Summer’s throat squeezed. She stood on the porch looking out over the view she’d grown up watching every day. The sea was calm. Moonlight reflecting on it, shimmered like rippled glass.
“Summer?”
“Yes?” She didn’t turn and look at Piper.
Piper’s arms slipped around her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m not sure. But I think I will be. How about you?”
Piper shrugged. “If it makes you feel any better, I totally agree with you. Someone murdered Aunt Hildy in her own bookstore.”
A welling rose in Summer’s chest. She tamped down the primal scream every ounce of her body wanted to release.
“How about a glass of wine?” Piper said.
Summer nodded, as she was certain that if she opened her mouth right now, that scream of frustration, anger, grief, and pain would burst out.
They sauntered back inside, and Piper poured two glasses of red wine. They sat on the couch, with Mr. Darcy overseeing the scene.
“He looks good,” Piper said. “For an old bird.”
Summer nodded again. The wine was working a bit of magic. The muscles in her neck unraveled. Her shoulders loosened. “The vitamins the vet gave him are doing the trick.”
“You look a little better than you did out on the porch. Color’s coming back.”
Summer held up her wineglass. “I might need more of this.”
Piper pointed to the bottle sitting on the coffee table. “I figured. That’s why I brought the whole bottle.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
After solving all the world’s problems, Piper and Summer called it a night.
Summer opened the birdcage door, and Mr. Darcy flew right onto her pillow. “Night night,” he said.
“Good night, Mr. Darcy.”
She pulled her nylon face mask over her head and her anti-insect blanket around her. The bird snuggled closer. At least there’s one male creature not put off by my nighttime psychosis. She lived in fear of waking up with a spider on her—especially on her face, in her ears, or—worse—mouth. She’d grown accustomed to it and now wasn’t even certain she could sleep without it.
She tossed and turned, a bit worried about the results of the autopsy. Rudy’s words kept rolling around in her head. What if she was making a fool of herself and, worse yet, her mother? What if her mom was the one in a million that had a heart attack without having any symptoms?
No. What about all the other things? The notes, the fire, her attack, the bookstore robbery? No. Her mom had not died of a natural heart attack. Someone had been out to get her—and that person was out to get Summer too. So far, they must be pretty disappointed.
She had thought there was an intruder, earlier tonight, which proved to Summer that she was getting paranoid. But who’d have imagined Rudy would be outside looking for Missy, his granddaughter’s cat? Why was the cat always running away?
* * *
The next morning, the sun woke Summer. Mr. Darcy was gone from the crook of her neck, where he’d always slept. She sat up. “Darcy?”
No answer.
She flung the blankets off her and pulled off her mask. She stood looking around the room. “Darcy? There you are.” He was on the ledge of the window looking out toward the ocean. “Silly bird. What are you doing?”
She reached for him, pulling him close, and glanced out the window. A cat sat staring at them. Must be Missy.
Summer placed him back in his cage.
She couldn’t believe she’d slept too late. It was almost 10 AM she needed to shower and get over to see the doctor. She needed to know what he’d gleaned from the results.
Then she needed to get to the bookstore. They expected her to help with a shipment of books in today.
A pang of impatience tore through her. She wanted answers so she could get on with her life. She owned a house in Staunton and had a life there. Well. Kind of. Her job was still uncertain. She’d yet to hear back whether the dean could get support for his plan of a sabbatical for her.
After a quick shower and coffee on the go, Summer hopped into the car to go to the doctor’s. When she arrived, she found the lack of cars in the parking lot perplexing. What was going on?
She exited the car and walked over to the door. The “Gone fishing” note was still on the door. She was certain Lucy had said he’d be back today. She peered inside and saw Lucy, who motioned for Summer to come in.
“Hi, Summer. I’m sorry. He’s having car trouble. I don’t think he’ll be in until tomorrow.” Harried, she flipped through the computer screen. The phone rang.
Poor thing, she was trying to rearrange his schedule. When she got off the phone, Summer asked her about the autopsy results.
“I asked him this morning, and the email never came through. I think it’s because he was out at sea. When his car gets closer, he should be able to read the results.”
Summer’s heart sank. Well, she’d waited all this time for answers—what was a few more hours?
“I’d brace yourself for one more day. He’ll have a lot of catch-up.”
Summer’s stomach roiled. One more day? One more day?
She nodded. “Well, please tell him it’s very important. Have him call me when he’s ready to talk.”
“Will do, Summer.” Her fingers clicked on her computer.
As Summer left the office, she noticed a man walking down the sidewalk, a man who looked very familiar. Henry. Did he live in this neighborhood?
She didn’t think so. This was more a business section of the island. Very few houses. She passed an apartment complex. But she thought he owned a house.
She followed him at a distance so he wouldn’t suspect her. Curiosity pulled her along. Henry, the high school English teacher, a friend of her mom’s who everybody said wanted the shop and who definitely would appreciate the first editions. What was he doing in this part of town?
