Literally Murder (A Pepper Brooks Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Eryn Scott

  "I had a mock interview today, sorry. I didn't know we were going to be vigilante-ing today."

  Looking past her vigilante comment, I focused in on the first part of her statement. "Mock interview? I thought you already did one of those. And you've already got a job lined up with your dad's company."

  Liv shrugged, pressing her red lips into a tight line. "It was an extra one."

  As much as I wanted to figure out what was going on with Liv, I knew if the police weren't already in Mindy's dorm room, they would be shortly and we needed to get moving. I filled Liv in on my hunch that Garrison had been with Mindy the night Katie had been killed.

  "And if that's true, he can't be the serial murderer," I said, finishing my justification.

  "Unless he and his wife are working together and they each killed one of 'em." Liv raised an eyebrow at me.

  Bunching up my nose, I said, "One thing at a time. Let's just see if we can find some sort of proof Garrison was with Mindy that night."

  "Whatever you say. I'm just Watson, after all. What do I know?" Liv rolled her eyes playfully. Then she furrowed her brow, looking up at our old building. "And how are we breaking into this thing? You got a plan?"

  I shook my head. "I figured we could just wait and see if we can even get into the building and then go from there."

  Liv rolled her eyes. "That's hardly a plan." She shook her head and muttered, "English majors." Despite her commentary, she held her hand out and said, "What are we waiting for?"

  The door, as it turned out once we got to Howard Hall, was what we were waiting for. After five minutes, when no one had exited or entered, I started to get nervous we might not actually get inside before the police showed up. Plus, I felt wholly on display standing there at the entrance to the dorm.

  I tapped my foot and looked around me. Liv cleared her throat.

  "Okay, so if you know so much more, what do you suggest we do?" I asked, exasperated.

  Liv leaned back. "First of all, cool it. Snapping at each other isn't going to help anything."

  I sighed and nodded in agreement.

  "I was going to remind you that even when we lived here, we didn't always use the front door."

  I squinted as I thought. "Break in through Mindy's window?" I asked.

  During our last year living in Howard Hall, Liv and I had been stuck with the absolute worst RA in the history of RAs. Bonnie Warren was a senior both in transcript and at heart. She seemed to hate noise, despised "tomfoolery," and loved using the word "infraction." She took the dorm rules as law, assuring us our hall would have a strict, zero-tolerance policy when it came to rule breaking. After the first month, we started calling her "the warden."

  Needless to say, on more than one occasion, Liv and I had found ourselves standing in front of Howard Hall past midnight and post party, contemplating how to get past the warden. It was a particularly nippy winter night which led to our discovery of our broken window and that ultimately saved our butts from getting caught like the rest of the poor souls who had been out with us.

  I scanned our surroundings once again. It looked like we weren't going to get in through this door any time soon. And if we were going to get into Mindy's room to look for clues before the police, soon was the name of the game.

  Nodding, I said, "Okay. It's worth a try."

  Liv smiled and we snaked around the side of the building just like we used to.

  "Wait. Do you know what room she's in?" Liv asked, stopping for a second, crouched behind a large shrub.

  "Yeah, room 205."

  "So it's on the second floor?" Liv peered up at the second story windows. "How are we supposed to get up there?"

  My eyes settled on a small oak tree growing next to the building. Liv followed my gaze.

  "Uh, Peps. You and I are not really climbers."

  After a second I shook my head. No. We weren't. Liv was right. It was all too easy to picture snapping branches and broken bones.

  "I mean, we could barely make it into our old room and that was on the first floor," Liv mumbled.

  My eyes widened with an idea. "Our old room! It's the middle of the day, so theoretically most people should be in classes. That'll at least get us into the building."

  Liv nodded in agreement and we started to shuffle along the side of the building toward our old room. Once we were positioned underneath our old windows, I stood, cupping my hands around my eyes as I scanned the room for inhabitants. Finding it empty, I dropped back down and gave Liv an all-clear thumbs-up. We each took a breath, then stood and pushed at the same time.

