I swallow and then reach out and take a sip of the soda sitting on his desk. “Cameras inside my house too? With you able to access them from your phone? No wonder you had me run Wade off. And where was I going to be during all this?”
Dylan winces. “Megan and Lance’s? Or I was going to offer to swap houses with you if it came to it. This is totally a plan C, or it was until about ten minutes ago.” He stuffs a big bite of gyro into his mouth.
“What happened ten minutes ago?”
He holds up a finger while he swallows. “I was asked to gather all our evidence and turn the case over to the San Francisco office. You can still say no to the house cameras.” He sets his sandwich down and sips his drink.
I’m running through the pros and cons of his plan as I finish off my sandwich, but then something else pops into my head. “This is why you so eagerly agreed to my dad’s plan to have Gage sleep on my couch, isn’t it? You were going to have me shipped off anyway, therefore not needing Gage’s protection for more than a night or two?”
He shrugs. “It’s still a night or two too long.”
Men.
I lift my chin. “I don’t understand how a guy who wants to win my trust again thinks it’s a good plan to sneak around behind my back.”
“Because you’ve been sneaking around behind mine meddling with Madge even after I asked you to stop.” He sets his palms on his desk, leans forward, and gets in my face. “I’m worried you’re going to get yourself killed. And I’m willing to risk your wrath to keep you safe!” He huffs out a breath before he leans back and picks up the rest of his sandwich.
Wrath is a little harsh. I brought him a sandwich along with my wrath.
I slowly fold my empty gyro wrapper while Dylan inhales the rest of his sandwich. He’s not wrong. I have been meddling even though he asked me to stop. “So, if I agree to this plan, are we going to set the bait at book club tomorrow night?”
He nods as he crumples up his wrapper and throws it in the trash. “Assuming Ed gets all the cameras working at your house.” Then he leans back in his chair with his arms crossed, apparently still upset with me.
“Fine. Let’s do it. And for the sake of full disclosure, would you like to know which Michael Jones I think was the customer in my store? It was in the way he holds himself as much as his face. I could still be wrong.”
Dylan’s eyes cut to his murder board and then back to mine before he digs the heels of his hands into his face in sheer frustration. Finally, he mumbles, “Actually, I wouldn’t. At least until I’ve handed everything over. Then we’ll discuss it.”
“Because you’re not supposed to be investigating anymore? However, if you’re simply protecting your sister-in-law because you’re worried that she’s in danger and happen to catch a killer, then it’s okay. Right?”
“Yeah.” He lifts his hands away from his face. “Anything else you’ve stumbled across oh so innocently?”
I shake my head. “That’s as far as I’ve gotten. I’m sorry they took your case away. That must be as frustrating as my innocent meddling,” I say with just a touch of sarcasm.
He reluctantly smiles. “Not quite, but close. Thank you for lunch. I was hangry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
I can’t say I didn’t mean to meddle, because I did. I’m the curious sort.
“No problem. I’ll do whatever needs to be done to catch Chad’s killer.” I stand and grab the kitchen plans and the churros. If he’s going to be snippy, I’ll bring dessert back for Brittany instead. “So, are we good?”
“Yeah.” He taps his tented fingers against his lips like he’s thinking. “In the spirit of full disclosure, I’m worried we’re getting close, and the killer knows it. That’s why I made sure Madge and therefore everyone else knows Gage is going to be on your couch tonight. I’m sorry if that causes you any embarrassment.”
“Thank you, but you don’t have to worry.” I set my things down and reach into my purse. Then I whip out my dad’s knife. “Because I have this!”
Dylan frowns. “If you use that, things will be bloody, and you’ll be faint. Hand it over.” He waggles his fingers.
“If you insist.” I jab the retractable blade into Dylan’s palm.
His eyes grow big before he lets out a laugh. “Nice trick. Your dad would be proud.” He tosses the knife back to me. “Go away, please. I have files to hand over.”
