Intrigued, Summer leaned in. “What’s a good reason to kill?”
“If someone is after a family member and you need to protect them,” Agatha said.
“Yes, to defend of your family or yourself,” Piper agreed.
“Is that the only reason?” Summer asked. She paused, waiting, but neither Agatha nor Piper came up with another reason. “Okay, we’re agreed. So that means that any other reason is ludicrous. Money. Love. Greed. Anger. None of it makes sense. So someone killing Mom for her books makes little sense. Or for the store. Neither are really valid.”
They sat quietly.
“I totally get it,” Mia said, breaking the silence.
“Of course you do—I’ve trained you well.” Summer ginned and took a drink of water.
She used to play a “game” with her niece, based on the characters of Shakespeare. At one point, Mia was the only fourth-grader who knew anything about Shakespeare, let alone was capable of listing all the major female characters in his plays.
“Your knowledge got the child in trouble, as I recall,” Piper said with one eyebrow lifted.
“Pshaw. What did her fourth-grade teacher know about Lady Macbeth?”
“She knew it was inappropriate for a fourth-grader,” Agatha said, grinning.
“I maintain the untruth in that statement,” Summer said. “Look at her. She’s fine. She’s smart. She’s sitting there quite undamaged.”
Agatha harrumphed.
“So, can you name the character who loved her father according to her duty as a daughter and the bond between a parent and child?” Summer asked Mia.
“Cordelia.” She didn’t skip a beat.
“How about the female character who disguises herself as a male judge?”
“Portia.”
“Okay, okay. We get it,” Piper said. “Look, here comes our food.”
When everybody’s food was in front of them, Agatha cleared her throat. “I agree with you, Summer. There may be another motive and that motive could be the first editions. But does that mean they’ll come after me next?”
Summer thought about it. “Only if they realize you have them.”
“Well, we’re the only ones who know that,” Piper said and bit into her burger.
“Us and the lawyer. That’s it.” Mia said.
“Okay, then I suggest we don’t tell anybody,” Piper said.
“Won’t Henry come looking for those books again?” Mia asked.
“If he does, we’ll just tell him they aren’t for sale and we’ve placed them in storage,” Piper said. “Simple.”
“What if I tell everybody?”
“Why would you do that, Gram?”
“Let’s lay a trap,” she said in a lowered voice as she stabbed at her salad.
“Could be dangerous,” Piper said.
“I agree,” Summer said, her stomach roiling. She’d just lost her mom and wasn’t prepared to lose Aunt Agatha.
“What’s life without a little danger?”
“A live life.”
“Yeah,” Piper said.
“Oh come now, we can figure out a way to do this safely.”
“I don’t know about that,” Piper muttered.
“I won’t have you risking your life,” Summer said, voice cracking.
“But if it’s in the pursuit of justice for Hildy …”
“She wouldn’t have it,” Summer said.
“She’s dead and doesn’t get a say. I’m doing this with or without you all.” Her jaw set firmly. Stab, stab, stab at her salad.
After lunch, Piper and Mia left to run errands, and Agatha and Summer dropped in at the bookstore. The place was brimming with readers. As Summer walked in, a jolt of panic jabbed her. What did she understand about running a bookstore?
“It’s all yours. What will you do with it?” Agatha said.
“I guess that depends on my job. If I don’t have one, I’ll stay here and manage the place.”
“Well, I hope they fire you. It’s the best thing.”
“Aunt Agatha!”
“What fools they must be not to see your worth. They’re making a big deal over a little video.”
They walked toward the coffeepot.
Academia was a strange world. People on the outside didn’t get it. There were the written rules, and then there were unspoken rules. The truth of the matter was that Summer had been disappointed with her job for a while. She’d always wanted to teach, to light young minds with a passion for the Bard. She hadn’t counted on the inter-office politics. The way everything was easier if you were a male teacher. The way the dean was capable of making your life miserable. If your colleagues took a dislike to you, it was like working in a prison cell.
