Lethal Suds

by Sophia Barton

  Chief Holden stared at her. “Samuel.”

  Abigail blinked. “I’m sorry?”

  “That’s my name. Samuel.”

  Abigail didn’t know if it was a way to tell her to call him by his first name, but she wasn’t going to push her luck—not yet. Maybe when the situation was a bit more light-hearted. She wasn’t planning on giving Samuel Holden any more trouble than she already had. She wasn’t a private detective or a police officer.

  The next time something like this happened, she would stay out of it.

  Epilogue

  Abigail felt like she could breathe again. She didn’t know if it was because Kevin hadn’t tried contacting her since she’d called the police on him or because Randall’s murderer had been arrested and she and Aunt Charlotte weren’t suspects anymore, but whatever the reason, it didn’t matter.

  She was free.

  Well, partly. She was still married to Kevin, who hadn’t signed the divorce papers. She wasn’t sure he would. She wanted to find him and ask him what he was thinking, why he was dragging out the situation and making it even worse, but she knew she had to give him time. Pushing him never worked. When she’d tried to do it when they still lived together, the only result had been that he’d dug his heels in even more.

  So, she had decided to wait. It wasn’t like it would change anything. She didn’t have anyone else in her life, and she wasn’t planning on changing that anytime soon. Even if she and Kevin divorced next year, it wouldn’t be a problem.

  She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She might not be in a rush, but she wanted to start her new life, and she felt that Kevin was holding her back. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it was only an impression, and it would pass. Still, it was how Abigail felt, and it was hard to ignore.

  The shop door opened, distracting her, and she plastered a smile on her face. It was easier to do today than it had been lately. Her smile widened when Roger and Martha stepped into the shop. She hadn’t seen them since Martha had been let go from the police station. She’d been busy, and she hadn’t wanted to disturb them. “You need soap?” she asked.

  Roger smiled back and shook his head. “We’d like to talk to you.”

  Abigail looked at the backroom door. “Aunt Charlotte is in there, but if you don’t mind, we can talk.”

  They moved closer to the counter, and Abigail walked around it. They weren’t here to buy, so she didn’t want to face them as if they were customers.

  “We wanted to thank you for what you did,” Martha explained.

  Abigail gaped. “Thank me? What for? I didn’t do anything.”

  “But you did. You pushed. You showed Chief Holden that he needed to continue investigating, that he couldn’t stop with us.”

  “I didn’t. I tried talking to him, but he ignored me.”

  “And you decided to investigate on your own,” Roger pointed out. “You’re the only one who did that. Everyone has been telling us how they knew we had nothing to do with the murder, but none of them raised one finger to help us when we were arrested. You, on the other hand, did what you could to find the truth.”

  They weren’t wrong, but Abigail hadn’t done it for them. “Aunt Charlotte was investigating. She wasn’t discreet about it. I was terrified the killer would find out and decide to get rid of her, too.” It was hard to think of the killer as Dewey, even though Abigail knew it was him. It felt unreal to know that a person she knew and had talked to had done it.

  At least Dewey wasn’t someone she’d talked to every day.

  “Thank you,” Martha repeated, apparently realizing that Abigail was flustered.

  Abigail was relieved she didn’t have to think of something to say. “Again, you don’t have to thank me for anything.”

  Martha’s smile was gentle. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that.”

  “What’s next for the two of you, then? Are you still planning on leaving town?” Abigail asked to change the topic of the conversation.

  Martha and Roger looked at each other, then Martha turned back to Abigail and shook her head. “We’re staying. The only reason we were planning on leaving was that we wanted to be together, and we wouldn’t have been able to have that with Randall around. Things are different now, though. I inherited everything, including the real estate business, and I put a stop to the hotel project. I won’t try to buy your aunt’s shop, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

  Abigail hadn’t even thought about it. “That’s good. A lot of people weren’t happy about the project.”

  “I was always aware of that, but Randall was never good at listening to what I had to say, even when I was trying to do the right thing, or maybe especially when I did.”

  That reminded Abigail of Kevin, and it made her uncomfortable. She was happy Martha and Roger would stay, and that they had each other, but that life wasn’t for her, not anymore. “What about the bookstore?”

  “I’ll be investing in it,” Martha said, sounding at peace. “I was never allowed to have much money when Randall was alive. He didn’t like the idea of me being able to leave him. Now, it’s a bit overwhelming, but I want to do good things with it.”

  “I’m sure you will.” It wouldn’t be easy for them, not with the gossip going around. Everyone seemed to have known they were innocent, and while that might be true, it hadn’t stopped them from talking behind their backs. It was still going on, people talking about the fact that Martha had been unfaithful to Randall, that she had been about to leave him. Abigail hoped Martha didn’t care.

  At least she wasn’t the talk of the town anymore. Kevin was forgotten, and she was more than happy about that. She didn’t want to think about him again. She had a new life ahead of her. She was thirty-five, but she felt young again, taking the first step into her future.

  She didn’t know what that future would bring, but she did know it would happen here. This was her home, and she never should have left it. She never should have married Kevin, but she supposed she wouldn’t be the woman she was now if she hadn’t. She’d learned her lesson, while others, she was still learning. She knew Kevin had been wrong, though. She could do this. She could survive on her own, and she could thrive.

  And she was planning to do just that.

  About the Author

  Sophia Barton grew up on mysteries. She started with Agatha Christie at the tender age of nine, and she hasn’t stopped reading, and now writing, crime fiction since then. She’s not planning to, either.

  She loves relaxing on the couch with a cup of tea, a cat or two in her lap, and a good mystery in her hand, murder or otherwise.

  Find info about her books on her website (look authorsophiabarton!) for and register for her newsletter.