  The window wouldn't budge. After a few seconds of continuous pushing, though, it groaned and slid up just an inch.

  "Yes!" Liv hissed in a celebratory whisper.

  Hooking our thumbs under the pane, we opened the window the rest of the way. Liv crawled in first, like she always used to do. She didn't even seem to be fazed by her business attire, slipping inside just as easily as she had two years ago.

  After glancing around to make sure the coast was clear of passersby, I grabbed the sill and vaulted myself up. Well, tried to. Whereas Liv rarely missed her daily yoga, the only routine I'd seemed to be able to commit to was carbs. I groaned as I got momentarily stuck.

  "This used to be a lot easier." I puffed, swinging one leg inside. "I think I need to lay off the bagels."

  Liv snorted out a laugh and came to help me. The room was dark and quiet. It almost looked as if nothing had changed. One side of the room was incredibly neat, with the bed made and everything in its place. While on the other side there were clothes strewn on the unmade bed. The scent of hair products permeated the interior air as I finally scrambled inside.

  That was when the door swung open.

  12

  The girl who lived there froze, her eyes wide as they took in the scene in front of her. Then she started to yell.

  "What the hell are you two doing here?" was the tamest of the phrases she flung, full volume in our direction.

  Ernest Hemingway once said, "Courage is grace under pressure."

  I can say with one hundred percent certainty, there was not an ounce of grace in our bodies as Liv and I scrambled past her and ran out of there. I felt like Francis Macomber in Hemingway's short story, running away from that lion on his African hunting safari. Liv and I tumbled out into the hallway, past a few students who'd come out to see what the commotion was.

  "Stairs," I said, pushing Liv forward around the corner. Clumsy as it had been, we'd gotten into the building. And now we needed to get up to the second floor, and fast.

  My hand on her back, I propelled Liv forward—right into the expansive, uniformed chest of one of Pine Crest's finest.

  We ran smack into a group of three police officers about to make their way up the stairs to the second floor, to Mindy's room. Liv's mouth opened and a mumbled apology spilled out. I tried to duck my head so no one would recognize me and report back to Alex.

  Grasping Liv's arm, and hiding behind her, I wrenched her toward the front door of Howard Hall. We ran outside, hopping down the six front steps and fast-walking down the street until the building was out of sight.

  "That was close." Liv panted and blinked as she stopped next to a streetlight to catch her breath.

  "Too close." My heart was still pounding in my chest; worries still bounced around my brain. Had they recognized me? Would they tell Alex?

  We hadn't exactly been inconspicuous, almost bowling them over and then bolting in the opposite direction. Our behavior had most certainly raised a few red flags. But they were dealing with a lot right now. I hoped it would be enough to keep us in the background of their suspicions.

  "What was I thinking? Trying to beat the police to a victim's room, to what? Steal evidence before they could find it? That's illegal," I mumbled, more for myself than Liv.

  But Liv answered regardless. "Yeah, that wasn't our best plan." She rubbed her hand across her face. "But don't beat yourself up too much, I went along with it
, too. I think both of us are tired."

  I sighed and said, "Yeah."

  "Why don't we go grab some coffee. I think we could use it." Despite her wording, Liv had not said the first part as a question and this time it was her turn to grab my arm and push me around. She turned us toward Bittersweet.

  The wonderful smells of coffee and cookies wrapped themselves around me as we entered the café. It was crowded and I stood at the end of a long line. Nate was back at work and gave me a knowing look in between customers. He had been right after all, I would see him sooner than I knew.

  I turned to Liv. "It's crazy in here. Why don't you go find us a spot and I'll get your drink."

  "Sounds good," Liv said and then she walked toward one of the few empty tables.

  I got us our usual lattes and then brought them over to where Liv was sitting, right next to the "take a book, leave a book" shelf. Kathy, the previous owner of the shop, had started the book sharing program years ago. A teenager then, I'd brought in a bunch of my childhood books I didn't read any longer. Years later, I still loved to look through the titles and see if any of my old friends remained.

