Bound To Be Dead: Cozy Mystery Bookshop Series Book 3

by Tamra Baumann

  Emily’s voice, while low, rings out as she reams whoever is on the line with her. It sounds personal, so I take a step back and run into Dylan’s hard chest. His hand pushes me forward into the room.

  I whisper, “Maybe it’s a bad time?”

  He says quietly, “The best time to gather clues.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way, but he’s probably right. We move farther inside and stand by Emily’s desk to wait. She has her back to us and is staring out the window as she listens. Finally, she says, “I’ve had enough, Joe. Figure it out, or we’re done!” She pokes the End button and then swivels around and sees us. “Oh. Hi.” Her jaw clenches before her gaze drops to her feet as she seems to gather her emotions.

  My cheeks must be three shades of red. She was fighting with her husband, and it’s none of our business. I feel like a Peeping Tom. Not that I like her husband, he’s a pain in my merchant’s butt, but couples fight.

  Dylan, apparently unfazed by our eavesdropping, says, “Hi, Emily. We were on our way to lunch, but Sawyer wanted to see if she could pick up any assignments for Brittany first. Looks like she might be out for a few days.”

  Emily Kingsley, who was our biology teacher too, is in her midfifties and is the logical scientific type. But now she looks flustered, and I can’t blame her.

  Emily runs a hand through her short, efficient hair before she meets our gaze again. “I didn’t realize Brittany was so ill. I hope she feels better soon.” She tosses her phone onto her desk and sits behind her laptop. “Let me have a look at my lesson plans. You can have a seat.”

  Dylan sits, but I wander around the room. Science was my second-favorite subject behind math when I was in high school. I’m curious to see what the kids are up to these days.

  Something about plants and animals and the order of nature has always appealed to me. I have to smile when I see all the items on the back counter, just as they were when I was in this class. Plants thriving under grow lights, a snake with red eyes that makes me shiver, and some cute mice. And last but not least, little tree frogs round out the menagerie. All the animals and plants probably descended from the same ones Dylan and I studied in school.

  Emily, or Mrs. Kingsley, as I called her back then, was one of many teachers who encouraged me to earn my advanced degree from MIT. I wonder if I disappointed them all when I gave up my engineering career after only a few years to become a chef?

  I turn around in time to see Emily shoot Dylan a nervous glance over the laptop before her eyes quickly cut back to the screen. She probably hates that we heard such a personal phone call and wonders if we’ll tell anyone who’ll listen. Gossip spreads around here like wildfire.

  Emily closes the lid on her computer and folds her hands. “Tell Brittany to finish reading chapter eight and then do the odd-numbered exercises at the end. She can email me with questions.” Emily stands, signaling the end of our meeting.

  I nod. “Great. Thanks. But can I ask you a question?”

  Emily picks up her phone and checks the time. “If it’s a quick one.”

  Before I can ask, Dylan stands next to me and says, “Why did you swap the name tags on Tina’s purple roses for your red ones yesterday?”

  Emily’s body jerks back as if Dylan punched her. “Well…I…didn’t realize anyone saw that.” She slowly sinks back into her chair. “This is embarrassing, Sheriff, but I’ve always had a penchant for purple blooms. I didn’t think Tina would mind, but she wasn’t there yet to ask.” Emily lifts her gaze and meets Dylan’s. “I apologize. Especially because of what happened to Tina…” Distress creases Emily’s forehead.

  “No worries. Just checking off some boxes.” Dylan taps a note into his phone. “But can I see your fingers?”

  “Why?” Emily holds out her palms.

  Dylan smiles sweetly. “Seems the Admiral forgot to strip the thorns before he arranged the roses. I just wanted to be sure you didn’t get poked too.”

  “Simply switching name tags wouldn’t earn me a poke, would it?” Emily’s brows hitch.

  “Wouldn’t think so.” Dylan’s foot nudges mine toward the door. “Sorry to interrupt your lunch. Have a good day.”

  Emily tilts her head as if puzzled. “You too.”

  When we get out into the hall, I ask, “Why did you ask to see her fingers?”

