Page 58 of Juniper Bean Resorts to Murder

“Naturally,” Juniper says with a nod. “Go.”

“Great,” Caroline says. “I’ll just continue to live vicariously through you.”

Juniper laughs, but it doesn’t sound quite natural. My eyes narrow as I study her, trying to figure out why she sounds so weird. I think…huh. Interesting.

I think she can’t quite tell if Caroline is making fun of her or not.

“Yeah?” Juniper says, running one hand self-consciously over her hair.

“Yeah,” Caroline says. “You’re rocking the pink bob and wearing sexy dresses and writing books and picking locks—no, Myra, put it back! Put it back on the counter. We do not eat soap, sweetheart—hey, you two, I have to run. Let me know how it goes.” And then she’s gone, the call ending in a flurry of breathless chaos.

“She was being serious,” I say, because Juniper is still looking like she can’t quite tell. But whatever else Caroline is—loud, nagging, overly involved, nosy—she’s not a bully, and she’s not mean. “About living vicariously through you or whatever. She wasn’t making fun of you.”

“Ah,” Juniper says now, looking uncomfortable. It’s a weird expression on her, one that doesn’t fit quite right. “Glad to know I’m so transparent.”

I shrug, picking up a handful of the bobby pins still piled on the counter. “So are we gonna do this or not?” Changing the subject seems like the tactful thing to do here.

“Yes,” she says, her expression clearing. “Yes. Okay. So if you don’t want to use your door—”

“I really don’t.”

“Then we can use mine. But I need you to go inside the room in case I can’t pick the lock. I don’t want to end up locked out of my own bedroom.”

“So you just need me to hang out in your room while you try to unlock the door from the outside,” I clarify. “That’s it?”

“Yep,” she says, scooping up the remaining bobby pins. She pushes them to the edge of the counter and then catches them in her other hand, and for the first time I notice that today her nails are army green.

Well, sitting in her room won’t be bad. I’ll bring a book.

So I run to my room and grabHamlet, emerging a second later. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it, I guess.”

Juniper eyes the book I’m holding, mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “wildly pretentious,” and then heads out of the kitchen, bobby pins in hand. I follow her—up the big stairs, around the corner, and up the little stairs. I wait for her to open the door, just to be polite, and she ushers me inside.

“Go in and lock the door,” she instructs. “Feel free to poke around or lie on the bed or whatever. Make yourself comfortable.”

I nod, stepping into the small loft and closing the door behind me. I turn the lock and then take a second to look around, trying to decide where to land.

And…well. My intentions really are pure at first.

I brought my book for a reason, after all. I fully intend to sit on the bed and read while Juniper tinkers with the lock.

Except…I’ve never been in Juniper’s room before. Not since she moved in. And regardless of my hold-ups about her, I can’t deny that I’m interested. Notinterestedinterested, as in romantically inclined. I’m just…interested. I’m curious. This woman frequently leaves me scratching my head.

“Hey,” I call before I can think better of it. When I hear a pause in the clicking and scraping sounds coming from the other side of the door, I say, “Can I really poke around?”

There’s a beat of silence before Juniper answers, “Yes—if you promise you won’t judge me no matter what you find. And…if I can do the same in your room.”

Of course I’m going to say no to that.

Right?

I’m going to say no to that, right?

“Deal,” I say. It slips past my lips too quickly, too easily. I press my hands to my cheeks, feeling them burn; I feel strangely naked having agreed to this. Not because of what she might find in my room, either—more because this proves to her that Iwantto learn more about her. I don’t need her getting the wrong idea.

But it’s too late now. I’ve opened the lid to my Pandora’s Box, the part of me that’s almost hungry for more information about this woman. I don’t want to count her bras or peek into her underwear drawer; I want to peek into her mind, her heart, her past. She’s managed to interrupt my life so thoroughly, and I want…more.

I wantmore.

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