by S. E. Babin
It sounded lame even to my ears, but the woman's eyes widened when I mentioned the inheritance. Money. It always spoke. "Let me talk to my supervisors and see what they say," she said. She held up her index finger and walked away.
I watched her sashay for a minute, wondering how she kept her balance so perfect in those heels, before I wandered over to the seating area and settled in. This felt like buying a new car. If it went according to the way it usually did, the man behind the curtain would never come out, and I'd be left to deal with the woman at least twice until we settled on a price we could live with.
The other alternative was getting kicked out of here. I waited around to see which one it was going to be.
The office was impersonal in the way finance companies and banks usually were. The furniture was placed in perfect squares and made of metal and glass. Everything was chrome and black, the carpet a sedate gray. The walls were painted a neutral color, a shade somewhere between beige and gray. There was nothing about the place that suggested anyone human worked here. Not even a funny take a number sign.
The chair I sat on was uncomfortable, designed to get you in and out in minimum time, not the kind of place to get comfortable in.
The woman came back in less than two minutes, her smile a little stiff. "I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?" she asked.
I stilled. "I didn't." Studying her, I could see option number two, getting kicked out, was more likely now. "My name is Laura," I said. "Laura Kerringham." The lie rolled off my tongue easy enough to disturb me at the ease in which it came.
"Miss ... Kerringham," the woman began, "we can't divulge any information about those properties, nor can we sell you one."
"What about that one where the woman lives? I knocked on her door about a week before I came here. She was still living there, but I drove past today, and the house looks empty. Is that one for sale?"
She looked a little green around the gills. The door behind me opened, but I ignored it. "If you haven't bought that one, maybe I can get my realtor to check into it. I just assumed you guys had gone in and snapped that one up, too."
A man came out of an office just then. He was overweight with a receding hairline. His eyes flashed with anger as he walked toward me. I stood up, clutching my purse close to my body.
"Miss ... what did you say your name was?" He looked me up and down and finding me lacking, his posture relaxed as if he thought I wasn't a threat.
"Laura," I said.
"Laura," the man began, "what's your interest in the houses on Spruce? We couldn't sell any to you even if we wanted to. That land is scheduled to be developed soon." His eyes were shifty and there was a bead of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. I glanced down. The name Harvey was embroidered on his button-down shirt.
"But what about the house that hasn't sold?" I was so close to getting something. I knew it. Harvey was beginning to sweat just being around me and wasn’t that curious?
"We are in negotiations with the owner of that home and will soon be in closing negotiations. I'm sorry we don't have better news for you." Anger made his eyes almost glow, and I took a nervous step back. There was something off about this Harvey character.
The sound of a throat clearing behind me made me spin around. I froze as soon as my gaze landed on a pair of familiar blue eyes and a stubborn jaw.
Hardy. Detective Cavanaugh.
Uh oh.
"Laura," Hardy said, his teeth clenching after he said my name, "may I speak with you a moment?"
I turned back to the investors. "So sorry. Thank you for your time."
I tried to breeze past Hardy, but he caught my arm and escorted me firmly outside.
The cold wind hit me right in the face and stole my breath, but Hardy didn't care. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Trying to get info!" I said, hearing the belligerence in my voice. "I want to know what happened to Marcy and I don't think you're doing a very good job at it."
Detective Cavanaugh's eyebrows rose. "Oh really? And what makes you, a bookseller, think you can do this better than us. Books? Is that it?" He exhaled a sharp breath. "There are a lot of rules to what we do, Laura, and if we don't do it right, we risk the offender getting off scot free. Your going in there and demanding info has the potential to damage our case!"
We stood, me looking up at him and him looking down at me. It was more glaring than looking and we stood that way for a least ten seconds before I blinked. Perhaps it was brash of me to do that. "I only wanted to help," I said.
"Maybe ask next time before you get some fool notion in your head like that."