Summer tried to focus on the teaching, not the politics of the small university department. It was the only thing that got her through. And even teaching wasn’t all that she hoped it would be. Most of her students were there to fill an elective. Some of them came into her class with disdain for Shakespeare. But some students made it all worthwhile.
Summer poured herself some coffee as Agatha strolled over to the showcase of first editions. Not all of them were displayed. Hildy kept a few at home and a few in a safe deposit box.
“Hey, Agatha,” Poppy said. “How are you?”
“We just came from the lawyer’s office.”
“For what?”
Summer stirred cream into her coffee as a woman with an armful of books moved by her.
“Hildy’s will.”
“Any surprises?”
“Well, she left me her first editions,” Agatha said loudly. “Those books are mine.”
Summer refrained from rolling her eyes. Aunt Agatha was so obvious.
But she was right. In a small island town like St. Brigid, the news would travel fast. Hopefully, they were wrong and nobody would bother Agatha. But in the meantime, Summer, Piper, and Mia were keeping a close watch on her.
“What are you going to do with them?
“I’m not sure yet. For now, I’ll keep them where they are.”
“Lovely,” she said. “Oddly enough, people love to come and gawk at them.”
If Summer were a dog, her ears would perk up. “Really? What do they do? Just stand there?”
“Oh yes. Some get a little emotional. Some come back every so often and look at them again. Henry, the English teacher? He’s completely gaga over them.”
Agatha and Summer exchanged knowing glances.
“Any English teacher or librarian would be, I imagine,” Agatha said.
Doris and Marilyn walked out of the storeroom and over to the threesome.
“Well, hello there,” Doris said. “What’s going on?”
“Just back from the will reading,” Agatha said. “Hildy left me her first editions. I was checking out the precious goods.”
“Oh, I see,” Doris said. “We were just going over the book club calendar. Hildy chose our books for the next six months, which was so typical of her.”
“Is the bookstore yours now?” Marilyn turned to Summer.
Summer nodded. “Of course.”
A woman passed by holding the hand of a child, who was not happy to be there. He wanted to be on the beach, building sandcastles or playing in the waves. Not in a bookstore that didn’t even have any children’s books. She dragged him along into the paranormal romance aisle. Poor kid.
So deep in her reflections was she that Summer didn’t realize that the lull in conversation had prompted the others to look at her. “Oh,” she said. “I’m keeping the bookstore. But I’m not sure if I’m staying to manage it. I do have a job back in Virginia.”
“A very impressive job,” Doris chimed in. “I’m sure it would be hard to leave it.”
A queasiness came over Summer. She took a deep breath, then swallowed.
“Thanks, but I’m not sure about any of that.” Summer stumbled off toward the bathroom as suddenly sickness thrummed through her. Was it the concussion? Was it the
questioning? The idea of owning the bookstore? Her job? She ran to the bathroom, leaned over the toilet, and threw up her lunch.
A knock came at the door. “Summer, it’s me—let me in. Are you okay?”
“Just a minute, Aunt Agatha,” she said, splashing water on her face and wiping it off with a paper towel.
She unlocked the door.
“Are you okay? You look pale,” her aunt said with concern.
“I need to go home.”
Agatha nodded and took her by the elbow.
Maybe she’d pushed herself too far. The lawyer. The bookstore. After all, she did have a concussion. But she had hoped to stop by the police station to see if they’d gotten the final results back from her mother’s autopsy. Or if they had any leads on her death. Were the police calling it a murder yet?
Summer climbed into the car. Agatha was unusually quiet as they drove back to the house.
“I must have eaten too much,” Summer said as they walked toward the door.
“You probably did, with the concussion and all. But I’m sure it’s been an emotional day.” She paused. “It’s going to take some time for you to sort through all of it emotionally.”
Summer’s legs felt heavy as she walked into the house. Her eyes focused on the couch, and her body followed her gaze. She slipped off her shoes and curled up on the couch, drifting off.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Aww, Summer, Mommy loves you.”
An odd voice awakened her. She opened her eyes.
