Little Bookshop of Murder

by Maggie Blackburn

  “Ben Singer always gave your mother a hard time, but I had a feeling that deep down he liked her,” Glads said, reaching for her bag. “I’m off for a dinner date with my grandson.”

  “Nice,” Agatha said. “Enjoy it now. When they get to be teens they don’t have time for you.”

  As the women exchanged platitudes about grandparenting, Summer’s mind was focused on Rudy. He just looked like a nondescript sort. Old man. Jowly, shaky double chin, thin lips, and beady eyes. There was something about the set of his jaw that troubled her. Something that made her spine cold.

  Chapter Fifteen

  After all the sorting and lifting and shelving, Summer didn’t think she’d have a hard time sleeping tonight. Even Piper and Mia turned in early. Summer must have fallen asleep almost the minute her head hit the couch pillow. She dreamed of dusty storerooms and old leather books. Smoking. Smoking?

  Summer’s coughing woke her. Was she still dreaming? She fought for breath. Fought for sight. What was going on?

  “Fire!” Someone’s voice said.

  “Piper?”

  “Get Mr. Darcy!” Someone said.

  “Call nine-one-one!”

  Summer still coughed, realizing the reason she couldn’t see. Smoke. It was everywhere.

  “Summer, get out now!” Arms came out of the smoke.

  The three of them, plus the bird, escaped the house just as the fire trucks were arriving.

  They huddled together and watched as the firefighters tamed the fire, its flames small but menacing.

  “Oh my God,” Agatha said. “Thank goodness we escaped.”

  “Fire!” Mr. Darcy said.

  Summer’s head and lungs cleared. She wondered why the smoke alarm hadn’t gone off. Had her mother kept good batteries in it?

  “I don’t understand,” Summer managed to say. “How could this happen?”

  “I expect the fire chief will tell us what happened,” Agatha said.

  “It may just be some fluke,” Piper said, voice thick with emotions.

  “Mom has a smoke alarm,” Summer said. “Did either of you hear it?”

  “No,” Piper said.

  A firefighter approached them, holding the fire alarm. “Looks like there were no batteries in this.”

  They all stood agape. That didn’t seem correct. Hildy was a freak about fires. Very careful.

  “I don’t understand,” Summer said. “This is my mom’s place. She was always very careful about the smoke alarm.”

  “Maybe someone took the batteries out,” Piper said. “There’s been a lot of people in and out since her funeral.”

  “Brings up a good point,” the firefighter said. “Whoever set this fire wasn’t a pro.”

  Summer’s heart felt as if it would burst out of her chest. Agatha gasped.

  “Someone set the fire?”

  “Most assuredly.” He shook his head. “And they were sloppy about it too.”

  “Why would someone do that?” Piper said. “I don’t understand.”

  “Did she have an insurance policy?”

  “Of course she did.”

  “Who is the beneficiary?”

  “I don’t know, do you?” Agatha looked at Summer.

  “Probably me,” Summer said.

  He took Summer in. “And you were in the house when it caught fire.”

  “Sleeping,” Summer said.

  “You’ll be asked to give a statement,” he said.

  Great. She’d have to talk with Ben again, and she hated that. So much. He made her feel like an ashamed little girl. But she had witnesses, didn’t she? They couldn’t pin this on her. As Summer mulled over everything and her mind cleared, it hit her like a stone-cold thud. Someone had tried to burn down her childhood home. Why? There was something going on here. Had the person who set the fire also killed her mother? Were they trying to kill Summer? What would be the point to that? What was the point to any of it?

  “The place will be okay,” the chief said. “Significant smoke damage. You’ll need to stay somewhere else.”

  “We can stay at my place,” Agatha said.

  Piper slipped her arm around Summer. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “What?”

  “Someone was trying to kill you,” she said. “Someone deliberately disabled the smoke alarm.”

  A disheveled Rudy stumbled along toward them, looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed, and he probably had, given that it was three in the morning.

  “What’s happened? Are you okay?” He approached them, visibly shaken.

  “We’re fine,” Piper said.

  “Oh, thank God,” he said. “I heard the sirens and wondered what the hell was going on.”

  Evidently others had heard it too, as a small crowd was gathering on the beach, dressed in various states of disarray. Some were in bathrobes.

  “I’d hate for anything to happen to you,” Rudy said to Summer. “Your mother … would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

  “What happens to Summer is none of your concern,” Agatha said.

  His mouth flung open. “Agatha—”

  “I mean it, Rudy. You’ve got no business here.”

  “I just wanted to help,” he said.

  She stared him down.

  He turned to Summer. “If you need anything at all, please let me know. I’m happy to help. Despite what Agatha thinks, I didn’t hurt your mother. I never would.” He paused. “I loved her.”

  The roaring hush of the waves filled Summer as she examined him. He was sincere. Suddenly a warmth spread through her. Summer realized that this man had harbored feelings for her mom, even though they had seemingly been enemies over the years. Was he one of her mom’s many lovers? Could he be … her biological father? He had blue eyes and sandy hair. She doubted it, with her large almost black eyes and thick black hair.

  Agatha wasn’t having it. Wasn’t having his sympathy. “We don’t need your help.”

