A Killer Ending

by Karen MacInerney

  She jabbed at the phone with a manicured hand and swiped under her sunglasses.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you," I said gently. "But are you okay?"

  She turned to me and adjusted her glasses; I noticed thick makeup on the side of her face closest to the wall. "I've had a really bad week," she said. "I don't usually break down in public; sorry."

  "No need to be sorry," I offered. "Mine's not been so hot, either."

  She considered me from behind the dark sunglasses, which dwarfed her heart-shaped face. "Wait. You're the bookstore owner, right?"

  "I am," I confirmed.

  "So you're... you're the one who found him," she said, leaning in.

  "You mean Cal Parker?"

  She nodded. "I... I was seeing him," she said, and she took a deep breath. "I just can't believe he's gone."

  "I'm so, so sorry," I said. "What an awful thing to happen."

  Her lower lip trembled. "He... he was murdered, right?"

  I nodded.

  "How?"

  "I'm not supposed to say," I said.

  "Was it... well, quick?"

  "It looked like it," I said. "I hate to ask this, but... do you have any idea who might have wanted to do something like that to him?"

  She bit her lip. "From what I've heard, it could be you."

  "It's not," I assured her. "Trust me. I only met him the first time the night before. I could never do anything like that to another person." Besides, I added silently, if I were going to do in anyone, it would be Agatha Satterthwaite. Or Scooter Dempsey.

  "I want to know what happened, too. I... I was with him that night."

  "You were?" I asked, although I already suspected as much.

  "We had champagne... it was my birthday. And then we got into an argument, and I told him I didn't love him, and now..." she sobbed. "Now I'll never see him again so I can't tell him I didn't mean it."

  "That's awful," I said, reaching out to touch her hand. She grabbed onto my hand as if it were a life preserver and she were a drowning woman surrounded by hungry sharks. "So what happened after the argument? Did he go out for a walk?"

  "I don't know," she said. “I left right after we fought. And now... I keep thinking that if I'd stayed, maybe he wouldn't be dead."

  "Nothing you did or didn't do had anything to do with what happened to Cal Parker," I said. "If someone really meant to do this, they would have found a way."

  "You think?" she asked.

  "Yes," I confirmed, using the same tone of voice I used to talk my kids through their self-doubt.

  "I'm Deirdre, by the way," she said. "Deirdre Sloane."

  "Max Sayers," I said. "Good to meet you, although I'm sorry about the circumstances.”

  "Me too," she said forlornly.

  "I know it's hard, but the thing now is to figure out what happened, so whoever did it doesn't kill again."

  "What do you mean? You think someone else might die?"

  "I don't know," I said. "I don't know why someone killed Cal. Do you have any ideas?" I asked a second time.

  She lifted her sunglasses slightly to dab at her eyes, and I suddenly understood why she wore the glasses inside—and why she had applied such heavy makeup to her already smooth skin.

  Even through the pancake make-up, I could see an ugly purple bruise blossoming under her eye.

  "Why would someone want to kill him?"

  I shrugged. "Did he make life difficult for anyone?"

  She snorted. "Just about everyone in Snug Harbor, it seems like. He wanted change. Nobody likes change."

  "What kind of change?"

  "Modern, standardized business procedures," she said. "Making sure the town was profitable. There were a lot of old-timers who wanted things to be just like they always were. Not come into the 21st century, you know?"

  "Like who?"

  "Well, the guy from the Salty Dog was livid with him for cracking down on code violations. He came to the house last week and said Cal should be run out of town on a rail. Or worse."

  "Ouch," I said.

  "And then there was that woman he beat in the election. Meryl? She tried to chat me up last week, find out dirt on Cal. Her family's been on the board of selectmen since Snug Harbor started. She saw him as a usurper."

  "Do you think she'd kill him over it?"

  Deirdre shrugged. "You never know what people will do," she said in an odd, dreamy voice.

