Read A Minute on the Lips Online
Authors: Cheryl Harper
A Minute on the Lips
“All right, Mr. Taylor. If I have any more questions, I know where to find you.”
Mark Taylor started to ease himself out of the booth but then paused. He didn’t want to leave.
Andi raised her eyebrows.
“You know, Sheriff,” he said. “I’m a pretty good investigator. I spent a few years working the crime beat for the state paper before I came here.” His skills might be a little rusty, but he thought offering to help might get him into the tight-lipped sheriff’s good graces. Getting any details out of her was next to impossible. “I’d be happy to assist with your investigation. We could exchange information. Sure would make my job easier and the story better.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Taylor. I’ll let you know.”
He shrugged one shoulder and stood. “I guess I’ll just have to stick close to you, Sheriff Jackson. For my readers.”
Dear Reader,
A Minute on the Lips
began with a single scene that popped into my head as I was driving. I was taking a break from a local writer’s contest and mulling over how I could write a beginning chapter with mystery elements.
I was also lost. This happens to me when I explore new places.
While driving in circles in the small town I’d chosen to explore for the day and searching for a fabric store, I passed a diner on the town square. The group of business-suited men gathered out front sparked an idea and became a collection of fun characters I’d never met. I enjoyed finding out their stories.
I hope that when you meet them, you’ll smile, too.
Cheryl Harper
CHERYL HARPER
discovered her love for books and words as a little girl, thanks to a mother who made countless library trips and an introduction to Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House stories. Whether it’s the prairie, the American West, Regency England or earth a hundred years in the future, Cheryl enjoys strong characters who make her laugh. Now Cheryl spends her days searching for the right words while she stares out the window and her dog Jack snoozes beside her. And she considers herself very lucky to do so.
For more information about Cheryl’s books, visit her online at www.cherylharperbooks.com or follow her on Twitter: @cherylharperbks.
Deciding to call myself a writer has been a scary and amazing journey. I’m lucky enough to have great family and friends who never hesitated to encourage me, thought I could do it when I wasn’t so sure, and always laughed in the right spots. And I owe a special thanks to my friend Susan, who took me to my first writing workshop and has supplied so many great titles like
A Minute on the Lips
through the years.
CHAPTER ONE
“O
THER
DUTIES
AS
assigned” should be etched on Sheriff Andrea Jackson’s office door. In fact, that could be the entire job description wrapped up in one neat phrase. As she drove into town, Andi had no idea what the day might bring—investigating, wild-animal wrangling, babysitting or some crazy-making combination of all three with an added wild-card adventure.
Andi made the full circle around the redbrick courthouse before she headed toward the office. As she pulled to a stop in front of the sign that read Reserved for Sheriff, Nettie, the part-time dispatcher, walked out to meet her.
“Morning, Sheriff, hon. Jackie over at the diner called to demand an investigation of his crime scene.” She held up a cup of steaming black coffee. “I think you better head on over there first thing.”
“Thanks, Nettie,” Andi mumbled as she latched on to the cup and dragged it through the window. Caffeine didn’t do much to wake her up after sleepless nights, but it did signal to her brain that it was time to get to work.
Campaigning and elections made it hard to sleep. Instead of getting up to do something productive that calmed her worries—like knitting or reading or eating half a gallon of ice cream—she’d stubbornly clung to her pillow and given herself the “go to sleep” lecture. That never worked. Neither did logically pointing out that she had only
this many
hours to sleep. One worry led to one regret, which led to a long guilt trip or a short visit to Anxiousville, population: one. The middle of the night could be rough. As the number of hours available to sleep shrank, so did her ability to do anything other than stare at the clock.
After a quick sip of coffee, Andi buckled her seat belt again and waved. “I’ll head over there first, Nettie. If anything important comes up, use the radio.”
“Sure thing, Sheriff, hon,” Nettie answered. “Good luck!”
Andi nodded and pulled away. Nettie had been a bingo buddy of Andi’s grandmother since bingo was invented. Even though Andi was an adult member of the county’s law enforcement team, Nettie had a hard time adjusting, so more times than not, she said “Sheriff, hon.” It didn’t bother Andi enough to try to change it, and she needed every good-luck wish she could get. This was not her first run-in with Jackie. He took his food very seriously, had the sheriff’s office on speed dial and loved the threat of a good lawsuit.
As Andi rolled to a stop in front of the diner, she thought the town of Tall Pines might be at full capacity. It was going to be hot again, but cars lined both sides of the two-lane highway through the middle of town. October was the height of the season, and even though it was unusually warm, traffic had picked up accordingly. Arts-and-crafts fans meandered along the sidewalks. They might have wandered on into Jackie’s Country Kitchen except he had the door barred and a small group blocked the entrance.
