Plotting for Murder (Cozy Mystery Bookshop Series Book 1)

by Tamra Baumann

  My stomach clenches. “Uncle Frank?”

  “Yep. He thought one of his properties would be a better fit than yours. He wanted me to present the idea to the restaurant owner. So, I’m presenting it.”

  What an underhanded move. No wonder most of my newly inherited properties sit empty. “Tell Uncle Frank that when pigs fly, he’ll have a deal.”

  “Got it.” Gage clears his throat again. “Want to have dinner with me tonight? There’s a new Thai place in the city I’ve wanted to try.”

  As much as I love Thai food and going into San Francisco for dinner, I’m determined to stay off the man train for the time being. “I can’t. I already have plans.” To hunt for whatever my mother left me. But he doesn’t need to know that.

  Gage jams his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Maybe some other time.”

  “Sure.” I slip the key into the new lock at the bookstore, and it turns nice and smooth. “Have a good day.”

  “You too.” Gage lifts a hand and walks away as Cooper and I enter the store.

  I take off Cooper’s leash, then hit the alarm and the lights. I’ll not touch anything regarding the golf ball until Dylan has a chance to check it all out. In the meantime, I head for the storage room to stash my lunch in the refrigerator. My imagination still in overdrive wonders if I’ll see a chalk outline on the floor like in the movies, but I don’t. All I see are stains on the concrete floor that I’m sure I don’t want to know the specifics of. I tug open the fridge and toss the brown bag lunches inside. And then a thought hits me, so I open the freezer. Isn’t that where everyone hides things?

  I stick my head inside. There’re ice cubes in the plastic bin, and an old single-serving frozen lasagna covered in crystals. Well, it couldn’t be that easy. Could it?

  At the sound of the buzzer, I hurry to the back door to let in Wilma, the croissant baker and world’s best maker of coffee, to fill us up for the day. “Good morning.”

  Wilma, who’s dark-haired and in her late fifties, never seems to age in an almost vampire-like way and is willow thin somehow, even surrounded by amazing baked goods all day. She says, “Morning, Sawyer. Sorry to hear about Chad.” She passes by with her rolling cart filled with goodies and sets out toward the showroom.

  “Me too.” I grab a box of croissants to help my mom’s best friend haul in the goods and so I can make my stomach stop growling at the same time. After we get to the dining area and I take a bite, I mumble, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything, sweetheart.” Wilma swaps out the insulated coffee carafes she refills daily. She’s had to bring two more a day since I’ve been here. I really need to cut back.

  “My mom and Chad never had anything more than a …business relationship. Did they?”

  Wilma smiles. “Your mom wasn’t a nun when it came to men, but she drew the line at men young enough to be her children.” Wilma puts the last empty carafe on her cart and is all packed up. “Zoe hired Chad’s father because he was the best gardener in the area. Chad inherited the business and his father’s skills, so she kept Chad on after his dad died. Your mom took great pride in her flowers. Nothing more.”

  Phew. That’s a relief. “Thanks, Wilma. Have a great day.”

  “You too.” Wilma surprises me when she wraps me up in a hug. “I’m glad you’ve decided to stay, Sawyer. Your mom always thought you belonged here. So get busy looking for what your mom left for you so that you can open that restaurant and we can have more than simple diner food around here.”

  The air whooshes from my lungs. “You know about what she left me?”

  “Not the specifics.” Wilma gives me one last squeeze and then releases me. “Just that your mom found a way to stick it to your Uncle Frank and help you at the same time.”

  My croissant grows heavy in my gut. “Who else knows?”

  “Just me and the Admiral before Thursday night. He called and said he felt he’d better tell Dylan just in case Chad had found out somehow. See you on Monday.”

  “Bye.” I lift a hand and watch her leave through the back room. The more people who know the secret, the more chances of a leak. I wish I knew for sure what Chad had been doing in the storeroom.

  As I consider the possibilities, it occurs to me that I own a dog now, and where the heck is he?

  Searching for my pup, I turn in a circle in the middle of the store filled with little reading nooks that make things cozy but are a shoplifter’s dream. Not that anyone would steal a book these days. They just pirate them online.