She walked past the convenience store and St. Brigid Church, then followed him around to the side entrance, where he disappeared into the building. A church? She didn’t have him pegged as religious. At all. But you never know about some people. She continued to walk by and noted the sign on the door: “Gamblers Anonymous meeting here today.”
They had all known about his gambling problem. But there he was, getting help. Summer’s dislike of him seemed unreasonable in that moment. You had to feel for someone who realized he had a problem and worked on himself.
She recalled her anti-insect blanket and nylon face mask. Would she ever be able to shed them? Would she ever be able to venture into basements, attics? Go camping?
Just the idea of it made her shudder.
Chapter Fifty-Six
“What are you doing here, Summer?”
Summer turned around to face Ben Singer.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked you what you’re doing here.” He stood with his hands on his hips.
Had he been following her as she followed Henry?
“I asked you a question, Summer.”
Her heart raced. “I’m not doing anything wrong. Why are you on my case?”
“This is an odd place for you. I think you’re following Henry. Now I want to know why.”
“I wasn’t following Henry. I just went for a bit of a stroll after stopping by the doctor’s office to talk about my mom’s autopsy. That’s all.”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay, Summer. But please don’t be stalking private citizens on this island.” He started to walk away.
“What are you doing here, Ben?”
He turned back to face her, befuddled. “What did you say?”
“What are you doing here? Were you following me? Or were you following Henry?”
His mouth fell open. Then he gathered himself. “I’m an officer of the law and don’t have to answer to you.”
“Ah-ha!” Summer said so loudly that he jumped. “You were following one of us. But why?”
His face reddened. “I wasn’t following anybody, young lady.
Now back off.” He turned and walked away.
“‘Young lady’?” she yelled after him. “I’m a scholar! A Shakespeare professor. I’m thirty-two years old. How dare you!”
He kept walking.
She followed him. “I’m following you now, Ben.”
He stopped, spun around, and pointed his finger at her. “I’m warning you, Summer.”
“Warning me?”
“Stop poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. You might get hurt … or arrested.”
Arrested? Was he going to arrest her for walking behind Henry? He couldn’t prove she was following him.
She crossed her arms. “All I want is justice for my mom. I have to wonder why you don’t.”
He kept walking and didn’t even acknowledge her last statement.
He was right about one thing. She rarely came to this part of town. It wasn’t her favorite part. Just a strip of doctors’ offices, churches, and a few retail establishments She rarely had reason to be here. And it lacked the character of the rest of the island. Even the “touristy” boardwalk was not very touristy. Well, not compared to places like Virginia Beach and Ocean City.
She found her way back to her car and then to the bookstore. She hoped to give Poppy a bit of a break today. Poor woman had had little of one.
She hadn’t realized she was still angry until Poppy asked her about it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing. Other than I just had an encounter with Ben Singer, who has a grudge against me.”
She grinned. “He’s got a grudge against everybody.”
“Excuse me,” a customer came up to them. “I’m looking for the J. D. Robb section. I found Nora’s section, and I thought the J. D. Robb books would be right there.”
“J. D. Robb’s books are in the mystery section, which is upstairs,” Poppy said.
“Thank you,” the woman said and walked off.
“Have you finished the book? Are you coming tonight?” Poppy asked.
“I have one more chapter to read. And yes, I’ll be there tonight. Are you ready for a lunch break?”
A wide smile spread across Poppy’s face. “Absolutely.” A look of relief washed over her face, then she walked into the back for her break.
Summer straightened the register. Authors’ bookmarks and cards, along with the flyers, needed a bit of tidying. Thoughts of Henry and Ben poked at her mind. Was Ben following Henry himself? Henry had mentioned that the police were bothering him. Following him. Questioning him. Summer assumed it was about the theft of the first editions, but perhaps it was more. Maybe Ben was taking her mom’s death more seriously—she was sure he had been at one point. But now that the autopsy results concluded her mom had had a heart attack, his interest had probably plummeted. She also wondered about the fire investigation. Was anybody continuing to look into it?
Summer felt like she was close to finding the mother’s killer, but she could be kidding herself. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Had Henry gotten himself in trouble again with gambling? Money was one of the biggest reasons for murder. And in her mom’s case, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense. The other big motive was romance—a relationship gone bad, jealousy, that kind of thing. Hildy hadn’t dated. So it had to be money.
Summer had followed the trail of money, just like they always said to do in all the detective shows, and it had led her nowhere. Except to Rudy, who had an alibi, and Henry, who vehemently denied any wrongdoing. Summer’s stomach roiled. Of course he would.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing someone. Some developer … someone lurking in the shadows waiting to make Summer an offer on the bookstore. But not without scaring her first, with the fire, attack, and bookstore robbery.
Little did they know, Summer Merriweather didn’t scare easily.
Unless there was a spider anywhere on the premises.
