If her mother had fallen over and passed out quietly, would it be any easier?
She rarely heard her mom lift her voice, let alone scream. It was so not Hildy. Soft-spoken, vegan, tree-loving Hildy.
Besides, having a heart attack would seem to take your breath away and not allow you to scream.
She opened the door to the house and made straight for her computer to research heart attacks. Why hadn’t she considered this earlier?
Well. She wasn’t aware her mom had screamed, for one thing.
Do people scream when they have heart attacks? she keyed into the search engine.
Alas, some people did. There was a case of a man in a hospital in Great Britain who lay writhing in pain for some time before anybody helped him. But that didn’t seem to be what had happened with her mom. The ambulance was called, and they took her to the hospital. No one said anything about her crying or writhing in pain after that initial scream.
And then, from everything Summer was reading, heart attacks without previous symptoms were very rare. Her mother may have been nauseous or had chest pains. Had she mentioned it to anybody?
Summer dialed Poppy.
“Beach Reads Bookstore,” Poppy answered.
“Hi, Poppy. It’s Summer. I’m sorry to bother you again.”
“Hi, Summer. Can you hang on? Customer here.”
“Sure.”
Summer waited a few minutes until Poppy returned.
“How can I help you, Summer?”
“I need to ask you again about that morning.”
“Okay.”
“You said Mom was late because she’d been to the bank.”
“That’s right.”
“Was she feeling okay?”
“If she wasn’t, she didn’t mention it to me.”
“How did she look?”
Poppy didn’t answer right away. “Your mother looked as healthy as ever. The whole thing was shocking.”
“It just that I’ve been reading about heart attacks, and now I’m even more suspicious. It makes no sense.”
“I agree,” Poppy said. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“No, thank you. I’ll let you get back to it.”
Summer moved to her laptop. But found no answers. Frustrated, she set aside her computer and slipped her flip-flops on. Time for a walk. Walking along the beach always helped. She had some stale crackers she’d been saving to feed the birds, and grabbed them before heading out into the early evening.
The waves rolled in roughly. Almost high tide. Birds walked along the edge of the surf, and she scattered crackers. They launched themselves at the crackers. She loved watching the seagulls. A deep sense of comfort came over her. Home. Walking this beach. Feeding the birds.
Her emotions spun in so many directions. Her mom screaming had set her off. That didn’t seem right. Not at all.
Tomorrow, she’d go to the bank and talk to them to find out why she’d been there, whom she’d talked to, and if she looked well. Surely a healthy woman would look sick if she was having heart problems?
The sun sank into the water—or at least that’s what it looked like. Pink and bright orange spread across the sky. A breeze chilled her skin.
She didn’t comprehend what had happened to her mom, but she was bound and determined to find out. And someone didn’t like that fact. The bookstore break-in, the fire, and her attack. They were all attempts at hurting her—or getting her to leave.
She wasn’t going anywhere. She was so close to figuring this out. So close she could almost taste it on the salty air.
When she returned home, there were two messages on her cell phone: one from Piper saying she’d be over in about an hour, and the other from Dr. Jones, the dean of her department. Damn! Summer couldn’t believe she’d missed that. Why hadn’t she taken her cell phone with her?
She listened to the voicemail: “Hi, Summer, this is Dean Jones. Please call me back at your earliest convenience.”
Summer’s heart nearly stopped. What did that mean? Had they come to a decision? Were they going to fire her? How would she ever find another decent job if she got fired from one of the best Shakespeare programs in the country?
She stared at her phone for a few minutes. Finally, she picked it up and hit the call back button, heart racing.
“This is Dean Jones. Sorry you’ve missed me. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
Beep.
“Uh … Dean Jones, this is Summer Merriweather returning your call. I’ll be waiting for you to call back.”
Of course. She’d missed the call she’d been waiting for weeks and had to leave a message. Who knew when the dean would get back to her?
Chapter Forty-Three
The next morning, Summer dressed and made her way to the bank—the one bank on the island. A few years ago, there had been two, but since online banking had become so popular, one of the banks just couldn’t compete and shut its door a few years ago.
When she walked into St. Brigid Federal Bank, she caught the eye of the manager, Cecilia Garfield. She walked over to her. “Summer? How good to see you. I was so sorry to hear about your mother.”
Summer smiled and nodded her head. “Thanks. It’s good to see you too. Is there somewhere we could talk?”
There weren’t many people around—just a few tellers and some early morning customers—but Summer didn’t want anybody to hear her spiel.
“Sure. Come into my office.” Cecilia was dressed in a sharp, slightly out-of-style gray suit.
Summer followed her down a short hall, with pictures and paintings of previous bank presidents. A whiff of something flowery caught Summer’s nose. When she walked into Cecilia’s office, she saw why. A fresh floral arrangement sat on her desk.
“So pretty,” Summer said, holding back a sneeze.
“Thanks,” Cecilia replied. “Now what can I help you with?”
“I’m retracing my mother’s footsteps on the last day of her life.”