  Stretched out on his back, four paws in the air, sound asleep, Cooper is snoozing on the love seat in the front. A perfect spot to people-watch and sunbathe. Perhaps he didn’t get enough sleep last night for all the crying he did when I wouldn’t let him up on my bed. Or on any of the furniture at home.

  My sleep-deprived brain tells me to scold him for being on the couch, but he’s so darn cute and always ready for a cuddle that I’m going to have to fight the battles I can win. I can’t watch him all day at the store and work too. So I’ll enforce the rules at home and be happy with that.

  Cooper opens one eye, sends me a knowing doggy grin, then goes right back to sleep. That’s when I spot the golf ball in his mouth. Should’ve known he’d find that.

  On closer inspection, there’s something written on the ball. Cooper’s drool has made some of the letters run. It looks like the first word might have been my name. I can’t read the middle part of the message, but it ends in OME. Like Sawyer go home?

  Yikes. Someone did this on purpose.

  I grab my cell and text Dylan. Then I take a picture of the golf ball, making sure I get the brand and the partial message. I grab a tissue and wrap the ball for safekeeping.

  Feeling shaky all over at the direct threat, I go back to the register and grab the money from the safe under the front counter to load up the cash drawer. When I’m done, I unlock the front door to open for the day, refusing to be intimidated, because that’s clearly what the golf ball was intended to do.

  Could my uncle have something to do with this? Maybe he’s trying to scare me off, so I’ll leave and he can cash in on the trust? That’s probably it. If someone really wanted to send a threat, wouldn’t they do more damage than throw a little golf ball through the glass? Or did someone do that because they could stand across the street at the park to launch it, out of range of any security cameras? I had had a bit of a disagreement with the town council not long ago about changing the lettering on the bookshop’s windows. They want everyone on the square to match, but I think that’s silly and said so. Maybe this was the president Joe Kingsley’s way of reminding me I’m out of compliance?

  I should stop freaking out and wait to see what Dylan thinks before I lose it.

  Pushing down my fear, I pour coffee into my jumbo insulated metal cup and start in on my second croissant of the morning. Stress eating always helps what ails me.

  When the door opens and Brittany strolls in, I nearly choke on my coffee. “Thank you for being on time today.” Almost. I’ll take it.

  She shrugs. “Least I could do after getting paid for not working yesterday. I do get paid still, right?”

  I withhold my sigh, remembering what it’d been like to grow up surrounded by friends who had everything while I had very little. My mom was rich in real estate she couldn’t sell, but never in cash. “Of course. How about straightening up the shelves this morning to start?”

  Brittany pops her gum. “Fine.”

  I’m going to keep the golf ball incident quiet until I can speak to Dylan.

  The door opens, and in flies Madge, the always-in-a-hurry police dispatcher. She wears the sweaters she knits no matter the temperature. Today’s creation has a big yellow cat on an orange background. “Sawyer, I only have a few minutes, but I wanted to ask you something.” She pours herself a cup of coffee and grabs a croissant. She finds a seat in the little dining area and pats a chair beside her.

  I join the dark, short-haired, middle-aged whi
rling dervish, and then Brittany pulls out a chair too and sits. She props her hand on her chin and asks, “What have you overheard?” Like this is a routine they have I don’t know about.

  Madge leans closer and glances around the otherwise empty store once before she says. “That’s what I’m here to ask you guys.” She turns to me. “You and Dylan go way back. What has he told you?”

  “Nada. Even my crab cakes yesterday couldn’t make him talk.”

  Brittany rolls her eyes. “He’s at your house and you feed him, probably flirt with him a little too because you always do, and you still got nothing? You got no game, sister.” Brittany’s little grin tells me she’s just pushing my buttons.

  “I don’t flirt with Dylan.” Spar with him? Absolutely. I can’t seem to help it.

  “Sawyer’s new to the club, Brittany.” Madge chuckles into her coffee. “Give her a break.”

  That and I don’t read mystery novels like they do. Maybe I should start. “Dylan operates by the book. Keeps everything on a need-to-know. It’s super frustrating.”