“’Kay.” I gather my things again but stop in the doorway. “Are you being overly cautious because of that ‘we still have feelings for each other’ thing, or do you honestly think I’m in danger?”
He slowly shakes his head. “I just know I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you. And as much as I hate it, part of me is glad Gage is sleeping on your couch. Mostly because I know he has a concealed carry license. He’s armed with some real firepower to keep you safe.”
The walls around my heart crumble a bit at that. “Thank you for worrying about me, Dylan.” I set the bag with the churros on his desk. “For your kindness, I’ll share my dessert to show my gratitude.”
Dylan peeks inside the bag and grins. “You don’t even like these.”
I shrug. “But you do.”
I turn to leave, and Dylan mumbles, “You’re killing me, Sawyer.”
“And you’re saving me from being killed, so we’re even. See ya.”
He calls out as I leave, “That makes no sense.”
I can’t help my grin, knowing he’s sitting there grumpily chomping on churros and trying to figure out what I meant. That the churros are a simple thanks for watching out for me. Not a romantic gesture.
I wave to Madge and then reach for the door. When it opens before I reach the handle, I nearly run into Crystal.
She’s got a black eye and is being escorted inside by one of the deputies.
Chapter 11
I’m rooted in my spot, standing just inside the door to the police station as Crystal is escorted past me. Her bruised face is varying shades of green and yellow, suggesting the injury isn’t a fresh one. I smile in greeting, but Crystal quickly looks away to avoid eye contact.
Under her breath, she grumbles, “Can we hurry and get this over with, please? I have things to take care of.”
Dylan meets them at his office door, and then shuts it behind them.
Madge pops up from her desk, grabs my arm, and pulls me out into the hallway. “While you were in with Dylan, I heard they tracked Crystal’s credit card. She’s been in San Diego. I wonder if she went back to Mexico for more DDT? Maybe she plans to off someone else!”
I almost slip and tell Madge, Chad didn’t die because of the DDT, but I catch myself. “I think Crystal’s dad lives in San Diego. She used to come back really tan after spending summers with him when we were kids.”
“Oh.” Madge’s expression falls so fast, it’s comical. “Did you see her face? She told one of the deputies she fell. A crock of phooey if you ask me. She probably got into a fight with her coconspirator about something. Like who to kill next!”
I’m trying to be like Dylan and keep an open mind until we find the killer. “Well, no matter what happened, she just got totally busted for playing hooky from work in a pretty dramatic way.”
“True.” Madge chuckles. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to work. I’ll let you know if they arrest Crystal. And I’ll get those handwriting samples.” Madge waves and then turns to leave.
“Thanks.” I start for the main front door and see that my uncle is power walking toward me down the shiny marbled hallway.
He looks mad. As usual. And he’s seen me, so I have no choice but to stop and talk to him. “Hi, Uncle Frank.”
“Sawyer.” He tilts his head toward the double doors. “Let’s talk outside.”
My hands start to sweat. Is my restaurant secret out?
When we hit the grass across the street, my uncle stops. “I talked to Dylan. About the art story.” He crosses his big arms. “While I know it’s a story you two have m
ade up, I need to make something clear. If you should find something of great value among your mother’s things, it will belong to the trust.”
I cross my arms too. “Do you have a reason to think I would find anything of great value?”
“Maybe.” He clears his throat. “There was something my father spoke about my mother owning that was never found after she died. So it’s possible.”
“What kind of thing?”
“A signed first edition Mark Twain book with author’s notes inside. Before he became famous.” My uncle waves a hand. “Your mother might have found it and sold it years ago, but apparently, your great-great-grandmother and he had some sort of romantic relationship. She was a flaky poet or some such.”
“And she kept it because she was in love with him?”
My uncle nods. “My father said the book had been handed down to the youngest woman in the family rather than the oldest male. His grandmother thought it was unfair that the elder male heir always got everything back then. My father saw the book once, but never again after my mom died.”
