by Agatha Ball
"Well, let me know if I can help at all," Tim said. "I'm sure my wife would be happy to come over and watch the shop."
"Thank you," I said to him, genuinely. "You are very kind. I may take you up on that."
He gave me a salute as he left. "Anytime. And if you need help with inventorying those boxes, just say the word."
"Sure," I said, my brain still not functioning correctly. I could only think in small steps. Pull the rolls out of the oven. Turn off the heat. Pack a few for the nurses and EMTs to say thank you. It's funny when you're in the midst of a crisis that you sometimes do things to make things seem like they are normal, things that you later regret. I grabbed a paper towel and wiped the handprint off the wall, grabbed my bag, and dashed out the door to my bike.
By the time I got to the clinic, they had Granny already checked in. The receptionist waved me in. "You're our first customer of the day. Come on in!"
She led me into a room down a hall. The clinic had just a few beds. Again, if it was serious, they'd just send the person to the mainland.
"Thank you for taking such good care of her," I said, lamely offering up the bag of goodies.
"That's what we're here for," said the receptionist. She took the bag with a smile. "Keep this up and your Granny is going to be our most popular patient."
"I appreciate how fast Tim and the other EMTs were able to get there."
"Oh! Did Tim lead the call?" she asked. "He must have had his radio on just in case. We have extra staff on call to take care of the rabble-rousers who come here for Founders' Week. She's just getting us warmed up for the fun to come."
The receptionist opened the door to the room. There were two beds inside the sterile room. Granny was in the far one, snoring away.
"She's fine," said the receptionist. "Looks like she sprained her wrist, probably as she caught herself as she fell, but other than that, she is in fine shape."
I exhaled, feeling like the weight of the world had just been lifted from my shoulders. I didn't know what I would have done if Granny had hurt herself.
"Did she have any glass in her hand or anything?" I asked.
"What do you mean?" asked the receptionist.
"There were some smears of cherry filling on the wall. We thought for a second it was blood."
The nurse laughed. "No. No blood or cherry filling anywhere on her." She grabbed Granny's stack of clothes. "Would you like to take these with you and bring her something fresh? We're going to run some tests and make sure everything is okay, but she should be ready to go home this afternoon."
"Absolutely," I said, taking the stack. "Thank you. Again."
"The best thing we can do for her is to let her sleep. She'll be fine," said the nurse, placing her hand on my shoulder and steering me out of the room. "We'll call you if there are any changes, but the best thing you can do right now is go home."
I put the clothes in my basket and headed back towards Bitter Beans. The sun had risen and people were starting to move about the town. I waved at Trevor as he carried several large crates out of the back of a cargo van.
"Didn't expect to see you out so early, Paige," he said.
"You, too." I pointed at the hospital. "Granny had a fall this morning, but they said she would be all right."
"Oh, I am so sorry!" he said, coming over and giving me a hug. He stepped back and wiped his hands on his pants. "Sorry, my hands are sticky. Something in here is leaking."
"So, you're getting things up and running?" I asked, trying to be polite but really wanting to get back to Bitter Beans.
"Shipment came in on the evening ferry. They told me minutes before their storage area was closing that it arrived and they needed me to pick it up or they were going to charge me. Guess Georgia was the one who used to keep them on task." He shrugged. "Got it loaded, but I just wasn't in the mood to deal with it until this morning."
"Did you get to the Founders' Festival last night?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Nope, just a quiet evening at home."
"Sounds nice. Well, have a great time putting things together!" I said, not really wanting or caring about making small talk with Trevor right now. My mind was still back at the clinic with Granny.
I got back to the shop and closed the door behind me. I took a great big breath and leaned against the door frame. Captain came out to see what was up. He seemed as restless as I was feeling. I gave myself some fur therapy and forced him to sit on my lap until we both calmed down. A few tourists were up and peeking into the windows and I realized that even if I didn't have fresh baked goodness for them this morning, I could at least get them coffee. Granny was going to need every penny to cover her hospital bills.
I walked into the back to wash my hands and stared at the handprint on the wall. Maybe Granny had just washed her hands, too. Maybe the drips of water made the floor slippery and that's why she fell.
I carried her clothes upstairs to put into her laundry basket and unfolded them. That's when I saw the red. There were just a few red stains on the back of her shoulder like someone had rested their hand there.
I dropped the shirt, suddenly filled with terror. Had someone been in the shop? Had someone pushed her and then left her there on the floor?
Suddenly, my shoulder blades began itching. I slowly turned, looking over my shoulder to see the back of my shirt. Trevor had hugged me and then apologized that his hands were so sticky.
I looked at the back of my shirt and there were red fingerprints.
I sat down on Granny's bed.
What was going on? Had Trevor pushed Granny? Was it true what they said about the apple not falling far from the tree? He made the excuse that he barely knew his uncle, but was there something in the family which bred serial killers?
My eyes just happened to rest on Granny's bedside table and I took a deep gulp. Her book was missing: the book which Georgia had given to her; the book which I had left there because I didn't want to seem like I was snooping and prying; the book with the secrets that seemed to have started everything. It was gone. I jumped off of the bed, terrified, and ran to the phone.