  He shrugged.

  “Thank you, Rudy,” Summer said.

  What more did Agatha know about Rudy? Summer made a mental note to ask. It was clear something had happened between them—or between Hildy and him.

  Rudy shot Agatha look of disgust before he walked off.

  “Well,” Agatha said, “we should be going. Let’s go over to my place and try to get some rest.”

  “Away from all the gawkers,” Piper said.

  More people had come along. Odd since it was in the middle of the night.

  Suddenly, Doris came hobbling up to them. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  She was dressed in black sweatpants and a T-shirt. But her hair still looked great. She must use a lot of hair spray. It struck Summer as odd because she had noticed the bedhead of most of the community members.

  “We’re just on our way to my home to get some rest,” Agatha said.

  “Good idea,” Doris said. “Shall I bring you some cinnamon rolls in the morning?”

  “Please don’t bother. I have some I just picked up from the grocery store,” Agatha quipped.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Summer had gotten very little sleep, but she gave up trying and went for a walk on the beach around sunrise. She used to do this when she stayed at home as a student. It helped clear her mind to focus on whatever paper she was writing or book she was reading.

  She had thought this was the only part of living here that she missed. But last night, the risk of losing her childhood home, her mother’s tiny beach cottage, filled her with fear and dread. Why? She’d planned to sell it anyway, hadn’t she?

  Then there were the people. Her life had become so full of other academics and students that she’d somehow forgotten the kindness of St. Bridget’s people.

  She walked along the edge of the surf in her bare feet as the sun rose and its colors streamed across the sky. Soft blue. Bright orange and golden yellows.

  She glanced up along the beach’s edge, toward a dune. She may have sat at the
very dune when a teenager.

  She made her way to it and sat down, breathing in the salty air.

  Someone killed my mother. And someone tried to kill me.

  After searching her heart last night, she didn’t think she had anything to fear from Rudy.

  So who wanted the bookstore and or her mom’s house so badly they were willing to kill for it?

  Who was interested in buying the shop? Several people had mentioned it to her. Someone had said she should offer it to the member of the book club. She’d mention it when attending the meeting on Wednesday.

  If only the police would listen about the murder claim. She recalled the phone number she’d written down of the person who’d made the offer five years ago. Maybe they’d know something. Anything might help.

  She brightened a bit when she remembered the fire chief. He might be the only hope of getting the police involved so that they’d take all of this seriously. It was clear the fire was started by someone—an amateur. Someone who had been in her mom’s house and disabled the smoke alarm.

  Who was in the house?

  Agatha, Mia, Doris, Marilyn, Rudy, Piper, Glads, and herself.

  Were there others Agatha allowed in to deliver food?

  She needed to check with her.

  Doris, Glads, and Marilyn were dear friends of her mom’s. She couldn’t imagine any one of them hurting a fly, let alone killing someone.

  “There you are,” Piper said as she came up alongside Summer. “I thought I might find you here. Breakfast is ready.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What happened last night was pretty wild,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Summer said. “I couldn’t wait to resolve matters with the estate and get that place sold, along with the bookstore. But now I’m not so sure.”

  “What? Someone tries to kill you, so you want to stay?” Piper joked. She tucked her hair behind her ears. Wispy blonde hair Summer had always envied.

  “Something like that,” Summer said and grinned.

  “My mom’s been on the phone all morning with various book club members—all wanting to make sure everything’s okay. Sometimes I think they butt in a little too much.”

  “I used to feel that way too.” Yes, the Mermaid Pie book clubbers were all up in each other’s business. Summer didn’t like it. And had taken the exact opposite tact in her life. She kept to herself. She had a few friends, but certain topics were off limits for sharing. The kind, she supposed, that forged good girlfriends.

  But thinking about her mom and her life, the book group had been the one constant. Men came and went—so did other friendships. But those women always survived. Together. Summer found herself thankful Hildy had had these women in her life.

  “Now, I don’t know. It seems like these women cared about her. So I’m perplexed.”

  “God, the book group has been going on for years. She and Marilyn started it what—twenty-five years ago?”

  “Marilyn? I don’t know why I thought it was Doris.”

  “No, Doris is the newbie. She’s only been in the club a few years. She’s from Richmond. Not local,” Piper said. “She makes a mean mermaid pie. I always look forward to the meeting when it’s her turn to make the pie.”

  Summer had almost forgotten about that tradition. Each meeting was another member’s turn at making the pie—a fluffy, sugary pie that Hildy had made for the first meeting, coming up with the name on her own. Summer shifted her thoughts from pie—a daunting task to be sure. “Have you talked to Mia?”

  “Yes, and told her to stay where she is. That things would be crazy here today. It’s best for her to stay out of the way.

  “I’m guessing the chief and the cops will be along today.”

  “Yes, and god knows who else.”

  A hunger pang jabbed at Summer. “We better get fortified then.” She stood.

  “Yes, ‘something wicked this way comes.’ ”

  Summer chuckled. “Macbeth? Really?”

  “Sometimes, I feel like I’m living a Shakespearean farce,” she muttered.

  “Better than a tragedy,” Summer said.