Cecilia frowned.
“She came here before she went to the bookstore that morning. Any idea who she spoke to?”
Relief washed over her face. “Oh, I thought you were here on business.” She paused. “I helped your mother that day. She was just making a deposit, I believe.”
Bingo.
“Okay, Cecilia, I want you to think about this next question before you answer. It’s very important to me.”
“Okay.”
“How did Mom look? Did she mention not feeling well?”
Confusion played out over Cecilia’s face. “No, she didn’t mention it. In fact, I think she’d just come from a sunrise yoga class and she looked great.”
“I didn’t know that.”
This retracing of her mother’s footsteps thing was trickier than Summer had imagined.
“Can I ask why you’re asking these questions?” Cecilia said.
“They said Mom had a heart attack. I think that’s hard to believe. Most people have symptoms. She didn’t. So, I’m just trying to make sense of it all.”
Cecilia sat forward, her long brown hair falling onto the desk. “She seemed healthy to me. She looked good. But looks can be deceiving. She didn’t seem to be the type to talk about her aches and pains. So if she wasn’t feeling well, I’m not sure she’d have said anything.”
True. “But you’d know it if she looked bad.”
“Sure,” she said. “It shocked me to hear that a few hours after she left here, she died. It freaked me out, to tell you the truth.”
It freaked us all out.
* * *
After Summer left the bank, she looked up the yoga center on the island on her phone. There were three. Three? Only one bank and three yoga centers? Summer rolled her eyes. So typical of St. Brigid.
She dialed Aunt Agatha.
“Yes, Summer. How are you?”
“I’m retracing my mom’s footsteps on the day she died.”
“Come
again?”
“You heard me.”
“Summer, you need to be careful. The store was just robbed and vandalized. What else will happen if you keep poking your nose in this?”
“Only one way to find out.”
Agatha laughed. “But seriously, be careful.”
“I will. So I just left the bank, and Cecilia told me that Mom had been to a sunrise yoga class that morning.”
“That sounds about right.”
“Which yoga center did she go to?”
“Susan’s Center of Yoga Arts.”
“Okay—that’s all I needed to know.”
“What have you found out so far?” Aunt Agatha asked.
Summer told her aunt everything she’d learned.
“This was such a good idea,” Agatha said. “Keep me informed.”
“Will do,” Summer said.
“But how are you feeling?”
“I’m okay,” Summer said. “No headache. No dizziness. Nothing.”
“Good.”
Summer slid into the car after saying goodbye to Agatha. She googled Susan’s Center of Yoga Arts and drove to the place. It was not the closest yoga center to Hildy, so she must have really liked this place. Summer pulled into the parking lot, which had a few cars in it, and sat in the car for a few minutes. Took a drink from her water bottle.
She exited the car and walked to the front door. Damn. The place was closed. But, according to the sign, it would be open tomorrow. Okay, then, Summer could wait one more day to talk with the yoga teacher. Besides, she had an inkling of what she’d say—the same thing everybody else had said. Hildy Merriweather was healthy, and she’d not been feeling sick that morning at all.
As soon as Summer entered her car, her mobile phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. It was the dean. Her heart jumped.
“Hello, this is Summer.”
“Dr. Merriweather,” Dean Jones said.
Uh-oh. When he used doctor, he meant business.
“Yes, Dean Jones. How are you?”
“I’m well, thank you. Very sorry to learn of your mother’s passing.”
“Thank you,” Summer said.
Pleasantries done, Summer wondered what would be next.
“We’ve been discussing your position. While you don’t have the best reputation or record, objectively I don’t want to see you let go. I’m aware you’re getting help for your arachnophobia. The incident, though, was almost beside the point at this juncture. You need to serve on more committees. Publish more papers. And make efforts to pass your students more often.”
Summer had known that was coming. If they planned to give her another chance, she’d have to pass more students. She dared not say a word about how her students were coming to her with barely average reading skills and less than average writing skills, and she had so little time with them.
“If you agree to that, the next step is a sabbatical.”
A forced sabbatical?” Summer said.
“A preemptive sabbatical for you to consider what I’ve said and whether you want to move forward.”
“Okay,” Summer said weakly.
“Summer, you’re a brilliant woman. We’re pleased to have you on staff.” He paused. “But personally I’ve always wondered if you were cut out for academia. Not everybody is.” Another pause. “Please take this time to reflect on what you want to do, and if you do come back, bring it on.”
“Bring it on” made Summer smile. “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate the chance you’re giving me.”
“Certainly.”
No, this wasn’t too much to think about. What to do with the rest of her life. She’d dreamed of being a Shakespearean professor for as long as she could remember. What else was there for her? That decision, along with figuring out what had happened to her mom, weighed heavily on her as she flicked on her turn signal and headed for Beach Reads.
Chapter Forty-Four
A brisk shopping crowd had gathered in Beach Reads. Poppy was busy behind the register, but when Summer waved, she waved back. She continued on upstairs, as she wanted to set her computer up outside and investigate further. She believed her mom had been murdered and that all clues were leading her in that direction. But it helped to keep her mind occupied with the research—for now. Soon she would need to turn back to Shakespearean research. But she could get there. Not yet.