“Aww, Summer, Mommy loves you.”
She sat up on the couch, clutching her chest. Mr. Darcy was peering down at her. If a bird could express affection in its eyes, this bird did.
“Aww, Summer. Mommy loves you,” he said again.
Fireworks exploded in her chest. The bird must’ve heard Hildy talking like that. He was a great imitator. “Aww, Summer. Mommy loves you.”
She yanked off her mask. “I love Mommy too, Darcy.”
Weird. The word Mommy coming out of her mouth. She’d not said it in thirty years.
“Love, love, love,” he said and rocked back and forth, from one leg to the other.
“What a happy bird,” Summer said, yawning and lying back down.
“Happy bird,” he said and whistled.
She closed her eyes.
“Happy Summer? Happy Summer?” Whistle.
What an odd thing for the bird to ask. “I’m happy right now, Darcy. Lying here on the couch. Maybe not so happy elsewhere.”
“Happy Summer?”
“Good question.” She yawned again. “What is happiness anyway, Darcy? Money? A good job? Romance? I used to think I knew … but these days, I’m surprised by how little I know. Education or not.” She paused, and the bird blinked, appearing as if he were enraptured by her speaking. “Like, I had no idea there had been so many offers made on the bookstore. Good offers too. And I didn’t know people wanted Mom’s first editions, did you?”
He cocked his head but didn’t reply.
“And now there’s danger everywhere I look. Someone set the house on fire. Then someone hit me. Now Aunt Agatha is courting danger. Mom wouldn’t like that. At all.”
“No,” the bird said. “No, no, no.”
“You’ve got that. Smart bird.”
He quieted, lifted a wing and began cleaning it.
Well, she’d lost his attention—just like she managed to do with every man in her life. She refrained from rolling her eyes at herself as she pulled the covers closer around her. It was so quiet. Where was everybody?
Piper and Mia had gone off on some errands. But what about Aunt Agatha? Was she here?
Summer couldn’t bother to lift her head and ask, let alone rouse herself off the couch to find her. She supposed it didn’t matter. She didn’t need a nurse. She just needed more sleep.
“‘To sleep, perchance to dream,’” she muttered to herself as she dozed off.
Her dreams had gotten vivid since returning home to St. Brigid, and it was almost like watching a movie of different times in her life. Scattered images, like scrapbook pages in no order. Holding her mother’s hand along the beach. Walking along the shore, feeding the seagulls. The day the second floor opened at Beach Reaches. Sitting there with her mom, Agatha, and Gladys, drinking sweet tea beneath café umbrellas, a warm gentle breeze blowing through her hair. Her mom’s laughter. If she could capture a sound to recall in any moment of need, that would be it: her mom’s laughter.
She rolled over, facing the back of the couch, pressed herself against it. Drifted off again. Mom brushed the hair from her forehead. “Rest, sweet girl,” she whispered. Her cool, smooth fingers felt good against Summer’s warm skin. “Don’t let it trouble you. It’s all good. I’m okay.”
“It’s not all good, Mom. Who hurt you? Someone hurt you! They took you away from us!”
Drenched in sweat, Summer woke herself up with a start. Sat up. “Mom?”
“Summer?” Agatha said as she came into the room.
Aunt Agatha. Mr. Darcy. Couch. “Yes. I’m sorry. I was just … dreaming.”
Agatha came and sat on the La-Z-Boy. “About your mother?”
Summer nodded.
“I’ve yet to have a dream about her. I imagined I would, we were so close. They say spirits talk through their loved ones’ dreams.”
“That’s silly.”
“It’s not.” She shrugged. “But believe whatever you want. Did your mother talk to you?”
“In my dream, you mean? Yes.”
Agatha sat forward. “What did she say?”
Summer reflected. “I think she said it’s all good. Not to worry. That she’s okay.” She paused. “Which is ridiculous. She’s not okay. She’s dead and the last time I checked, that’s about as not okay as you can get.”
“You’re being way too logical, as usual, my dear. Death is not final. You should know that by now.”
