by Agatha Ball
She gave me a smile, but this time it was a little tighter and I could see, now that I wasn't absorbed in my own misery, that something was off. "Did you have a chance to read through Georgia's book yesterday?"
"No," I said, my brows slowly knitting as I got the sense things weren't right.
"She said some awfully mean things in there," said Granny.
"Oh," I replied.
"I'm thinking I might need to go buy her stock of books for the shop so she doesn't have any to sell at her table today."
"Oh... it's that bad?"
Granny pursed her lips. "It doesn't matter if it is truth or fiction. It'd be best to cut down on this particular bit of Seaside gossip if we can avoid it."
"What did she say?"
Granny grabbed a box and started putting some treats inside. "Oh, nothing," she replied, shaking her head. "She's always been a dramatic girl, ever since she was a child. I mean, her family has always been a mess, but she said some things in there... Well, let's just say her views are a little skewed and she should have left quite a bit to lie where they lay."
"It must be bad if you are bringing her baked goods."
"It's that bad," said Granny.
"My cinnamon rolls are kind of terrible this morning," I confessed.
"Well, this was a bad day for the dough to decide not to cooperate," said Granny. Her easy demeanor slipped. "I could kill that woman!" she suddenly exclaimed, banging her fist on the counter.
I had not expected that outburst. "What is it?" I asked, reaching out to her.
But she didn't want comfort. She collected herself, head held high, grabbed her purse, and walked towards the door. "I'm going to go have a little chat with Georgia and I hope tonight, we'll have enough paper to have ourselves a big family bonfire on the beach. How does that sound?"
"I'll bring the marshmallows," I replied.
But she hadn't even waited to hear me. She was out the door before the last words left my mouth.
Captain came tiptoeing over, the tip of his tail swishing nervously. "Brrrrow?" he asked.
"I have no idea, Captain," I answered. "But whatever it is, it is bad."
Chapter Six
Granny was back in time for our 8 AM opening with just seconds to spare. In fact, she flipped the sign as she walked through the door. She led the jostling throng of pre-morning ferry riders and regular island caffeine addicts into the shop. The line went all the way back to the door. I didn't even get a chance to ask Granny how it went. From the look on her face, she didn't want to talk about it, so I left it alone. The post-morning ferry traffic then arrived and we were swamped again. When finally the last of the sleepy people had been served and folks were starting to think that it was more time for lunch than breakfast, Granny shooed me away.
"Go get that nap of yours," she said. "I have a feeling I'm going to need you to take over this afternoon."
"Did it go okay?" I asked.
"I think I solved the problem," she said. But her eyes shifted nervously towards the door, she sure didn't seem like she believed her own words. She shoved a bunch of the cinnamon rolls into a bag. "Why don't you give these to Johnny? See how that poor thing is doing."
I took the bag. I would have said more, but the bell over the door tinkled and Granny was back into whirlwind mode. I scratched Captain on the head as I walked out the front door. I'd have to find out later how things went down with Georgia.
The sun was so bright. I couldn't stifle the yawn as I looked down at my watch. It was 11 AM which meant Nate was at lunch with that Madison girl. I hoped he was having a better day than I was. There's nothing like a little nap on the beach, though, to make the whole world right. I knew that Johnny would trade me an umbrella for my bag of cinnamon rolls, no matter how bad they were.
As I walked past the terminal ticket booth, I looked inside so I could give Georgia a dirty look, but her head was lolled back on her seat and she was fast asleep. I wondered if there was a hotline where I could report her as sleeping on the job. Not that there was anything to report. The ferry only came twice a day, so the only thing she had to do in between times was answer questions. And she was so hateful, no one ever asked her any questions.
I continued down the street and over the dune. Now that summer was in full swing, Johnny's dive shop was hopping. Even his drunk of a dad showed up to put in a few hours of work at the shack. I'm not sure if it helped or scared off the tourists. His dad, Doyle, had a face that was ruddy and weathered. He sported stubble that never seemed to get shaved. He had shoulder-length blonde hair like Johnny, but it was stringy and he was balding on the top. He wore cutoff Levi shorts and a tank top that said, "Need Tickets to the Gun Show?" with two arrows pointing at his chicken arms. He was not aware he was wearing it ironically.
