A Deal to Die For

by Josie Belle

  Alice poured hot water over the tea bag and handed the mug to Maggie. Maggie used her spoon to push the tea bag down while it steeped. She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, so she decided just to dive in.

  “Alice, how come you’re not at the jail with Doc?”

  Alice’s hand shook as she raised her mug to her lips and blew on the steaming tea before taking a delicate sip.

  She was quiet for so long that Maggie wondered if she was going to answer her at all.

  “I think John can handle himself,” she said.

  “Of course, he can,” Maggie agreed. “That’s not the point.”

  “What is the point then?” Alice asked. She sounded tired.

  “It’s just that if the situation were reversed, I can’t imagine he would be here serving tea while you were being interviewed by the police at the station house.”

  “Don’t you judge me, Maggie Gerber.”

  Alice slammed her mug down on the counter with a sharp crack. Tea sloshed over the rim and spilled across her fingers. She stared at her hand as if uncertain what to do.

  Startled, Maggie jumped out of her seat and hurried around the counter.

  “Here let’s get your hand under cold water,” she said.

  She led Alice to the sink and ran the tap. She held Alice’s hand under the cold water until the angry red of her skin lightened. Maggie dried the hand gently with a towel.

  “Does it sting?” she asked. “Are there blisters?”

  “No, it’s fine,” Alice said. “Thank you.”

  Maggie wrapped an arm around Alice’s shoulders.

  “I’m sorry I barged in on you, and I never meant to judge, it’s just—I don’t understand what’s happening,” Maggie said. Her voice wavered but she kept going. “No one is acting normal, and no one is telling anyone what is really going on, and I just care about you and Doc so much.”

  Alice returned Maggie’s one-armed hug and said, “I know you do, and we care about you, too. Things are…confusing right now. But you have to understand that John and I have been married for a long time. We have a history together, a long and private history.”

  Maggie took that to mean Alice was not going to be sharing her reasons for not being at the jail. She knew she had to respect Alice’s wishes, but it certainly made her more concerned than ever about what was going on with the Franklins.

  Alice led Maggie back to the counter and they finished their tea, talking about Maggie’s shop and her plans to combat Summer Phillips and her rival secondhand shop across the green.

  The conversation suffered a few awkward starts and stops, but by the time Maggie rose to leave she felt as if they had at least reestablished their long-standing friendship.

  Alice walked her to the door. When she glanced back through the window of her car, Maggie thought Alice looked smaller as she pushed the door closed, as if the events of the past few days had left her diminished somehow.

  Maggie sent Cheryl a text telling her that Alice was a no go. She wouldn’t be showing up at the jail anytime soon. Cheryl texted back that Doc had been released, and she was about to drive him and Max over to the Daily Grind to discuss the situation. Maggie texted that she would meet them there.

  She wondered if she should go back to the house and ask Alice if she wanted to join them. Then she thought about how awkward that conversation might be, and she decided no.

  She put her phone away and started her car, leaving Alice in peace.

  The Daily Grind was doing a brisk business, as the flea market was still going on, there was plenty to gossip about and it was midday Sunday, which was always a good time for a cup of coffee.

  Maggie was the first to arrive, and she staked out a round table in the corner by the window. Pete Daniels was working the counter, and when he saw Maggie he stopped what he was doing and waved. Maggie waved back in what she hoped appeared to be a casual greeting.

  Ginger and Sam’s silly talk about Pete wanting to ask her out made her look at him more closely. She guessed him to be about her age. He was fit, with broad shoulders and a trim middle, most likely from playing on the local softball team.

  To her surprise, he came out from behind the counter carrying a large mug of steaming coffee and a plate full of muffin tops. He placed both on the table in front of her.

  His eyes were a warm dark brown just like his coffee, and when he smiled it lit up his face and she found herself smiling in return.

  “Is the usual okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “The muffin tops are pumpkin, and they’re on the house,” he said. “I over-ordered from the bakery, and I need to move them out so they don’t go to waste.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to be on the receiving end of your miscalculation,” she said.