Huh. That’s pretty amazing. Why hadn’t my mom mentioned that? I need to call my sister and see if she knows anything about the book. Or the affair. “Well, I haven’t seen it either. And I really need to get back to the store.”
“Yes, because it’s probably chock-full of customers,” he says with sugary sarcasm.
“No, because it seems I have a Mark Twain book to find!” I don’t wait for a reply and head across the park to my store. I’m checking for traffic before I cross the street, when a thought hits me.
Mark Twain’s most famous character was Tom Sawyer. Could that be where I got my name from? Because I’m the youngest too, as was my mother, and hers too. Is the book what my mom hid for me? It’d have to be worth thousands, especially if it’s an early limited edition. I’ve learned a lot about rare books in the last few days, and how authors often used to do special editions with limited print runs back in the day. Often with mistakes in them. Those are the ones collectors pay for.
It’s starting to feel like the Admiral suggesting we sell the older inventory was all part of my mom’s plan. Along with giving me Cooper, leaving me the bookstore, and planting men in my life everywhere I turn.
Could there be a Mark Twain book among all those books in the dusty attic? Or did my mom sell the book and name me Sawyer instead? If she kept it, would she keep it at the store? Or at home?
Enthusiasm for the hunt makes me pick up the pace as I jog to my store and open the front door. Brittany is taking pictures of books to upload to our online store. I grab a cup of coffee and then join my employee. While I give Cooper a belly rub, I say, “When you get a chance, can you look up how much a first edition Mark Twain book would be worth? Signed. With author notes. Throw in a spelling error while you’re at it.” If the book was given as a gift, it might have had flaws. Twain wouldn’t want a book with errors circulating.
Brittany nods, and her fingers fly across the keyboard. “Looks like anywhere from $500 all the way to $65,000 depending on the condition.” She looks up and blinks. “Do we have one of those I don’t know about?”
“Not sure. My mom might have had one. If you come across it, though, don’t say a word to anyone, please.”
The corner of Brittany’s mouth curves up. “Especially not Mayor Mean, right?”
“Yes. Him the most.” I grab my laptop from under the counter and look up Mark Twain. There’s a lot of information about his life. About his time on ships sailing the Mississippi River, when he worked at a newspaper, until he sold his now-famous books. And sure enough, he’d lived in San Francisco in 1864 and had artistic pals, like my poet great-great-grandmother, apparently.
I’m still deep into the Mark Twain rabbit hole when Madge walks in. I close the lid of my laptop to give her my full attention. Hopefully, she’s here with some good news and the handwriting samples for my golf ball problem. “Hey there.”
“Hey back.” She sits next to me on the couch I’d moved to when I got tired of standing at the counter. “Here are the samples you wanted.”
“Thanks.” I take out my phone, and we both examine the writing on the ball.
I shake my head. “Neither of these are even close.”
“Yeah. Maybe the person disguised their handwriting?”
“Could be.” I’m disappointed but won’t quit until I’ve seen Wade’s, Judy’s, and Crystal’s handwriting too.
“Sorry about that, Sawyer.” Madge pats my leg. “I have other news, though. They didn’t arrest Crystal. And some arrogant guys wearing suits came and took over boxes of evidence. We found them an empty office down the hall. I don’t know why they didn’t trust Dylan to take care of this. Compared to the last sheriff, he’s been amazing at his job. Now he’s basically taking orders from the new guys until this murder is solved.”
Not entirely. Dylan has a trick or two up his sleeve that I can’t share with Madge. “Did anyone say why they wanted to follow up with Crystal so badly?”
Madge stands to leave. “Nope. Crystal deciding to go to San Diego in the middle of a murder investigation doesn’t sit right with me, though. And where did that black eye really come from?”
“I agree.” I stand and walk her to the door. “Dylan knows we’ve been working behind his back. I didn’t tell him about you seeing the murder board. I let him think I looked when I was in his office. I don’t want you to lose your job.”