But despite it all, Johnny was in great spirits. "PAIGE!" he called, waving at me.
I smiled and trudged through the sand. I held out the bag. "Any chance I could trade this for an umbrella and a beach towel?"
"Paige Comber cinnamon rolls for an umbrella? Shoot. I'd throw in a whole tank of air and some flippers, too," replied Johnny, reaching out and taking the bag.
Doyle gave me a sideways glance and slammed the cash register drawer closed accusingly, but he didn't say anything. Johnny was the only reason he got his nightly beer money, and he knew to keep his mouth shut.
Johnny opened the top of the bag and shoved his nose in the hole. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy and then closed. "It's like... you were reading my mind." He then opened his eyes and squinted curiously at me. "Were you reading my mind?"
"No," I confessed. "I don't seem to have those powers."
"Wow," he replied like he was blown away by my answer. "Then... like... how did you know that I wanted some cinnamon rolls and didn't have any money to buy some?"
"My granny thought you might appreciate them."
"WHOA! Was... like... SHE reading my mind?"
"Maybe so, Johnny," I answered, unable to keep away a smile.
"That would make sense." He nodded to himself as he accepted what was, in his mind, the only logical conclusion. "I'm sending her a thank you with my brain right now. I'll check later to see if she got it."
"Sounds good, Johnny," I said, picking up one of the umbrellas. I paused for a moment and then turned to Johnny's dad. We didn't talk much if we didn't need to, but my Granny was so upset. It dawned on me that misery likes company and aside from Georgia, he was the most miserable person on the island. Maybe he knew what was going on. "Um... So... Georgia came to my Granny and said that she had some old gossip or something. It really upset my Granny. Have you ever heard of anything going on between them?"
Doyle spat on the ground. I think he was still a little miffed that Johnny had given away some business. That, or he was still recovering from his daily hangover. Johnny pulled out a cinnamon roll and made it dance in front of his dad's face, as if he thought that might make his day better. Instead, his dad just growled and batted it away. "Get that thing away from me. It makes me want to throw up."
Chalk up his foul mood to his hangover.
"So, do you know anything that went on between them?" I repeated, trying to get him back on track.
Johnny plunked himself down on the counter and shoved as much of the cinnamon roll into his mouth as he could manage. His dad took out a pack of Marlboro Reds, but Johnny stopped him. "Not around the oxygen tanks, Dad," he reminded him.
"I'm just going to stick it in my mouth," he replied. "I'm not stupid. I've been working this shack for longer than you've been born. I'm just taking the edge off. I'm not going to light it."
But I noticed he had his lighter in the palm of his hand and was trying to sneak it back into his pocket.
Doyle squinted up at the ceiling. "Your Granny and Georgia, huh? Yeah, Cindy and Georgia never liked each other."
"Who is Cindy?" asked Johnny, suddenly confused.
"Her grandmother," replied his dad, like Johnny was the dumbest creature to go wa
lking around on two legs.
It completely slid off Johnny's back. "OH!" he said, and then dug into the bag for more cinnamon rolls.
"Yeah, they never liked each other." And then Doyle got up with finality, like that was all there was to say about that.
"No idea why?" I asked.
"You ask me, Cindy went sticking her nose where it didn't belong and Georgia wasn't so appreciative. But, I'm not your Granny's keeper. Whatever bone those two women want to pick is between them. I would advise you to leave them to it and don't go repeating your family's mistakes," said Doyle. "Now, I got customers that you're scaring off, so if you could leave..."
I looked around. There was no one, but whatever. That was Johnny's dad.
"Thanks for your help," I replied.
Johnny gave me a shrug like, "Whaddya gonna do?" and then shoved another bite of my roll into his mouth.
I took the umbrella and headed down to the beach. People were out playing in the waves and catching some sun. I spread out my towel, set my alarm for an hour, and closed my eyes. I felt a million times better when the alarm went off. When I returned the umbrella, Doyle was gone, but Johnny was explaining to someone how to put fins on their feet, so I figured he needed all his concentration.