  Pete smiled at her and then sobered.

  “How are you, Maggie?” he asked. He looked concerned, and Maggie knew he had undoubtedly heard the gossip that she had been there when Vera Madison’s body had been found.

  “I’ve been better,” she said.

  “May I?” he asked as he gestured to the chair opposite her.

  “Please,” she nodded.

  He pulled out the chair and sat down.

  “Hey, Pete!” Ryan O’Dell shouted from the door. “Don’t forget the volleyball game tonight.”

  “I’ll be there,” Pete said and turned back to Maggie. He gave her a tentative glance as if unsure of what to say.

  “That had to be awful, finding Vera like that,” he said. His gaze was so kind and understanding that Maggie felt her throat get tight.

  “It was,” she said. “Vera was such a life force. It’s hard to imagine that she’s really gone.”

  “She came in here a handful of times,” Pete said. His smile was rueful. “She certainly made a strong impression.”

  Maggie smiled. She liked the way he put it. She thought it spoke well of him that he didn’t call Vera difficult, which is what most people would have said.

  “Do they know what caused her death yet?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of,” Maggie said. She didn’t mention Sam’s comment about the syringe being suspicious. She was still hoping that proved to be untrue.

  Ruth Davis stopped by their table with two coffees to go in her hands. “Pete, there’s a potluck at the church tonight. We’d love to see you there.”

  Ruth was a portly older woman with two daughters in their thirties who she’d been trying to marry off for the past fifteen years. Maggie could tell by the glint in her eye that she considered Pete quite eligible.

  “Well, thank you for the invitation, ma’am,” he said. “I’m working all evening, but otherwise I’d love to attend.”

  “Well, try to get away,” Ruth insisted.

  She noticed Maggie and frowned at her as if she was encroaching on Ruth’s territory. “Shouldn’t you be working on your shop, Maggie?”

  “Should I?” Maggie asked.

  “Well, I don’t think loitering around a coffeehouse is any way to get your business started, do you? Summer Phillips certainly isn’t letting any grass grow under her feet.”

  “That’s because her feet are too big,” Maggie said. “They block the sun.”

  Ruth raised her brows at Maggie’s caustic tone, and then she sniffed and left the shop without another word. Pete lowered his head and looked away, and Maggie sighed.

  “Ugh, that was mean. I’m sorry.” She cringed. “I’m not myself.”

  Pete made a noise—it sounded like a snort—and raised his head. Maggie realized he was trying not to laugh.

  “No, that was perfect. When it comes to Summer Phillips, I try to maintain healthy boundaries.” He lowered his voice and added, “She scares me.”

  “You are very wise,” Maggie said. “Most men don’t see it.”

  “Well, she makes it hard to see past her other…uh…attributes, but when my morning staff told me that she had come in and tried to get them to tell her my esti
mated net worth, well, I got her measure pretty quickly.”

  “She did not!” Maggie said.

  “’Fraid so,” he said. “I think I was a bit of a disappointment to her. I’ve pretty much dumped everything I had into this place. It’s boom or bust time for me.”

  “Well, you appear to be booming,” Maggie said.

  “Thanks,” he said, looking pleased. “I think the only way small companies can compete with the big boys is customer service. I try to treat every customer like a friend who is coming into my home. It’s more than a cup of coffee; it’s a visit with a friend.”

  “I have a feeling I can learn a lot from you,” Maggie said.

  “Well, anytime you want—” Pete began but was cut off by Max.

  “Maggie, we need to talk,” Max said. “Oh, hey, sorry to interrupt, Pete.”

  “No, no problem,” Pete said. He glanced at Max and then at Dr. Franklin and Cheryl who were standing behind him. He rose from his seat and said to Maggie, “Looks like you have company.”

  “Thanks for sitting with me,” she said.

  “Anytime,” Pete said. He held her gaze for a second, and for the first time Maggie felt a definite zip of interest coming from him. Oh dear.

  Chapter 11

  Cheryl went with Pete to order coffee for the three of them. Maggie pushed the plate of muffin tops in front of Doc, who looked like he might fall down from sheer exhaustion. A flare of anger at Sam for keeping him so long for questioning roared through her.