I bristled. "I did get information, though," I said smugly.
"By pretending to be someone else," Hardy said. He shook his head. "We already knew about Carrie," he admitted. "With the new information we have, we are opening up a murder investigation." He pointed a finger at me. "One you need to stay out of. Are we clear?" His eyes were brilliantly blue, but this time I could see the fine lines fanning out from the sides of his face. This case was a strain on him. Silverwood Hollow was never a place where bad things happen so there must be a lot of pressure on him to solve this. Guilt flooded me, but I wasn't exactly sorry for what I'd done.
"Crystal," I muttered. So, it was a murder investigation. I tried not to puff up with pride. I knew Marcy hadn't died of natural causes. I would do my best to keep from trampling over Hardy's investigation, but I wouldn't be able to keep myself out of it anymore. "Have a good day, Detective."
He released my arm and gave me a long look. "Stay out of our way, Dakota. Every time you get involved, it has the potential to damage our case. I can only assume you don't want a murderer getting off because of your curiosity."
I huffed an annoyed breath and walked back to my car. I'd found out something major and Hardy knew it. Without waving goodbye, I started up my car and began to drive away.
I'd found out two things, actually. One, Carrie was already trying to sell the house and two, her case had been upgraded to murder. Something involving either those books or that land killed her.
I intended to find out which one it was. With or without Detective Cavanaugh.
11
I unlocked the doors to Tattered Pages only to rush in and grab the ledger I'd been documenting for years. It was the same one the prior owner used. He'd delighted in showing me the thing, but when he opened up the closet in the back of the office and showed me fifty more of them, I'd been both impressed and horrified. He kept records of every single individual who'd come into the shop to order something.
Once I bought the place, I decided to keep those ledgers. Today I'd never been more glad of a decision. I flipped on one light and rushed to the back, fumbling with my cell phone to get the flashlight to turn on. I didn't want anyone banging on the door to be let in if they saw all the lights come on.
Within a minute I had the ledgers for the last five years and I was on my way out the door when I thought of something.
"Poppy!" I called. Sometimes the cat didn't want to come with me, and I left her in the shop. Those days were long gone, though. Once she realized I came with food and belly rubs, nine times out of ten she had no problem hitching a ride home with me. The one and only time I'd tried to leave her at my apartment, I'd come home to all of my new magazines shredded and her sitting in the middle of them like the queen of Sheba.
I did a quick search through the store, calling her name. When she didn't come, I figured she must have gone home with Harper. Poppy wouldn't leave during the middle of the day. It was like she knew this was her turf and she had to defend it.
I fired off a quick text to Harper. Before I'd finished locking the doors to the store, I had a picture of Poppy snuggling with Harper's adorable Calico. I grinned and shoved my cell back in my purse before I finished locking up.
Blowing out a frigid breath, I ran over to my car and got in, blowing on my hands as soon as I set the ledgers down in the passenger seat. It was positively frigid today. As s
oon as I started the car, I cranked the heat up to high and got on the road.
* * *
Steam from the cup of tea I'd just made curled up and dissipated. I was more of a coffee drinker than a tea drinker, but it was cold outside, and I had way more coffee than I should have today. The first of the ledgers sat in front of me and I pored through the names, looking for any purchases made by Marcy or Carrie. I wasn't sure why I was looking, but I was curious to see if they'd made a habit of buying books even from the prior owner. I remember Marcy saying she'd been too sick to come out, but it didn't mean Carrie had never been by. I Googled their address to get their last name - Olds. I didn't know if I'd find something, but I checked both the first and last names on the off chance something came up.
I snorted to myself as I realized how much easier this would be if I had it on an Excel spreadsheet. The irony of it was not lost on me. I'm not sure why I kept documenting by hand, but there was something so comforting and nostalgic about it that I couldn't bring myself to put it on a file.
Maybe having to go through hundreds of names tonight would break me of that habit.