  "This is an awkward question," I said, pausing to sip my coffee, "but do you know who inherits Cal's estate?"

  She looked away quickly and said, in a flat tone, "No."

  I didn't believe her.

  "Do you think he might have willed it to his brother?" I pressed.

  "No way," she said quickly. "He would have been happy if Josiah left town and never came back."

  "Why?"

  "Josiah is a jerk," she said. "Always asking for money, when he didn't do anything to earn it. They came from a middle-class background, you know. Cal was a self-made man. Josiah had every opportunity he had—more, in fact. Their parents paid for Josiah to go to a fancy prep school, but not Cal, did you know that? Josiah was the family's golden boy."

  "It didn't turn out that way, though, did it?"

  "It certainly didn't," she said, turning her espresso cup around with a pale hand. No engagement or wedding ring on the third finger, I noticed. "I admire... admired his drive," she said. "He always got what he wanted, and wouldn't stop until he won."

  "Do you think that may have been what happened? He pushed someone and they pushed back?"

  Her hands tightened on the cup; the knuckles paled. Had I touched a nerve?

  "Maybe," she said, then released the cup and checked her phone again. "It's been nice talking to you—thanks for listening—but I've got to go."

  "Feel free to drop by the store anytime," I said. "And if you need anything..."

  "Right. Thanks again," she said, and gathered up her Coach purse and strode to the front of the shop, leaving her espresso cup behind.

  As she pushed through the door, I wondered who she'd been talking to before I struck up a conversation with her.

  And why she hadn't told me who had inherited Cal Parker's estate.

  Because I would have bet one of the last dollars I owned that Deirdre knew.

  "How'd it go?" I asked Bethany as I walked through the front door of Seaside Cottage Books a half hour after, taking a deep breath and savoring the scent of books, floor polish, fresh cookies, and fresh outside air. I'd stopped at the grocery store to pick up supplies for dinner along the way, and was carrying two grocery bags. Winston trotted over to greet me, standing up on his hind legs to inspect the grocery bags and say hello. I normally discouraged this behavior, but today my heart warmed at the welcome, and he half-closed his brown eyes in ecstasy as I rubbed the top of his head.

  "Another seventy-five dollars in sales," she said brightly. "And those cookies are a hit!"

  "Good," I said. The cake dish I'd set up next to the register was filled with what was left of the raspberry meltaway cookies; I'd made. "There's shortbread dough in the fridge upstairs; I'll toss those cookies in soon."

  "Sounds yummy," she said. "But I want that raspberry cookie recipe."

  "Of course," I told her. "Anything exciting to report?"

  "I don't know if it's exciting," she said, picking up a slip of paper from the desk. "But Nicholas called."

  "Oh," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. I guess I hadn't given him my cell number, so he'd called the store. "Thanks. I'm going to run upstairs and give him a call back."

  "I'll be here," she said, but I thought I saw her lips twitch up into a little smile as I hurried up the stairs.

  Winston followed me up the stairs. I closed the door to the store, grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge for my fluffy friend, took a deep breath, and dialed the number. A woman with a professional voice answered, and connected me to Nicholas.

  "Hey," I said. "Max here."

  "I'm sorry I called
the store; I realized I didn't have your number."

  "No worries," I said. "I'll give it to you now." Feeling a flutter of excitement, I reeled off my number. "Sorry again about the coffee incident. I owe you one."

  "I ran into you," he reminded me. "Anyway, I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of bad tidings, but..."

  "Oh, no," I said, sinking down onto a card-table chair. "I'm sitting down. Lay it on me."

  "The only will recorded gave the store to both sisters," he said.

  "There wasn't another one?"

  "If so, it wasn't recorded," he said. "And I can't find anything else recorded that would forfeit Agatha's right to the property."

  "Uh oh. Which means..."

  "That unless you can come up with some kind of evidence to disprove it, Agatha's claim is valid."

  15

  "Evidence," I said, leaning back as I took in what he'd told me. "What kind of evidence?'

