"Married, then?" he asked, and I thought I caught a flash of disappointment.
"No," I said. "Well, not anymore. You?"
"Never married," he said. "Came close a few times, but it never clicked." He gave me a familiar grin that made my heart turn over; some things hadn't changed. "You never said what you're doing here. Are you in town visiting your mom?"
"No... I bought the book store!"
"What?" he asked. "I thought someone named Maxine Sayers bought it..."
"That's me," I said. "Married name."
"No one ever calls you Maxine!" he said.
"Except my mother and attorneys on legal documents," I said.
"No wonder!" he told me. "I just don't see you as a Maxine, though." Something about the way he said my name made me feel warm and tingly inside; there seemed to have been something of a thaw over the intervening decades. I was trying to come up with a response when Bethany touched my elbow. "It's about time to do the introduction," she advised me.
"Excuse me," I told Nicholas, feeling my heart fluttering a bit. "I've got to go introduce the author... I'd love to catch up more after the reading!"
"I'd like that, actually," he said, again flashing me that smile that hadn't changed in... well, let's just say a lot of years.
I stepped up to the front of the room and faced the crowd; it wasn't exactly standing-room-only at Seaside Cottage Books, but the place was pleasantly full. I just hoped everyone wasn't here only for the free food. I tugged at the hem of my blouse a little self-consciously and smiled at the audience.
"Thank you so much for coming to the grand re-opening of Seaside Cottage Books. I know you all miss Loretta—I do, too—but I'll try to carry the torch as best I can. The bookstore always meant so much to me growing up, and I'm honored to carry on the tradition. It's so good to be back in Snug Harbor... I hope to catch up with those of you I know from way back" — I smiled at Nicholas, who grinned back at me— "and I'm looking forward to meeting everyone else. I hope the store will be a place you can come to relax, enjoy browsing, and find wonderful new authors. And speaking of authors..."
I launched into a description of our guest author with an enthusiasm I didn't quite feel, even though I'd enjoyed her romantic suspense books set a few hours down the coast in Portland, and tried not to look at her—or Ted, who was sitting in a chair next to her, holding her hand.
Instead, I scanned the room, finding my eyes drawn to Nicholas, of course, but seeing a number of other faces that looked vaguely familiar, along with several I didn't know. One woman in a short, pink dress sat in the front row, wearing big sunglasses despite the indoor, evening situation. She had long, straight, highlighted hair caught up in a French twist, and reminded me a bit of Audrey Hepburn. Sitting beside her was a woman who was almost the complete opposite; she looked as if she'd been born with a broom handle where her spine should be. Her entire affect was regal, from her cropped salt-and-pepper hair to her aquiline nose to the understated pearls ringing her neck. Had they come together? I wondered, and my gaze wandered on, stopping short when they reached a familiar visage I had hoped never to see again.
I forgot what I was saying for a moment. Scooter Dempsey smirked as I recovered myself; I got the distinct impression he knew exactly what I'd been thinking, and that that had been his intent.
"Sorry about that; I lost my train of thought there for a moment," I said. "As I was saying..." I finished the introduction and sat down as Kirsten took the stage, feeling a familiar old anger bubble up. Not at Kirsten, although I have to say I was less than thrilled with the fact that my stodgy ex-husband had suddenly discovered unplumbed depths with her that he would have scoffed at had I suggested them. I was mad at Scooter Dempsey. It was because of him that Nicholas had broken up with me all those years ago. I'd turned him down for a date, and he'd then spread rumors about me that I'd never been able to discredit. I’d never been able to forgive him. Would he do it again, now that I had the store?
Put it out of your head, I told myself. We weren't in high school anymore. We were all adults. And that was ancient history—history that needed to be put to bed.
I had just turned to focus on Kirsten again when she said, "Imagine my surprise when I found out the owner of this wonderful store is my boyfriend's ex-wife!"
There was a silence as she gestured toward me, and every set of eyes in the room fastened on me with prurient interest.
Including Nicholas's, which was not exactly the way I wanted to make my debut in Snug Harbor.