  The two cousins walked arm and arm back to Agatha’s home, a couple blocks away from the beachfront. Not many people were out and about this early. Summer was glad—she was certain she was as dreadful looking as she felt.

  A shower, breakfast, and plenty of coffee were called for.

  A cop car and another official-looking car sat in front of Agatha’s home.

  “Already here. See I told you,” Piper said. “Wicked.”

  “I’m hoping that now they will look more seriously into Mom’s death.”

  “You’d think they’d have to, considering the fire.”

  Fire Chief Levi Jensen grimaced when he saw Summer and Piper coming. But Ben Singer sneered.

  “Well, Ms. Merriweather, have you gone from stealing hearts to arson?” he said.

  “Now hold on—” Chief Jensen said, grimacing.

  “I’m not sure what you’re accusing me of Singer, but you better get your ducks in a row before you start making accusations.”

  “Besides, as I told you, she was asleep,” Agatha said.

  “People lie to police all the time, Agatha. Check yourself.”

  “Honestly!” Piper wailed. “Summer was sleeping. Someone set her childhood home on fire. What you should be asking is who would do such a thing. And perhaps it was the same person who’d killed Hildy.”

  “What?” Jensen said as Ben guffawed.

  “Calm down, please,” Agatha said to Piper. “Let’s just look at this logically. Why would Summer burn down her home?”

  Home. The word rolled around in Summer and settled in the center of her chest. Was the place still her home? After all these years of thinking Staunton was now her home, maybe she was wrong.

  “The truth of the matter is, evidence does not point to Summer or either of you,” came a voice of reason from the fire chief. “It’s clear you all were in bed when the fire started.”

  He looked directly at Summer when he said bed, which made her blush. Just a little.

  “Someone was definitely outside the house and worked to start the fire from there,” he said.

  Summer looked at Singer. “What did you think of that?” One eyebrow lifted.

  He didn’t answer.

  “There are all kinds of reasons people start fires. This may not have had anything to do with you personally,” the chief said. “When we find the arsonist, we’ll call you.”

  “Do you ever find arsonists?” Piper asked, blinking at the handsome firefighter.

  “Sometimes. It’s easier to find an amateur arsonist than it is to find a murderer.”

  Piper’s eyes slanted, and she looked at Summer. A chill traveled through Summer. Perhaps this fireman would turn this investigation around. Maybe her mom’s killer would be caught and justice found. Was it too much to hope for?

  “Do you see much arson in St. Brigid?” Summer asked.

  “From time to time. But we see little fire here at all. We consider that a success. We keep busy with our education programs and fundraisers so that when we do have a fire, we know how to fight them and to investigate the cause of them.” He stood, nodded to Ben Singer, and turned to Summer. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Ms. Merriweather. We’ll do our best for you.”

  Something about the confident glint in his green eyes told her he would.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After the law left, the three women sat down to a huge breakfast prepared by members of the book club and brought over by Marilyn; Summer was liking her more and more.

  “Why don’t you stay?” Summer said.

  “Oh, I can’t, but thanks for offering,” she said. “I’m on my way to my hot yoga class.”

  Summer almost choked on her hash browns. “Hot yoga? In St. Brigid?” And the thought of Marilyn sweating and stretching in yoga poses gave her pause.

  “Hell yes,” Marilyn said. “The instructor is prett
y hot himself. I may be old, but I ain’t dead.” She wriggled her eyebrows.

  “The class is too hard for me,” Piper said. “I’ve tried it once or twice. I like regular yoga. I just don’t like all that heat. “

  “Very good for the muscles,” Marilyn said. “But I agree that it’s not for everybody.” She turned to go. “Bon appétit!”

  “She’s like a whirlwind,” Agatha said after Marilyn left. “Your mother used to go to that class with her. Marilyn forced her to go the first few times. It was hard to get Hildy out of the bookstore for anything. But she started to love that class.”

  “Was this a new thing?” Summer asked, thinking her mom had never mentioned it to her. Her mom had practiced yoga her whole life, but hot yoga?

  “I’d say she started it a few months ago,” Agatha said.

  “A person with a bad heart couldn’t get through one of those classes,” Piper said and stuffed a piece of biscuit in her mouth.

  “No.” Summer tapped her fingers on the table. “But if she had an underlying heart condition, a class like that could put her over the edge, right?”

  The three of them sat silent for a few beats.

  “I’d like to think my mom wasn’t murdered.”

  “But look at what happened last night,” Piper said. “Someone definitely tried to kill us.”

  “Your mother was in great shape. You should ask the teacher about her. She was one of his best pupils,” Agatha said.

  Summer grinned. Of course she was. Mom had to be the best at whatever she did, didn’t she?

  Her smile vanished. She had to face the reality. Someone had killed her mom. No matter how she tried to talk myself out of it. It seemed so clear to her. Why wasn’t it clear to Ben?

  “Who would’ve taken the battery out of Mom’s smoke alarm? The only people in the house were book club members—you know, people bringing food in.”

  “That’s the million-dollar question,” Piper said. “One of them had to do it. I know I didn’t. I’m certain Mia wouldn’t even know how to do it. So that leaves the book club ladies.”