My stomach dropped, and my throat closed over the scream threatening to fly out. I couldn’t tell if the dampness on my cheeks was from my tears or the misting rain that fell from the sky.
Without warning, Phillie threw herself at her sister, catching Livie by surprise as she pulled the trigger. I had flinched away from the shot, reflexively holding up my hands as if that might stop a bullet going however many feet per second those things flew. But the bullet never hit me.
I turned back to see the surprise on Livie’s face turn to horror as she realized her sister had taken the bullet meant for me. Dropping the gun on the wet ground at her feet, Livie crumpled into a pile next to Phillie, carefully scooping her into trembling arms, weeping and rocking her sister back and forth as two police cars pulled into the driveway, their red and blue twirling lights creating eerie patterns in the falling drizzle.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“So, Livie killed them both?” Rita knelt in front of my TV, checking the channel guide.
“Yep.” I’d spent two days talking with the detestable Detective Sutter about Tuesday’s events, as he had remained determined to pin at least one of the murders on me, if only as an accomplice. The fact that Keith had also been present had softened things, but it still had been an ordeal, even though I’d rather enjoyed Sutter’s disappointment when he realized I wasn’t guilty of murdering anyone. I’d then taken a day to myself, soaking in my spa bathtub, taking naps, and binge-watching TV, just to let go of it all.
Now that I felt more like myself, I’d let Rita and Mason talk me into taking one more day off. I’d chosen to keep the store closed, although it was Saturday and would be a good sales day, so I wouldn’t feel bad about not working.
Rita and Mason had taken over my living room, demanding answers of their own, soon followed by Keith, who claimed he had come to return the book he’d borrowed the day we searched for the diary together.
“But why?” Mason helped himself to the potato chips he had brought.
It seemed I needed to go over it one more time. At least Mason and Rita were both there and it would be only once. “Livie convinced herself she would’ve inherited John Hokes’s money if he’d found the treasure; therefore, she was the only one truly entitled to the diary. Because of her past experiences with men, she felt Uncle Paul was trying to cheat her out of something rightfully hers. She thought she was clever to steal the diary out from under his nose.” I stretched my legs out and propped my feet on the coffee table.
“But Paul died, even if she hadn’t meant to kill him.” Mason popped a few more chips into his mouth.
I nodded. “He did. Livie figured he deserved it since he didn’t willingly give her the diary. She figured it was Uncle Paul’s own fault that he died. If he’d given her the diary, or if he’d at least stayed asleep, he’d still be alive.”
“What about Norman?” Rita rose from her position in front of the television set, where she’d found the channel for the North Carolina State football game.
I shifted on the couch to make room for her so she could prop up her feet as well. Truthfully, I was glad they were here, even if I was missing out on my bath and nap. “Norman actually did try to cheat her. He wanted to cut her out with his scam to get my inheritance and thereby the diary. She got mad and killed him intentionally.”
“So, the glove they found in Norman’s room that Detective Sutter tried to prove was yours was actually hers?” asked Rita.
“Yes.” Keith slid onto the couch on my other side. “It fits her exactly, and we found its mate in her dresser drawer when we searched her house.”
“That would explain the use of the passageways.” Rita reached for Mason’s chip bowl. “Livie and Phillie were both in and out of the inn as it was being finished. They inherited the plans for the mansion, and both knew every inch of those passageways.”
“How did the police know it was Livie?” Mason aimed his question at Keith, swiping his salty fingers on his shorts and drawing a whack from Rita, who handed him a napkin. He glared at her before obediently wiping his hands on the paper square and turning back to Keith. “I mean, you guys showed up right as she shot her sister, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Keith. “But we were coming to question Phillie, not Livie.”
“Why?” Rita’s eyebrows rose.