She walked upstairs to the light-filled room and out onto the deck. A blue and white table umbrella flapping in the breeze.
How many times in her young life had she sat at this very table, reading or chatting with Piper or just thinking as she watched the waves roll in. This view. This island. This life. She had wanted out of it so badly. Wanted the life of an academic. Yet, at this moment, this place didn’t seem so bad.
“Hey, Summer!” someone from behind her called. She turned to see pink-haired Doris and Marilyn.
“Hello, ladies.” She should probably ask them to sit down. “How are you?”
They sat down.
Bother. Was that an invitation?
“We’re looking forward to the book club meeting tomorrow. Have you finished Nights on Bellamy Harbor?” Doris said, bubbly.
“Not yet.” But she wanted to. Which irked her. How had she gotten so hooked into this book?
“It doesn’t matter,” Marilyn said. “As long as you’ve read enough to discuss.”
“So, Doris, I hear you were with Mom when she collapsed.”
Doris’s face fell.
“She doesn’t like to talk about it,” Marilyn said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Summer said. “Didn’t mean to upset you. I’m just trying to figure out what happened to her. I mean, she was healthy on all counts. She had no symptoms at all.”
“She mentioned to me earlier that she felt sick,” Doris said.
Summer’s skin prickled. “She did? You’re the first person to say that.”
Doris nodded. “She said she felt sick at yoga—got dizzy too.”
Summer was dumbstruck. If her mom had gotten sick in yoga class, why had she gone to the bank? And why wouldn’t Cecilia have noticed it?
“That’s odd.”
“I thought so too,” Marilyn said.
“No, I mean if she was sick, why did she go to the bank? Why didn’t she seem sick to Cecilia?”
“It came and went is what she said,” Doris explained.
The three of them sat quietly. Summer allowed the sound of the ocean’s waves to lull her momentarily. To calm her racing heart. She needed Doris to tell her more about her mom’s death. But the poor old thing couldn’t do it.
“When you’re ready to talk about it, please let me know. It’s important.”
Doris’s jaw tightened, and she gave a quick nod, looking into the distance.
She was torn up. Summer imagined anybody would be. Doris had been right there when Hildy died. If it had been Summer, she’d have had nightmares about it for the rest of her life.
“How’s your husband?” Summer asked, wanting to change the subject.
Surprise came over Doris’s face. “He has good days and bad days. Liver cancer.”
“I bet he misses Hildy,” Marilyn said.
“What? Why?” Summer said.
“She used to read to him,” Marilyn said. “She read to a lot of sick folks.” Marilyn paused. “I’m not sure who’s going to step in and take care of those people now.”
“I’ve finished reading the book they were reading. I’ll continue to do it with my husband,” Doris said.
“Yes, but it’s good for you to get away from him.”
“But he’s my husband. He’s very sick. Sometimes I don’t want to miss a moment.” She blinked, as if she were trying not to cry.
“So Mom was giving you breaks by reading to your husband?”
“Yes,” Doris said and quickly looked away. “She insisted.”
Such a Hildy thing to do.
Summer had wanted to change the subject, and she had. But she wasn’t
sure this one was any better. Doris was one of the newer people in the group, and Summer didn’t know her well. But she had always been the most bubbly and vivacious of all of them. Summer hadn’t had any idea the woman had all of this heaviness in her life. She felt a pang of guilt for asking about the day her mom died. But still. Doris would have to talk about it eventually. At least Summer hoped she would. It was too raw right now.
But Summer needed to know. There were no two ways about it. If she were going to figure out who’d killed her mom, she needed to figure out every detail. She eyed Doris, with her pink hair and crazy-looking jewelry, and pity swept over her. It could wait for another day.
“Can I get you something, dear?” Marilyn said. “I’m going to get myself some coffee. Anything?
Summer smiled. These women were so kind. “Yes, sure. I’ll take a cup.”
She sank further into her chair, with Doris at her side, and drank in the scenery. Memories washing over her. Good ones. Bad ones. Slippery thing, these memories.
Chapter Forty-Five
After Summer finished her coffee, mostly in silence, with her mom’s best friends, all enjoying the view, she headed into her mother’s office to check out the events she had planned over the next few months. If Summer was stuck here, involved in the shop, she needed to know. She needed to keep involved in something—anything other than the murder investigation, which was ever on her mind.
Hildy had planned several upcoming events. She and Marilyn were hosting a romance writers workshop at the library in a few months. They’d scheduled an author to be here in a few weeks.
Poppy poked her head into the office. “Someone is here to see you.”
“Who?”
“Someone named Posey.”
“Posey? Yes, please. Send her in.”
Poppy nodded.
Summer stood and walked to the office door. Soon enough, Posey made her way in. She reached out and hugged Summer.
Little Bookshop of Murder Page 17