  My eyes combed the titles as I sipped my drink and sat back in the creaky wooden chair.

  "Oh no. I should've known better than to let you sit within ten feet of books," Liv said with a groan.

  Turning my attention to her, I said, "Okay, okay. Point taken. I'll pay more attention to you."

  She smiled sweetly and took a sip of her own drink. "So what's your next step then, since we couldn't get into Mindy's place?"

  "I need to tell Alex they're about to make a mistake. I just wish I had something more to go on. He's not necessarily a fan of gut feelings." I cringed.

  "Understandably, being a cop and all." Liv shrugged, apologetically.

  "Yeah. I know why he has to be that way. I just can't let go of this terrible feeling they're making a mistake by going after Garrison."

  "Maybe they're not, though," Liv said. "You mentioned you hadn't actually heard who the warrant was for. Maybe you're worrying for nothing."

  Crossing my arms and letting my eyes scan the books again, I nodded. "You know what? You might be right. Maybe I'm worried for nothing."

  "Yeah, they could have a suspect who you know nothing about and maybe they could be going after that person. You never know, I mean you're not involved in the case, or privy to all of the evidence they..." Liv's voice faded away as my eyes locked onto a book on the shelf.

  Almost all of the books were paperbacks, with only a few hardbacks mixed in. These were copies people didn't mind parting with and tended toward the no-longer-in-mint-condition end of the spectrum. But there was one title which was so far removed, I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before.

  It was leatherbound and the gold-leaf lettering along the spine glimmered back at me from where it sat between two beat up paperbacks. War and Peace.

  I stood and then walked over to it, fingertips brushing along the indented title. This looked exactly like the copy Mindy had been reading the other night in the bar.

  Pulling it off the shelf first, I brought it back to our table.

  "Um... what happened to paying attention to me?" Liv asked, a hint of irritation coming through in her teasing tone. "Did you hear any of what I was saying?"

  I blinked, looking up from the book. "Huh?"

  Liv chuckled. "Oh my gosh, you are a lost cause, Peps."

  "No, I—this is her book, I think." I pointed down at the volume in my hands.

  "Whose?"

  "Mindy."

  Liv's forehead wrinkled in question. "Why would she leave it here?"

  Pulling in a deep breath, I shook my head. "I'm not sure, but she did leave her planner here too, so maybe this was with it. Someone could've put it here by mistake."

  I flipped to where a fabric bookmark was about halfway through, but didn't find anything of note there. Closing the book, I opened to the front cover and stopped.

  To my Natasha. From your Anatole. Here's to writing a different ending. Love, G.

  G! That had to be Garrison. This was Mindy's book.

  "Who's Anatole?" Liv asked, looking over my shoulder.

  I bit my lip. "Um... hmm. The only Tolstoy I've read is Anna Karenina."

  Garrison's note made it sound like he was the love interest, but Maggie had said something about Natasha and Pierre. Who was this Anatole guy?

  Standing, I shut the book and then tucked it under my arm. Grabbing my coffee, I said, "I don't know, but I know someone who will."

  Liv stood and held her drink, excitement flashed in her blue eyes. "So where to?" she asked.

  "To the English building, of course." I smiled.

  A rumble in my stomach confirmed it was lunchtime as we walked toward Fergie's office, reminding me I hadn't had lunch with my favorite professor once this whole week. With all of the bodies and papers and clues, our normal routine had gone out the window.

  Campus was a weird mixture of somber intensity. Some people's faces were pulled into grimaces, others were streaked with tears. Students huddled together, looking over their shoulders. I walked faster, hating the chill that ran through me as I watched them.

  "You know, there is such a thing as the internet," Liv said as she strutted along next to me. "We could just look it up." Once she'd found out about our destination, she had been trying to get me to change my mind. Not only was the English building on the opposite side of campus, but Liv usually tried to avoid the English major types—me being one of her few exceptions.

  Scoffing, I shot her a scowl. "The internet is completely without nuance. Fergie will be able to tell us the meaning behind this note and any metaphorical undercurrents the internet could easily miss."

