by Jessica Beck
“Me, too, but we both know that they would have been fidgeting before it even got started. Do you have any plans for tomorrow?”
“No, not other than making donuts. How about you?”
“I’m not planning on making donuts at all,” she said with a smile.
“You’re really funny, aren’t you?” I asked sarcastically. “Are you working?”
“I’ve got a meeting in the morning, but I’m free after lunch. Why don’t we do something crazy and fun?”
“Sounds good to me,” I said. I missed Jake when he was gone, but it was a good time to catch up with Grace, and I aimed to take advantage of it.
After she went into her house, I walked the final steps to my cottage, marveling at how my life had changed over the years, coming full circle to living back in the home where I’d grown up. The cottage was a happy, safe place for me, and I was forever grateful to Momma for giving it to us. Having Jake there with me only served to make it better. Whenever I went to my happy place when things were going wrong, it was always to the cottage, with the image of a fire blazing away in the hearth, cookies baking in the kitchen, and the company of those I loved that renewed my spirit.
How fortunate I felt being able to live it every day.
Chapter 5
After I got ready for bed, I decided to take a chance and try calling Jake again. He’d warned me that he most likely wouldn’t be able to answer his cell phone, but I decided to try anyway. He didn’t pick up again, but at least I got to hear his voice, inviting me to leave a message. This time I decided to say something instead of just hanging up.
“This is your wife. I hope you are safe and well. I miss you. Tonight at the bookstore was fun. You would have hated it. Give Terry my love. I’ll talk to you later. Good night. I love you.”
It wasn’t as good as a direct communication would have been, but I still felt better letting him know how I felt.
I went to sleep feeling warm and safe, ready for what tomorrow might bring.
At least I thought so at the time.
It was chilly when I went out to start my Jeep the next morning. I probably should have just walked, but I liked the short drive to work, and besides, it was awfully dark out. A path through the park that seemed so open and pleasant in the light of day could be absolutely ominous in the middle of the night, which was when I always went to work.
I drove the short distance to the shop and started to park when I noticed something odd at the bookstore across the street.
The front door appeared to be open.
Had Paige forgotten to shut it, let alone lock up on her way out? I couldn’t imagine anyone breaking in and trying to steal a book, not that at least some of them weren’t quite valuable in their own right. How would a thief go about fencing one, I wondered? I parked the Jeep in my usual spot and grabbed the big flashlight I kept tucked under my seat. It not only served to illuminate everything around me when I needed it, but it was stout enough to use as a club, something I’d proved firsthand in the past.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” I asked as I got to the door, but not poking my head inside. I started to think that maybe I should call the police. I always hated it in mystery novels when the heroine took her life in her hands doing something foolish, and it would gall me to die that way in real life.
I was about to hit 911 to get someone else there when I could swear I heard the sound of someone in trouble coming from inside. Was I right, or had it just been my imagination? For all I knew, the sound could have even come from outside the building, but my nerves were jangling like power lines in a high wind, and I wasn’t going to take the chance that I was needed and stand there doing nothing just because I was afraid.
I had to find out what was going on inside.
I rushed into the bookstore before I could chicken out, flipping on the lights and dialing 911 as I went.
“Could someone come out to The Last Page immediately? I was driving by and saw that the front door was standing wide open. When I moved forward, I could swear that I heard someone inside, though I could be wrong about that part.”
Before I could explain any further, the police dispatcher asked, “Who is this?”
“It’s Suzanne. Suzanne Hart,” I said impatiently.
“Hey, Suzanne. It’s Glenda James.”
Glenda was an old friend of mine, but I hadn’t heard that she’d joined the force. “Glenda, I didn’t know you were a cop. I’d love to talk about it later, but could you send somebody out here right now? I think someone might be in trouble.” So far I hadn’t seen anything amiss in the store. Had I actually heard something earlier, or had it just been my overactive imagination?
“I’m not a police officer; I’m just manning the phones while Henry is out on a call. They were short staffed, and I offered to pitch in. You said that you heard noises. Is someone in the bookstore?”
“I don’t know. I’m checking it out right now,” I said softly.
“Suzanne, I’m no cop, but I know enough to realize that you shouldn’t be in there alone. Let me get you some help.”
“I can’t just stand around if someone’s in trouble,” I said. “I have to see if I can help.”
“Just give me a second, okay? I’ll see if I can get Henry on the radio.”
And then my cell phone went dead. Evidently Glenda hadn’t mastered the art of putting a call on hold quite yet.
I didn’t have time for this foolishness. I started to put my phone away and check out the two main back rooms when, to my surprise, my phone rang.
After I answered it, Glenda said, “Sorry about that. My finger slipped. Let me try that again.”
Once more I was cut off.
I was just glad this wasn’t a real emergency.
When my phone rang yet again, I said, “Glenda, just let him know I’m here.”
