Page 34 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, stepping closer. Then she crouches down next to my armchair, setting the box on the ground beside her.
It’s the same way she crouched next to Carmina’s chair at the table yesterday. I banish that image from my mind, though I know it will return to haunt me again anyway.
“I have the envelope,” she whispers. “It’s upstairs.”
“Can I look at it?” I say.
She nods, standing up. “I can slip away for a second.” Then she uses her foot to push her cardboard box closer to the armchair so that it’s out of the way.
I stand too, turning and placing my laptop and notebook in my chair. I hesitate, though, and then change my mind, grabbing my things and tucking them under my arm.
For most of the year, I wouldn’t worry much about someone stealing my things. This is Sunshine Springs; I know at least half the residents personally, and I recognize the other half by sight. But during the summer, our little town turns into something of a tourist hub, partly from people making pit stops on their way north to bigger places like Jackson Hole or Yellowstone. We also get tourists visiting the natural hot springs we’re named for. I’m sure someday someone will build a resort or something around those springs, but for now they’re a hidden gem, located a little way outside of town and toward the Teton Valley.
It’s the tourists I don’t fully trust with my laptop. So my things will come with me.
I follow Heidi as she weaves through the bookshelves, nodding at Calvin when we pass the sales counter and then eyeing Jojo. I’m always interested to hear what that bird has to say, but today he’s silent, hopping around on his bar and rustling his feathers. Heidi and I are silent too, making our way up the narrow stairs until we reach her door. A few seconds later, it’s unlocked.
“Here,” she says as she opens the door. She moves immediately to her little kitchen table. She picks up the envelope that’s lying there and then turns and hands it to me.
She was right; it’s a completely normal-looking envelope, except for the sticky note attached. I read the threatening words a few times, noting the handwriting especially; I’m certainly no expert, but it looks like a man’s writing to me.
“Do you think a man wrote this, or a woman?” I say, still looking at the jagged letters.
“I get male vibes,” Heidi says immediately, and I nod.
“Me too.”
“Not that vibes are necessarily anything to go on,” she adds.
“No,” I say quickly. “They’re not.”
“But still.” She bites her lip—which I donotstare at, because I am mostly a gentleman—and goes on, “I don’t know what to do with it. Do you think I should turn it in to the police? That seems like something they’d want.”
I nod again. “I think that would be best. I don’t know what happened to Carmina, but if this came from her purse, it would probably be relevant. You said it was underneath that other armchair?”
“Yes,” she says. “And it’s not far from the table where Carmina—” She breaks off, clearing her throat. “Where her stuff spilled. I think it’s hers, and it probably got kicked by an errant foot or something and slid under there.”
That seems the most likely to me too. Her initials on the front of the envelope and theold hagreference seem like decent indicators. Heck, I thinkImight have called her that before.
“Okay,” Heidi says with a sigh. “I need to get back downstairs.”
“Yeah,” I say, handing her the envelope. “Let’s go. Thanks for letting me take a look.”
When we get back downstairs, Heidi retrieves her box, but I stand staring at my armchair. Someone has taken my seat—a tourist with a fanny pack and a Yellowstone t-shirt.
My little stab of irritation feels an awful lot like penance.
* * *
Two police officersshow up midday. They’re so mismatched that it would be funny, were it not for the looks on their faces. They’re both men, one tall and thin with red hair, one short and fat with blond.
But their expressions are far too serious for someplace as cheerful as the bookshop. Sure, it’s a little cramped in here, but the sun pours through the front windows, and the walls are a buttery yellow, and—if I were the kind of man to use such words—I would call the checkered floor of the caféadorable.And while I am a firm believer in the power of the written word for anyone and everyone, policemen included…I don’t think they’re here to find a summer read.
Did Heidi call them to come take the envelope? I figured she would run it over to the station later. Maybe she called them instead.
She appears from nowhere, bustling over to them. They’re standing in the entrance, looking around; I feel an inexplicable twinge of foreboding when their eyes fall on me.
“Hi,” Heidi says, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. She’s nervous now, fidgety in little ways that she tries to conceal, and there’s no box in her hands to hide behind.
