Next, Summer fell to the ground, and her head thwacked against something hard. She tried to stand, tried to get a view of the person running away, but shadows were in the way. As she stood, dizziness overcame her, and she dropped into blackness.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Gentle pats on her face awakened her. “Summer. Summer,” a soft, soothing male voice said. She struggled to open her eyes. When she succeeded, the face in front of hers was a blur.
As it came into view, it surprised her to see Levi, the fire chief.
“What happened?” she said in a barely recognizable voice.
“I guess you fell?” He wasn’t in uniform. Off-duty, then.
Summer struggled to sit up.
“Whoa,” he said. “Let’s take this slowly. Okay. Just get your bearings. You’ve got a nasty bump on your head.”
He helped Summer sit up slowly, cradling her shoulders in his arm. Warmth spread through her, all tingly. She had either taken a harder fall than she thought, or she was living in a romance novel.
“How do you feel?”
“Like shit,” she said. Nausea. Splitting headache. Sore. And warm and tingly. “How long have I been lying here?”
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “I was just walking along here and saw you.”
As her head cleared up and memory sharpened, Summer remembered being pushed. “Did you see anybody else?”
“No—why?” he said after a moment.
“Someone pushed me.”
He grimaced. “Let’s get you on your feet. I think we should have a doctor look you over.”
“I don’t need to see a doctor. I need to see the police,” she said, standing, wobbly, dizzy, falling back into Levi’s arms.
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Okay. Maybe both,” she said.
* * *
St. Brigid Hospital was a small hospital, but adequate. The doctor took one look at her and pronounced that she had a mild concussion.
Agatha and Piper bounded into the exam room.
“My god! What happened?” Agatha said, coming over to Summer lying on the bed.
“I went to the bookstore and walked home on the path, and someone pushed me,” she replied. “Hard. Hard enough that I fell and hit my head, along with a few other things.”
“What’s he doing here?” Piper said, nodding to the fire chief.
“He found her,” Levi spoke up.
“How long had she been lying there?”
“As far as I’ve been able to figure, about fifteen minutes or so.”
“You were just walking along and spotted her?” Agatha said with a touch of suspicion in her voice.
“Yes,” he replied. “I was heading toward the beach from my place.”
Summer noted that this was the second time Aunt Agatha had gotten kind of prickly with Levi. She’d have to ask her about it at a later time.
“Who the hell would have pushed you? Did they take anything?” Piper said.
“Nothing,” Summer said. “I’ve checked my bag over and over again. Nothing seems to be missing.”
Agatha sighed a long-drawn-out sigh. “First the fire, now this.”
“I called Ben,” Levi said. “He should be here shortly.”
Oh boy.
“He’ll be taking statements from both of us. Do you feel up to it?”
Summer shrugged. “I guess. When can I get out of here and go home?”
“You must ask the doctor,” Agatha said. “I imagine you’re here for at least the night. Do you need me to bring you anything?”
“Just a few things,” Summer said, then listed off some items.
Piper cleared her throat. “Someone really wants you dead—or at least hurt.”
“I have to agree it looks that way,” Levi said. “But what I come back to again is the motive. Why would someone want Summer out of the way?”
“We don’t know for sure,” Piper said, “but Summer’s mother, Hildy, had been getting threatening notes from someone who wanted her to sell the bookstore and leave.”
“Did she get the police involved?”
“No,” Piper said. “She didn’t take them seriously.”
“Was she interested in selling the place? Must be worth a good bit by now,” he said.
“No,” Agatha spoke up. “She complained about the work sometimes, but she never planned to sell.”
“I’d assume with her gone, it’s all going to you.” He glanced Summer’s way.
Summer nodded. “Can you hand me my bag?” she asked Agatha.
She rummaged through it and found what she was looking for—the book she’d been reading. The romance. She’d be stuck here all night. Damn if she’d lie there watching TV. A romance book was better than no book. And better than watching TV. Besides, she had to admit to thinking about the characters a good bit. How would they work things out? It seemed impossible. It had completely hooked her in—which also seemed impossible for a Shakespeare scholar and self-confessed literary snob.
“We haven’t actually gotten to the will reading,” Agatha said. “We’re just assuming.”
“Summer is her only child,” Piper said, “so it stands to reason she inherits it all.”
Summer bit her lip. Lucky me.
The door to her room swung open, and Ben Singer walked inside, with the nurse trailing him. “There are too many people in here.”
“Okay, we’re leaving,” Piper said as she reached for her mother’s arm. “But we’ll be back with her things.”
The two of them exited the room, leaving Summer with the nurse and two men. The nurse placed a blood pressure cuff on her and squeezed.
“Ms. Merriweather,” Ben Singer said, “looks like you’ve brought trouble to the island. Yet again.”
Summer was certain her blood pressure kicked up as the nurse looked at her with a cocked eyebrow.
She turned to Singer. “Sir, if you’re going to upset my patient, I’m going to ask you to leave.”
Singer lurched back as if someone had hit him.