  "A different will, a deed; anything that shows that Loretta was the property's sole owner when the transaction took place. Hopefully you registered the deed?"

  "I don't know that we did," I said, "but I'll look. I'm confused, though; why would Agatha be complaining about this now, and not years ago, when Loretta took over the shop? Or when she sold it to me?"

  "There is something odd about the timing," he agreed. "But without a piece of paper showing that Loretta owned the property outright, Agatha's got a good claim."

  I leaned back, feeling drained. "What do I do?"

  "I'd talk to some of Loretta's friends. Find out if she mentioned anything about a transaction between Agatha and Loretta. Or if she had a safe deposit box we don't know about... anything that might turn up something in your favor."

  "I can't believe she'd take money for a property that wasn't hers."

  "From what I knew of her, I can't either," he said. "But people do funny things."

  "They do, don't they?" I asked. "Hey... are wills public knowlege?"

  "Are you thinking of Cal Parker?"

  "Yeah. I normally wouldn't ask about something like that, but I'm worried I might be a suspect, and I'm wondering who would benefit from his death."

  "Hmm. It's early for the will to be probated, but I'll see what I can find out."

  "Thank you," I said. "I really appreciate your help... can I cook dinner for you sometime?"

  There was a long silence during which I cursed myself for my forwardness.

  "Ah, let me think on that."

  "Oh. Okay. Sorry if I kind of overstepped..."

  "No, no, it's okay. Hey... I've got another call. Can I catch up with you later?"

  "Sure," I said, feeling a rush of embarrassment. "And thanks again."

  "No problem," he said, and as he hung up, I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall repeatedly.

  "Nice going, Max," I said to myself. Not only had I presumed that his services were free, I'd done something that sounded like asking him for a date. When he hadn't spoken with me for decades and things were just starting to warm up again.

  And then there was the fact that I'd spent everything I had to buy a building that apparently now didn't belong to me.

  I needed a break from reality, I thought as I stood up, Winston looking at me questioningly—he always knew when I was upset—and trudged back downstairs.

  Thank goodness I lived above a book store.

  "What's going on?" Bethany asked as I emerged from my rooms looking rather like the walking dead. "You look like you got hit by a truck up there."

  "More or less."

  "But sales have been so good! And the opening night was a huge success."

  "I know," I said. "But Agatha's still going after the store." I told her the details.

  "Still?"

  "Yup," I said. "And unless I can prove her wrong, there's nothing I can do."

  "It makes no sense at all," she said. "You know who you need to talk to? Miriam Culpepper."

  "Who's that?"

  "She's Loretta's next door neighbor. They had tea every Wednesday; she grew up with Agatha and Loretta." She wrote down the woman's name and address and handed it to me. "Any word on what happened to Cal?"

  "Nothing yet," I said, "and they haven't been by to arrest me, so that's some good news. Have you heard any rumors about him? Or his romantic life?"

  "He's been seeing some woman for the last year or so, apparently—I don't know if he still is, or was at the time of his death; but he was a few months ago—but they don't really go out in public together. I don't know why. Maybe she wouldn't be good for him politically?"

  "Then why would she be there?"

  I shrugged. "I don't know."

  "Do you know anything else about her?"

  "I know she drives a nice car, but that's only because a friend of mine works for a catering company that did his party when he won the selectman position."

  "Who?" I asked.

  "Dining Downeast," she said. "I'll ask her when I see her at class."

  "Great," I said. "Any other talk around town about who might have wanted to kill him?"

  She averted her eyes.

  "They still think it's me?"

  "Well, it was right by the store," she said, "and it was your flatiron."

  I sighed. "Have the police been by anymore?"

  "Not yet," she said, in a tone of voice that didn't inspire confidence.

  Great.

  I sighed. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll see if I can get in touch with Miriam to see what she can tell me about Agatha. In the meantime, why don't you head out for the afternoon? I'll take care of the store."

