Plotting for Murder (Cozy Mystery Bookshop Series Book 1)

by Tamra Baumann

  Brittany’s lips slowly form into one of her signature smirks. “You’ve got the two hottest old guys in town drooling over you. Get some game, girl!”

  To fifteen-year-old Brittany, men in their thirties probably did seem ancient. It’s making me feel old at thirty-two. “Speaking of old, did you know my mom and the Admiral were …?” I can’t bring myself even to say it.

  “Kicking boots? Yeah. Everyone knew. Never could figure that one out. But I heard something weird from Claudia just now. She said she heard that you found some rare paintings here that are worth a fortune. How do I not know this?” Brittany crosses her arms and looks hurt.

  I hate to lie to her, but only Dylan and I can know the truth if our plan is going to work. Can’t afford even an innocent slip of the tongue. “We don’t know exactly how much people are willing to pay for the paintings yet. Now, how about you get back to work uploading books online so we can keep the doors open another day?”

  “Fine.” Brittany’s forehead scrunches. “After you get the money, are you closing the bookstore?”

  “I don’t know.” I can’t give her false hope. My uncle could figure out what I’m up to and shut me down. “All I know for sure is that our best bet for staying open right now is selling our old inventory online. And there’s a whole attic we can go through when we’re done in the back.”

  Brittany looks up. “There’s an attic up there too? Great.”

  “It is great. More opportunities for book finds we can sell on our new amazing web page that you designed. Thanks for all the hard work.”

  Brittany’s lips begin to tilt, but then she quickly shuts her grin down. “It was nothing. I’ll be in the back if you need me. Come on, Cooper.”

  “Thank you.” I hope I don’t have to shut down my mom’s bookstore. Because if I don’t find whatever my mom hid, it might come down to that sooner than later.

  Brittany stops and sits across from me again. “What is the deal with you and Dylan?”

  I start to brush Brittany’s question aside, but she looks sincere. Like she actually cares and wants to know. “We dated for seven years starting in high school. And were even going to get married, but he decided not to show up for that.”

  Brittany cringes. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.” I drain my coffee cup. “He left for the military the next day. Then I decided I didn’t want to be an engineer, so I went back to chef’s school while I licked my wounds. The next time I saw Dylan was at my sister’s wedding when she married his brother.”

  Brittany nods. “Your mom said your sister’s wedding was the only time she’d ever seen you cry. Was it because you still loved him? And it hurt to see him again?”

  “Yes.” I’m surprised my mother would have mentioned that to Brittany, but it’s true. I used to pride myself on being tough. Now I’ve come to realize it’s not weak to cry when I hurt. It actually helps. “And because I knew I’d have to keep seeing him and reopening the wound. It felt overwhelming that day, but it’s fine now.”

  “That would be tough.” Brittany stands and pushes in her chair. “He wants you back. Can you ever forgive him for ditching you like that?”

  “I’ve forgiven him. He was going through a tough time after his mom died. However, taking him back? I don’t know about that. I’m not sure my heart could stand to be abandoned twice.”

  Brittany nods in understanding. “It’s hard when the person you love most keeps letting you down. Or dies.”

  Is Brittany talking about my mom? “Who lets you down?”

  “Doesn’t matter if I don’t let it.” She shrugs. “Your mom always said I reminded her of you. I’ve been trying to figure out why that is. I’m no food nerd, and we don’t like any of the same books or television shows. Maybe it’s because I’m tough like you. I don’t cry either.” Brittany turns and walks away.

  I call out, “A lack of tears doesn’t mean what’s hurt you is any less painful. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. Anything I can help with?”

  Brittany shakes her head and disappears into the back.

  If she’s anything like I was at that age, she won’t tell me what’s wrong until she trusts me. I won’t give up asking, though, so maybe I’ll annoy her enough to get to the bottom of her troubles soon.

  Brushing away my sadness thoughts of Dylan brought back, I get busy on my phone googling the two names written beside the mystery customer on Dylan’s board. I start with John Walker and find a ton of listings under that name. Luckily, I saw the customer and have since seen the security video. Although the picture wasn’t as clear as it could be on the recording, between the two, I think I can eliminate men who don’t match.