“Give me one more chance,” she said, and then I finally made it to hold after all.
Four seconds later, she came back on the line. “Henry will be there in one minute. He said to hold tight. Would you like to chat while you’re waiting?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Okay then. Oops, I’ve got another call. Bye.”
I put my phone away and said loudly, “Is anyone here? It’s Suzanne Hart.” Why hadn’t I bothered identifying myself when I’d first walked in the front door? There were only two main spaces left besides the restrooms—the back storage room and the break room that had been temporarily converted into a green room for the authors. I checked the storage room first. It was full of boxes and supplies, and I doubted that there was any way someone could be there without me seeing them.
That left one last large space, and I felt a knot in the pit of my stomach as I opened the door and flipped on the light.
At least I tried to.
Either the light was burned out, or someone had disabled it.
I was glad I’d thought to bring my big flashlight with me. Flipping it on, I used its bright beam to try to light up the room well enough to see inside. Evidently, Paige’s supply of books had been too large to be held in one spot alone, because some of them had drifted over to this space. Four rigid chairs and a small table took up some of the free space, and I saw a cart with leftover cookies, fruit, some bottled water, and a few of my dagger-donut treats.
I was about to give up when I noticed something in the corner near a pile of books stacked haphazardly near one wall. At first glance, it looked as though it might be a pile of discarded tarps from the painter, but as I got closer, I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
My flashlight had no trouble lighting the scene.
It was a body, and what’s more, as I knelt down to check for a pulse, I realized that whoever had died was now cold to the touch. How long had the body been lying ther
e?
Studying the scene with the aid of my flashlight, I saw that someone had taken a geode bookend, its ragged edge of crystals jutting out like broken glass, and they’d smashed the publisher, John Rumsfield, in the head with it.
The man was beyond my help, and it was starting to look as though the noise I’d heard had all been in my head.
Unless I missed my guess, he’d been dead for some time.
Chapter 6
Where was Henry? He should have been at the bookstore by now, but I couldn’t do anything but wait on him. I considered going back outside, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. As I knelt there, I noticed that one book in particular was near Rumsfield’s right hand. Evidently his index finger had been dipped in his own blood, and I felt a chill run through me. The title of the book was Seven Deadly Mushrooms. It was a field guide to poisonous fungi. Had the publisher been trying to stand after being struck by the deadly bookend, or was there more of a message there than that? Out of habit, I took a few photos of the man, the bloodied bookend, and the marked book, and I was just putting my phone away when I heard someone calling out from the front.
“Suzanne, where are you?”
It was Stephen Grant, my friend and the chief of police for April Springs.
“I’m back here,” I called out. “Someone’s been murdered.”
I saw a bright flashlight beam light up the hallway, and when Stephen came to the break room, he asked, “Why is it still dark in here?”
“The light’s not working,” I said.
I was about to show him John Rumsfield when his flashlight beam caught the corpse. “What happened?” he asked as he knelt down to check for a pulse.
“If I had to guess, I’d say that someone hit the publisher with that geode bookend a few hours ago,” I said.
“How do you know who he is, and what makes you think it didn’t just happen?” Stephen asked as he knelt down beside me to check for a pulse himself.
“I met him earlier at the bookstore opening, and as for the second part of your question, he’s been dead for some time, hasn’t he?” I asked Stephen. “The body’s quite cold. Am I right?”
“Yes, I’d say so,” the chief said as he stood, lending a hand to me after he was upright again. I was about to protest that I didn’t need any aid when I realized that my knees had suddenly gone weak.
“Are you okay?”
“No, but I will be. I really hate finding dead bodies,” I said flatly.
“And yet you persist in doing it,” Stephen said, not unkindly but not exactly compassionately, either.
“It’s not my fault!” I snapped at him.
“Hey, I’m on your side, remember?” he asked calmly as he reached for his radio to report what I’d found.
“Sorry. I’m just a little jumpy.”
“There’s no need to apologize. Why shouldn’t you be on edge? I’d be a little worried about you if you weren’t, to be honest with you.” He then spoke into his radio. “Glenda, I want everyone up and at the bookstore in ten minutes, or I’ll know the reason why.”
“You want me to wake everybody up?” She sounded incredulous at the very idea.
“That’s exactly what I want, so make it happen.”
He turned back to me after he was finished with his temporary dispatcher. “Before everyone else gets here, take a second and tell me what happened.”
“It’s simple enough,” I said. “I was on my way to work this morning when I noticed that the door to the bookstore was standing wide open.”
“You should have called us and waited for someone to show up,” he said, chiding me a little.
“I started to, but then I thought I heard someone inside that might need help, so I came straight in. The truth is, given the circumstances, I would have done the exact thing all over again, given the chance.”
He nodded, conceding my point. “Were the lights on or off when you got here?”
