Summer placed her coffee on the table with a thud. “What are you getting at?”
Piper shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not sure what I mean. It seems like … I guess …”
“Whoever killed her intentionally made it look like a heart attack,” Summer finished the thought.
“Exactly! And what could do that?”
“A poison? A drug?” Summer stood and started pacing. “We need to find out what could either mimic a heart attack or cause one.”
“And then we need to figure out how it was given to her,” Piper said, eyes wide. “What did she have to eat that day?”
“She usually had oatmeal and berries or fruit for breakfast,” Summer said.
“Oh no, not anymore,” Piper stood up and took her empty coffee cup to the sink. “She was drinking protein shakes in the morning.”
“What?”
“I have no idea how or why she got on to that. But you might want to talk with Mia. She drinks the same ones.”
Summer had read that some protein shakes had energizing substances, like caffeine. Would an overdose of caffeine have given her mom a heart attack? Surely not from one protein drink?
“I need to get in the shower and get down to the police station. We need that damn autopsy report.”
“If it’s not there yet?” Piper asked.
“I’ll ask for the name of the lab and get it myself.” Summer stormed off to get ready for her visit to the station.
“I’ll call Mia!” Piper yelled after her.
What else had her mother eaten or drunk that day? As Summer showered, she reviewed her mom’s last day. Hildy had risen out of bed, showered, drunk a protein drink, gone to yoga, and then to the bank and the store. Had she had time to eat somewhere in between going to those places? Would she have even been hungry after having a protein shake?
Hildy Merriweather was a snacker—a healthy snacker, but still she always had at least an apple or granola bar mid-morning. By the time she exited the shower, Summer had added another task to her plan. She needed to examine her mom’s car. That’s where she kept her “on-the-run” snacks.
Then she’d head to the police station, hoping they finally had gotten the official autopsy report. She wanted answers—but what to hope for? That her mom did have a reaction to something that caused a heart attack? Or that someone had given her something that killed her? Either way, Summer craved answers.
Chapter Fifty-Two
With Piper on her heels, Summer unlocked her mom’s 1980 Subaru hatchback. Patchouli wafted out as she opened the door. The crystal that always hung from her rearview mirror seemed lifeless and staid.
“Do you see anything?” Piper said from behind her.
“I do,” Summer said, her gaze resting on a box of granola bars and a crumpled wrapper next to it.
“Mom’s last snack was a granola bar.”
“Should we move it?”
“No, let’s just leave it here. We don’t tamper with evidence. Let’s just wait until we need it.”
“Okay, I’ve got to get to work, but if you need me, let me know.”
Summer shut the car door. Her mom’s car. It sat there looking weird and alone. She hadn’t used it often. Most places Hildy traveled to were within walking distance. The car’s mileage was super low for such an old car.
“My car is never going to die,” she used to say.
Summer supposed she’d have to decide what to do with it. Should she keep it? Sell it? Ugh. She couldn’t think about it right now. Off to the police station.
* * *
When Summer walked into the station, the woman behind the reception desk sat up straighter. “Can I help you?”
“Summer Merriweather to see Ben Singer.”
“The chief is in a meeting. Would you care to wait?”
“How long is this meeting going to be?”
“Hard to say, but he’s already been there quite a while.”
“Okay, I’ll wait.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks.”
Summer sat down in what passed as a waiting area. There was nothing on the walls except safety posters. What to do if someone mugs you. When you should call 911. That kind of thing. A stack of old magazines sat on an end table. Summer picked one up and thumbed through it.
An article about a new diet that works miracles.
One about doing a room makeover for less than $200.
Another one written about a woman with Lyme disease.
“Ms. Merriweather?”
She glanced up. “Yes.”
“The Chief will see you.”
Summer stood and placed the magazine back where she’d found it. “Great.”
“Follow that—”
Summer held up her hand. “It’s fine. I know the way. Thanks.
Summer walked through the door and into the dim hallway. She didn’t think it could be worse than the waiting area but was sorely mistaken. When she walked into Ben’s office, he sat at his desk, with his glasses perched on his nose. He looked out over them. “Summer.”
“Hello, Ben,” she said, noticing he held something in his hand.
“Please sit down,” he said.
The energy shifted a bit. Summer didn’t know why.
“I have your mom’s final official autopsy report. Everything is here but the tox report, which we ordered later, if you’ll remember.” He slurred remember. His eyes were glazed. Was he drunk?
Summer’s breath whooshed out of her body. Her mouth was as dry as cotton balls. All she could do was nod.
“Your mom had a heart attack. Just like we suspected.”
Her hands snapped to her mouth as she sobbed. “No. No. It can’t be.” She drew in air. “You said yourself something odd is going on, right? My attack, the fire, the robbery …”
“Unrelated,” he said sitting back in his chair. “I’m sorry, Summer. These things happen.”
“But I’ve researched heart attacks,” she blurted. “It’s very rare for someone to have one without—without—you know, the symptoms. She had none. She was healthy!”
She barely recognized her voice. Shrill, panicked. This couldn’t be.
He frowned. “Your mom was one in a million. We always knew that, right?” He grinned a crooked smile. A Singer smile. The same smile his son had used on her when he wanted his way.