And then I stopped.
I was going to call Officer Stan, but what would he actually do? Accuse anyone who happened to have a book of pushing my soused grandmother onto the floor? Accuse me of being dramatic? Tell me that Granny must have moved it before she went downstairs?
I put down the phone.
Maybe Granny had moved it. I didn't know. Except I was sure that when I checked in on her room earlier it had been lying there. I could have sworn it.
I walked downstairs and shut the door behind me.
I looked at the stack. What was in them? How had they suddenly appeared in our back storage room through the course of a night? Who had delivered them and had he decided to take advantage of being alone in a shop with a little old woman? Had some stranger been rummaging through the boxes and Granny had surprised them? Or was I paranoid and all the boxes had come in late like they had for Trevor and she just slipped?
I wasn't going to get any answers until Granny was back to her old self. Then I'd know exactly what happened and quit any guessing before my mind played more tricks on me.
I looked off in the direction of Tim's Bait Shop. I had wrongly accused a good man before of murder. I didn't want to do that again. No one deserved that. Sending the police on a wild-goose chase almost cost me my life, because while they sat there interrogating an innocent man, the real murderer had been out there.
I wouldn't say anything, not this time. Not until I was sure.
And right now? I wasn't sure of anything.
Chapter Twelve
I poured some muffin batter into some tins and tossed them into the oven. They weren't my cinnamon rolls, but they were fast and hopefully would keep the hordes at bay. There was a line of people by the door as I flipped the sign from "Closed" to "Open." As a coffee drinker myself, I knew the need was great in the morning. The bilge water they served at the hotel was enough to
drive anyone out into the streets in search of a real cup.
There were a couple of disappointed faces when they saw the slim pickings in the pastry case. But when I explained it was because there was a family emergency, I noticed the tip jar filled much quicker than it usually did.
Around 10 AM, Nate came wandering in with a friendly smile. It faded, though, as he saw the look on my face. "What's up, Paige?" he asked.
I automatically began brewing up his regular drink – a triple-shot Americano made with the darkest roasted beans in our shop. The last person walked out the door and the bell tinkled to let me know that it was okay to talk. I put his drink on the counter, walked around, and collapsed into his arms.
"Shh! Shh!" he said, stroking my hair. Worry colored his voice. "What's going on?"
"Someone may have tried to kill Granny last night," I said, burying my face into his shirt and feeling some sense of balance for the first time.
He lifted himself away and stared into my eyes. "What? It sounded like you said someone tried to kill your Granny."
I nodded.
His face darkened. "Have you told the police?"
I shook my head and pushed back my hair from my face. "No."
"Why not, Paige?"
"Because I might be talking crazy. And I don't want to talk crazy until I’m able to find out what's going on." I told him everything that happened, from finding Granny to the handprint to the marks that I found on both of our clothes. Finally, I concluded. "So, now I'm waiting for her to wake up so that she can tell me what happened before I go jumping to crazy conclusions."
"Is there anything—" Nate began, but then he was cut off as the door opened.
Stan and Fred came storming through the door. Stan was holding a piece of paper in front of him, as proud as a little kid showing off an A+ grade on a spelling exam.
"We have a warrant here to search the premises," Stan informed me.
Fred spread out his arms. "If there's anyone in the shop, I need you to vacate immediately!"
Captain looked up from his chair and meowed.
"You can stay," said Fred. "But everyone else? OUT!"
"We're the only people here," I told him.
"We're going to need you to step out!" said Fred.
"No," said Nate. "We will remain inside. If I may see the warrant?" He held out his hand.
Reluctantly, Stan passed it over, suddenly nervous, like maybe Nate might find something that would interrupt them in their pursuits. Nate handed it to me. "It seems legitimate."
Officer Stan snatched it out of my hand as if insulted. "Of COURSE it's legitimate. Do you think I would come in here with a fake warrant?"
Nate looked at me and I at him. The thought had crossed our mind.
"What are you looking for?" I asked Stan. "Maybe I can help."
"We don't need your help, missy," said Fred, leering at my face like a playground bully. "We went over to Georgia's house to cordon off the site as a potential crime scene and to look for clues. And we found a receipt stating that she had received a large shipment of books. Lots and lots of boxes of books. And they should have been there. But they were not."
"And?" I said.
"AND, when I came over this morning, I noticed there were a lot of boxes in your granny's backroom."
"She went on a shopping trip," I said. "They're just supplies."
"That's what she wants you to think!" shouted Fred.
"Oh, this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard..." I walked into the backroom and pulled out my box cutter.
"WATCH OUT! SHE HAS A BOX CUTTER!" shouted Fred.
"To open the boxes, you doof," I said.
Officer Stan came over and yanked it out of my hand. "I'll do the honors IF YOU DON'T MIND."
"Have at it," I replied, stepping out of his way. "You'll find nothing in there but flour and sugar."
Officer Stan opened the box and flipped open the lid. "Flour and sugar? OR BOOKS!"
And then he held up a paperback with a cover I recognized, and Georgia's name printed all over it.
"I believe your Granny bought these books from Georgia, then wrote her an IOU, and then KILLED Georgia before she had to pay!" accused Stan.