  “Tina had a pink rose near her hand when she died. Why did she have a single rose in her hand when she had a whole bouquet waiting for her?”

  “To smell it.” Obviously. “Or because someone, typically a person who likes you, hands it to you. But why would that matter?”

  “It’s the second part that intrigues me. Did someone hand Tina that rose?” Dylan holds the front door open for me.

  As I pass through the door, I say, “She probably grabbed one out of a bunch to smell it. Women do that.”

  “True,” Dylan agrees as we descend the front steps. “So either Emily didn’t smell hers, or she was more careful than Tina. Just another fact to throw into the mix. Want to grab a greasy burger at the diner?”

  “Not especially.” Does he think someone handed Tina a rose? Like my father? Or my uncle? I need to get to the bottom of this theory. “I have leftover chicken enchiladas at my house if you’d like that instead.” It’s always easier to get information out of Dylan if there’s food involved to distract him.

  “Even better.” Dylan takes my hand, and we hit the path, strolling at a pleasant pace.

  While we walk alongside the cliffs, I’m still puzzling over Dylan’s interrogation questions. He once told me that sometimes the most mundane answers turn out to be clues, but most of the time, simple facts don’t have a thing to do with anything important. It’s what makes solving crimes difficult. But the more information you have, the better.

  I ask, “Did you get a chance to ask the doctor at the clinic about Tina’s eyes? She was alive, but not blinking. Meg said that could happen with paralysis and head trauma, but a simple fall wouldn’t usually cause that.”

  Dylan slowly nods. “I agree. It makes more sense she was murdered.”

  “Woo-woo Beth thinks it’s definitely murder.”

  Dylan stops in his tracks. “She didn’t mention that to me this morning.”

  “You don’t believe her mumbo jumbo, do you?” Beth’s mother ran off with Dylan’s dad years ago, so Dylan avoids speaking to Beth for the most part.

  Dylan whips out his phone. “What else did she tell you?”

  “That she didn’t know who did it. There was too much emotion involved or something. Just that it had to do with an affair and jealousy.”

  Dylan’s thumbs tap furiously away on his phone. When he’s done, he says, “Can I have a rain check on lunch? I need to talk to Beth.”

  Seriously? “You believe her?”

  Dylan shrugs as he tucks his phone away. “In the years you were gone, she gave me a few tips about petty crimes. She’s never been wrong. And she wasn’t wrong about Raphe and the golf ball through your store’s window.”

  “Maybe that’s because my uncle knew something about all those things. She must overhear a lot in her position. I’m still convinced my uncle was behind Joe Kingsley setting Raphe up to shoot the ball through my window.”

  Dylan slowly nods. “She wasn’t wrong about my father’s heart attack.”

  I lift a finger. “That she could’ve gotten from her mom. Maybe your dad showed symptoms. But still, why didn’t she tell you what she thinks this morning if she really believes a murder happened?”

  Dylan’s forehead creases. “That’s what I intend to find out.”

  Chapter 6

  Since my lunch date ditched me for Woo-Woo Beth, I head toward Pattie’s beauty shop, Bang Bangs, to do some sleuthing. I can eat croissants for lunch when I get back to my bookstore later.

  I push the glass doors open, and my nose is instantly assaulted by a mixture of ammonia, nail polish, and purple shampoo. No one is at the little reception desk, so I take this as my permission
to wander farther inside.

  Two older women I remember from my childhood days sit under the noisy old dryers, reading magazines. They’re so engrossed, they don’t even realize I’ve walked in. The four chairs that sit before lighted mirrors, and the two hair-washing sinks, stand empty. Pattie must be in the stockroom, so I start that way.

  As I approach the curtain that separates the storefront from the rear, the sound of two women arguing stops me in my tracks. One voice is Pattie’s for sure. She has a high, shrill tone that hurts my eardrums a little, but I don’t recognize the other voice. Must be an employee.

  Rather than interrupt what seems to be an employer chastising her employee, I grab a seat in one of the haircutting chairs to wait. When I stare at my reflection in the lighted mirror, it’s clear I need a trim, and I could use some highlights to brighten up all the dull brown in my hair just as Pattie suggested last week. I lean even closer to examine the new freckles on my cheeks. Apparently, all the sunshine here has brought them out again. I really need to install better lighting in my old bathroom at home.