No. Not in this case. No. You don’t discuss my mom’s death with a clichéd expression and grin as if you’re dealing with a two-year-old.
“May I please have the report?” she asked, calmer, more composed.
“I can make you copies. You’re entitled to it,” he said, standing.
You’re damn right I am. What did he know about anything? She was leaving and marching straight over to Dr. Chang’s office.
Her heart thudded against her rib cage. She wasn’t going to let him know how upset she was. She’d already given herself away too much.
When he came back into the room, he handed her the report.
“Thanks,” she said, rising from her chair. “I need to get going. But thanks for your time.”
He batted his eyes. “Are you okay?”
She paused before answering. “I’m as okay as anybody whose mom just died, I suppose.”
She walked out, leaving a bewildered Ben Singer behind. He was used to her putting up more of a fight. Not this time. It just wasn’t worth it. He was not the person she needed to speak with right now. She needed to hightail it to Dr. Chang’s office.
* * *
When she pulled into the parking lot, she was a bit confused because his assistant was locking up. She exited the car without even turning it off.
“Lucy?”
“Oh hey, Summer.”
“Why are you leaving?”
“Today’s the doc’s fishing day. He takes two days a month and goes fishing.
Damn. She wanted to cry.
“What do you have there?”
“It’s my mom�
��s autopsy report. He wanted to look it over. I guess I can stop back by tomorrow.”
“Or I can take pictures with my iPhone and send it to him. We’ve done that before. If you don’t mind?”
“Mind? No, that’s fantastic.”
The two of them stood and photographed the report, and Lucy sent it off to him.
“Now, I’m not making any promises as to when he’ll get back. Sometimes there’s no Wi-Fi, but he’ll be back tonight and will look them over and get back to you in the morning.”
“Okay.” What was one more day in this twisty passage of justice?
Chapter Fifty-Three
Summer’s last hope was Dr. Chang finding something on the report. Then she could get some help from the police—or some law enforcement authority, like Levi, the fire investigator.
She pulled into the back lot of the bookstore. The storm had cleared away and beachgoers had their books and were lying in the sun with their reads by now. Or they were curled up in a hammock or a chaise somewhere, swept away by a story.
She exited the car. Being swept away by a story was not such a bad thing. But, since she was now the owner of Beach Reads, she’d have a section of classics, including Shakespeare. After all, one could get lost in those great stories as well.
She opened the door, and the scent of books and pathos greeted her. Poppy was cleaning up the register area and looked up at Summer. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“Okay,” Summer said. She was trying not to think of those autopsy results. She needed to keep her mind occupied. “I’ve got some ideas I’d like to run by you at some point. And I guess we need to go over some things like the schedule and upcoming events.”
“Sure, anytime,” Poppy said. “Crowd’s kind of thin now. What’re your ideas?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about adding a classics section.”
Poppy stopped her straightening and fiddling.
“Not huge, but just say ten or twelve titles for people who might appreciate it.”
Poppy said nothing but looked away.
“What do you think?”
She shrugged. “You know how Hildy felt about that. But you’re the owner now. I think if you want to try it with a few books, it wouldn’t be too much of a risk.”
Summer blinked. And blinked again. “You know how Hildy felt about that.”
“I know how she felt about it, of course, but I’ve always disagreed. I’ve always thought there could be a market for readers who prefer the books I like.”
“We’re mostly known for romances and mysteries.”
“I get that, but maybe there’s a small market we’re missing.”
Poppy stiffened. “Maybe.”
People don’t like changes. Summer worried Poppy.
“Look, Poppy, I know you were a friend of my mom’s and she respected you. Your opinion is valuable to me, and I hope you’ll stay on as an employee. I need you. I’ve no idea how to run the bookstore now. So much has changed since I worked with Mom.”
Her face and stance softened. “Okay. Glad to know that.”
She appeared relaxed, but Summer still got the feeling the young woman didn’t like her. Or maybe didn’t believe her. Odd. “I’m going into the office to look over Mom’s events calendar. I’ll be there if you need me.”
“Okay, thanks,” she replied.
How could Summer make her feel more comfortable with the changes? Summer was aware she wasn’t easily liked—at least that’s what her students said—but she wasn’t completely unlikable, was she? Besides, her students reacted to her because she was so tough. Funny, Summer didn’t think of herself in the way at all. She was simply trying to give them a good education. These days a lot of her students felt like just showing up to class should get them a passable grade.
No, indeed.
Summer sat down in her mom’s office chair, feeling weird about it. It was eerie knowing her mother had died in the store. She didn’t like the feeling. But she decided not to dwell on it, but to think instead about how much Hildy loved this place and all the warm and happy memories within its walls.
She lifted her mom’s calendar from the other side of the desk. It had been left open to the day she’d died. Summer flipped the pages and saw that next month Hildy had scheduled three guest authors. One was giving a workshop on “How to Write a Cozy Mystery.” Summer’s mouth twisted. Cozy mystery: Who imagined cozy was a good term?
She transposed all of the author events into her phone, as well as the paydays. Summer knew nothing about QuickBooks, but perhaps Poppy did. She wrote down a note to remind herself to ask Poppy.