He stretched, easing his legs onto the coffee table and fully sandwiching me between him and Rita. “The prescription angle finally paid off. Phillie was on a list of people who were prescribed the sleeping medication used in Paul’s death. We had also checked with the local garden centers to see if anyone had purchased hydrangea plants around the time of Norman’s death. Livie had come in recently, stating her sister’s hydrangea bushes had died due to a severe aphid infestation. She said Phillie had asked her to pick up new plants on her way home to replace the lost ones.
“The salesgirl thought it was odd, since Livie so rarely darkened their door and she didn’t buy any pesticides so Phillie’s other flowers wouldn’t become infested. Plus, the salesgirl and Phillie had talked about flowers often enough that she was pretty sure Phillie didn’t grow hydrangea bushes. It sounded suspicious, so we obtained warrants to search their store and house for evidence. It was just lucky timing we got there when we did.” Keith reached for my hand and wrapped it in his. “I’m glad you weren’t victim number three.”
I stared at our hands twined together. His was warm and strong, and the feel of his body against mine, from hip to ankle, caused my heart to pitter-patter in a way it hadn’t in a very long time. Maybe Rita was right and I should give Keith a shot.
Rita dragged me back into the conversation. “I think we have Phillie to thank for that one. How is she, by the way?”
I squelched thoughts of snuggling with Keith. “I went by the hospital this morning. She’s doing fine. It was only a shoulder wound, no major organs, and no major tissue damage. They expect her to recover enough for discharge within the week. The only problem they’re having is keeping her still and in bed.” I smiled, remembering the argument Phillie had had with a nurse over whether or not she, Phillie, should be allowed to go down to the hospital’s flower shop. Phillie wanted to tell them what they were doing wrong and why the mums she received looked half dead.
Mason washed down his latest mouthful of chips with a soft drink. “What’s she going to do with her store while she recovers?”
“When I talked to her, she said she might sell the store and open her own greenhouse.” I reached for a soft drink of my own then realized I couldn’t open it while still holding hands with Keith.
I didn’t want to let go, but the problem was solved when he squeezed my fingers, winked at me, and reached to pop the top with his free hand. God, this man was going to turn me to mush.
I struggled to keep a waver out of my voice. “She says the more she thought about the clothing store, the more she realized the reason she loved it was because Livie expected her to love it. She and I had talked recently about her working part-time for a nursery somewhere, but now she says she doesn’t think that will be enough for her. She’s too used to being her own boss.”
“Will she stay here in town to run her business, or will she move to where nobody knows her?” Concern shone from Rita’s eyes.
“She’ll stay.” I took a sip of my Coke. “She says she figures the town has a bad enough opinion of the Hokes family, what with John’s crazy talk and now Livie’s murderous streak. She wants to stay and prove not everyone in the Hokes family is insane.”
“At least her new business will get off to a roaring start,” Keith said. “Everyone will either go there to show sympathy or out of morbid curiosity. But at least they’ll go.”
“That’s a mean thing to say. Possibly true, but mean.” I bumped my shoulder into his, shoving him a bit, and he mock-swooned.
Rita chuckled. “I have a question. How did Norman get ahold of the letter John Hokes wrote to his solicitor?”
“Norman was a descendan
t of John’s solicitor,” I answered. “He had told Livie his family still owned and lived in the original solicitor’s house. And when Norman’s mother died, he decided to sell. He found the letter while going through old papers in preparation for putting the house on the market.”
“I’ve got a question too,” piped in Mason. “How did Livie get into your apartment to leave that note? There were no signs of forced entry, and Livie doesn’t seem like the type to be able to pick a lock.”
“According to Phillie, she and Uncle Paul used to come here to have some private time away from Livie. No, not for any hanky-panky.” I stopped the question I knew was getting ready to pop out of Mason’s mouth. “Phillie said they liked to be here alone to talk and plan and simply be together in peace and quiet. She still had the key as a memento and had no idea Livie had found it, or even knew what it opened, until this was all over.”
“What about Stan? Wasn’t he a suspect too?” Rita leaned forward and looked across me at Keith. “He baked, grew hydrangeas, and knew the passages in the inn.”