  The results pop up, and I’m a little gobsmacked. Who knew there were so many men named John Walker just in California? Hundreds of thousands in the US. So, while the guy could live anywhere, I’m going to narrow the search to the San Francisco area first and hope I get lucky.

  I’m scrolling through pictures and eliminating men when Dylan walks in. I quickly lay my phone facedown on the countertop. “Well, if it isn’t the man who thinks it’s a good idea for Gage to spend his nights with me. The news has traveled fast. The gossips will have him and me engaged by tomorrow afternoon for sure.”

  “Hey. It was your father’s idea.” Dylan lifts his hands palms out and says, “Besides, would you have let me stay with you?”

  “No.” I cross my arms.

  “I rest my case.” He leans against the glass and whispers, “I don’t like it either. Gage is attracted to you. Until you’re ready to give me a second chance, though, this is the best option to keep you safe.”

  I whisper too, so Brittany won’t hear in the back, “If you were me, would you give you a second chance?”

  “Probably not.” His jaw twitches. “I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for you to see I’ve changed. Because we both still have feelings for each other.”

  Oh, I have a lot of feelings for Dylan, not all of them so nice. Not all bad either. “Fine. Truce. What did you need?”

  He leans even closer. So close, the warmth of his breath against my lips sends a tingle up my spine. “I came in to apologize for the way I handled Gage. I shouldn’t have acted like it was my place to give permission for him to stay with you. Other than the fact that I am your concerned brother-in-law.”

  “If you’d said that up front, it would have gone a long way toward improving this conversation.”

  The twinkle in his eyes tells me I probably just fell right into whatever trap he’d laid for me. He says, “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have been able to see you tilt your chin and get all snotty. Because you were upset that I gave in so easily to Gage’s request to stay with you.”

  He can be so annoyingly right sometimes. “Glad I could be your morning entertainment.” I lay a hand on his chest and give an ineffective shove. Mostly because having him so close makes me remember those good feelings for him. “Please go away and catch a murderer so I can have my life back.”

  He leans away. “Are we good?”

  Reluctantly, I say, “Yes.”

  “Good enough for me to chaperone your dinner tonight with Gage?”

  “Nope.” I shake my head. “Not that good.”

  He smiles. “Okay. What was Madge doing in here earlier?”

  “She finds me entertaining too. And she likes croissants.”

  “Uh-huh.” His eyes narrow. “If you find something of interest, I’ll be in my office.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have a good day.”

  Dylan raises a brow but doesn’t respond before he turns and heads out the door.

  He’s totally on to Madge. And me.

  After helping two more customers and drinking two more cups of coffee, I finally dive back into my search for the mystery customer. I’ve been through all the John Walkers who have pictures online. A couple sort of looked like the mystery customer, but none rang a bell. Now I’m about ninety percent through the Michael Jone
s listings, so I start where I left off.

  Swiping pictures of younger guys and some much older away, it sort of feels like those dating apps where you slide your judgmental finger left or right over potential dating profiles.

  When a dark-haired man with forehead creases and a particular tilt of his head appears on my screen, I pause. This guy is close.

  He lives in San Francisco and works for an advertising and marketing firm. He’s won a few awards for his outstanding work, so he seems like an upstanding guy. I click further and find his company’s web page. They specialize in representing “green” organizations from manufacturing to food preparation to produce.

  I click on the “Our Team” button and find glossy headshots of Michael Jones. Is it him? I’m not sure, so I move through the rest of the names that came up in the google search. When I run out of names, I go back to the marketing guy and study his face some more. Then I pull up the old camera footage and compare.

  It could be him, but I don’t know. At least not with enough certainty to tell Dylan and expose Madge’s peeking-at-the-murder-board antics. Besides, not all the John Walkers and Michael Joneses had pictures online, so it could still be one of them. Maybe Madge and I should leave the facial recognition up to those smarter-than-us computer programs.