As I walked back, I saw Doyle leaning against a light post near the ferry terminal, having his smoke. But rather than it looking like a moment of peace and relaxation, he was staring intensely at a large crowd gathered around the ticket booth. As I got closer, I realized there was yellow tape all around it and Officers Stan and Fred were waving people away. I stood on my tiptoes and tried to look in. Georgia was still in the exact same position as she had been when I passed by earlier, her head hanging back and her jaw hanging open.
It was then that I realized she was dead.
Doyle came up behind me. I smelled him before I saw him.
"Yeah," he observed. "Your Granny never liked that woman."
Chapter Seven
I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. I couldn't believe it. I looked at Stan and Fred and asked, "What happened?"
"What do you think happened?" asked Fred. "She DIED. And it looks like it might have been A MURDER." The entire crowd began muttered to each other in excitement and Officer Fred was eating it up. "Now everyone stand back! Stand back! We're going to have to interview some witnesses and we don't want to contaminate the CRIME SCENE."
"I just saw her," I blurted out. "I walked by about an hour ago."
"WAS SHE ALIVE WHEN YOU SAW HER?" shouted Officer Fred, pointing a finger in my face.
I pulled away. "I don't know! She looked just like she does now."
Fred and Stan squinted their eyes and looked at each other. Slowly, they nodded in unison.
"So. She was dead an hour ago..." repeated Stan.
"BUT WE FOUND AN EMPTY BOX IN HER BOOTH FROM YOUR BAKERY! DID YOU KILL HER? WHO ARE YOU PROTECTING?" Fred shouted at me.
"I didn't kill her!" I replied, backing away. "I didn't even give her that box!"
"Then HOW did she get the box?" asked Stan. He didn't seem to know he was supposed to be playing the good cop in this scene. I think they both just enjoyed playing bad cop so much, they forgot.
"My Granny brought some cinnamon rolls over to her this morning," I answered.
"Aaaaahhh... so your GRANNY brought over the box of deadly carbohydrates..." said Stan. He pointed his finger in my face. "TELL HER NOT TO LEAVE TOWN."
"Why would she leave town?" I asked. "It's Founders' Festival."
"Just tell her that we say so!" Fred piled on.
"Don't you want to tell her yourself?" I mentioned.
"We have A LOT OF WORK to do," said Stan.
"SO MUCH WORK!" added Fred.
"Here at the crime scene. And we have to do it all before the evening ferry."
"So we'll be really busy."
"So, just tell your Granny that she can't leave on the evening ferry."
"You could just not sell her a ticket...?" I pointed out.
"STOP TRYING TO CORRUPT THE JUDICIAL SYSTEM!" shouted Fred.
"I'm not! I'm not," I replied.
"Her Granny really hated that woman," said Doyle, taking a long drag off his cigarette. He blinked the smoke out of his eyes. "I wonder if she hated her enough to kill her. You said that they had an argument this morning, didn't you, Paige?"
You could always count on Doyle to stir the pot. "They had a conversation. Nothing to KILL a person for," I said. "This is my grandmother we're talking about."
"We'll be over to talk to your Granny after we get this crime scene secure," said Officer Stan.
"What if Georgia just had a heart attack?" I asked. "Georgia was not exactly the healthiest person in the world."
"NOW YOU'RE DISPARAGING THE DEAD??" shouted Officer Fred. "Very suspicious indeed...."
I pointed at Georgia. "She sat inside a glass box twelve hours a day."
"We'll leave that to the coroner to decide," Stan stated.
"DO WE LOOK LIKE CORONERS?" asked Officer Fred.
I just turned and walked away. Not even a month ago, these idiots had falsely accused me of killing the surveyor. They had falsely accused Nate of killing his uncle. They had falsely accused Tim, the bait shop owner of killing everyone... okay, that one was sort of my fault. I had told them it was him and was super wrong.
But still.