"He has good taste in women, doesn't he?" Kirsten continued, smiling in a way I imagine she thought was generous. I glanced at Ted, whose face was set in a stiff smile, his neck and cheeks flushed red yet again, and I prayed that the day would be over soon.
"At least it should be good for business," Bethany whispered from next to me. "Everyone likes... well... a personal interest story."
Uh huh.
I felt my own cheeks flaming and sneaked a glance at Nicholas, who was looking from me to Ted with raised eyebrows. A moment later, thankfully, Kirsten launched into her reading—a suspenseful bit involving a woman being held hostage on a bridge. Which at the moment sounded almost preferable to my current situation.
The audience thronged Kirsten after the reading, which was good for business—the stack of brightly colored books Bethany had placed next to her were being signed and handed to customers in large numbers. Bethany stood beside the author while I hurried to the register and began ringing up my first sales, trying very hard not to look at the glamour shot of K. T. Anderson, which was challenging, since it was the entire back cover. There was no sign of Nicholas, alas, and I hoped he stayed until the crowd cleared. I kept sneaking glances at Ted and Kirsten; he was beaming, looking like he'd won the top prize at the State Fair, and I found myself clenching my jaw.
I had just rung up a three-book purchase when I looked up to see Scooter. One of Kirsten's books was in his hand, along with what looked like a first-edition hardback Dick Francis mystery featuring a stylized horse and jockey on the cover, but he didn't hand the books to me.
"I had no idea you were the owner of the store these days," he said.
"Well, I am."
"Good to see you after all this time," he said with a faint smirk. "Did you receive a letter recently?'
"I haven't checked my mail the last day or two," I said, trying to disguise my distaste.
"You probably should," he said, the smirk broadening into a satisfied little smile that edged across his face.
I'd never liked Scooter, from the time I’d found him teasing Donny Knee, who had a speech impediment. I had been twelve, and several of us kids were hanging out, eating chocolate bars and slurping down sodas on the town playground. Donny had been trying to tell us about a fish he caught, but kept getting stuck on the F. Donny was turning red with frustration when Scooter had crumpled up his Snickers' bar wrapper and started mimicking him cruelly.
"What was that, Donny-boy? It was a f-f-f-f-f-f-? I've never heard of one of those."
Donny, embarrassed, tried again.
"A what?" Scooter teased.
"Stop it," I'd told him. Scooter was two years older than me, but I was always scrappy, and I hated seeing people teased. "Go on, Donny."
The stutter was worse now. He tried again, but could barely even get the "f" out.
"Retard," Scooter muttered.
"What did you call him?" I asked.
"Retard," he repeated. Tears formed in Donny's eyes, and he stopped even trying to talk.
I'd walked up to Scooter, who was six inches taller than me and had about forty pounds on me, but I didn't care. "Stop being a jerk."
"Who's gonna make me?" he'd asked, giving me that slitty-eyed little smile of his.
"If you don't leave him alone and get out of here, I'm going to punch you in the nose," I'd told him, anger eliminating all traces of common sense.
He'd blinked, then started laughing. I didn't think; I just pulled back my righ
t arm and popped him in the nose.
He'd dropped his Coke, and his hands flew to his nose. A trickle of blood leaked out between his fingers.
"You little..."
For a moment I'd thought he was going to punch me back, and the gravity of what I'd done swept over me, along with the first burst of fear. My whole body tensed, and I was ready to turn and run. He lowered his right hand, and my hands went up instinctively, shielding my face. But instead of hitting me, he turned and ran out of the playground, still holding his nose. Donny, my friend Denise, and I stared at his red jacket as it billowed out behind him, not quite sure we could believe what had just happened.
"It was a foot-long fish," Donny said totally clearly. "And thanks for doing that."
"Yeah," Denise chimed in. "You're a rock star; I can't believe you popped him in the nose!"
"Me neither," I said, my knees suddenly weak. “I need to sit down." I sank to the ground. What had I been thinking?