Levi’s voice rang from the corner. “Stick to the business at hand, Singer.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After answering the police chief’s myriad of questions about her attack, he took his leave, Levi still in the room.
“I hope we find who did this to you,” Levi said. “Man, that Singer …” He smiled.
Summer laughed, even though her head was splitting, and she just wanted to sleep. “History with you too?”
“Oh yes,” he said, folding his arms. “He’s old school, and I don’t mean that in a good way.”
Not for the first time, Summer wondered what had gone on between them.
“I need to get going, but here’s my card.” he said, handing it to her. “Call that cell number anytime. I think something odd is going on here. I’m not sure if your mother was murdered, as you suggest, but you were attacked. Your house was set on fire. So, if Singer’s going to ignore all this evidence, fine. I won’t.”
“Thank you,” Summer said, fingering the card, then setting it on the table next to her bed.
A spark of ease fluttered in Summer’s chest. He believed her. He was careful not to give her too much hope—and she respected that. Of course, he had to weigh all options and not completely believe the grieving daughter. But hard facts were not so easy to ignore, at least not to somebody with any sense. What was Singer’s problem, anyway? Did he think she did this to herself? How crazy was that?
After Levi left, Summer picked up Nights in Bellamy Harbor and read it. Turned the page and saw that her mother had circled a few sentences about the alpha male developer wanting to buy half of the island. She placed exclamation marks off to the side of them. Hmm. What was it about those sentences that bothered my mother? Was it because it was a pivotal part in the book, or was it something more personal?
She blinked. Was there a developer snooping around the island? Is this why her mother had circled the sentences? Was there any r
ecent news about a developer? When she was sprung from the hospital, she’d find out.
She proceeded with her reading. The alpha male developer, Omar, loved the environmentalist librarian. But just how was that going to work out? Silly, she knew, but she simply just had to find out. She read page after page until she drifted off. Then the book fell on her chest, waking her up. She scooted it off to the side and rolled over to sleep.
Through the night, she was awakened countless times by well-meaning nurses checking her blood pressure and temperature. She wondered how anybody could get rest in a hospital.
Aunt Agatha and Piper brought personal items for her the next morning.
“Thanks,” Summer said. “I’m hoping to get out today.”
“I think they’ll keep you at least one more night,” Agatha said. “You’ve got a very nasty bump on your head.”
“I need to get out of here. I’ve got some sleuthing to do.”
“You need to take care of yourself.” Piper poured a glass of water. “Have a drink.”
“Maybe the sleuthing you’ve already done is what’s brought you here. Maybe we she just give up,” Aunt Agatha said. “Your mother is gone. Nothing we do will bring her back. She wouldn’t want you placing yourself in danger.”
“Danger?” Summer couldn’t believe what her aunt was saying. Was she ready to give up on finding the killer of her mother just because of a few incidents?
“So far, someone tried to kill you at least once, and someone attacked you. Is revenge worth it?”
Summer paused before replying. Perhaps Aunt Agatha was correct. This had all just gotten too dangerous. Maybe she should just leave and go back to Staunton, to her life there. Teaching. Reading. And Shakespeare.
“Visitors!” A group of women entered the room with food. Members of the book club. Marilyn, Doris, and Glads sauntered into the room.
“How are you feeling, dear?” Doris said, bringing the table across the bed. “We’ve brought you some food.”
Summer’s stomach waved at the scent of it. She looked up at the well-meaning Doris. “Maybe later. I just can’t eat right now.”
“She has a concussion,” Piper said, “so she has a bit of a sick stomach. You can leave the food here until she feels better.” She took the bags of food from the ladies.
“Poor dear,” Doris said. Did she always look the same way? Her hair and makeup was always in place.
Marilyn moved forward. “I enjoyed your visit yesterday. I hope you’ll be able to make it to the book group.”
“Surely,” Summer said, the bookstore entering her mind’s eye. The rush of warmth she’d felt yesterday there comforted her.
“When do you plan to return to Staunton, or are you staying?” Doris asked.
Agatha, Piper, and Marilyn turned their heads to her.
“I don’t know, Doris,” Summer said. What an odd thing to ask someone who’s lying in a hospital bed. But now that Summer remembered it, Doris had asked her that question more than once. “I don’t feel very welcome here. I just might leave when I’m sprung. Perhaps it’s time I consider heading home.”
Summer rarely gave up that easily. But here she was, lying in a hospital bed, with a huge painful knot on her head. And her aunt and cousin appeared to have given up on it all. Why not head back home, where she was safe and secure?
Not only was Summer a failure at her life, having run away to England because of a little controversy, but she was also a failure as a daughter not being able to find her mother’s killer.
“But this is your home,” Aunt Agatha said.
Was home a shifting place? Or was it always the place you grew up? Summer felt the tug of her new life in Staunton, the one she had created with her education and independence. But she had to admit St. Brigid also had an undeniable pull on her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“We will have to keep you at least one more night.”
“I don’t understand,” Summer said. “I can take care of myself and can do it at home.” She folded her arms.
