Books, Blogs, and Bloody Murder

by Michelle Ann Hollstein

  “Yes, but do you think it’s murder?” Anita asked.

  “Tom says it’s not,” Aggie said, dunking her cookie into her coffee. “He said it was believed to be natural causes.”

  Anita gasped. “But you don’t agree?”

  Aggie looked at the three of them. They were eagerly awaiting her answer. Roger twitched his mustache again.

  “Well,” Aggie began.

  “I knew it!” Anita squealed. “It is murder!”

  Betty’s eyes lit up. “I was only making up a story,” she said. “I didn’t know you actually thought that!”

  “I didn’t say it was murder,” Aggie clarified. “Bloody hell! Doesn’t anyone listen to me?”

  “Then what was it?” Betty asked.

  “Heart attack,” Anita repeated, nodding her head. “Caused by those racy covers.”

  Roger rolled his eyes and huffed.

  “Something just doesn’t sit right with me,” Aggie said. “That’s all. And speaking of racy covers…” She glared at Roger. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Betty’s book cover.”

  “Oh?” Roger asked, innocently. He glanced at his watch and tapped on the face. “I almost forgot. I’ve got to go.”

  “Go where?” Betty asked. “You never mentioned having to be somewhere.”

  “That’s because I forgot,” Roger said, getting up from the table before Aggie could say anything further about the cover he’d designed for Betty’s book. “See you later.”

  After hearing the front door slam shut, Anita asked, “How does the story end?”

  “I don’t know,” Betty said. “I haven’t worked that part out yet.”

  “You have to figure out who the murderer is,” Anita said. “You can’t just leave your fans waiting.”

  “I know,” Betty said. “But right now, I’m drawing a blank. It’ll come to me eventually.”

  “Eventually?” Anita gasped. “How long will that be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, that won’t do. You’ll lose your audience. And then no one will read your blog anymore.” Anita shook her head and clucked her tongue. Then her eyes lit up. “I know what you need to do! You need to do something to get your creative juices flowing.”

  “Yes, I realize that. But what?”

  Anita tapped on her chin with her forefinger while she thought. “An investigation!”

  “An investigation?” Betty asked.

  “Yes!” Anita squealed. “A good, old fashion investigation. We’ll go back to the bookstore and interview the people that work there.”

  Betty’s eyes widened. “Yes!” she said, no longer looking tired. “And I can record them!”

  Aggie shook her head. “You can’t just go around recording people. They’ll think you’re mad!”

  “She can if they don’t know about it,” Anita said, winking. “Just be sneaky, like an investigator.”

  “Like an investigator?” Aggie huffed. “And how’s she going to do that? Bring a tape recorder?”

  “I’ll use my cell phone,” Betty said. “No one will notice. These days, everyone carries their cell phones around. Then I can listen to it later to help with my writer’s block.”

  Aggie shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea!” Anita said, nodding. “Then after we finish the investigation, I’ll head back to Oceanside.”

  “You’ll head back to Oceanside?” Aggie asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes,” Anita said, cheerfully. “I’ll get on the road as soon as we finish. I’m sure Sarah is missing the extra set of hands with the grandchildren.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” Aggie said. “Let me get dressed and we’ll get this investigation done quickly. That way you can get on the road! No need to keep you waiting!”

  ◆◆◆

  After making their way across the parking lot to the shopping center, Aggie followed Anita and Betty into the bookstore. Anita looked around and nodded at the Customer Service desk.

  “I think that’s where we should start,” she said.

  Betty nodded and Aggie groaned. The last thing she wanted to do was a fake murder investigation, but at the same time, the sooner they investigated, the sooner Anita got on the road.

  She followed Anita and Betty to the Customer Service desk. A woman with dark, curly hair and black plastic-framed glasses was standing behind the counter, using a device to scan books into the computer system. She looked up at Anita and smiled. “May I help you?”

  “Yes,” Anita said. “Aggie has some questions for you.” She turned around, grabbed Aggie’s shoulders, and steered her to the desk.

  “What?” Aggie asked, sneering at Anita.