Keith shrugged, rubbing his shoulder against mine in the process. “All coincidence. Sure, we were keeping an eye on him, but he had no connection to the sleeping medication that we could find.”
I looked across the room at the potted hydrangea sitting on my kitchen counter. “He was apparently just trying to be nice in his own odd way.”
“Wasn’t he trying to get into the store the day you found the diary?” Mason took another swig of his soda.
“He was here that day trying to get another look at the layout to see if he wanted to make an offer, prior to any repairs.” I shook my head. “It seems he may actually want to buy the store and use it as a rental property, although he still wanted me to vote for his mall deal if I chose not to sell. And in case anyone wonders, this morning I voted no.”
“Oh, thank God!” Rita stood and moved to the kitchen table, where she picked up one of the little quarter sandwiches she’d made. “So, what’s going to happen to Livie?”
“They’re keeping her at the North Carolina Correctional Institution for Women in Raleigh until the trial,” answered Keith.
With Rita gone, I now had room to slide over and give Keith some space, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I concentrated on Rita’s question. “The DA said she’d probably be put in a mental institution, since she obviously can’t tell right from wrong. Livie still doesn’t see anything wrong with what she did.”
“I feel sorry for her,” said Mason. “She had a rough history with men.”
“True,” agreed Rita. “But she shouldn’t have been trying to steal something that didn’t belong to her, no matter what the treasure was. And she shouldn’t have killed for it.”
“Speaking of treasure.” Keith sat forward and dropped his feet to the floor, although his fingers still clasped mine tightly. “Does anyone know what that turned out to be?”
“I almost forgot.” I stood and tugged my fingers from Keith’s, but not before I received another wink. Be still, my heart. I walked to the kitchen bar and picked up a piece of paper then returned to offer it to Rita. “Here’s what the last entry said. I copied it at the police station before I turned the diary over as evidence. They say I’ll get it back when the trial is done.”
Everyone read the entry in turn, and when the paper made it back to me, Mason’s greasy-chip fingerprints and all, Rita broke the silence.
“Does anyone have any idea who Bartholomew was?”
Mason swallowed yet another mouthful of chips. “And what does it mean that something is twisted up under his watchful eye?”
“I honestly don’t have any idea. But I think I might know who would.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, placed a call, and spoke quietly with the other party for a few moments before disconnecting.
“Well?” Keith leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.
“Well.” I paused for effect, earning a get-on-with-it glare from Rita. “Phillie says John Hokes used to have a stuffed crow named Bartholomew. It was rumored that he talked to it all the time. He kept it in his cottage as part of the decor.”
Rita set her plate on the table, her eyes wide and her words tumbling out. “The cottage is still as it was back then. That was one of the stipulations the Hokes sisters required, along with a healthy sum for the house plans, before the inn was allowed to use their family name. And there’s an old stuffed crow in the study. I remember seeing it the last time I was over there.”
“What are we waiting for?” Mason stood and rushed toward the door.
The rest of us hesitated only a fraction of a second before following.
Mason was trying to unlock his car door when we got to the parking lot. “Come on.” He opened his door.
“Mason, wait.” Keith clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Why don’t we all go in my car?”
Mason looked at his beat-up subcompact car. Then he turned his gaze to the much nicer and more spacious sedan Keith drove. “Fine by me.” Mason shrugged and sauntered toward Keith’s car. “I’ll ride in the back.” He opened the door and climbed in.
“I’ll ride in back with Mason,” volunteered Rita, sliding in beside him, maintaining an innocent look as I got in the front next to Keith.
After buckling up, I placed my arm on the console between us. I felt like a teenager waiting to see if he’d hold my hand again. What was wrong with me? I didn’t usually act this goofy.
Keith hesitated only a second then placed his arm beside mine and laced his fingers through mine. “Will you stay long in Hokes Folly?” he asked casually.
I studied the way our hands fit together. “I’ll be here at least long enough to finish sorting things out and possibly sell the business.”