"People are innocent until proven guilty," Nate stated. "Or do I need to remind you that you have accused a lot of people of some pretty terrible things in just the month I have been here."
"That was just a mistake in evidence," Stan stammered.
"No, that was you drawing conclusions that weren’t there," I said, hysteria building in my voice. "Granny bought these books. You may most certainly take them in as evidence, but you do not get to accuse a little old lady of murder until you have actual evidence."
"Oh," said Stan. "We DO. The coroner said that Georgia was poisoned and that, in addition to the many other things he found in her stomach, he found those cinnamon rolls that Paige here is so famous for making."
"But there were other things in her stomach," I said. "How do you know that it was my cinnamon rolls that were poisoned?"
"We shall see what we shall see," Stan replied. "But we are placing your Granny on a three-day hold until that conclusive evidence is in."
"Well, you're going to have to fight the hospital for her, because she is confined to one of their beds right now."
"Oh," said Stan, stepping forward with concern. "Is she all right?"
"No!" I said. "She is a little old woman! She was pushed by some criminal who was trying to kill her!"
Nate rested his hand on my back, but rather than calm me, all I could think was how Trevor had rested his hand there, too, and left streaks of red along my shirt.
"What?" asked Stan, looking at me like I was crazy.
"Nothing," I replied. I knew if I tried to explain my suspicions, he'd dismiss them. I need to make sure that when I got to the bottom of everything that happened, Fred and Stan would take me at my word. Going off half-cocked wasn't going to help anyone.
Officer Fred got out his big roll of yellow "Police Line" tape and began running it around the backroom.
"Oh, come ON!" I said, motioning to the front counter. "I have a business to run! It's the Founders' Festival!"
"NOT until we get to the bottom of this!" Stan informed me.
"Paige, let me buy you some lunch," said Nate, pushing me towards the front door. "We'll let these nice officers of the law do their job and return in an hour or so to check in on them."
"Oh," said Stan, looking around a little lost. "So... you aren't going to stay around to help us load out evidence?"
"No," Nate stated. "We would hate to interfere with official police business."
"I mean... it wouldn't be an interference," said Stan. "You could just help us carry some of the books over to the precinct."
Fred hit him in the arm. "I told you that we should have brought the car."
"I was trying to get in my 10,000 steps, okay?" Stan shot back, defensively.
"We're going to be over at Yvette's café if you need us," I told them. "Have a great time."
I ripped off my apron and threw it on the counter and stormed towards the door. Nate, being a calmer head in this situation, thought to grab my purse and my keys and say goodbye to Captain, who really didn't care at all that we were coming or going, before stepping out after me.
"Can you believe them??" I said.
He put my purse on my shoulder.
"I mean, to accuse GRANNY of murdering Georgia??"
"What was in that book, Paige?" he asked.
"I have no idea." I pulled my hair back into its ponytail and retied it with frustration. "There was a copy up on Granny's nightstand but sometime between me discovering her, going to the hospital, and coming back, it disappeared."
"What?" asked Nate with even more concern. "Should we tell Stan and Fred?"
"What are they going to do? Someone entered her apartment and took a $10 book off her nightstand. But whoever did it was really good. I wouldn't have noticed except I was looking f
or Georgia's 'soon to be bestseller'."
Nate allowed me a few moments of silence as we walked along. "Does anyone have a key?" he asked with concern.
"Not that I know of—" I began, but then was cut off by a perky voice.
"Yooohoooo! NATE!"
We turned and looked to see Madison headed our way, her stiletto heels wavering on the wooden boardwalk.
"Oh, crap..." moaned Nate. "I so do not need this..."
"NATE! I see you see me! Now, don't look so forlorn!"
Nate turned to me. "We may need to do a rain check."
"My Granny was just accused of murder, Nate," I reminded him.
"I just got back from the lawyer!" Madison shouted, her perfect white teeth gritted in a maniacal grin.
"That's why—" he started to explain, but then Madison was suddenly beside us.
She squared her shoulders and rested her hand on Nate's arm. "Good news, Nate! My lawyer was able to get a court injunction to search your house for a second will."
"WHAT?" sputtered Nate.
"I know! Isn't it great! It's like, you get to have a free, personal organizer—" she pointed both fingers at herself. "—to help you clear out your uncle's stuff. And you don't even have to pay for it! It's like, tens of thousands of dollars normally."
"I don't want you anywhere near my house!" he said.
"Now, Nate, don't be a baby. The judge gave me the paperwork." She reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of papers. "We're just concerned that your uncle may have willed something to Georgia and that with all your newfound responsibilities, you might overlook it."
"That's not what you're doing here at all! And don't even pretend for a minute that's what's going on."
Her eyes got huge at his vehemence. She turned to me. "Really, Paige, is he usually this emotionally abusive?"
"What? No!" I said, wondering what crazy train Madison was driving.
"Because," she explained. "They say that whatever a person shows in public, it is 100% worse in private. I would hate to think you were suffering this sort of rage, this snap of anger that he has just demonstrated. Blink twice if you need me to call a domestic violence shelter for you."