  “You’re the amateur detective,” Anita whispered, nudging her with an elbow. “Get detecting.”

  Aggie seethed, “Fiction, remember? Fiction.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Anita smiled and then nodded at Betty.

  Betty tapped the record button on her cell phone with her index finger and set it on the counter in front of Aggie.

  Aggie tried hard to smile. Since she was feeling irritated with both Anita and Betty, she was having a hard time smiling. Her lips quivered.

  “Hi, my name is Aggie,” she said, feeling like an utter idiot. “We were here yesterday for my friend, Betty’s book signing, and a poor woman had died…”

  “Oh, yes,” the dark-haired woman said, sadly. She shook her head. “Isn’t that awful. That poor woman. So tragic!” She glanced at Betty and then at Aggie. “Oh! Wait a minute! I wasn’t working yesterday, but I’m the one that scanned your books into the computer when we ordered them in. I’m a huge fan!” She then looked Aggie up and down. “I recognize you from the cover! Are you the Aggie Underhill? The detective?”

  Aggie felt her face heat up as her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. “Yes, I’m Aggie Underhill, but it’s fiction,” Aggie said. “I’m not really a detective.”

  “You’re too modest!” Anita boasted, pushing Aggie aside. “Most of the stories are real! Right, Betty?”

  “Yes. They’re all based on true stories,” Betty said, smiling. “I’m the author.”

  “They’re fiction,” Aggie repeated for emphasis. “Not real.”

  The woman didn’t seem to be listening. “Would I be able to get both of you to sign a copy for me?” she asked. “I forgot my nametag.” She patted her shirt. “My name is MaryAnn. Here. This is my copy. You can make it out to me.” She grabbed a copy of Betty’s book from beneath the counter. “I just love your blog!”

  Betty smiled and signed her name on the front page. Aggie added her signature just below it.

  “Thank you so much!” MaryAnn said, looking at the signatures.

  Anita nudged Aggie again with her elbow. She nodded inconspicuously at MaryAnn.

  Aggie sighed. She figured the sooner she asked a few questions, the sooner she’d get rid of Anita. Playing along, she asked, “MaryAnn, have you heard anything further about that woman yesterday? The one that died…”

  “No,” MaryAnn said, shaking her head, as Chuck walked up. “You might want to try the coffee shop. I heard them talking about it this morning.”

  “Okay. Thank you,” Aggie said. “We’ll do that.”

  “Oh, hey,” Chuck said, recognizing both Betty and Aggie. He pulled off his glasses and wiped them with the fabric from the bottom of his wrinkled shirt. Aggie noticed that it was partially untucked like it was yesterday. She bet he often cleaned his glasses with his shirt. Chuck slid his glasses back on and halfheartedly tucked in his shirt. “We almost sold out of your book yesterday.”

  Betty’s eyes widened with surprise. “Really? My book?”

  “Must be because of the murder,” Anita said. “Nothing like a murder to sell a mystery book.”

  “Murder?” Chuck asked. Aggie thought his pale blue eyes appeared worried.

  “The old lady,” Anita said. “I thought she had a heart attack, but
Aggie thinks it’s murder.”

  Aggie glared at Anita and elbowed her back. In a low voice through gritted teeth, she said, “I never said the woman was murdered! Bloody hell!”

  “Ow!” Anita scowled, rubbing where Aggie’s elbow got her. “You said something didn’t sit right with you.”

  “That’s not the same as being murdered.”

  Chuck looked around nervously, he scrunched up his freckled nose and ran a hand through his thinning reddish-orange hair. “I was told it was natural causes.”

  “Actually, we had heard the same thing,” Aggie said, and then shot Anita another look. “Natural causes.”

  That seemed to put Chuck’s mind at ease. Visibly, his shoulders relaxed.

  Betty slid her phone across the counter, closer to Chuck and asked, “Have you heard anything more? Like what kind of natural causes?”

  He shook his head. “No, nothing.”

  “Did you happen to know the woman?” Aggie asked.

  Chuck looked at her oddly.

  “I mean, was she a regular customer? Someone you knew?”