“They were all off, but I turned them on as I came in, so that explains why they’re all on now. I called 911 the second I started exploring, but Glenda had some phone problems, so I wasn’t sure I was going to get any help. I couldn’t just ignore someone in trouble, Stephen.”
“I get it. Believe me,” he said sympathetically. “What do you suppose made that sound? There’s no way the victim made any noise, and I doubt the killer would hang around after the murder.”
“I’m beginning to think that it was just my imagination,” I said. “Anyway, I searched the bookstore, and I found him back here. It had to be a crime of passion, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m not ready to say anything quite yet,” the chief said cautiously.
“Come on. You and I both know that it had to be spur of the moment. Why else use a bookend that was already here? If someone came to town planning to commit murder, they wouldn’t wait to find a murder weapon until they got to the bookstore.”
“Suzanne, I appreciate you calling this in, and I’m glad that you’re okay, but I’m going to handle this myself, okay?”
“Is that a polite way of telling me to buzz off?” I asked him with a hint of a smile. It was all that I could muster at the moment.
“I suppose it is. I don’t mean anything by it, but things are going to get crazy here pretty soon. Why don’t you go over to the shop and start on your morning donut routine? It might help take your mind off of all of this. That is, if you’re planning to open despite this. If you want to shut down for the day, I’m sure everyone will understand after what you found here.”
“No, I need my work to keep me occupied. If I go home to the cottage, I’ll be all by myself, and that is something I just can’t handle right now.”
“Where’s Jake?” he asked me, sincerely curious.
“He’s giving Terry Hanlan a hand in Raleigh,” I explained.
“Got it. I’ll come over to Donut Hearts when I get a chance.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” I looked down at the body one last time before I left. “You know, he wasn’t particularly nice, but he didn’t deserve that.”
“Very few people do, and yet it happens all the time,” the police chief said.
“Too much, if you ask me,” I said.
“Agreed,” Chief Grant said.
As I walked out of the bookstore, Henry finally showed up. “Where were you?” I asked him, maybe a little too tartly.
“There was a prowler at Mrs. Blakely’s place, or so she claimed,” he said. “It was her third false alarm in four weeks, but she wouldn’t let me go. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”
He clearly felt bad about leaving me hanging in the wind. “It’s okay. John Rumsfield was well beyond any of our help when I got here, so you wouldn’t have been able to do anything for him, either.”
“I’d better get inside,” Henry said before pausing and looking at me. “Suzanne, you don’t look so good. Are you going to be all right?”
“Once I get the cake donuts started, I’ll be better,” I said.
He looked at me oddly, but he didn’t ask for an explanation. As Henry went inside to join his boss, I hurried across the street to start my day, albeit a little later than normal. After unlocking the door and stepping inside Donut Hearts, I carefully locked the door again behind me, took three steps, then returned and checked it one more time. I had every right to be paranoid, and I wasn’t about to beat myself up about it. Had I heard anything inside the bookstore, or had my curiosity about what I might find behind the open door supplied a phantom sound that gave me a reason to investigate? I honestly couldn’t say, but I wished that I hadn’t heard it and that I’d been able to stay outside and wait for the police to show up. Maybe then I wouldn’t have the image of the publisher’s body just lying there on my mind now.
I hated stumbling across d
ead bodies, but it had happened entirely too frequently in my past for my tastes. Would I ever be able to free myself from murder, or was I forever tied to a string of dead bodies that would lead me one day to my own grave? They were dreary thoughts, but they matched my mood perfectly.
I had two choices. I could curl up in the corner in a ball and try to come to terms with what I’d just seen, or I could make my coffee and donuts and try to salvage some kind of normalcy in my day and try to put John Rumsfield out of my mind.
In the end, there was really only one choice when it came down to it.
It was time to make the donuts.
I did give myself one allowance. Instead of leaving the front dining area dark as I usually did, I flipped on all the lights before turning on the coffee pot and heading for the kitchen to flip on the fryer. I didn’t care what my power bill was going to look like that month.
I needed light around me, and lots of it.
I was just adding the first of the cake donut batter to the fryer when Emma walked in. “What’s going on over at the bookstore?” she asked me.
I didn’t want to tell her, since her father ran the town’s only newspaper. I wasn’t sure Paige’s bookstore could overcome the scandal of hosting a murder on its first day of business, and having Ray Blake broadcasting it wouldn’t help matters. Then again, it would be public knowledge soon enough, and I doubted that anything Emma’s father printed could hurt any more than the rumors that would soon be flying around town. “A man named John Rumsfield was murdered there last night.”
“That’s terrible,” Emma said, stumbling back against the counter.
I nearly forgot to flip the donuts now bobbing in the hot oil. They required constant attention, and if I didn’t watch them, they’d be burned on one side and raw on the other. I had three minutes before I dropped the next batch in and Emma had to retreat to the front, so I talked quickly. “He was the man who published all of the visiting authors last night. Apparently someone hit him in the head with a geode bookend.”