Andi could see Jackie’s beady, excited eyes over the top of the crowd. He was standing on the bench he’d pulled over to block the door to the diner. Andi would need to get that fixed pretty darn quick or she and Jackie would both be on the mayor’s hit list.
Andi glanced over the crowd as she asked, “Jackie, what seems to be the problem?”
Jackie wrinkled his brow in an ugly frown. “Sheriff, the problem is that I’ve got a crime scene here, and I don’t want any of these suspects or looky-loos to muddy up the evidence.”
Right
. Andi nodded, hoping Jackie would think she cared as deeply as she had the first time she’d answered one of his calls. Or even the second or third. Then she hadn’t realized how frequently she’d be giving Jackie the same nod. Now she knew better than to get her hopes up for a real case. “Why don’t we go inside and have a look? And we can move that bench right back under the window, to get things back to normal.”
Even before she got the second sentence out of her mouth, Jackie was shaking his head. The few red hairs that remained on top stirred in the weak breeze. “No, ma’am, first get statements from every one of these suspects. Then I’ll let you in to look around, take your fingerprints and do any of that forensic investigation. You better hurry it up, though. I’m losing the breakfast crowd.”
Andi stifled a heavy sigh as she looked at the crowd of “suspects” and decided it would be easier to go along with Jackie at this point. He wasn’t going to like that her forensic investigation would be sorely lacking. She could take fingerprints and get some photos, but considering the crowd that went through the diner, unless she found something really out of the ordinary, she’d have a hard time calling anything she found evidence. Thanks to television, everyone expected her to have a crime lab, a source at Homeland Security and a psychic in her back pocket. In most cases, Andi’s resources were limited to her powers of observation—which were pretty good. She was also lucky to work with talented deputies. For almost two years, they had been enough to stay on top of petty crime, not-so-friendly disputes, domestic violence calls, small drug busts and general safety concerns in Tall Pines. No laboratories needed.
Andi pulled out her pad to take down the names of Jackie’s suspects. As Andi surveyed Wanda Blankenship’s tiny tank and long, lean legs exposed by very short shorts, she nearly convinced herself that Wanda was guilty of whatever had been perpetrated. Any woman who looked as good as she did with that much skin showing had to be up to no good. Feeling just a little guilty about judging Wanda’s book by its cover, Andi straightened her shoulders in her neat, perfectly serviceable uniform, smoothed back any hairs that had escaped her no-nonsense ponytail, and asked, “Wanda, do you want to start?”
She shrugged. Andi figured she had to be innocent. There was no way she could hide a murder weapon or the crown jewels in that outfit. “Sheriff, I was jogging through town when Jackie grabbed me.”
Jackie bent to point a bony finger in her face. “You were running away from the diner. If you didn’t take it, you saw who did.”
“Has something been stolen, Jackie?” Andi was surprised. And excited. Traffic tickets and accident reports kept them busy, but
this
was the kind of work she’d signed on to do.
He narrowed his eyes at Andi. “Yes, but I won’t say what it is. One of these people knows and they’ll confess.” He turned to face the man lounging beside the door. “Or else.”
Andi watched the stupid smirk cross the stupid face of the way-too-smart newspaper editor and suddenly felt hot under the collar of her uniform. There was always a gleam of mischief in his gray eyes, as if he could see right through her. Mark Taylor had moved into Tall Pines to take over the paper almost two years ago. And then he’d taught her a very valuable lesson: never trust a reporter. Following his leading questions, she’d been too helpful, too prominent, too speculative. Determined to show just how well she could do her job in the early days after her election, she’d given him way too much information on the county’s domestic violence stats for an article he’d been working on, and she’d been paying the price with the local business and community leaders ever since. And instead of appearing only in the Tall Pines
Times,
the story had gone to the state paper, painting a stark picture of what really goes on behind closed doors even in quaint tourist towns.
Everything he’d printed had been true. He just hadn’t told the whole story.
People had stopped her on the street to explain how stupid they thought she was. And she’d gotten one angry, vaguely threatening note in her mailbox at home. She wanted to hate him for it, but he’d been doing his job. He sold a lot of papers, and she should have been wiser. It had been an excellent lesson: a little truth could travel a very long way in the hands of someone determined to twist it. “No comment” was her favorite answer any time he called now. Since then, unless something was part of the public record or a feel-good piece for community outreach, she’d made up her mind to say as little as possible to anyone who might write it down and publish it for the world to see. She’d also stopped reports to the local radio station and had to think long and hard before she answered any emails to her office.
None of that kept him from calling, emailing or stopping her on the street to ask for updates or quotes. And sometimes she thought he did it just to annoy her. For him, it wasn’t that hard.