The doctor frowned. “I’m sorry. It’s a new policy for concussions. We can’t be too careful. The more we learn about head injuries, the clearer it becomes that we need to be more cautious, not less so.”
His condescending tone made her want to scream. It was men like him who made her want to quote Shakespeare. Out loud. Maybe a whole act of one of his plays.
“Do you understand?”
“I may have a concussion, but I have a PhD in Shakespearean literature and understand English perfectly well, and let me tell you—”
“Summer?” Agatha walked into the room. “Are you giving your doctor grief? You need to calm down, dear.”
There were only a few people Summer didn’t argue with—Aunt Agatha was one of them.
“They want to keep me another day.”
“I explained to her that—”
“You need not explain it again. Thank you. I got it the first time. I’ll fill her in.”
He nodded, smiled, and left the room.
Agatha sat on the edge of her bed. “It’s best for you here, dear. Just get some rest.”
Summer rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to rest. I need to get out of here and find who killed my mom.”
“It’s getting a little dangerous, don’t you think? First the fire, now this. I don’t know … maybe we best leave it alone.”
“I must be getting close.” Summer’s headache was getting worse.
“Why would you say that?”
“The fire and the attack. Someone is worried.” Her hand snapped to her temple.
Agatha stood. “Have they given you anything to sleep? We just need to shut that brain of yours down.”
“I just took something,” Summer muttered.
“Thank goddess for that!” Agatha stood.
“I’m sure I’m getting close to something with all this poking around I’m doing. I called Xanadu Corp. Rex Garfield claims he’s not made an offer in a long time. I visited with Posey.”
“Posey? Why? She was a dear friend of Hildy’s.”
“I just wondered if she was aware of any strangeness in Mom’s life.”
“Was she?”
“No more than us.”
“I also called Henry, who never returned my calls. Some excuse about his phone.” she paused. “But I ran into him at the bookstore.”
“And?” Her eyebrows rose.
“And … nothing. He’s as strange as he ever was.”
“You never liked him. Your mother was quite fond of him and all of his offers.” She giggled. Summer’s eyelids grew heavy as she tried to listen. “I’ve often wondered if, you know, they had some kind of affair …”
Now Summer laughed. Henry and her mother? He was Summer’s age. Wait. Was he a bit older? But still. She laughed herself to sleep. The idea of Henry and Hildy rolled around in her mind and spun itself into a dream of her mother. Laughing. Suddenly serious. “What is so funny? Me with a younger man?” She looked as if she was upset, about ready to cry. “Mom? I didn’t mean to upset you. Mom. Mom?”
“Sorry, I’m not your mother,” Glads said, smiling. “I’m just here to check on you.”
Glads. She was always popping up. Her and her purple glasses. Summer said nothing. Her cottony mouth kept quiet.
Glads had an armful of books. “I brought you some books in case you get bored.”
“I’m still reading the book club book,” Summer said.
Glads smiled. “Good, but take these for when you’re done.” She sat the books on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit. And I’m so thirsty.”
“Let me pour you some water.” Summer hadn’t realized there was a pitcher of water in her room, until that moment.
“How are things at the store?”
She handed Summer the water. “Good. As always. Things at the library are very busy these days with the kids’ summer reading program.”
Summer drank the w
ater. Had water ever tasted so good?
“So Henry came back in the store the day you fell—”
“Was pushed. I didn’t fall.”
“Right. But anyway, he came back in, looking for you.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He seemed agitated.”
“I’ve already given the police my story. They’re aware that I was talking with him just before this happened.”
Glads head tilted in interest. “Do you think he pushed you?”
The nurse walked in and started fussing over Summer, took her blood pressure, gave her medicine. Then she walked back out.
“I can’t imagine him pushing me,” Summer said. “But then again, I can’t imagine any of this. Someone killing my mom? Someone trying to burn down the house? Now this? I’ll tell you someone on this island is not what they seem. And it could be him. Who knows?”
Glads’s face blanked.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I sometimes feel as I don’t know this place anymore.” Her chin quivered. “Half the time I’m torn between crying or-or … beating someone up!”
“What’s going on Glads?”
“Besides all this? As if this wasn’t enough, there’s a developer moving in. I saw the office sign. We’ve fought them off before. I just don’t know how much longer we can keep our little beach town authentic.”
Authentic. Summer was beginning to hate that word. But she knew what Glads meant.
Her eyes drifted to the book on the nightstand. “Just like Nights at Bellamy Harbor. They’re fighting with everything in them to keep their town away from the developers.”
Glads’s face lit up. “Yes, it’s kind of a trope. But there are reasons for it. It happens every day, so people relate.”
“I wonder if our developer is half as hot as Omar,” Summer said, promoting a giggle from Glads.
Chapter Thirty
After Glads left, Summer drifted into a nap. She awakened with a start because someone was standing by her bed. She attempted to open her eyes, but her vision blackened several times. The sun was streaming, obscuring the person’s face. Then he moved. And his face came into focus.
Little Bookshop of Murder Page 11