  "Are you sure?" she asked. "I'm trying to get this chapter finished today."

  "Go," I said. "Winston and I will hold down the fort."

  "Okay. But call me if you need me!" Bethany slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed out the door, and as I watched her go, I found myself grateful once again that she had come into my life. As I looked around me at the colorful books filling the shelves, with Bethany's hand-lettered signs marking the different genres, I felt a warm upwelling. I hoped the two of us could find a way to make a go of the store.

  My eye was drawn again to the shelf that the intruder had attacked the other night. I walked over, wondering what whoever it was had been looking for when they started pulling away the shelves. Was something hidden in the store somewhere? And if so, who had hidden it? Loretta, or whoever had owned the store before her?

  I felt the edge that had been pulled away. There was nothing behind it, but what about the other shelves?

  I walked from shelf to shelf, moving the books away and knocking gently on the wood, listening for a hollow sound. I had made it through Religion, Nature, Self Help and Cooking when the bell rang. I put the books back on the shelf, feeling self-conscious, and turned to greet whoever had walked in the door.

  It was a woman I didn't recognize; she gave me a shy smile and headed over to the fiction section, where she selected a few Maeve Binchy books, and then she got a cross-stitch guide from the craft section.

  "Find what you needed?" I asked as she put her treasures on the counter.

  "I always love Maeve Binchy," she said. "I'm so glad you took over the shop. I miss Loretta, of course, but I knew she was happy with you taking it over. And I love what you've done with the place. Did you make the pillows on the chairs yourself?"

  "I did!" I told her. "Thank you so much for noticing!"

  "I bought some of the same fabric for a quilt for my granddaughter," she told me. "I just love the bright colors; I know Loretta would have loved it, too."

  "Did you know Loretta well?" I asked as I rang up her purchases.

  "We were in elementary school together," she told me.

  "Really! You knew each other a whole lifetime, then."

  "We did," she said, nodding. "I'm Miriam Culpepper, by the way."

  "Oh! Bethany just told me about you; I was just going to look you up! I'm Max Sayers," I said. "Lovely to meet you."

 
; "Likewise, and I'm so glad you have the store. Like I said, I've known Loretta almost all my life, and if she picked you, there's a reason." She gave me a smile that warmed my heart.

  "And you know her sister, Agatha, too?"

  "Oh, Aggie. Always jealous of her sister. Their father always favored Loretta... she was the oldest, and ever so clever in school. Aggie never could keep up, and she resented the heck out of her big sister."

  "Did they ever make up?"

  "After her mother died, Loretta told me she tried to make things right with her sister. That's what she said to me, anyway... I don't know what she meant. And it worked for a while, but there at the end, Agatha was after her again."

  "When she was sick?" I asked.

  Miriam nodded. "Aggie started making noise about how she didn't get her fair share. That Loretta had duped her out of what she deserved, and that she'd find a way to get it back."

  "What did she mean by that?" I asked.

  "I don't know," she said, "but I think it had something to do with the house. That was what their parents had left to give " She looked at me. "The girls were both raised here, you know. Loretta was the one who turned it into a bookstore once her parents weren't able to stay there anymore; I'm pretty sure she used some of the profits to help her mother and father pay the bills."

  "That sounds like Loretta," I said, thinking of the kindly woman with a love of traditional mysteries who had introduced me to Agatha Christie, Diane Mott Davidson, Sara Paretsky, and countless other amazing authors. "And I'm so glad she did. Every town needs a bookstore."

  "You're absolutely right."

  "How sad that it caused a breach between the sisters, though," I said. "Money can do terrible things to family, can't it?"

  "Never had much myself," the woman said, "but the stories I've heard... like what happened between Cal Parker and his brother, Josiah. Tragic, what happened to Cal, by the way. I still don't think he made a good selectman, but nobody should go that way. And so young! I'm sorry you had to be the one to find him."

  "It was a shock," I admitted. "Do you think his brother had something to do with it?"