  Madge nods. “He does. The deputies aren’t as tight-lipped though. Greg asked me this morning what I use to keep pests away from my gardens. Bet that has something to do with the flurry of activity after they got back from searching Chad’s place for clues yesterday. I saw a big container filled with something liquid. Next thing you know, a lab guy from San Francisco comes and picks it up.”

  Brittany lifts her phone and starts tapping. “So maybe Chad poisoned himself with bug spray? And the chemicals just happened to kick in during book club?”

  I add, “He had sprayed my gardens earlier in the day.”

  “Was that all he took care of, Sawyer?” Brittany’s grin turns full-out mischievous now.

  “Yes.” I take another slug of coffee to help my brain keep up with these two. “I’m off men, for now, remember? Gage just told me about Chad’s extracurricular activities. If everyone in town knows, why would Julie date him?”

  Madge’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know they’d been dating. This does thicken the plot. I’ve been sure it has to be Crystal who did it this whole time. How do you know this?”

  “Wade told me yesterday.” Cooper trots over, gets rubs from Brittany and Madge, and then curls up at my feet.

  Madge finishes up her coffee. “Maybe Chad cheated on Julie too? And she wanted revenge? She was sitting right next to him, eating during the puppy-and-yarn confusion.” Madge smiles and pats Cooper again. “You’re almost too cute to get mad at, though. Aren’t you?”

  I’ve come close but can’t disagree.

  “Wait.” Brittany holds up a finger. “I just looked up chemicals used in gardening. Did Chad wear protective gear while he sprayed your garden, Sawyer?”

  I nod. “I was getting coffee and saw him out the back window. He wore a jumpsuit and a mask but he always said he was using safe, all-organic ingredients. My mom had insisted on that for the environment.”

  Brittany frowns. “Herbicides, most likely. Hard to tell from this, but most of the effects of common natural pesticides are more long-term rather than instant. It does say pesticides can be dangerous if absorbed through the skin or if rubbed near the mouth or in the eyes. In large doses, it can be fatal. Maybe he accidentally ingested it before he got here. Maybe the biggest mystery here is why Julie would ever date a cheater like him.”

  So what was “the right thing” Crystal wanted Chad to do during their fight?

  I won’t share my question with the gals because maybe it didn’t have to do with being pregnant at all. I don’t want to spread false rumors. I hated when kids did that to me back in my school days here. News travels at the speed of light in small towns whether it’s true or not. That I remember painfully well.

  “Gotta get back.” Madge hops up from her chair. “Keep your ears open and your eyes peeled, ladies. There might be a murderer on the loose!”

  Brittany smirks. “Or a careless, cheating gardener has finally gotten bitten in the butt by karma.”

  “See you soon.” I wave to Madge’s back and then turn to Brittany to ask the question that’s been bugging me since yesterday. “Is there anything about this bookstore that I need to know? Like something my mom would’ve wanted me to take care of that I haven’t?” This is the only way I can think of to ask my question about the hidden things in my mom’s letter without raising a question in Brittany’s mind.

  “Yeah. One huge thing.” Brittany’s right brow arches as she stands.

  My heartbeat speeds up in anticipation. “What is it?”

  “She probably wished you’d read a mystery in the last ten years. You’re pretty useless when customers ask for recommendations. That must be why she begged me to stay on here after she died. To help you out.”

  “Ha. Ha. Go straighten, please.” I’m still not sure who’s helping who here, but it doesn’t matter. And I’ve been studying the top one hundred lists that come in the mags each month. I’ve almost memorized the top one hundred classics. Almost. Well, maybe I know the top twenty-five or ten for sure, but it’s on my to-do list.

  Just as I start for the storeroom to begin my search for whatever my mom hid, the front door opens, and a familiar booming voice calls out, “Sawyer?”

  Uncle Frank’s voice sends a rod of steel up my spine. I will not be intimidated. Hopefully he hasn’t figured out my sneaky plan to make the trust build me a restaurant. Or maybe he’s come to add to the intimidation of the golf ball? A one-two punch?