"What a jerk," Denise said, her fiery hair a halo around her face, backlit by the sun. "Let's get out of here before he changes his mind and comes back."
We left in a hurry, and Scooter had never brought it up with me again. But from that point forward, he'd done everything in his power to make my life difficult.
Including now. He had several decades and a few dozen more pounds on him, and maybe a little less hair on top of his head, but that face was unmistakably the same. Giving me that same slitty-eyed smile, he said, "You know you don't really own the store."
"Pardon me?" I asked.
"Loretta Satterthwaite didn't have the right to sell it. You may have bought her half, but her sister Agatha never signed over her part of it." He looked around at the people, the freshly painted walls, the books lined up neatly on the shelves. "So no matter how much you paid for it, none of this is really yours."
5
"What? That can't be right," I said, staring at him. "Loretta signed some kind of deed... I think it was called a quitclaim deed?" We'd done the transaction without real estate agents to make the process faster and less expensive, and I'd bought the store outright.
He shook his head. "Quitclaim deeds can be trouble. Too bad you didn't have a title search done."
"Yes," announced a large man, who had what a friend of mine called a "success belly" and the air of someone who's spent his whole life expecting things to fall into his lap and actually having it happen. "And it looks like you've done some renovations, too. Do you have permits for that?"
"Permits?" I croaked.
"Permits," he repeated. "I understand some of your paperwork is out of date, and there's some question as to whether you're operating the business illegally." His mouth was a grim line in his flaccid face, but his eyes crinkled slightly; it was obvious he was more than happy to deliver this news. He lowered his voice and leaned forward conspiratorially, his jowls jiggling as he spoke. "Although maybe we can make a deal."
"A deal?" I asked. "Pardon me, but have we met?"
He blinked. "I thought you knew; I just won the selectman position in Snug Harbor. Cal Parker," he said, reaching out a beefy hand. I reached out to shake it, and ended up with my arm nearly wrenched out of the socket as he squeezed my hand and jerked it up and down a few times, then patted it with his other hand, making it look as if the end of my arm had been swallowed by some fleshy creature. "Let's talk later on," he said conspiratorially, but I couldn't help notice that half the people in line were leaning forward and listening. Not exactly what I'd dreamed about for my grand opening. "Maybe we can work something out," he suggested, and as he spoke, I could smell something fermented on his breath.
"Work something out?" I asked, prying my hand out of his grasp and feeling my stomach twist. I was out of money, and the last thing I wanted to do was make a back-room deal with a councilman. Was that what he was suggesting?
I turned to Scooter, who was watching the exchange between us with a smug smile. "Even if part of the house does still belong to Agatha Satterthwaite—which I don't believe—what do you have to do with it?"
"She was planning to sell the property to my company," he said. "For fair market value. Which, considering this is waterfront property, is likely considerably more than what Loretta charged you."
I glanced at the line of customers, many of whom had their ears perked up as they waited to pay. Loretta had really wanted me to have the store, and I hadn't researched the number we agreed on, but I knew it was low. I suddenly felt very tired, and a little bit sick. Had I just spent my life savings on a bum deal?
"Let's talk about this later," I said. "I've got a line of customers."
"Here's my card," the councilman said, producing one from his back pocket. I glanced at it briefly and shoved it next to the register.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll be in touch."
Cal gave Scooter the briefest of nods as he sauntered off, glad-handing anyone who came within range. I couldn't help but notice that he didn't seem very popular; a few people seemed to move intentionally out of his way.
Scooter was still standing in front of me, and I turned to him, ready to ring up his purchase; there was a long line, after all. "I'll ring that up," I offered.
"On second thought, I've changed my mind about the books." He tossed them down on the desk in front of me. "I have a better first edition at home," he said, pointing to a dinged corner that I would swear hadn't been there five minutes ago. "Good luck," he added, and waltzed out of the store, leaving me cold as ice and feeling like this time, he had just walloped me in the nose.