  Liv sighed. "Okay, but you have a ten-minute time limit. I'm not getting dragged into an hour-long discussion about Proust with some random professor again."

  "Okay." I wrinkled my nose.

  The one other time I'd convinced Liv to step foot in the English building with me, I had gotten in a lengthy debate with Professor Lindham about the French writer's irrefutable—in my opinion—influence.

  "I promise, just Fergie's office and then we're out," I told Liv as we walked inside.

  I took a quick moment to close my eyes and breathe in the nostalgic scents of yellowed pages and binding glue. After seeing the rest of campus in such a dismal state, it felt good to be in my safe, happy place.

  "Oh god, I forgot about all of the time you spent smelling the books, too. Okay, I'm starting your ten minutes now," Liv said, shooting me a narrow look.

  "Fine, fine. I'm moving." We walked toward the cluster of rooms which used to house my father's office. Instead of veering right to his old office—as I sometimes still did out of habit—I walked up to the centermost room. I knocked on Fergie's door as Liv waited behind me.

  "Come in!" the older woman sang from within.

  Professor Ferguson sat at her desk, her usual Friday tuna sandwich on wheat with sprouts clutched in her bony fingers. Her office was in its usual state of slight disarray (nothing so bad that you'd worry she was becoming a hoarder, but the piles would definitely give a type-A personality a few nightmares). I slumped into the ancient floral armchair in the corner and let Liv sit in the chair across from Fergie.

  Well, sit wasn't the best word for what my best friend did. Perched was probably better. Her eyes shifted from stacks of books to stacks of files to stacks of papers. Oh, right. Liv was the poster girl for type-A personality.

  "Pepper, dear, it's so good to see you! I've been missing our lunches. As well as missing you in class today." She arched a penciled-on eyebrow.

  I grimaced. "Yeah, sorry. Something came up." I watched Liv check her watch. "Actually, I'm afraid this visit isn't purely social, either."

  "Oh?" Fergie raised an eyebrow in question.

  "We need some help clearing someone's name. I think the police are about to make a terrible mistake and arrest the wrong person for those drown
ings." I watched Fergie bristle at the mention of the dead women.

  "Pepper, you aren't getting yourself involved in another murder investigation, are you?" Fergie asked.

  I sighed, ready to hear her warn me away from it like Alex.

  Instead, she sat forward and said, "Good. Those police are lucky to have your help, I say." She nodded definitively.

  I didn't have the heart to tell her the police weren't exactly aware of my involvement.

  "Now, you say they think it's the wrong person? Tell me more," Fergie said. She knew firsthand how terrible it was to have people think you killed someone when you were actually innocent.

  I opened the book to the inscription and then passed it over to her, inwardly crossing my fingers. "Garrison was having affairs with both of the students who've been murdered. I thought it might be him at first, too, but I think I've found evidence that he was in Seattle the night Katie was killed," I said as she flipped through the first few pages of Mindy's book. "Who was Anatole to Natasha? Could this be Garrison?"

  Fergie grabbed at the cat-eye glasses which hung on a beaded chain around her neck. Being a "volunteer" for every production NWU's theater program had put on for the past decade also meant she knew Garrison pretty well. She slipped the glasses on and then leaned in closer to the page, peering closely at the inscription for a silent second. After a moment, she shoved the book back to me, whipping her glasses off with her free hand.

  "Unfortunately, that has Garrison written all over it." Fergie rolled her eyes. "Anatole is having an affair with Natasha, but they don't end up together, which is why I'm guessing he speaks about rewriting the ending. Yet again." She sighed. "Did I tell you that man tried to kill off Maria along with Tony at the end of West Side Story when we performed it a few years back?" Fergie shook her head. "Wanted to make it more like Romeo and Juliet. Can you even imagine? Adapting the adaptation. That man is never satisfied."

  Sifting through Fergie's ramblings, I latched onto the one which mattered most. Anatole and Natasha were having an affair! That's why Garrison had said he was her Anatole instead of her Pierre.