  “Okay, what’s happening?” she asked Max, keeping her voice low so neighboring tables couldn’t hear what was being said.

  “Sam seems to think foul play was involved with Vera Madison’s demise,” Max said, his voice low as well.

  Maggie glanced at Doc. He looked crestfallen. She wondered if it was because he had obviously cared about Vera and didn’t like the fact that she’d been harmed, or if it was because he was aware that since he’d been found holding the syringe, he was suspect number one.

  “What do you think, Doc?” she asked.

  He opened his mouth to speak but then shook his head. His hair was standing up in tufts as if it, too, were dismayed by life’s horrible turn of events.

  He blew out a breath and said, “I don’t know what to think.”

  Cheryl rejoined the group carrying three steaming mugs of coffee. She put one down in front of each of them.

  “More coffee?” Maggie asked her.

  “Mine’s decaf,” Cheryl said. “I don’t want to get the shakes.”

  “I’ve got the shakes, but I don’t think it’s too much caffeine,” Max said. They all looked at him, and he said, “I’m worried. Sam’s not telling us everything.”

  “What do you think he’s keeping from you?” Maggie asked. She sipped her hot coffee, hoping it would chase away the chill that was spreading through her from inside out.

  “He wants to know what was in that syringe,” Doc said. “I felt like he was going to keep me there until I told him, but I don’t know what was in it.”

  “You told him that, right?” Maggie asked.

  “In a hundred different ways,” Max said. “The coroner must have found something that makes Sam sure this is a murder.”

  “Doc, have you wondered why Vera was there?” Maggie asked. “She wasn’t one of your patients. Why did she choose to go to you that morning?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I can only assume, like Bianca said, that she didn’t want to have Bianca drive her because they’d have had to leave the flea market, and all of their things would have been unattended.”

  They all sat silently for a moment. Max was the only one who ate the muffin tops, one after another in quick succession. Maggie wasn’t sure where he stored all of the food he ate, since he was so thin he barely cast a shadow as it was.

  She hated to push, but she knew she had to if they were going to figure out exactly what was going on.

  “Doc, is there anything you want to tell us about your relationship with Vera Madison, anything that might help us to help you?” she asked.

  “No!” Doc said. He shook his head emphatically. “No, there’s nothing to say about that. St. Stanley is a small town, so of course we knew each other. That’s all.”

  Maggie exchanged a quick glance with Cheryl. Doc never acted like this, defensive and angry. He was hiding something. And Maggie didn’t think he was going to give it up—ever.

  They spent the next half hour planning a strategy for if and when Sam called Doc back in. Doc didn’t participate. Instead, he quietly sipped his coffee and kept his eyes on the window that looked out onto the green. Maggie could tell he didn’t hear a word they said.

  Max outlined the situation. Other than the fact that Vera had been in Doc’s office when she died, there was no reason to think Doc had anything to do with her death. If she’d felt poorly, as her daughter, Bianca, said, it made perfect sense for her to go to the nearest doctor. The only ripple in the pond was the syringe. Doc had picked it up, so his fingerprints were on it, but that didn’t mean that someone else’s weren’t as well. Maggie sincerely hoped that once it was checked it would yield a suspect other than Doc.

  “So, what do we do now?” Maggie asked.

  “We wait,” Max said. “Once we have all the facts surrounding Vera’s death, we’ll stand a better chance of being able to defend Doc.”

  “Do you really think he’s going to need it?” Cheryl asked. “I mean, when they figure out exactly how she died, won’t that lead to the killer?”

  “Maybe,” Max said. He glanced at Doc, who was still staring out the window, not listening. “I think that really depends upon what Doc isn’t telling us.”

  Maggie and Ginger agreed to stop by Bianca Madison’s house on Monday late in the afternoon to see how she was doing. It had been two days since Vera’s body had been found, and Maggie still had a storeroom full of the Madisons’ belongings. She was fine with keeping the boxes, but she felt as if she needed to talk to Bianca about it so that she understood that Maggie was just holding the items for her.