As she scanned the calendar, she saw a “J. S.” listed a few times. Who was J. S.? Another thing to ask Poppy about.
She flipped the page backwards to the book group date, which reminded her it was tomorrow. She only had a few chapters left to read. She’d need to finish tonight. And she hated to admit to herself, but she couldn’t wait to see how it ended. What would Mom say? Summer laughed.
“Summer?” Aunt Agatha poked her head in. What’s so funny?”
“I’m not sure I can tell you,” Summer said.
“Oh, come on.” Aunt Agatha sat down on a chair across from the desk.
“I can’t wait to finish Nights at Bellamy Harbor. And I was just thinking about what Mom would have to say about that.”
Agatha giggled. “She might have a few choice words about it. It’s funny to think about.”
“All of those years I railed against romances, and here I am … but I’m certain it’s just this particular book.”
“Oh no, dear, some of her other books are even better than this one. I’ve read them all.”
A twinge of unexpected excitement ran through her. There were more books written by. Hannah Jacobs! Surely Summer wouldn’t have the time to read all of them—or would she?
“Summer,” Aunt Agatha said, “you know it’s okay if a Shakespeare scholar enjoys romance. There’s actually a very successful romance author who’s a Shakespeare professor.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, and she teaches at Harvard.”
Summer didn’t know what to say to that.
Chapter Fifty-Four
After Summer, Mia, and Piper ate supper, cleaned up, and then they each drifted to their corner of the house—Mia with earbuds in. She hadn’t heard half the dinner conversation, Summer was certain.
Summer readied for bed and curled up on the couch to finish reading Nights at Bellamy Harbor.
Hildy had underlined a section and commented, “All the feels,” on one page. Summer knew what she was talking about. As Summer read further on, her heart pounded. The couple would actually make a go of it. Not only was he a developer and she an environmentalist, but he was Muslim and she was agnostic. But they loved each other, and it seemed as if they were meeting one another halfway.
Summer read on, the language and the story zipping through her. One minute she was laughing, the next crying. Then laughing at herself for crying. Here she was, crying over a romance.
“Summer?” Piper came up behind her. “Are you okay?”
She snapped the book shut. Damn it. She only had only more chapter left to read. She sniffed. “Yes, I’m fine. Why?”
“I was in the kitchen getting a drink. It sounded like you were crying … then laughing, then I don’t know what.” She sat down on the La-Z-Boy. “Are you losing your shit?”
Summer laughed. “Lost it a long time ago.” She lifted up the book as her face reddened.
“Oh! Ha! That’s interesting. Like the book?” Piper grinned.
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Summer stiffened. Would she?
“Yes, you do! Why not admit it?” Piper laughed. “You’re too much.”
“Okay,” Summer said after a few beats, “I do. I like it, and your mother says she’s written other books. I was secretly thrilled to hear that.”
Piper laughed again. “Well, I’m glad to know you’re enjoying it.” The t
wo sat in silence for a few minutes.
A weird scuffling noise came from the front of the house. The cousins looked at each other.
“Someone’s out there,” Summer said. Piper nodded, eyes wide as the moon, tinged in anxiety.
They sat listening for a moment, and the noise came again.
“Well, I guess I’ll check it out,” Summer said, rising from the couch.
She tiptoed to the front window. Her eyes adjusted to the dark skies, only lit by the moon and stars. A shadow fell across the front porch. She squinted, trying to make out the shape of the shadow.
Who with good intentions would skulk around this time of night? She heard her blood rush. She crept to the fireplace and grabbed a poker.
“Summer, what are you doing?” Piper said as she came up beside her.
“Protection,” she whispered.
Was this the person who’d killed her mom? Who’d tried to set the place on fire? Who’d attacked Summer? Sweat pricked at her forehead. Was she finally going to confront the person who perhaps had killed her mom?
A creak.
A huff.
She reached toward the doorknob. Who was on the front porch?
She swung the door open, and something small yowled and tore off, leaving Rudy crouched in the corner. “Damn, Summer! I almost had Missy!”
“What?” she said.
“My granddaughter’s cat. You scared her off. Damn.”
He stood. “What are you doing with that?” He glanced at the poker.
She drew in air, trying to calm herself. “I planned to hit you right over the head with it.”
He lurched back.
“I thought you were Mom’s killer.”
His mouth dropped open. Then he gathered himself. “I told you’d I’d never hurt her.”
“How would I know who’s creeping around out here at night? And I’m smart enough to know most people don’t confess to murder.”
“Especially people who want to expand their business,” Piper said as she came up behind Summer.
“I’m sorry,” Rudy said, jaw stiff. “I need to go. Missy. Darn cat. I almost had her.”
He walked away, then turned back around. “I’m going to tell you one more time. I didn’t hurt your mother. I was nowhere around when she died. I was running my business. I’ve got witnesses, if you feel you need them.” He paused. “But if I were you, I’d drop this nonsense. Nobody killed your mother. You’re making a fool of yourself and you’re degrading her memory by going around accusing people in this community.”
Little Bookshop of Murder Page 20