  Chuck sucked in a breath. “She may have been. Honestly, I really don’t really know. I don’t pay much attention to who shops here regularly. I just do my job and go home.”

  Aggie eyed the coffee shop. She bet the people working there would recognize customers that frequented the bookstore if they happened to hang out in the coffee shop reading. According to his disheveled appearance, Chuck didn’t seem to be the observant type or the type that cared.

  “Okay, thank you,” Aggie said. “So, is there any way to see if she had a membership or anything like that?”

  “Yeah,” Chuck said. “I can look her up by name or by phone number. But I can’t do that for you.”

  “Why not?” Anita asked.

  “Customer privacy,” he said.

  “Not even for a detective?” Anita said. “You should be able to pull up an account for a detective.”

  “I’m not a detective,” Aggie breathed. “Besides, I don’t know the lady’s name or phone number.” She returned her attention to Chuck. “Thank you for your help. You’ve been really helpful.”

  Chuck nodded and then walked away. MaryAnn followed him with a stack of books in her arms.

  “Helpful?” Anita said. “He wasn’t helpful in the least.”

  “I agree,” Betty said as she scooped up her phone. “Not much writing material there. Maybe I should flirt with him.” Betty batted her thick mascara coated eyelashes.

  “I don’t think so,” Aggie said. “He’s not your type.”

  “Well, I know he’s not my type,” Betty said. “A little flirting might go a long way.”

  Aggie mulled this over for a bit. “No. I think we should let things be.” She still felt something was odd about the woman’s death, but then she thought of Officer Tom Wood. Tom would be furious with her if he knew she was at the bookstore asking questions. He was always telling her to leave investigating to the police.

  “But I still don’t know how to end my story,” Betty whined while pouting.

  “Oh, all right. Fine,” Aggie sighed, feeling defeated. “Let’s go talk to the people that work in the coffee shop. Maybe you’ll get some ideas there.”

  “Okay. Sounds good to me,” Betty said.

  “Me too!” Anita chimed in.

  “But after this,” Aggie said, “the investigation is officially over and done with. Anita needs to get on the road. Right, Anita?”

  “Well,” Anita said, she glanced at the time on her phone and then dropped it back into her purse. “I might have time for coffee.”

  “We’ll order you a coffee… to go,” Aggie said, leading the way to the little coffee shop.

  ◆◆◆

  Aggie recognized the same red-headed woman that’d helped them yesterday. She had a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose that was similar to Chuck’s freckles. Her orange lipstick was almost as bright as her hair. It was a shade Aggie didn’t see very often. Not many women could pull it off. In fact, she wasn’t quite sure that this woman was pulling it off either.

  “Yes, one mocha; hot, large, with whipped cream,” Aggie said. She turned to Anita and Betty, prompting them to order.

  “I’d like an iced mocha,” Betty said. “Large. No whipped cream. I’m watching my figure.”

  “Small, plain black coffee,” Anita chimed in. “Decaf. I’m always full of energy and usually don’t drink anything but water. However, a small indulgence shouldn’t hurt me any. Right? I mean, I did have a cup of coffee this morning. Oh, God! Maybe I should just order a bottle of water. I don’t know if I should indulge in two cups of coffee in a day. And your coffee had caffeine in it, didn’t it, Aggie?”

  With pale blue eyes, the red-headed woman stared blankly at Anita.

  “You’ll be fine,” Aggie snapped. “It’s decaf!” She then read the red-headed woman’s nametag on her shirt, Sherry. “Anita would like a small, caffeine-free coffee.”

  “That’ll be fifteen dollars and seven cents,” Sherry said, after ringing up the order.

  “What?” Anita’s jaw dropped. “That’s outrageous! Fifteen dollars for three coffees?”

  “And seven cents,” Sherry reminded.

  “It’s fine!” Aggie said, sliding her credit card into the machine in front of the cash register to pay for their order after typing in her phone number. “I have a membership with the bookstore. We’ll get a percentage off.”

  After Aggie’s membership pulled up on the screen, her payment went through. Then Aggie asked, “Sherry, you were here yesterday, weren’t you?”