I'd owned the store for two years and during that time, I hadn't sold a lot of rare books. I didn't remember ever meeting the sisters before, but I still wanted to go through everything, just in case. I met a lot of tourists, so I wasn't sure how great my memory was after a couple of years.
I sipped my tea and slowly ran my finger down the book, pausing only when something similar popped up and I confirmed it wasn't them.
I got through my two ledgers quickly. When I picked up the third one and opened the page, I cringed. This wasn't just rare book documentation. The former owner documented every time he ordered a book, whether it was current or not. I sighed and went back up to fill my mug. On the way back to the table, I snagged a pack of cookies from the pantry. I'd have to be careful not to smear chocolate on the ledger, but I needed something to mindlessly snack on.
* * *
Two hours later, I thought I might have something. A name had popped up a couple of times.
Martin Olds.
It was a strange enough name not to be common. I dialed up Mom.
"Hi honey!" she answered, her voice cheerful for almost ten o'clock at night.
"Hey Mom. Listen, have you ever heard the name Martin Olds?"
There was a pause. "Yes," Mom said, her voice now cautious. "Why?"
"I'm going through the old ledgers from the store and it looks like Martin came in several times a few years ago to order books."
"Oh, that's not surprising. That's Marcy and Carrie's father. He was an English Lit professor."
I remember Mom mentioning that. "It doesn't explain the books he was ordering, though. He bought some high value stuff."
"Hmm," Mom said. "Let me call Irma real quick. She'd know more than me. Can I call you back?"
"Sure. Thanks Mom." I hung up and jotted a note down on the pad right beside me. Martin Olds had ordered a copy of the Gutenberg Bible which cost him over four grand. But the one that gave me great pause was an order for first edition UK paperbacks of the entire Harry Potter series. It had set him back almost thirty grand.
Was Marcy rich and just hadn't told anyone? Was that the reason she'd continually turned the investment group down?
I sat back in my chair, deep in thought. Was there an original set of Harry Potter books somewhere in Marcy's house?
My cell phone rang, startling me. I snatched it up. "Mom?"
"You aren't going to believe this," Mom said.
I curled my other hand around my mug. My heart began to pound. "What is it?"
"Martin was the heir to a fortune. I guess it's an open secret around here. Weird. I'd never heard it, but Irma knew about it. She knew his wife, though. I guess his parents patented some product back in the 50's and he was their only child."
My eyes widened in shock. "So, Marcy was rich," I breathed.
"Not necessarily," Mom cautioned. "She might have had a stipend or something set up in trust. I'm not really sure how it worked. All I know was Martin was well-liked, lived simply, and had a penchant for buying rare books and could afford to thanks to his parent’s invention." Mom cleared her throat. "There's something else."
I wasn't sure I could handle it. "What is it?"
"There were some rumors that Carrie was adopted. Never substantiated," Mom cautioned. "I don't think the girls knew. But Martin was adamant that she was his. Neither of them ever wanted for anything."
"Whoa," I said. "Mom, this entire thing is so messed up. The police have upgraded this to a murder case. Someone took Marcy out. I just need to figure out why."
"Honey, you don't need to figure out anything. You need to step away and let the police do their job." Her voice, normally warm was urgent. "Whoever did this won't take kindly to you getting in the middle."
Hardy's words came back to me, warning me to stay away, but I felt like I could really help with this. "I don't feel like they're moving fast enough."
I could almost hear Mom shaking her head at me. "It isn't up to you. Stay out of this, Dakota. You aren't an investigator. You're a bookseller. It isn't your place."
"Love you," I said. "I gotta go."
"Dakota -"
I disconnected the call, wincing as I realized I just hung up on my mother. She was definitely not going to let me forget that one.
12
I was in dire need of a cupcake so about one minute before Trudy opened up shop, I was standing on her doorstep looking in the window making puppy dog eyes.