People she could handle. Spiders, no.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
After closing up the shop, Summer set off for the house to get ready for the book group meeting. She had one more chapter left in the book, and she’d read it come hell or high water.
She settled herself in the La-Z-Boy. “Summer,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Hello, Darcy.”
She cracked open the book. One more chapter to find out how Tilda and Omar would work it out with his wealthy Muslim family, the developers. It seemed so complicated. He was the only son in a Muslim family, and so many obligations came with that. Tilda was strong and independent, but she turned to jelly when Omar was around.
Summer’s eyes grazed over the text, and soon enough she was swept into the story, not realizing the time passing or anything else.
She closed the book, tears streaming down her face. It was so simple—to love and be loved was the most important thing in life. Why did people complicate things?
Religion and culture and mores and pride and stupidity.
“Are you ready?” Piper breezed into the living room.
“Uh.” Summer looked up at her and wiped tears from her face.
Piper rushed to her. “What’s wrong?”
She held up the book.
“Oh yeah. The book. All the feels, right?”
“I can’t believe I’m sitting here crying over a romance novel.”
Piper laughed. “If Hildy’s listening, you just made her very happy!”
“I know. Crazy. I’m losing my mind.” She stood. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
She moved into the bathroom and washed her face. The cool water helped bring her back into reality. She couldn’t believe how well that book was written, nor how it made her forget time and place. She swiped the mascara wand over her lashes, brushed some blush across her cheeks, and applied lip gloss to her lips. She looked at herself in the mirror. “Better,” she said, spraying herself with insect repellant for their later outdoor excursion. She was grateful for the warning that part of the celebration would drift off to Full Moon Cove.
She couldn’t quite shrug off the story. Something about it felt very personal. Maybe that’s why people read so much romance? Her mom used to say that romance carried the rest of the book industry.
Her mom’s notes scattered through the book were … treasures. Summer would never get rid of it. Then she vowed to check through the other books around the house. Had Hildy left notes in those too? Something in Summer’s chest fluttered at the thought.
Piper knocked at the bathroom door. “Are you ready? We need to go.”
Summer opened the door. “I’m as ready as I will ever be.”
She found her bag, slipped the book into it, and she and Piper exited the house together.
They walked along the beach, toward the boardwalk, past the neighborhood of tiny cottages, past the condos, the church and Wanda’s hot dog stand, which smelled so good it tempted Summer to buy a few to eat before she got to the store.
“There will be food at the meeting,” Piper said, as if reading her mind.
“Good. I’m starving. I hadn’t realized it until I smelled those hot dogs.”
Rudy stood outside the arcade.
“Bastard,” Piper mumbled.
Summer agreed but ignored her remark. “Hey Rudy, Missy has been hanging on my porch.”
He nodded. “Good to know.”
The continued walked. “Who’s Missy?” Piper asked.
“His granddaughter’s cat. It keeps running away from home and coming over to our house.”
“A gray tabby?”
“Yes. I have to wonder why she’s hanging out at Mom’s place. Mom was allergic and would never have encouraged it.”
Piper laughed. “True. But Mr. Darcy loves that cat. And the cat loves him. They used to just sit and look at one another through the window.”
“Oh my god! That’s what was going on yesterday!”
“Probably,” she said. “You should tell Rudy not to worry. It’s true love.”
“Right?”
They stopped in front of the bookstore. For all intents and purposes, it looked closed to the passerby. They slipped in.
Laughter came from upstairs. Summer and Piper walked up to find a circle of women—and one man, Henry—getting ready to discuss the book. The room was full of about twenty people, some of whom Summer knew.
A circle of chairs sat in the middle of the room. Marilyn sauntered over to Piper and Summer. “So glad you could make it. We’ll get started in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” Summer said.
Pink-haired Doris and multi-tattooed Marilyn were chatting near the cozy mystery section. Together, they were a plethora of color. Pinks. Greens. Purples. They looked deep in their conversation.
Agatha came up beside Piper. “Hello there. Are we ready to talk about romance?”
Summer rolled her eyes at her aunt’s jab. If only she knew how much her niece loved the book, Summer would never live it down.
“Can we all take a seat?” Glads said.
Like well-trained children, the group all took their seats. The room quieted.
“Welcome,” Glads said. “We’re all missing our dear Hildy tonight.” Her voice cracked. “But we knew she’d want us to continue gathering and discussing books.” Glads paused. “This book was one of her favorites. We talked about it a lot.” She smiled. “The author was a good friend of hers and had been here to visit and sign books on several occasions.”
Summer had realized none of that. But it made sense. The book had that note about Rudy scribbled in it.
Agatha reached over and squeezed Summer’s hand. Her hand was warm and soft on Summer’s.
As the readers discussed the book, Summer studied them. Could one of them have killed her mom? It had to be someone in her circle. Which upset Summer. Better that a stranger should kill you than a friend. Try as she might, Summer got no bad vibes from anyone in the group.
Little Bookshop of Murder Page 21