  The woman looked up at her after retrieving the cups needed for the order. “Um, yeah. I was here.”

  “I thought so,” Aggie said, casually. “We were here for Betty’s book signing. I’m Aggie Underhill and this is Betty Wilcox.”

  “Oh, nice,” Sherry said, not seeming to really care one way or the other.

  Betty set her cell phone down on the counter near the register.

  “I think there was a young man working here too… a teenager…”

  “That’d be Barry,” she said. “He’s a college student. Works part-time.”

  “Tragic what happened yesterday,” Aggie said. “That poor woman.”

  Sherry frowned and then said, “Yes, tragic.” She went to work on Anita’s decaf first. When she finished, she put a lid on top and pushed it across the counter.

  “Did you happen to know her?” Aggie asked as Anita took her coffee from the counter.

  Sherry froze. She turned around and glared at Aggie. “No. Why?”

  Aggie thought the woman’s tone was odd. She seemed defensive. “No reason, dear. Just curious if she was a regular at the bookstore.”

  Sherry went back to work on their drinks. When she finished, she placed both Aggie and Betty’s coffees on the counter.

  Aggie had a sudden urge to push a little harder. There was something odd about Sherry’s reaction to her questions. She decided to fabricate the truth a bit. “Chuck, in the bookstore, mentioned the woman came in here often.”

  Sherry shrugged. “She may have come in once or twice. I don’t really know.”

  “Weren’t you having a conversation with her? I thought I saw the two of you talking.”

  “What?” Sherry asked. “Why are you asking me these things? And why is Chuck talking to you about me?”

  “Aggie’s an amateur sleuth,” Anita said. “She’s investigating the woman’s death.”

  Sherry’s jaw dropped. “I had nothing to do with that!”

  Aggie elbowed Anita. “I never said there was a bloody murder!” she whispered, harshly. “And I’m not a detective!”

  “I didn’t say detective!” Anita explained. “I said amateur sleuth! I also didn’t say murder, I said death.”

  Betty pushed her phone further across the counter, closer to Sherry. “Please, make sure to speak clearly,” Betty said, smiling while batting her lashes. “And loudl
y.”

  A frazzled looking woman with long black hair entered the coffee shop with a small boy of about seven years old tugging on her arm. “I want a cookie!” he said, excitedly. “No! Wait! I want a cookie and a cupcake!” He let go of his mother’s hand and raced up to the counter. He pressed his face to the glass, to stare at the desserts inside.

  “If that’s all, I have customers,” Sherry snapped at them and then grabbed the receiver from the store’s telephone next to the register.

  “We’re done,” Aggie said. “Thanks for your time.” She picked up her Mocha from the counter. She, Anita and Betty walked over to a small table in the corner and took a seat. Betty scowled while playing with her phone trying to shut off the recorder.

  “I can’t seem to turn it off,” she complained. “I bet it’s taking up all my storage.”

  Just then, a voice caught their attention. “Ms. Underhill, Ms. Wilcox…”

  Aggie turned in her chair and Betty looked up from her phone. Anita didn’t seem to notice. She was deep in concentration opening Stevia packets and pouring them into her coffee to sweeten it.

  “Yes?” Aggie asked, recognizing Melanie, the store manager, from yesterday. She appeared agitated.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll need to leave the store,” Melanie said as she entered the coffee shop. With her forefinger, she pushed her glasses up on her nose.

  “Leave?” Anita asked while putting the lid back on her coffee cup. “Why?”

  Melissa frowned. “You’re harassing my employees.”

  “Harassing?” Aggie asked.

  “Is it a crime to investigate a murder?” Anita asked casually.

  “Murder?” Melanie gasped.

  “Aggie’s investigating that poor woman’s death,” Anita said. “I thought it was a heart attack from those racy book covers, but Aggie believes there’s something more going on.”

  “She’s not often wrong about things like this,” Betty agreed while holding her phone out in front of Melanie. It was still recording. “You’ve read my blog. It’s based on true stories.”

  Exasperated, Aggie shook her head. “I never said there’s been a bloody murder!”