Lethal Suds
An Abigail Kinsman Mystery
Sophia Barton
For everyone who enjoy mysteries as much as I do
Contents
About the Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
About the Author
Abigail Kinsman is lost.
Not literally, although she might as well be. She left everything behind—the house she called a home for close to fifteen years, the city she’s lived in for even longer, and the man she thought she’d spend the rest of her life with.
The last thing she needs when she goes home to Dunter Harbor is to be involved in a murder, yet here she is, a prime suspect in Randall Mersen’s death. She barely knew him and is more than happy to leave the investigation to the police force, but when her aunt decides to solve the murder, she has to intervene.
If she doesn’t, she might lose her aunt and the new life she’s just starting to build.
Lethal Suds is book one in the Abigail Kinsman Mysteries series. It’s an amateur sleuth mystery set in a small seaside town, with plenty of gossip and a few goats. No gore, no swearing, no cliffhanger, and no graphic scenes.
1
Abigail eyed the shop. She couldn’t deny it was cute.
It wasn’t large, but the white façade and the black awning were pretty, and they fit with the other shops on the street. The white wooden bench under the wide window was inviting, and Abigail could easily imagine tourists stopping there during their shopping spree. Two tall potted olive trees framed it, and the black sign that read Sweet Suds with a cartoon goat next to the words hanging above it completed the picture. She didn’t know anything about owning a shop or making it profitable, but her aunt clearly did.
“So? What do you think?” Aunt Charlotte asked.
Abigail looked at her. She was smaller than Abigail remembered, but then Abigail had been away for years. She’d hated living so far away from her family and visiting only once every few years.
And now, she was back.
“It’s pretty,” she answered.
Aunt Charlotte’s smile widened. “I’m glad you like it since you’ll be running it until I heal.” She raised her casted arm as she spoke but winced.
Abigail tsked. “Don’t move it too much. You know what the doctor said.”
Aunt Charlotte rolled her eyes. “He also said that I should watch what I eat and drink.”
“I’m sure he has his reasons.”
“I’m sixty-nine. If I can’t indulge in chocolate and wine at my age, when will I be allowed to?”
Abigail wasn’t about to protest. Her aunt would do whatever she wanted, and no one would be able to dissuade her. Abigail should know—she’d tried.
Aunt Charlotte had moved in with Abigail’s parents for now, just in case she needed help after she’d broken her arm tripping over a goat. She’d grumbled, of course, but she’d agreed, and that more than anything told Abigail how much pain she was feeling.
Aunt Charlotte had always been fiercely independent. She lived alone since her husband had died several years ago, and she seemed more than happy. She wasn’t right now, not with her arm broken and unable to work at her small soap shop on the town’s main street.
Which was why Abigail was here. She’d been more than happy to move back home, and her aunt falling and breaking her arm had been one more reason to do it. Aunt Charlotte needed help. It was May, which meant that the tourists would start to arrive. Late spring and summer were Aunt Charlotte’s most profitable months, and having to keep the shop closed during that time would put her in financial trouble. It wasn’t like Abigail had anything better to do anyway. She hadn’t had a job back in Chicago, and she hadn’t yet found anything in Dunter Harbor. She would eventually, of course, but in the meantime, she was more than happy to help Aunt Charlotte.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t.”
“I don’t have any experience when it comes to running a shop,” Abigail reminded her.
Aunt Charlotte snorted. “I didn’t have any experience, either, when I decided to open this place. Look at me now. I know what I’m doing. Besides, I’ll still take care of the bookkeeping. That’s the hardest part, and you don’t have to worry about it.” She reached for the door and tried to stick the key in the keyhole, but she was having trouble with her cast, so Abigail took over.
She gently slipped the key out of her aunt’s fingers, then stuck it into the keyhole and unlocked it. She pushed the door open and moved aside to allow her aunt to step in before her.
Aunt Charlotte walked in as if she owned the place, and she did. The shop had been a lifelong dream of hers, and she’d finally realized it a few years ago. From everything Abigail knew, it was going well. Better in the summer, of course, and a bit leaner in the winter, but since Aunt Charlotte knew how things worked in Dunter Harbor, she planned for that. Abigail was relieved she wouldn’t have to do that part of the job. She’d never had a head for numbers, and she wouldn’t want to ruin everything her aunt had been working for.
The scents hit her as soon as she stepped into the shop. She expected it, but it was still a shock. It smelled sweet and spicy, a jumble of different smells that Abigail knew would cause her several headaches already. She wasn’t sure how she would manage, working here every day, but she’d find a way.
She had to.
Aunt Charlotte opened her arms—or rather, her arm. She kept the broken one close to her chest. “What do you think?”
Abigail took her time to look around. The interior of the shop was much better than she expected, although she should have known considering what the exterior looked like.
