Little Bookshop of Murder

by Maggie Blackburn

  She sat up and gasped. “Jesus! What are you doing here!”

  Henry lifted a bouquet of flowers. “Just checking on you.”

  “Why? You scared me half to death!”

  He shrugged, looking a little miffed. “I thought it’d be a friendly gesture. Since you’re moving back. I kinda wanted to, uh, start things off on the right foot this time.”

  Summer’s head was hurting and spinning. But the flowers were a nice gesture. “Okay,” she said, not really buying this sudden friendly attitude from him. What was he up to? An awkward pause. “I think there’re vases in that drawer.”

  He opened it, pulled one out, and arranged the flowers.

  “Thank you. It was very kind of you.”

  “You’re welcome. Your mother and I——” oh no, did she want to know this? She almost covered her ears—“had become very good friends.” His voice cracked. “I lost my mom a few years ago and, well, I guess appreciated Hildy’s overbearing motherly nature.” He grinned.

  Summer rolled her eyes, suddenly embarrassed at how she must look in the hospital bed. No makeup, surrounded by white. “I hear you.” She paused. “So you became friends? That’s so nice.” Mom didn’t mention that to me.

  He glanced at the books on her table. “Looks like the book fairy has been here.”

  “Yes, and her name is Gladys.”

  “Nights at Bellamy Harbor?” He picked it up and grinned at Summer. “You’re reading a romance?” He lurched back. “Miz Shakespeare professor?”

  Okay, she deserved it, a bit, but how dare he come bearing gifts and now launch into this? “It’s the book club’s book. Mom was reading it when she passed away. There are notes scattered throughout. They invited me to come to the meeting. I just wanted to be prepared.”

  He laughed. “It’s a good book, isn’t it?”

  “I have to admit that it’s not as bad as I imagined.” And would you please leave? “Are you reading it?”

  “I finished it last night. In case you didn’t know, I’m in the book club.”

  Okay, she needed a roster of those members. The high school English teacher was a member of her mom’s romance book club?

  He was local, in the book club, and wanted the bookstore. Something didn’t sit right with her. He claimed he was a good friend of her mom’s. But she’d never mentioned it. He was still definitely a suspect. She was not yet completely certain he wasn’t the one who pushed her. Whoever it was definitely had strong hands. If she closed her eyes, she still felt the heave on the exact place where her assailant had placed hands on her back.

  “Good for you.”

  He leaned in. “Shakespeare was a popular writer. He appealed to the masses. You know that.”

  “Of course I do. But there was a brilliance to his writing, outlasting all the other popular writers of the day. And such a brilliance in that he’s inspired so many other authors that it’s impossible to say how many. Story mechanics. Language. Tension. The list goes on. You can’t say the same for Nora Roberts.”

  He stood, dumbfounded, then shook it off. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Summer stared him down.

  “Well, I need to get going. I hope you feel better soon.” He turned to go, then moved back toward her. “See you at book club.” Then he winked. Winked! She threw a pillow at him, which he narrowly escaped.

  But the doctor just walked in and lifted the pillow from the floor. “Everything okay?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, gathering herself. And none of your business, Doc.

  “Well, I have good news, and I have bad news.” He walked over to the bed and brought the pillow, which he set at the end of the bed. “You can go home. But no screen time for at least two weeks. And you shouldn’t go back to work for at least that long.”

  Work. Hmm. She wondered if she should check in with the school. Then she thought again. And she supposed she’d not be going into the bookstore.

  “Try not to think too much. That’ll be hard for you.”

  Was that a jab?

  “How can anybody stop from thinking?”

  “Well, of course. What I mean is just try not to overthink, figure out problems, and so on. It’s bad for a healing brain.”

  “But I can go home?”

  He nodded. “If you don’t take care of yourself, I’ll know it because you’ll be back. You don’t want to come back here, do you?”

  No, indeed.

  Piper came to the hospital to fetch her and her flowers. “Flowers from Henry? Do tell?”

  Summer shrugged while she was being wheeled away. “I wonder what he’s up to. I don’t quite trust him.”

  “You never liked him,” she said.

  “He says he and mom were close.”

  “Were they?” Piper said.

  “He’s in the book group.”

  “Oh yes. I’m aware. And as far as I can tell, it’s worked well for him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s worked his way through several members of the group, including our Poppy.”

  “What?”

  “Not the inner circle. But the new younger ones. Yes, indeed. Our Henry is quite the ladies’ man.”

  Summer snorted. Well, well, well.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Summer collapsed into her couch bed. She was losing track of time and days. Mr. Darcy flapped his wings and cawed. He had plenty of food, and his cage had just been cleaned. But he paced back and forth, agitated.

  “What’s wrong, Darcy?”

  Piper walked into the room, with water for Summer. “He’s been agitated since Glads and Doris came over to help me clean his cage. He doesn’t seem to like them.”

  “He’s getting old. He probably doesn’t like anybody.” Summer downed her medicine, hoping it would take away the nagging pain of a headache. “Is it Monday?”

  Piper nodded. “I think he misses Hildy.” She plopped down on the La-Z-Boy.

