Sweet as Honey (Aster Valley 2)

“They came to check on me because of the fire,” Truman said instead.

“You should be resting,” Barney said. “All this attention must be making you uncomfortable.”

Truman pushed up his glasses, and I noticed a furrow of confusion between his eyes. “No? It’s nice, actually. It’s really nice that everyone cares.”

“Well, be that as it may, it’s time for them to get back to work and allow you to get on with your day. We have quite a few tasks to organize to get the shop officially closed down.” They moved into the kitchen where I was pretending to inspect a cabinet door handle that wasn’t even pretend-loose.

“Closed down?” Truman asked. “You mean boarded up?”

“Hi, Mr. Balderson,” Chaya said politely. “I think Sam here volunteered to do some of that work. He’s certainly strong enough to haul those big sheets of plywood around.” She reached out and squeezed my biceps.

I tilted my head at her. She hadn’t been the least bit flirty with me, so why was she acting this way now?

Truman blushed. “He doesn’t need to do that.”

Barney looked annoyed. “Certainly not. I’m sure we can hire some manual labor to knock out those menial tasks. I thought we could make a punch list of what all needs to be done.”

Tiller and Mikey wandered over, and Tiller chimed in. “We’re happy to help. We have nothing scheduled today, so Sam can put us to work.” He clapped me on the shoulder and met my eyes. “And we’re going to go ahead and pick up another car so you can have full use of the SUV.”

I opened my mouth to argue, and Tiller cut me off. “We need a second car here anyway, so this isn’t about you.”

They were good friends, and I loved seeing their support of Truman. Tiller and Mikey had always been the kind of friends to drop everything and come running. They’d helped Sophie with the baby plenty of times when no one else had been available.

“Call us when you know how we can pitch in,” Tiller said before leading Mikey out. Everyone else eventually said their own goodbyes until Chaya, Barney, and I were the only people still sharing the kitchen with Truman.

I didn’t want to make things awkward for Truman, so I decided to duck out. There was no harm in letting Barney help make a to-do list. Truman needed friends who were going to be able to help him for more than a couple of days. “I need to run a few errands and pick up some supplies. Are you okay here for a bit?”

Truman looked surprised, but he nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll swing by the shop and find out how much plywood you need. If you think of anything else you want from the hardware store, just shoot me a text.”

I turned to say goodbye to Chaya and saw her give me a wink. I wasn’t quite sure what it meant until she made a big deal about “sticking around to help out.” Somehow, I was already on good terms with Truman’s best friend, and it made me feel an odd sense of relief.

As I made my way into town on the rented motorcycle, I enjoyed the fresh mountain air in my face and the twists and turns of the road leading to town. The Honeyed Lemon looked even worse in the daylight than it had last night. From what I could see through the broken windows, the interior was nothing but a collection of black char. The front doorway was blocked with a pile of debris that looked like the twisted remains of the shop’s heavy wooden and glass doors. The metal lock mechanism still looked intact which wasn’t surprising considering any arsonist with a brain would have come in from the dark alleyway in the back.

I was surprised to see only one official-looking vehicle parked nearby. Maybe I could get a look inside and see if there was anything salvageable to take back to Truman.

After making my way around the building to the back door, I carefully stepped inside. Off to one side of the back hallway was a storage room full of shelves dripping with dirty water and the charred remains of cardboard boxes. Shattered glass jars covered the dirty wet floor, and a terrible smell with an acrid spice tinge permeated the place. I was grateful Truman wasn’t here to see it.

“Stop right there,” a voice boomed from further inside the shop. “This is a crime scene, and it’s unsafe for entry. Remove yourself the way you came. Carefully.”

A crime scene? Did that mean arson had been confirmed?

“I’m a friend of the owner. He wanted me to check to see what we needed to do to protect his assets,” I replied.

A helmeted man ducked through the doorway from the main part of the shop. He was dressed in a protective jumpsuit and wore a face mask. I wanted to kick myself for not thinking about the possibility of toxic fumes or particulates.