“That could take a while.” Keith gave my fingers a tiny squeeze.
My heart performed its new pitter-patter rhythm again, and I fought to keep my voice from sounding breathy. “Yes, it could at that.” I studied him as we drove in silence to the inn and pulled into the parking lot. What was going on behind those chocolate eyes?
As we moved from his car into a horse-drawn carriage—Keith and I still in the front and Mason and Rita in the back—for the ride onto the estate, Keith casually asked another question. “Do you think we could do this sometime without chaperones?” He averted his gaze, busily watching the tree-lined road.
This time my heart stopped for an instant then pounded hard. “Are you asking me out?” I turned toward him, my eyebrows raised.
Keith blushed. He actually blushed. I tried not to giggle.
“I guess I am,” he said quietly, before returning his gaze to the street ahead.
Before I could chicken out, I blurted, “Then I accept.” Now that it was too late to take it back, the idea both terrified and excited me.
“You guys are going out? Cool,” Mason’s voice sounded from the back seat of the carriage. A muffled thud preceded his next words. “Ow! What did you do that for?”
“Shut up, Mason,” hissed Rita.
Well, that wasn’t awkward at all. I rolled my eyes, stole a look at Keith, and grinned at another faint blush staining his cheeks, which matched my own, if the warm sensation in my face was any indication.
“So, neighbor, when are you going to come over for tea again?” Rita to the rescue! Her voice had never sounded so good.
I chuckled. “How about tomorrow morning?”
Before she could answer, Mason jumped in. “Speaking of schedules, is anyone available Monday to help me move into my new apartment?”
We all agreed, but Mason’s exuberant reply was cut off as the carriage stopped in front of the little cottage that had once been John Hokes’s residence. We tumbled out in haste, rushing as a group to the front door, where Elliot waited. The attendant was locking up and putting the sign out that gave the hours for the next day.
“I’ll close up, Mrs. Brattle. I have a private party I want to take through the cottage.” Elliot spoke with authority to the
plump woman who oversaw the little building.
“Of course, Mr. Burke.” She handed him the keys. “Where shall I collect the keys in the morning?”
“I’ll leave them for you at the front desk. Thank you, Mrs. Brattle,” came his crisp and businesslike reply.
“Very well, sir. Enjoy your tour.” Mrs. Brattle shot one last glance our way before she shuffled off to the waiting carriage for the trip to her car.
Rita patted the hotel manager on the arm and tossed me a smug grin. “I texted Elliot on the drive over while you two were making goo-goo eyes at one another.” She stepped briskly into the cottage, the smile still playing at the corners of her mouth.
So much for her rescue. Heat crept over my cheeks again, and I couldn’t make myself look at Keith to see his reaction. Instead, I followed Rita into the little house.
Elliot led us down a short hallway to the study, one of the larger rooms in the house. A fireplace took up most of the far wall. Bookcases filled the other two longer walls, reminding me of Livie’s favorite room. A worn-leather wingback chair sat in front of the fireplace, and a small table stood beside its arm with a brandy snifter on its surface, waiting to be filled.
Rita pointed toward the ceiling. “There it is.”
I looked up at a large, stuffed crow mounted on the top shelf above the books. A rolling ladder used to gain access to the higher books leaned down from the top shelf, and Mason pulled it over to the section with the bird.
Keith stopped Mason before he could climb the ladder. “I think Jenna should be the one to do the honors,” he said quietly, after a nod of approval from Elliot. “After all, she’s the one who almost died for the diary.”
“You’re right.” Mason backed away from the ladder.
Gingerly I placed my foot on the bottom rung, testing it to see if the wood was still strong enough to bear weight. Finding it in good shape, I climbed, stopping at eye level with the bird. How had the entry read? Something about being twisted up under Bartholomew’s watchful eye. I looked for a twisted piece of paper jammed between the books or under the stuffed bird. Nothing. I spent several minutes poking and prodding, but still nothing.
For Whom the Book Tolls Page 23