It was small, which made sense considering the size of the other shops on Main Street. Aunt Charlotte had kept the center of the store empty, though, and it made it look more spacious. Dark wooden shelves lined the walls, and in between them where tall armoires with glass doors and shorter dresser-type pieces of furniture. Those were in different wooden colors, but they still fit, and they gave the entire shop the sensation of being inside a lived-in home. Abigail instantly felt comfortable here, and she imagined the same went for the customers.
And of course, every surface was covered in soap. Most of them were solid forms, although Abigail could see a few bottles here and there. They were of all sizes and colors, and of course, smells. She had to fight her inner child to not go around and pick them up one by one to raise to her nose. The last thing she wanted was to start sneezing on the soaps she was supposed to sell.
There were plants scattered here and there, most of them drooping, and Abigail looked around. Aunt Charlotte had told her there was a sink in the shop for people who wanted to try samples of the soaps, and she found it in the corner, close to the checkout counter. There was a glass next to it, and she filled it to water the plants.
When she turned around, her aunt was looking at her. Abigail couldn’t read her expression, but she was pretty sure it was a mix of satisfaction and happiness, which didn’t make sense. Her aunt couldn’t work. She couldn’t be in the shop she loved so much because she broke her arm. She shouldn’t be happy. Not that Abigail didn’t want her to be, of course. She wished her aunt hadn’t gotten hurt. It was a relief to have a job when she’d come back, though. She thought she
’d come home with her tail tucked between her legs, and in a way, she had. No one had said anything about it, though. They were happy to have her back, and she was just as happy to be back.
“What?” she asked.
Aunt Charlotte shook her head. “Nothing. You look like you belong here.”
Abigail blinked. “I do?” Or had Aunt Charlotte hit her head, too?
Aunt Charlotte nodded. “I’m sure you’ll have no problems making the soaps and selling them.”
Abigail’s brain screeched to a halt. “Making the soap?”
Aunt Charlotte cocked her head. “Yes. Why did you think I needed your help?”
“Because you’re hurt. You need rest.”
Aunt Charlotte snorted. “Please. I wouldn’t have a problem being in the shop and selling my soap to tourists if that was the only thing I did. I make all the soap, though.”
“I know. But you have more of it somewhere in the back, right?”
“I don’t. Well, there is some, but it’s curing, and while we can use it in a few weeks, it won’t last forever, never mind the entire summer. You’re going to have to make more.”
“I’ve never made soap.” Hell, Abigail had never even thought about what it took to make soap. Soap was just something she used to wash herself.
“I’d never made soap before I started making it, either. Don’t worry. I’ll help you and guide you through the steps.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“Of course you can. It’s why you’re here, and really, it doesn’t take a genius, especially not since I’m going to be there to help you.”
“You should be at home resting.”
“I can rest on this stool and stay in the store. Don’t worry about me.”
Truth to be told, Abigail was more worried about herself than she was about Aunt Charlotte.
Abigail had never been so grateful to see her aunt’s house, even though staying there made her uncomfortable. She’d wanted to find a cheap motel, but her mother had asked why Abigail should pay money to stay in a motel when Aunt Charlotte’s house was empty, and Abigail hadn’t managed to find an objection. Besides, someone needed to feed Aunt Charlotte’s cat.
Abigail had no choice but to sigh and agree she’d stay at her aunt’s house while Aunt Charlotte stayed with Abigail’s parents until she healed enough to be able to use her arm again. Her mom wasn’t wrong—the more money Abigail managed to put aside, the better it would be. Her aunt was paying her for helping at the shop, and now that Abigail didn’t live in the city anymore, she’d pay less for groceries and other things, but still. She’d relied on her ex-husband for too long, and she never wanted to be trapped that way again and to depend on anyone, not even her aunt.
Abigail didn’t feel at home at her aunt’s house, though. If anything, it was the opposite. She felt like a guest, even though she was staying there alone, because she was a guest. Even though she was staying with family, this wasn’t her home.
But she dealt with it.
She got out of her car and climbed the porch steps. The house still felt awkward, as if Abigail didn’t fit, but she ignored it and unlocked the door.
Marcel was on her as soon as she stepped in. He wound his way around her ankles, screaming at her because she was late for dinner. Aunt Charlotte fed him every night at six on the dot, and it was already ten past six.
“I know, I know,” Abigail murmured as she tried to toe off her shoes without falling. “Give me five minutes, and you’ll be able to fill your stomach. You care about nothing but food.” He certainly didn’t seem to care about Abigail.
In fact, she was pretty sure Marcel hated her. It might be because his rightful owner was gone and he’d been left with a complete stranger. Still, it didn’t change the fact that he didn’t like Abigail. He never came close to her except when he was hungry or to try to trip her. The only time he’d climbed into her lap, he’d dug his claws into her thigh and she’d almost thrown him off. She hadn’t only because he’d apparently been satisfied with the blood he’d drawn and he’d hopped off her lap on his own.
And now Abigail was late, and the beast would no doubt get his revenge. He’d probably throw up on the carpet next to Abigail’s bed so that when she got up tomorrow morning, she’d step in it.