  I have to lift my chin to face him because my uncle is tall, mostly bald, and built like Mr. Clean, the exact opposite of my calm, pixie-sized mother in almost every way. His forehead has frown lines permanently etched, and his suspicious squinty eyes are searching mine. Then when he smiles with his blazingly white capped teeth, the charming and persuasive parts of him shine through. It’s how he’s the mayor.

  However, I’m not falling for it. I stand in the way of lots of money he thinks he deserves, and I can’t afford to forget that.

  I plaster on a smile too. “Hi, Uncle Frank. How are you?” I refuse to look as rattled about the golf ball as I feel.

  His grin dims. “Not so hot. Having a murder is never good for a tourist town. What do you know? Dylan says it’s too soon to talk about, but you were here Thursday night, right?” He walks to the dining area and pours himself a cup of vanilla roast and then grabs a croissant.

  Relief that this visit isn’t about my secret restaurant allows me to let out the breath I’d been holding as I join him and refill my mug. “Not much. We’re waiting on lab results. I didn’t see anyone poison Chad, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  His frown lines deepen. “This isn’t going to help your sales. And neither is giving away expensive croissants and gourmet coffee for free. If you’re going to make this sinking ship flounder much longer, you’d be smart to quit giving all this food away as your hippie mother did. At least charge for it.”

  I set my mug down and cross my arms. He isn’t wrong, but the free coffee and croissants add that extra touch of charm to the shop my mother wanted. I plan to do the same at my restaurant. “I’ll consider your ideas, thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

  “You must be running out of savings by now. I saw the numbers last week. You’re only doing slightly better than your mother ever did here, and that’s still dismal. You’re a chef, not a bookstore owner, and it shows.”

  My heart pounds, but I’m determined to hold it together. “I’m learning to be both. I have to get back to work, so I’ll let you see yourself out.” Pivoting on my toes, I start for the storeroom again and hope he leaves.

  “How much will it take, Sawyer? Name your price to go back to Chicago and let me make my parents’ legacy a proud one again.”

  He has never offered to buy me out before, so he must be at the end of his rope. Well, so am I.

  My eyes cut to the left, and I see Brittany watching with concern in her eyes and holding an upset Cooper, alarmed by the raised voice
s. Her job is on the line too here. So, I give her a confident “watch this” nod.

  Slowly, I turn around and face him again. My hands are shaking, so I fold them. “I’m not here for money, Uncle Frank. I’m here because of my mother. Over the years, you’ve tried to take her home away, run her out of town, and steal what was rightfully hers. In the end, she was smarter and tougher than you ever gave her credit for. And so am I. I’ve got a tenant moving in next door who will keep me afloat for many years to come. Despite your best efforts to block renting my buildings.”

  His eyes narrow. “You’d be smart to watch your tone, young lady. Because I won’t offer you this kind of money ever again. Now, how much?”

  I narrow my eyes right back. “I don’t need your money.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. I cross my fingers behind my back so that I won’t be struck by lightning on the spot. Yet according to my mom, I won’t need money after I find the hidden things.

  “Oh, really?” He laughs. “I saw the lease for next door. They aren’t paying rent until the restaurant opens. That could take months. You had your chance to go back home with a fistful of cash, but now you blew it.” He turns and stomps toward the door. “I will crush you at whatever game you think you’re playing, Sawyer!”

  I call out, “Challenge accepted. Have a great day!” ever so sarcastically. What is he, a comic book villain? Crush me? Go ahead and try.

  After the adrenaline pumping through me eases a bit, I realize I might have just lit a fire under my uncle to mess up my restaurant plans.

  Had my quick temper just driven the last nails in my coffin?

  I better find whatever my mom left for me ASAP!

  Chapter 6

  I’m up to my elbows in dusty books in the storeroom, searching for whatever the heck I’m supposed to find, when Brittany clears her throat behind me. “What’re you doing? You’ve been back here for hours.”

  I glance over my shoulder. Cooper is right at her feet. He loves Brittany as much as he loves me. “Nothing. Just trying to figure out how to organize all this.” Once again, a lie. A necessary one, though, on so many levels.