She rolled her eyes when she saw me standing there and rushed over to open the door. "Let me guess. It's been three days since you've had a cupcake and you're in sugar withdrawal?" Trudy grinned and held it open for me to come inside.
The warmth of the place made me sigh. Sometimes during the summer, it could get a little warm in here from all the ovens she used, but during the winter and fall, this place felt like I was sitting right in front of a toasty fireplace.
"It's pretty early in the morning," Trudy said as she let the door fall closed. "Are you wanting a muffin or a cupcake?"
I pulled my gloves off and walked over to the case she was still setting up. There were pumpkin scones still available, but I always thought they resembled biscuits too much. I was more of a cake and muffin girl. "Do you have any chocolate chip muffins?" I looked back to see her re-tying her apron.
"Coming out of the oven in five minutes," she confirmed. "You want first dibs?"
I gaped at her. "A hot muffin fresh out of the oven with melty, delicious chocolate?" I'd died and gone to heaven. "Uh, yes please and thank you!"
Trudy snorted. "Have a seat. Grab a cup of coffee if you want and I'll get them out for you."
I clapped my hands together and impulsively reached over to hug her. "You're the best." I pulled my jacket off and slung it on the back of a chair. I looked around to make sure no one else had snuck in before I leaned in. "I just wanted you to know I got an early release of that book you've been waiting for. Technically, I'm not allowed to shelve it before next week but ..."
Trudy gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh. My. God." Her eyes started to water, earning a laugh from me.
"The one with the wolves? And Chet Carter?" she whispered.
I nodded. "Uh huh. Pop over to the shop after work and Harper will let you in. I can't give it to you during business hours, but I'd be happy to smuggle it to you after hours."
"You are getting two muffins," Trudy said. "And two more tomorrow if you want them."
"My hips say yes, my scale says please for the love of everything, no." I laughed. "It's no problem, really. You're constantly feeding me, and I knew how much you wanted this book so ... It was the least I could do."
Trudy did a little dance on her way back to the kitchen. "I cannot wait!" she said as she disappeared into the back.
I wasn't a big romance reader, though I did love books with romantic subplots, so I couldn't get quite as
excited as she was over the book. The author exploded onto the scene about a year ago with a complex tale of werewolves and their human mates. Trudy came into the store one day asking for them and I had to order the set from my supplier because I had no idea what she was talking about. Within three days, I had to order them again because I'd sold them all.
Werewolves and the women who loved them were big in this town. Who would have thought?
Trudy came out a few minutes later with two enormous muffins on a small plate. She'd stacked butter and a small knife on the side of it and when she placed it in front of me, the smell of chocolate wafted up.
"These look sinfully delicious," I said. I carefully cut into one and used my fork to take the first bite. They were so hot I would have burned my hand if I picked it up and tried to eat it that way.
Chocolate and sugar burst in my mouth. "Mmm," I said and shut my eyes in bliss. "Trudy, you're a baking wizard. This was exactly what I needed."
"My pleasure. I tweaked the original recipe to make it more moist. Muffins aren't my specialty, but I thought these were good enough to sell."
I nodded enthusiastically; my mouth full with another bite. Trudy patted me on the shoulder and walked back behind the counter. "Take your time!" she called. "I have a little bit more to do before I'm a hundred percent ready for the day, but I'll be over to your shop right after six!"
I waved and focused all my attention on the muffin in front of me. I was going to be so full Trudy would have to roll me out of here, but this was the best muffin I'd ever fed my face with and I wasn't about to let any of it go to waste.
* * *
I was just packing up the second muffin when two women walked into the shop. They looked vaguely familiar, maybe people who'd wandered into the shop a few times. One of them was tall and thin, dressed in workout clothes and wearing a high ponytail in her dark blonde hair. The other was much shorter, her short dark hair clipped in a cute pixie cut. She was also dressed in workout clothes. If I had to exercise, you could bet the first thing I'd do when I got done was get a cupcake.