  “I’m sure he does. Poor guy. She was his best friend.”

  “So my mom says you’ve been sleuthing.”

  “A bit.”

  “She’s worried. She thinks someone is trying to hurt you, and she wants you to stop.”

  Summer set her half-empty water glass down. “I’m aware. But I’m not going to.”

  Piper sighed. “I figured. But listen don’t go off alone anywhere. Just to be on the safe side. Mom is worried. She doesn’t want anything to happen to you. Well, none of us do.”

  Something bloomed in Summer’s chest. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to have family around. Or anybody around who cared about her well-being. She had a few acquaintances at the university and at her church, but mostly she was met with indifference. Especially at the University. If not indifference, then hostility. Being around her family used to make her feel stifled, but now it warmed her. Or perhaps strong pain medicine was messing with her?

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in one of the beds?”

  “I’m fine here. I enjoy bunking with Darcy. Right, boy?”

  He rocked back and forth on his feet. But no answer.

  “So have you found out anything interesting?”

  “Nothing. It’s been more a process of elimination.” She filled Piper in on everything she’d learned.

  “What’s next?”

  “I keep questioning the book club members. Including Henry.”

  “Henry? I don’t see it. I think you’re wasting your time.”

  “They say that most murder victims know their killers.”

  “I’ve heard that, but it’s so hard to imagine any of the book group hurting your mother.”

  “It’s hard to imagine any of it.” Summer snuggled down into the couch and pulled the blanket closer to her. “I spoke with Rex from Xanadu, who wasn’t anywhere near the island. Who else wanted the bookstore? And who else had access to this place besides the book club members?”

  “What if it has nothing to do wi
th the store? What if they just wanted your mother to leave?”

  Summer hadn’t considered that. She’d been following a logical line of thinking. The notes mentioned the bookstore. Her mom had had offers. But maybe Piper was right—and this was personal.

  “Mom could be kind of mysterious. There were whole parts of her life I know nothing about. Like my father. Who is he?”

  “I wish I knew that too. But you’re right. Hildy was very open about some things, but also very private in her way.” She waved her arms around. “She loved you. Look at the place. It’s like a temple to you and all the many goddesses she loved.”

  “She wasn’t talking to me when I left for England. She thought I should stay and hold my head up and fight back.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “But that video went viral, and—well, it was a mess. I needed to get some distance and do something that would help keep my job.”

  “I get it. How’s it going with the therapy?”

  “Well, my therapist is in Staunton. We’ve had one conversation since I’ve been here. It’s been okay.” Summer paused. “We’re looking at the root of my fear, and that’s difficult.”

  The medicine was taking over, and Summer’s eyes felt heavy.

  “Some deep, dark childhood thing, no doubt,” Piper said.

  “Yes, but what?” Summer slurred her words and yawned.

  Piper stood and placed the cover over Darcy’s cage. “I think it’s bedtime. Good night.”

  “Good night, Piper.” She pulled her anti-insect blanket over her.

  Summer closed her eyes and hoped her mom would visit her in her dreams again that night. Even an angry Hildy was better that no Hildy.

  But Hildy wasn’t in her dreams. It was a dreamless night, and when Summer awakened, she regretted it. She reached for Nights at Bellamy Harbor. It wasn’t a bad book. But more than that. It was her mom’s book. Somehow, it brought Hildy closer to her. The notes in the margin, the underlining of sentences. So, Hildy. And so Summer—as she did the same things.

  Summer hadn’t given much consideration to the mystery of her father these days. But now that her mom was gone, she wondered if she should. Agatha would not support her quest to find out who he was, understanding how strongly Hildy felt about keeping it secret. She’d had to do it on the down low. But it might be good to just know. She doubted she’d contact the man. She used to lie awake at night, imagining who he was. Was he handsome? Was he a nice person? Why did he leave Hildy? Was he rich?

  Summer had been without her dad for her whole life—and yet sometimes she felt like she missed him. Had Hildy ever planned to tell Summer who he was? Maybe now was the time for Summer to use her research skills to find her own father.

  Summer quoted a line from Shakespeare. “‘Then, good my mother, let me know my father—Some proper man, I hope.’” She grinned. Summer doubted propriety had anything to do with it.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The next morning, Summer awakened early, made herself coffee, and sat on the front porch with it, watching the sun get higher against the horizon and reflect in the ocean. This was the same view she’d gazed at when making all the major decisions in her life. She’d said yes to Cash’s marriage proposal, and then the day of the wedding, this was the spot where she’d planted herself, unable to move. This was also the spot where she’d decided on which college to attend. The porch swing was where she had whiled away her hours, reading one Shakespeare play or poem after another.

  Now, she was here, with her mom gone, trying to figure out what had happened to her. Now, more than ever, she believed her mom had been murdered. Summer‘s life had been threatened with the fire and then the attack. She was getting too close to the truth. Someone wanted her gone too.

  She took a long drink of coffee. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not yet.

  The door creaked open, and Piper came out onto the porch, sitting quietly next to Summer.

  A few minutes later, she broke the silence. “How’s your head?”

  “Hurts a bit. But it’s getting better.”

  “Good. Have you heard from Ben at all?”