Not final? “How do you know? I mean, really know?”
Agatha raised her legs and flung them over the side of the chair. “There are two kinds of knowing. One is the kind where you’ve experienced it or it’s a fact. Yes? The other is a feeling. And that might be the most important form of knowing.”
Summer tossed her blanket off and sat up on the couch. “You’re sounding like Mom now.”
Agatha beamed. “I suppose I don’t mind that at all. “
She studied her aunt, deep in her own memories and mourning. “Tell me something aunt Agatha. Would the Hildy you remember not want revenge if someone killed her?”
Agatha sighed. “I get it. She certainly would. But now that’s she’s gone, she might see things differently. It might not matter on the other side. If you will.” She looked sheepish.
Summer kept her own counsel. She loved her aunt but had never heard so much poppycock in her life.
* * *
It had been a day since Agatha announced it loudly at the bookstore that she’d inherited the first editions. So far, nobody had stalked her, made an offer, attacked her, or set her house on fire. Thank the Universe.
Yesterday’s outing had been too much for Summer, so she’d stayed home today. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t continue her investigating.
She scribbled down the motives.
1. Wanting the bookstore
2. Wanting the first editions
Those were the only two motives she could imagine. If there was another one, she had no clue.
Trouble was, those motives didn’t give Summer much. Henry was the only person who’d expressed an interest in both the bookstore and the first editions. He was annoying and a cad, evidently, but was he a killer?
Summer reached for her laptop and keyed in his name. A string of things came up, mostly related to his teaching. He had a website and a blog. She clicked on it and read it over. The man was a good writer. He wrote about his students and his life as a teacher and on St. Brigid. Nothing about first editions or the bookstore. Nothing leading Summer to b
elieve that he harbored dark murderous tendencies.
But it wasn’t that simple. Most murder victims knew their killers. And if it was clear that they were killers, nobody would let them into their lives. People were complex.
She clicked on to another site where students rate their teachers. She knew it well, as she’d been rated there. Not one bad review on Henry. That in itself was suspicious.
She clicked on the Beach Reads Bookstore website—then to the Mermaid Pie Book Club page—and there they were, with his arm draped over her mother. Hildy was grinning but looking off to the side. What was she looking at? His gaze fell on her.
A tingle traveled up her spine. Was Henry sleeping with her mother? He was Summer’s age. Could it be? Her mom had never gone for younger men, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t changed her mind.
She texted Piper. “Was Mom sleeping with Henry?”
While she waited on the response, she checked out Henry’s Facebook page. Typical stuff. Yes, he was friends with her mom, but he was also friends with everybody else in the book club. So that didn’t mean a thing. She scanned his friend list and stopped on Cash. There he was in all his glory. She couldn’t help herself. She clicked on him.
He was married to Sonya. Summer didn’t recognize her. Had two kids. He still looked good. In fact, it looked as though he hadn’t aged at all. The children were healthy and beautiful. A wistful pang swept through her. This could have been her life. Staying on the island, being Cash’s wife, bearing his children.
Thank God she left when she did. Her life in Staunton was far from perfect, but she’d needed to leave this island when she did. And she didn’t regret it—except for the lack of time she’d gotten to spend with her mom. But that said, she’d assumed she would have more time. Someone had stolen it from her. Anger tore through her.
Was it Henry? One of the book club members? Someone else she had considered?
Her phone dinged. Piper. I don’t think so. Why?
Summer texted back: I saw a photo of them together on the website and just wondered.
The answer came back right away. Be over soon.
Great!
Summer moved back to her research on Henry. She checked out the groups he was in. Classic Movie Buffs. Harry Potter in the Classroom, Gambler’s Anonymous. What? How could he be anonymous if it’s on Facebook? She clicked on it. Private. Hmm. So Henry had a gambling problem, which explained his remark about not having any money. Not having any money often led to a sense of desperation. He’d just moved up to the first spot on her list of suspects. A cad with a gambling problem.
Little Bookshop of Murder Page 13