  Ginger was making one of her famous pound cakes for Bianca, a pumpkin flavored one given the season, so Maggie had agreed to pick her up once it was baked and cooled.

  Maggie spent the morning in her shop, cleaning and arranging the layout of the store, so she was a tad dusty and dirty when she pulled up in Ginger’s driveway.

  Two of Ginger’s sons were raking the leaves in the front yard; they both paused and waved, and Maggie waved back. Another one was up on a ladder, cleaning the gutter. He dropped a fistful of soggy leaves, letting them fall to the ground, and waved at Maggie as well.

  A shout came from the side of the house. “Caleb, where’s your brother?”

  “I don’t know,” Caleb yelled back from his perch on the ladder.

  “I do,” Aaron, the one raking leaves closest to Maggie, said. “He’s on the phone with his girlfriend.” Then he puckered his lips and made smooching noises, which made Maggie laugh.

  “I told him to bag the leaves,” Roger said as he came around the house. He was wearing a faded pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He looked irritated, but when he saw Maggie he broke into a warm smile. “Hey, there’s my girl. How are you, Maggie?”

  “I’m good,” she said. She stepped close and gave him a solid hug. “You’ve got the troops out working, I see?”

  “Ginger refused to feed us if we didn’t finish off her honey-do list,” he said. “She’s baking two cakes, and she said she wouldn’t give us any if we didn’t get to work.”

  “Motivation through starvation.” Maggie glanced around the yard. “It seems to be working.”

  “Yes, except for Byron,” he said. “I told her not to name him for a poet.”

  Maggie smiled. All of a sudden there was a flurry of motion across the yard. Dante, the youngest of the Lancaster boys, was sprinting across the yard with something in his hands. Hot on his heels was Byron, the second oldest.

  “Give me th
at phone, Dante!” he yelled. “I mean it. I’m going to pound you.”

  Dante went to throw it into the impressively large leaf pile, but Byron was too fast for him. With one hand he made a diving catch for the phone and with the other he took his brother out at the knees. They fell into the leaves like two puppies while their brothers Aaron and Caleb looked on, laughing.

  Maggie pressed her lips together to keep from busting out a laugh and glanced at Roger and saw that he was doing the same.

  He managed to shake it off, however, and strode toward the leaf pile, looking like a bowling ball about to hit a split. He stood over the pile while the two boys tussled and held out his hand.

  Byron’s hand shot out of the leaves, and he deposited the phone into his father’s waiting palm.

  “You get it back when the leaves are bagged, am I clear?”

  “Yes, Dad,” said a voice said from the pile with a heartsick sigh.

  “Come on, Maggie, I’ll walk you in. I’m sure Ginger is ready for an outing from the loony bin,” he said.

  “Thanks, Roger,” she said.

  Ginger had boxed up one of the cakes and was just putting the other in her pantry.

  “Pumpkin pound cake,” Roger said with a deep inhale of appreciation.

  “You can forget it if that yard is not spotless by the time I get home,” Ginger said. “Not one little nibble, and I mean it, or you’ll be eating brussels sprouts for dinner every night for the next month.”

  Roger widened his eyes. He kissed his wife on the cheek and turned to head back out the door. “Pardon me, ladies, while I go crack the whip.”

  When the door shut behind him, Ginger winked at Maggie, and said, “Roger hates brussels sprouts.”

  “I’m with him there,” Maggie said. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Yes,” Ginger said. She grabbed her purse and draped the handles on her forearm while she hugged the Tupperware that held the cake to her middle.

  “Has there been any news?” Maggie asked.

  “None that I’ve heard,” Ginger said. “You?”

  “Nothing,” Maggie said.

  As they crossed the porch, Ginger paused to watch her men working in the yard. The Lancaster boys were all a nice combination of their parents with dark skin, dark eyes and brilliant smiles. Aaron the oldest was book smart, while Byron was more of an artist. Caleb looked to be the athlete of the family and Dante, well, so far he was the prankster.