  “No. I’ve been thinking about following up with both him and Levi.”

  “Levi.” Piper drawled as if he were a delicious dessert. “Now there’s a man. He’s put together very well.”

  “Yes, and all the women on the island seem to think so. Even Posey.”

  “Posey? She’s what? In her eighties?” Piper laughed.

  “Yes, but she’s got it goin’ on.” Summer grinned.

  Later that morning, Summer received a call from Al Pereles, her mother’s lawyer. He had an opening that afternoon.

  Summer. Piper, Mia, and Agatha piled into Piper’s car and drove to the courthouse, where the lawyer’s office was.

  “This is kind of ridiculous,” Mia said from the backseat. “Why do we have to go? We figure Summer’s getting everything, right?”

  “Mia!” Piper said.

  “We were all named in the will—that’s why we have to go,” Agatha said in a clipped tone.

  Piper parked the car, and the four of them found their way.

  The courthouse was small, but it sufficed for the small island, with two lawyers and two, sometimes three, cops. There were no grand cement pillars. Instead, a green awning flapped in the breeze, flanked by two potted plants. Probably fake.

  The lobby was cool and smelled of something floral. Maybe it was the receptionist’s perfume.

  “Hello, I’m Summer Merriweather,” she said.

  “Great,” she said, smiling at Summer. “Follow me. Mr. Pereles will be right with you.”

  She led them down a long, narrow hallway and into a room with a conference table and chairs. The walls were lined with thick books. A familiar rush swept through Summer. Gorgeous books. Weighty. Legal books, no doubt. The real deal. Her eyes scanned them—beautifully aligned and arranged. So deep in her musing over the books was she that she didn’t realize the lawyer had walked in and taken a seat at the head of the table.

  “Hello. I’m Al Pereles, Hilda Mae Merriweather’s attorney,” he said, breaking the silence. “Which one of you is Summer?” He looked at Summer and Piper.

  Summer raised her hand. “That would be me.”

  He shuffled the stack of papers in front of him on the table. “Hildy left everything to you. The bookstore and the house.”

  “Of course she did,” Agatha said.

  “But there are a few notable exceptions. She has some other items she wanted other people to have. Piper Merriweather?”

  Piper raised her hand. Watery-eyed, frowning.

  “She’s willed her first edition Anne Rice books to you, plus a necklace that you’ve always admired.”

  She gasped, her hand went to her mouth, and tears streamed. The lawyer slid the box of tissues to her.

  “You must be Mia.”

  “Yeah,” she replied, with a little quiver in her voice. Tough girl Mia was a bit nervous.

  “If your aunt Summer passes away without children to inherit, all the property goes to you.”

  Mia glanced at Summer, then to her mom. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then shut it. Agatha reached over and took her hand, smiling at her granddaughter.

  “Agatha?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “She left all of her first editions to you, except for the folio, of course, which goes to Summer.”

  Agatha nodded, trying to smile.

  Summer’s hand snapped to her chest.

  “Folio?” Summer said. “What are you talking about?”

  “A surprise for you,” Agatha said in a hushed voice. “Your mother purchased a copy of a Shakespeare folio. She planned to give it to you for your birthday, I believe.”

  Stunned, Summer’s brain reeled—and hurt. A headache was creeping back in. The damned concussion. “That would have been too expensive.”

  “Your mother handled her money very well,” the lawyer said.

&n
bsp; “What?”

  He handed her a folder. “These are the stocks and the account your mother had. They go to you, of course.” He paused. “There is one more thing to note, Agatha. She asked that you do not sell the first editions, particularly not to Henry.”

  Summer’s heart skipped a beat. Why would her mom have stated that?

  “As if I would,” Agatha said. “He was always bothering her about it. Wanted her to sell them to him.”

  “I thought it was the bookstore he wanted,” Summer said.

  “He wanted both,” Mia spoke up. “But he didn’t give up on the books. He wanted them.”

  Funny he didn’t mention that to me. Henry looked more and more suspicious. But would he—or anyone—kill for a collection of first edition books? People have killed for less. But she realized that perhaps they’d been following the wrong leads. Maybe the person who left the note was setting a false trap. Maybe they wanted the first editions—some of which would be valuable by now.

  Summer cleared her throat. “We need to find out if anybody else made Mom an offer on the first editions.”

  Agatha’s eyes met Summer’s. “My thoughts exactly, my dear.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  After the reading, the group progressed to lunch at Dixie’s Diner, a favorite with the locals. The summer folks rarely discovered it until about midway through the season, so it was still a decent place to go for lunch—for now.

  “Okay,” Summer said after the server dropped off the menus and glasses filled with water. “We need to talk. I think we’ve been on the wrong track.”

  “I agree,” Agatha said.

  “What are you talking about?” Piper said.

  “The first editions. I think Mom’s killer was after the first editions, not the bookstore.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, after snooping around I can’t find anybody who’s made a recent offer.”

  “Yes, but to kill—” Piper started but was interrupted as the server came up to the table.

  “What can I get you?”

  They listed off their menu choices, and the server left the table.

  “It seems a small reason to off someone,” Piper said with a lowered voice.