Madge grabs the door handle and pulls. “He had a talk with me, and I confessed about the murder board. He said all is forgiven if I keep him up-to-date on what the men in suits are doing.” She grins. “My nosy nature has helped solve a crime or two around here over the years, so Dylan gives me freer rein than he should. Thank you for caring about my job, though. You’re a real peach, Sawyer.”
“So are you, Madge. See you tomorrow.” I wave her off and then head to the dining area for more coffee.
A few moments later, in walks Dylan. “Do you have a second to talk about which Michael Jones you think was in your store?”
“Sure. Let me show you.” We sit on the couch where I’d left my laptop. “I was researching Mark Twain when Madge dropped by.” I quickly close out the screen and find the Michael Jones page I’d bookmarked earlier.
Dylan stretches out his long legs. “Why Mark Twain?”
After I tell Dylan about the book, he nods. “That sounds like it could be one of the things we’re looking for. Have you tackled all the books upstairs yet?”
“Nope. We’re still working our way through the ones in the back room for now.” I hand over my laptop. “This is the Michael I think was here. The other name was close, but something didn’t sit right with him.”
Dylan studies the screen. “That’s the Michael I chose as the closest match too. His office says he’s on vacation. A relative had a medical emergency. They expect him back next Monday. If he checks in, we might hear from him. The suits are following up now. The other name we found had a singing gig in the city on the night of the murder, so he’s all alibied up.”
“Was this Michael Jones gone last week too? During the murder?”
“Yep.” Dylan blows out a long breath. “Have you thought any more about our plan? Would you be willing to go stay with Lance and Megan?”
I stand again and start the process of closing up. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been researching Mark Twain. “I don’t want to have to drive that far every day to come to work.”
“Then would you reconsider and swap houses with me?”
The cameras on the screen at the front desk show Brittany is still hard at work in the back. I don’t want her to hear our discussion. “Maybe it’d be better if Cooper and I stayed put. If someone thinks there’s something hidden in my house, they’ll be watching it, won’t they? Why not break in while I’m here all day rather than when we’re home?”
“Because if they’re desperate enough and think you’ve found what your mom has hidden, they might want
to make you talk. I wonder how many people know about the book your uncle mentioned? He seemed mad enough about it to stew out loud.”
“I have no idea, but you’re probably right. He’d want his share of the money if Mom sold the book. Don’t you think between the cameras and Gage in my guest room, I’d be safe? It’s not like you don’t live only a few blocks from me.”
“Gage was your father’s idea. Now that we know about this Twain book, the best solution would be to let me sleep on your couch. It’s my job to protect people around here, not Gage’s.”
I run all the possibilities through my mind. As much as I don’t want Dylan on my couch, I’m not a fan of getting hurt either. “What if Cooper and I stayed here? Upstairs, in my dad’s little apartment? We’re going to tell everyone tomorrow at book club that we found the art, right? So they’d know nothing was still hidden here.”
“Not if they thought the Twain book was still hidden. What better place than a bookstore to hide it? Maybe that’s why your mom kept so many books. To make the Twain hard to find?”
Could be. “Okay. Fine. You can sleep on the couch. My dad will just have to get over it. I still owe Gage dinner tonight, though. You can come over after Gage goes home.”
Dylan grins. “Or you could invite me for dinner too.”
“Gage already bought the groceries. There won’t be enough for you and your bottomless-pit stomach. Besides, I draw the line at providing more than one meal in a day. Could give you the wrong impression about us.”
He sighs as he stands up. “You’ve made it perfectly clear where we stand. Can I walk you home? As a concerned brother-in-law?”
“Okay.” Brittany and Cooper join us precisely at closing time, so I grab my kitchen plans, set the alarm, and then lock up behind us.
Brittany says good night to us and heads the opposite way. Dylan is quiet as he walks, and I jog behind Cooper up the hill to my house. “Care to share what has you so deep in thought?”
Plotting for Murder (Cozy Mystery Bookshop Series Book 1) Page 13