As I walked down the street, the face of another person I didn't particularly want to deal with today stepped into view. The door to Jake's bar opened and Trevor came out pushing a broom. He looked out at the hubbub and seemed confused, and then he spotted me. "What's going on, Paige?"
"Oh, the woman who worked in the ticket booth was found dead. They think it might be a murder."
Trevor suddenly seemed scared. He slowly and deliberately leaned his broom against the side of his bar. "They wouldn't think it was me, would they?"
I was flabbergasted this was his first response. "Why would they think it was you?" I replied.
He looked at me like I was the idiot. "Because my uncle was a mass murderer, and the day after I show up in town, someone dies."
"Oh," I said, suddenly seeing things from his point of view. "Yeah. That does look bad."
"I don't even have anyone to vouch for me," he continued. He reached up and gripped his curly black hair with his two hands. It looked like the poor guy was going into PTSD-related shock. "I thought coming here would stop all this madness from happening."
I remembered how bad it felt to have been accused of killing the surveyor. It was a hell no one should go through. And to have all your dreams destroyed because some relative you barely knew was a psychopath? I reached out and rested my hand on Trevor's forearm. "Listen, why don't you come with me over to Bitter Beans? I'll buy you a cup of tea. I promise not to accuse you of anything."
He relaxed a little and then nodded. I waited as he put his broom back inside and locked the door.
"You don't really have to lock up around here," I mentioned.
"You just had a woman maybe murdered in a tollbooth in broad daylight. I'm going to lock my front door."
He had a point.
As we walked away, I glanced back and saw Doyle staring after us. He lit a second cigarette from the embers of the one in his mouth, his eyes never wavering.
Chapter Eight
We walked into Bitter Beans and Granny was leaning against the counter. Usually, her face would light up whenever I walked in the door, but not this time. It wasn't that she was upset to see me, just that she was lost in thought.
"Hey, Granny!" I called out.
She looked up, tired. "You're back so soon," she remarked.
"Um... yeah," I said. I hooked my thumb. "You remember Trevor, don't you? From yesterday?"
He gave a brave smile and a little wave. "Good to see you again."
She gave him a little nod of the head. Whatever was going on had taken out all of her sass. She couldn't even be bothered to grill Trevor to find out if things w
ere okay between us.
"I'm going to get him a tea," I informed her as I walked around the edge of the counter. Trevor faded into the shelves of books, I think believing that if he was out of sight, he would stay out of mind. "You won't believe what just happened," I said to Granny as I pulled a paper cup off the stack and started filling it with water.
But before I could say anymore, in walked Granny's posse, a group of three ladies who were Granny's best friends – Wanda, who owned the souvenir shop; Holly, owner of the general store; and Marnie, yarn and craft store proprietor. There wasn't a thing that has ever happened in Seaside that they didn't know about. They had heard about it, discussed it, and come to their conclusions on how it should be handled before 99% of the population had even heard about it in the first place.
"Did you hear?" asked Wanda. Her short, spiky hair was dyed blue this month and she was wearing a t-shirt from her souvenir shop that read Mermaids Never Age. These Are Water Wrinkles.
Holly gripped her travel mug in horror at the scandal. "Georgia has been murdered!" she said, emphatically enough to knock her glasses off the tip of her nose and cause the knot of her Gibson girl bun to fall off to the side.
Granny's haggard face suddenly went several shades of pale. "Georgia was murdered?" She turned to me. "Did you know about this?"
"I was just getting ready to tell you when they came in," I assured her as I put Trevor's teabag into the scalding water. "It just happened."
"Well, that's what Officer Stan and Fred are convinced happened," said Marnie pointedly, taking a sip out of her cup. With great implied meaning, she flicked her long, gray braid over her shoulder and whispered, "But we all know that Georgia wasn't one to get up from that chair of hers every twenty minutes like the doctors say we should be doing."
The posse started clucking over all the reports that sitting too long could kill you, but that's when Trevor stepped out from behind the bookcase into sight. A hushed silence fell over the posse as they eyed him up and down.
"You're new in town, aren't you?" Marnie finally said. It was more of a statement than a question. "I saw that you were in Jake's place last night. Are you taking it over?"