  “Hi, Sawyer. What can we do for you today?” Pattie’s glass-breaking voice calls out. “Are you ready to go short yet?”

  That’s the other thing Pattie always wants to do to me, but I like my shoulder-length hair. Just long enough to put in a ponytail when I cook. If I cut it short, I’d be in this chair once a month. No way I can afford that. “No, but I’d like to make an appointment for a trim and some highlights.” Hopefully, that will be enough to make Pattie back off her “Cut Sawyer’s Hair Off” mission.

  “Fantastic! Let’s see what I’ve got.” Pattie, bleached blonde and curvy, breezes past me clad in her pink uniform dress. She stops at the front desk, where she keeps a big appointment book—no computers for her.

  While Pattie flips through pages, I stick out my hand toward the young woman who was the target of Pattie’s ire a few moments ago. “Hi. I’m Saw— Mary? Is that you all grown-up?” I used to babysit her when I was in high school. She was a chubby, sweet little girl, but now she’s the epitome of a California beach beauty—blonde, tan, and cute.

  She nods. “Nice to see you, Sawyer.”

  I give her a hug. “How have I not run into you by now?” I’ve been in town for about six months, so it seems unlikely we haven’t seen each other.

  Mary returns my hug. “I had some trouble at school and lost my scholarship. I quit early so I can earn enough money to go back next fall and repeat some classes.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your scholarship.” I stare into her troubled big blue eyes. “What were you studying?”

  Pattie says, “She wants to be a cook, like you, Sawyer. Washing hair in the meantime isn’t challenging enough for her, apparently.” Pattie adds under her breath, “Don’t know how you fail cooking classes.”

  Mary lifts her chin. “Sawyer’s a chef, not a cook. And she also has a degree from MIT. Smart people like to cook too, you know.”

  Oooookay. There’s a tension here that’s clearly none of my business. But Mary has dyslexia and struggled in school when she was younger too. “Why don’t you stop by the bookstore later? Maybe I can help you pass those classes.” I used to help her with her homework when she was a kid. She’s super smart but learns differently from most.

  Mary smiles for the first time, showing off her pretty, straight white teeth. “Thanks, Sawyer. I will.” She gives Pattie a sideways glance before disappearing behind the curtain again.

  Pattie shakes her head. “Hard to find good help these days. I put you down for tomorrow at this time.”

  “Thanks.” It would have been nice if she’d asked me first, but then everyone knows I’m not all that busy at the bookshop, so I accept the little appointment card. “Sad about Tina, right?”

  “Odd is more like it.” Pattie tucks a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “Has Dylan figured out what really happened? Pete said it was no accident. Because of the affair.”

  I lean closer. “Did you know about the affair?” I don’t want to name it specifically to see if she’s just fishing.

  Pattie nods. “I have to go to Monterey for supplies on Saturdays now and then. Your uncle’s Maserati stands out.”

  That might be true elsewhere, but there’re a fair number of Maseratis in California. “Did you actually see my uncle with someone?”

  “Sure did.” Pattie snaps her gum. “He and Tina were eating on the patio of that brunch place, The Blue Hippo Bistro.”

  My heart beats a little faster. “Were they holding hands or doing anything that would suggest more than just brunch going on?”

  “No, so I walked toward them to say hello, but stopped when I heard them arguing. Tina threatened to tell your Aunt Carol about them if he didn’t make things right.”

  This is promising. And first-hand information for a change. “What did my uncle say to that?”

  Pattie leans closer. “He said if she’d end things with your dad, then he’d tell your aunt everything. Tina seemed satisfied with that because then they got up and headed to the B and B next door.”

  I ask, “How long ago was that?”

  “Weekend before last.” Pattie leans away and fixes her hair again. “Your aunt is due to get her hair done Friday, and I don’t know what to do. Would you want to know if your husband was having an affair?”

  My stomach twists at the thought of my sweet Aunt Carol finding out from Pattie what my uncle had been up to. My aunt has never raised her voice in all my memories and has always been incredibly kind to me. “Can you wait to say anything until we can gather a few more facts? I don’t want to break my aunt’s heart.”