  Ed appears before me with a triumphant grin. “Ready to test the new security system?”

  “Absolutely.” I shut down my phone search and give him my full attention.

  After some brief instructions, I can declare the new system amazing. It displays multiple views at the same time or individual camera shots. As I switch back and forth, I find Brittany sitting on the floor in the back with Cooper in her lap, emptying a box of books and scanning them. The back room, attic, dining room, main sales floor, and even the front and rear of the store are completely covered by cameras now. And with the touch of a button, I can zoom back and see all the views at once.

  “Ed, this is great. Thank you.”

  “Welcome.” He glances over his shoulder as he packs up his gear. He says in a low voice, “I’ll start at your house in the morning. Say, nine?”

  I appreciate his efforts to keep the cameras at my home a secret, although I’m still not sure why that is. “That would be great. See you then.”

  “Betcha.” Ed hitches up his tool belt. “Oh, I almost forgot. The sheriff said to clear it with you about allowing him access to the cameras from his phone too. Just until the person who killed Chad is caught?”

  “Sure.” I agree but then hesitate. “He meant here at the shop, right? Not at my house too?”

  “I assume he meant both.” Ed shrugs. “You can get back to me on that tomorrow. See ya.” He disappears through the back door that now locks automatically behind him.

  Okay, that’s it. Dylan has something up his sleeve. He failed to mention the cameras at my house were secret, and now he wants access to them? I call out, “Hey, Brittany? Can you watch the store for a few? I need to run an errand.”

  “Sure.” Brittany appears with a sandwich in her hand and Cooper at her heels. “Can I request a sandwich upgrade? I’m getting tired of turkey and PB&Js.”

  “Sell more books online, and we’ll see. Be back in a few.”

  Brittany nods as she chews, which I’ll take as a yes to selling more books and watching the store.

  It’s nice and warm outside as I cross the park to town hall. Tourists stroll with babies in carriers on their chests and their hands filled with packages. It restores my faith that some people still like to shop in stores rather than online. However, not so much for books anymore, it seems.

  Maybe I’ll knock a few holes in the wall between my bookstore and new restaurant so people can browse books while they wait to be seated? I could make the restaurant and menu book themed too. Might be cute. I’ll have to think some more about that. If and when I actually open my restaurant.

  A waft of ocean breeze brings salty air along with the aroma of spicy lamb from the gyro truck. The growl of my stomach, also tired of my budget lunches, leads me to the cart, and I order two. I point to the churro sticks, and the kid operating the register adds two of those too. Dessert for Dylan depends on how much he spills.

  Armed with a bag of goodness, I climb the steps of town hall, yank the heavy glass door open, and almost run into a screeching little boy. Julie is in hot pursuit.

  “Grab him, Sawyer. Please!”

  Grab a child?

  Instead, I beat the grinning toddler to the door and shut it. Then I block his way. “Sorry, little man.”

  The dark-haired kid, laughing and trying to get me to move by pawing on my slacks, is playing a game Julie has had enough of.

  Julie growls, “Stop it, Cody! Now!”

  Cody, who looks between two and three, looks up and blinks as if suddenly realizing he’s the only one playing catch me if you can. And he’s probably going to be in trouble for it.

  Julie swoops the kid up, slams him on her hip, and then turns her pretty face toward mine. “Sorry, Sawyer. He’s been like this all day.”

  I shrug. “No harm done. Is Cody your son?”

  She nods. “It’s my day off. Cody had to come along with me to talk to Dylan. Again. It’s getting old. I don’t know how many more times I can tell the same story over and over. They should interrogate Crystal. She’s the one who ran away, probably because she’s guilty!”

  This is interesting. “You and Crystal aren’t pals?”

  “Hardly.” Julie grunts. “She tried to trick Chad into taking her back by telling him she was pregnant with his kid. Chad swore it couldn’t be his. And I believed him. You remember how Crystal was in school, right?”

  “I do.” I don’t know what else to say, so I add, “I’m sorry about Chad, Julie. This must be so hard on you.”

