be available, visit her website, www.jessaarcher.com where you can sign up for her newsletter.

  www.jessaarcher.com

  Copyright © 2019 by Jessa G. Archer

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Amy Queau

  Interior Quote Design, Map, and Practice Sheet: The County Flair

  Who Shot the Serif?/Jessa Archer. — 1st ed.