Obviously she couldn’t trust Mark Taylor. But he bothered her more than she’d care to admit. He was always rumpled, but it was hard to pinpoint the problem exactly. Maybe it was his hair. He knew his way around styling products. Hair that perfectly messy and adorable had to be worked at, didn’t it? And it wasn’t his height. As the girl who’d held down the middle of every back row of every class picture all the way through middle school, Andi knew a thing about height. And Mark Taylor was only average. He’d certainly never played center on the high school basketball team. As Andi studied the smirk on his face, she figured him for a fast, sneaky guard, the kind that would score before she even knew he was in the neighborhood. And that was likely the problem. Mark Taylor was smooth. And Andi distrusted both the eternally rumpled and the naturally smooth.
He’d moved to town and slipped right into the flow as if he’d always been here. Andi had heard plenty of stories about his Little League sponsorship, his volunteering to help the high school yearbook staff and his charming smile. The ladies of Tall Pines loved him and loved to talk about him. She’d been born and raised here. The only family she had was here, but Andi still felt so out of step some days.
As Mark’s eyes met hers, his left eyebrow rose. And that one small gesture reminded her she was supposed to be investigating...something. “Sheriff, you have any questions for me? I’m completely at your service, but yesterday Joe Sales told me the fish are biting and Spring Lake is calling my name.”
She shrugged and did her best not to blush at being caught off guard. The only solution was to cut to the chase. “What brought you to the diner, Taylor?” He’d rattled her with one question and a mobile eyebrow.
He pointed at Jackie. “This one called me before I even made it out the door and demanded I get over here. When I asked him why, he said I knew why and I better get to the diner or I’d be in serious trouble.”
“And do you know why?”
He smiled slowly and shook his head. “Nope. No idea. But it might make for an entertaining story.” He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “Entertain me, Sheriff.”
Jackie propped both hands on his hips. “You were the first person I thought of, newspaper man. I know you’re jealous of my recipes. I better not see any more turn up in that blessed newspaper or I’m gonna lawyer up, you see if I don’t.”
At last year’s chili cook-off, Jackie won again, as he had every year since the contest started, but Mark, the new kid in the pot, won second place and published his recipe, minus one secret ingredient, in the paper. Jackie was convinced the recipe had been based on his. He’d never been able to explain how Taylor had gotten it or why he’d steal a recipe to alter it, but Taylor had produced a stained, handwritten recipe and a character witness in the form of his mother to prove his innocence. And he’d taken Jackie’s accusations the same way he took everything: with a joke and a laugh. If Jackie was a man who took his cooking seriously, Mark Taylor seemed to be a man who took nothing seriously. Well, maybe nothing but the news and how well it sold, anyway.
Andi noticed Mark Taylor noticing Wanda and wished she could arrest him for something, anything, but that’s not a game she wanted to play with the newspaper man, especially in an election year.
Before Andi could question the other man at the scene, Jackie’s busboy, Oscar, Jackie motioned at him. “And Oscar didn’t see anything.”
Oscar nodded. Andi and Oscar looked at each other and waited. Apparently that was his best answer. One quick glance at Taylor showed he was politely refusing to laugh. Andi had no idea how long that would hold out or what would happen to her temper if he did laugh. It was definitely time to get to the bottom of this.
“Jackie, why don’t you show me what’s missing? And walk me through your arrival.”
He hopped down from the bench and pushed open the door. The small group followed him in and froze in the doorway. Winning twelve chili championships means lots of trophies. A man like Jackie puts those trophies front and center so all who enter his restaurant may be astounded by his performance. And now Jackie had a big, empty trophy case with faint outlines of where the trophies used to live.
Andi waved her hand vaguely over the large case. “All right, so your trophies...they’re missing?”
Jackie’s glare was intense, but what bothered Andi was the sight of Taylor taking notes.
“Listen, Sheriff, the trophies are important, but they aren’t nearly as valuable as the safe. This week’s receipts, all my recipes—” Jackie rubbed his forehead and for the first time Andi noticed that he was worried “—and some important papers, things of mine and Mona’s...they’re all gone! Worse, somebody’s got ’em!” He was more agitated than usual.
Andi wished she’d spent more time mainlining hot black coffee before attempting the day. “Show me the safe, Jackie.”
The whole group followed him through the swinging door and crammed into his small office. The safe door was hanging open, and the safe was empty.
“I won’t rest until I have everything back and whoever stole it is rotting in jail,” Jackie said. Andi didn’t doubt he meant what he said.
He turned to glare at Taylor. “If it’s not the no-good newspaper man, then this girl here—” he motioned disdainfully at Wanda, who looked like she’d never been inside the Country Kitchen or any other establishment that served fried food in her life “—she knows who was here. She’s got a guilty look about her.”
In reality, she looked mildly revolted as she surveyed the diner and tried to make herself as small as possible, as if the fat in the air might attach itself to her thighs somehow. Taylor was amused. Oscar was bored. None of them seemed interested in trophies or recipes. It was hard to rule out an interest in money. “How much do you think was taken?” Andi had no idea how much business the Country Kitchen did, but any loss would be hard to absorb.