  “It has been.” Tears bubble up in the corners of Julie’s eyes as she waves a hand. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t like Crystal, but that doesn’t make her a murderer. I haven’t been sleeping, and I’m overtired. I’ll see you tomorrow night at book club.”

  “Yeah. See you. Bye, Cody.” So she’s planning to come? Less than a week after Chad’s death? Everyone grieves in their own way, I guess.

  The little boy smiles and waves as Julie carries him down the front steps.

  Julie seems honestly upset about Chad. Maybe Brittany is right and Julie comes to book club to get a break from her kid. Being a single mom can’t be easy. And Julie was also an aspiring actress who moved to Hollywood right after high school and married the first director she met.

  More to think about as I head to Dylan’s office and open the door. I’m hit with a buzz of activity. Ringing phones, fingers flying across keyboards, and deputies rushing to do whatever task is at hand.

  Madge lifts her chin as she speaks into a headphone, so I make my way to her desk. When she’s done with her call, she whispers, “Any luck with the Johns and Michaels?”

  I lean closer and say, “I think one of the Michael Joneses could be the guy, but not for certain.” I lower my voice even more. “Can you do me a favor? I need to see something Joe Kingsley and my uncle have handwritten. For my golf ball problem I’m sure you know about by now. Could you get that for me?”

  “Easily. I know the woman who types the town council’s notes.” Madge’s eyes scan the office before she says, “Something big is up around here. I’m not sure what. It might take me a few minutes before I can slip out to get that for you.”

  A buzz runs through my veins. “Maybe they caught the killer?”

  “Maybe. I assume you’re also here to see Dylan, since you have lunch in your hands. You can wait in his office. He’ll be right back.” Her phone rings again, so she points to the biggest office in the corner.

  “Thanks.” I’ve never seen Dylan’s office before and head toward it filled with curiosity. Will it be neat and clean, or a mess like my mother’s study?

  When I walk through the door, I’m met with efficiency. Not neat o
r clean, but tidy stacks of brown files on a desk that holds no personal pictures. Just a lone soda in a to-go cup and a legal pad alongside the piles.

  He has a credenza behind his desk with some awards on top, and a bookshelf full of what looks like procedural manuals. Against the opposite wall is an easel with a heavy cloth draped over it. Probably the infamous murder board Madge peeked at.

  After I sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk, I spot two sets of rolled-up plans on the floor leaning against the credenza. Probably my kitchen remodel, so I stand and retrieve a set. Then I see the plans have Dylan’s last name on them and an address. Maybe a set of house plans?

  When I turn around to spread the plans out, I nearly bump into a khaki-clad chest. “Oh, hi, Dylan. I brought you lunch.”

  “And made yourself at home.” He plucks the plans from my hands. “These aren’t yours. Those are.” He puts the plans back and then picks up the other set. Then he snaps, “Is this what you wanted? I’m in the middle of something important.”

  “No, actually.” I hurry and sit in a guest chair again. I haven’t seen Dylan this short-tempered in a long time. “Are you building a house?”

  “I don’t have time to chat, Sawyer.” Dylan flops his big body in his chair and rubs a hand down his face. “What can I do for you?”

  “You need to eat. You’re hangry.” I take out the gyros and set one in front of him. “And while we eat, you can tell me what the big plan is at my house you’re not letting me in on.”

  Dylan’s sandwich stops halfway to his mouth. “Plan?”

  “Ed told me about your request to monitor my cameras. And the secret ones at my house too?” I take a big bite of my spicy delight and wait for his answer. By the look on his face, grumpy Dylan just got busted.

  “Oh. That.” He sighs before he sets his gyro down. “I was hoping I wouldn’t need to go there. It was a back-pocket kind of thing. In case all else failed.”

  “Mmmm?” I nod while still chewing and listening. This ought to be good.

  “I want to establish, with the art rumor, that the hidden items at the store have been found. And then, as soon as Ed gets the cameras installed inside and outside your house, I plan to ask—politely—if I can set up a trap to catch the killer. Without you in it, of course.”