She gave Marcel his food, then leaned against the counter and thought about what she could eat. She was starving, but she wasn’t in the mood for cooking. She was too tired for that.
With a sigh, she opened the fridge. The damp, cool air hit her face, and she wrinkled her nose. Something had died in there—probably one of the vegetables she’d bought last week when she’d arrived and had forgotten about. She ignored the drawer and took out butter and cheese instead so she could fix herself a grilled cheese sandwich. She started closing the door, but since she felt guilty, she grabbed two tomatoes. They’d make do as her portion of vegetables.
Once she was done eating, Abigail cleaned the kitchen. She might not have if she’d been in her own house, but even though Aunt Charlotte wouldn’t care about a dirty plate in the sink, Abigail didn’t want the house to be in less than pristine state.
When Abigail got to the living room, planning on watching mindless TV for a bit before going to bed, she eyed Marcel. He was stretched out on the couch, his stomach up for Abigail to touch, but she knew he’d bite her fingers off if she did. She wasn’t sure that an hour of relaxing in front of the TV was worth disturbing Marcel, and there wasn’t a lot of space left for her.
She still flopped onto the couch.
Marcel jerked and glared at her, but he was a king on his throne, and he wasn’t going anywhere. He ignored her as she turned the TV on, and her thoughts drifted back to her day.
What had she gotten herself into? Abigail had no idea how to make soap. She’d never even thought about how it worked, and now she was supposed to learn and make enough of it to get Aunt Charlotte’s shop through the summer. How was she supposed to do that?
The ringing of her phone startled her. She’d left it on the coffee table, and she stretched out to check the screen. She always did before answering, just in case, and she was grateful for that when she saw the name on the bottom.
Kevin.
Reading that name was enough to make Abigail grimace. She leaned back against the couch, even though she knew she probably should answer. Kevin might need to talk about something related to the divorce.
Abigail didn’t care. She never wanted to talk to him again, not after what he’d done to her—to them. He’d ruined everything, and Abigail would never forgive him for it. She didn’t want anything from him, not the furniture or the house they’d shared, not the money in the bank or the investments. She knew some people would consider her stupid for that, and some days, she wondered if maybe they’d be right. She had a right to half the house and the investments. She’d shared Kevin’s life for more than ten years. They’d been married.
And they weren’t anymore.
Abigail had left that life and Kevin behind. She’d come home, and she was happy, or at least, as happy as she could be considering everything. She had a job and a home, even though neither of those was really hers. She needed to focus on that, not on Kevin and what he’d done. Of course, that would be easier to do if Kevin left her alone, but she’d always known he was stubborn. He was the kind of man who twisted things so that he was right even when he was wrong, and Abigail was done dealing with that.
She turned the volume up on the TV when the phone started ringing again. Kevin had been great at ignoring her when she needed him to talk to her, and now, she was doing the right thing, and it felt so good.
2
Abigail stared at the shop. She’d been here yesterday, but it wasn’t the same. Yesterday, her aunt had been in charge. Today, Abigail was opening the shop on her own. She was supposed to deal with customers, to convince them to buy soap, to take their money and not screw up their change.
She wasn’t looking forward to it.
At least Aunt Charlotte would come by later. She’d wanted to be here for the opening, but Abigail had convinced her to stay home and rest. That was why she was here. She was in charge now, and even though Aunt Charlotte would help, Abigail had to start acting like it.
She took a deep breath and unlocked the door.
The air was as fragrant as it had been yesterday, but less of a shock. Abigail expected it now, and she took a second to try to identify the different smells. There were lemon and lavender, something spicy—maybe cinnamon—a more subtle rose scent, honey, and so many more. It was overwhelming, but Abigail hoped she’d get used to it.
She’d spent half the night googling how the soap-making process worked, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to do it. She kind of wanted to because she was curious, but she’d read about lye burning the soap and possibly skin if she wasn’t careful, and she didn’t want to deal with that. She would have to, but right now, there should be enough stock in the backroom for the shop to sell for at least a few weeks. Aunt Charlotte was a planner, and Abigail loved her for that.
She only had half an hour before it was time to open the shop, so she needed to get everything ready. Aunt Charlotte had made a list, so Abigail knew what to do.
She managed to open by nine, and she was quite proud of herself for that. She wasn’t expecting a lot of clients since there weren’t many tourists in town yet, so she was surprised when the door opened only minutes after she’d turned the open/close sign around.
She narrowed her eyes at the woman who came in. Aunt Charlotte had told her that most of her clients were tourists, but she did have some regular clients who lived in town, and Eunice was apparently one of them. She was the town’s hairdresser, and as far as Abigail could remember, most of her clients were on the older side. That included Abigail’s mother and her aunt, and Abigail smiled at her. As long as Eunice didn’t try to get her hands on Abigail’s hair and cotton it, they’d get along just fine. “Good morning.”
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