  Pattie snorts. “You don’t think your aunt really believes your uncle plays that much golf, do you? Women tend to know when their husbands are unfaithful. Some just choose to look the other way.”

  Yeah, but my aunt and uncle’s prenup makes me doubt Pattie’s theory. “Have you mentioned this to anyone other than Pete?”

  Pattie shakes her head. “Not since your uncle stormed in here after his haircut last week. He told me he’d double my rent if I spread any more untrue rumors about him. I don’t want to cross him, so I’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  I highly doubt that. “If you’d keep this to yourself for a bit longer, it’d be a huge favor to me.”

  “Fine.” Pattie shrugs. “It’s no skin off mine either way.”

  “Thanks. See you tomorrow.” I hurry out the door and walk toward the bookshop, pondering what I’ve learned.

  The thing weighing most on my mind is, why would my uncle risk so much by having an affair with Tina? Unless he’s pretty sure he’s going to win our court battle, in which case, he could do anything he wanted with all the properties in the trust, unlike me. My half ownership is full of restrictions my grandparents put on my mom because they didn’t want her to give it all away. Which, to be fair, she probably would have done. It was her kind nature to help others. She was the exact opposite of my greedy uncle.

  I’m passing by my best pal Renee’s ice-cream shop when my growling stomach votes for a pit stop.

  Two groups of tourists are lined up at the front counter, so I settle into a seat by the window to wait until Renee is free. Today, she’s wearing a silk blouse I happen to know cost a fortune because I was with her in San Francisco when she bought it, and a pair of slacks that belong on a New York runway instead of a tourist town ice-cream shop. But then, that’s my beautiful best pal in a nutshell. Always dressed to the nines and looking sharp. Her long dark hair has never gone more than six weeks without a trim and highlights, unlike me, who forgets to cut my hair until my bangs flop over my eyes.

  It’s too bad her tall, lanky frame makes it impossible for me to inherit her hand-me-downs. But we can share shoes, so there’s that.

  Renee sees me and lifts her chin in greeting. When she’s done with her guests, she dishes up a two-scoop sundae with mint chocolate on one side, vanilla on the other, topped with fudge, nuts, and whipped cream, and
then joins me at my table.

  “Hi.” Renee pushes the treat toward me. “Long time, no see.”

  “That’s relative, you know. In Chicago, I wouldn’t say that to a friend unless two weeks had passed. Not two days, like here.” I dig in and moan. “Thank you.”

  Renee smiles. “You’re welcome. But if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to steal my boyfriend. Gage spends more time with you or working on your case than he does with me.”

  I nod as I swallow. “Sorry about that. Hopefully, we’ll figure things out soon.” I take another bite and then ask, “Do you think Brittany would be better off with her mom? If Stella has really changed, that is.”

  Renee steals a finger swipe of whipped cream before she says, “Gage asked me the same question this morning but wouldn’t tell me why he was asking. Quoted lawyer-client privilege. What’s going on?”

  I quickly fill Renee in on Stella’s threat to come home and take Brittany back. “The thing is, I don’t believe Brittany’s mother could change her spots that easily. I suspect Stella has something up her sleeve, and I wonder if it doesn’t have to do with my uncle too.”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past your uncle. He’s pretty determined to take what’s yours. Even Brittany. But she belongs with you. Period.”

  I stop midbite and put my spoon down. “Why do you say that?” As good as the vote of confidence makes me feel, I still want to do the right thing for Brittany.

  Renee glances over her shoulder to check on her guests before she leans closer to me. “Because I’ve seen how happy Brittany is with you. And how she’s blossomed since being allowed to be just a teenager, not that that’s easy.”

  “True.” I pick up my spoon again and take another bite. “But I’m not my mom. I have a lot to learn about being a guardian.”

  Renee slides a hand over mine. “Your mom knew she was sick when she took Brittany in. She also knew you were the perfect person to raise Brittany. I agreed with the plan to save Brittany from a criminal life when your mom told me about it before she died. And I still agree with it.”