"Is everything okay?" asked the next customer, the woman in the pink dress, as I gathered the two books and tucked them behind the counter. One of them was now damaged, and the other—signed to Scooter, presumably—was now unsellable.
I shook myself and put on a smile. "Fine," I lied as she handed me the books.
"Cal and Scooter are both a piece of work," she said, lowering her sunglasses to watch him leave. "I can't believe Cal won the election. In fact, I can't believe nobody's killed him in self-defense yet."
"Thanks for being supportive," I said as I rang her up. I noticed the last name on her card was the same as the councilman's. "Gretchen Parker," I said, reading her credit card. "Are you two related?" I asked.
"Ex-wife," she said.
"Ah. I understand," I told her.
She glanced toward Ted and grinned at me. "I know you do. We women have to stick together, don't we? See you around... and don't let the jerks get you down," she said, tucking the book into her oversized purse and heading for the door before I could answer.
The next few customers stared at me with curiosity and complimented me on the bookstore, but didn't mention my ex-husband, thankfully. Until I got to the regal woman who had been seated next to Gretchen Parker.
"You'll want to watch out for Cal Parker," she advised me in a husky voice, looking toward the front door, through which the freshly minted selectman had exited a few minutes earlier. "He's a snake."
"I gathered," I said. "How is he involved with Scooter Dempsey?"
"They're in business together, at least unofficially," she said. "Cal bought the spot on the council and is using Snug Harbor to line his pockets. He beat me by two votes at the last election. I'm going after my seat again next time, but we'll have to do what we can to protect the town in the meantime."
"I'm so sorry," I said. "He seems like..."
"A jerk?" she asked as I rang up her sale.
"Exactly," I said.
"Welcome to Snug Harbor, by the way," she told me. "I'm Meryl Ferguson, and I'm glad you took over the store. Loretta told me she was delighted you were going to carry on the tradition; we were long-time friends. If there's anything I can do to help, let me know."
"Thanks," I said, warmed by the greeting. "It's good to meet you."
"Thanks for the book," she said as I handed her back Fast Money. "I'm sure I'll be seeing much more of you."
"I hope so," I said with honesty; I'd only just met Me
ryl, but I liked her. And she certainly seemed a better choice for Snug Harbor's council than the slimy Cal Parker.
"Hey," said the next person in line; a woman about my age, with a mass of dark hair around her face. "Nice presentation, particularly considering the circumstances." She leaned her head toward my ex-husband, who was still hovering behind our guest author. Her energetic voice was familiar somehow. "I noticed you chatting with Scooter Dempsey; how do you know him?" she asked.
"When I was twelve, I punched him in the nose for teasing Donny Knee about not being able to say 'fish.'"
"Wait." She blinked. "Are you Max Finnegan?"
"That's me, yes," I said, confused. "Or it was. My last name is Sayers now."
"It's me, Denise," she said. "I remember you doing it. It's one of my all-time favorite memories."
"Denise Wilmington?" I looked up at her, and suddenly I realized why her voice sounded familiar. "But your hair..." The Denise I remembered had been a flaming redhead.
She laughed. "I put a temporary color in it, just for fun. I'm still a ginger."
"Wow. You look good either way. I'm so glad to see you!" I said, still clutching the book. "I had no idea you were still in town!"
"I manage Sea Beans," she told me.
"The coffee shop down on Main Street?"
"That's the one," she said.
"I can't believe it," I said, my spirits rising a little bit at the encounter with an old friend. We'd been inseparable those summers in Snug Harbor, but had lost touch after that time had ended. "I'm so glad you're here. We'll have to catch up!"
She glanced behind her at the line. "I should probably let you ring up your customers, but I'd love that. I've got to go home and get dinner for the kids, but are you around tomorrow?"
"All day," I said.
"I'll bring some coffee after the morning shift, and we can catch up!"
"I'd love that," I said, feeling my heart expand. I finished the transaction and handed her the book. "Thank you so much for coming."
"The pleasure was all mine," she said, eyes sparkling. "See you tomorrow, okay?"
A Killer Ending Page 4
