A Killer Ending

by Karen MacInerney

  Traffic picked up about twenty minutes after I opened. Unfortunately, it consisted mostly of locals, who spent a brief ten minutes perusing the shelves before shuffling over to find me and start asking questions.

  "I heard you found Cal Parker down on the beach this morning. Nasty business. He was murdered?" asked one.

  "Is it true he was going to close down the shop?" asked another.

  "What are you going to do when you have to close the business?" was another question.

  One thing you could say about small towns: news traveled fast.

  By the time Denise popped in at eleven, I'd answered about fifty questions, but only sold one field guide to Maine wildflowers, two Ellery Adams mysteries, and a King James Bible. I'd given each customer one of the few leftover cookies from last night's shindig, fulfilling my " cookie with every purchase" promise, but I'd need to get back in the kitchen soon if I wanted to continue to make good on my offer.

  "I heard what happened!" Denise announced, breathless, as she burst through the shop door. "Are you okay?"

  "I think I'm still a little in shock," I told her, then held up my hands. "They printed me. I think I might be a suspect."

  "A suspect? Why? You didn't even meet him until yesterday; that makes no sense at all."

  "I'm afraid there's more to it than that," I said, and told her about the issue with the permits and the deed to the store.

  "That slime ball," she said. "I've always wondered if he's not in cahoots with Scooter; he was probably going to get a kickback if you lost the property. I know Scooter was harassing Loretta about selling to him. I'm so sorry that happened to you.”

  "Thanks," I said.

  She took a deep breath. "On a brighter note, I can't believe you're back in town!" she said, her face breaking into a familiar smile. "And I had no idea it was you buying the bookstore! This was always your favorite place as a kid; it's perfect for you!"

  "Or sort of buying the shop, as it turns out."

  She waved my objection away. "I'm sure it will all get worked out. Agatha can't possibly have a claim on the property."

  "I wish it weren't so, but I think she may. Loretta and I did a really simple real estate transaction, and I don't think we did a title search," I told her.

  "Oof," she said, wincing a little.

  "Yeah. I'm hoping Nicholas can help me figure it out; I can't afford an attorney, but I thought maybe if I took him to lunch he could give me a cursory professional opinion."

  "For old time's sake, you mean?" she said with a half-smile. "He's still pretty cute, you know."

  "I did notice," I confirmed.

  "And single."

  "He mentioned that," I said. "But it's too soon for me to think about dating. I'm not ready to jump back into something else just yet, you know?"

  She shrugged. "A few dates won't hurt. Help shake off the cobwebs. After all, your ex showed up in tow last night."

  I groaned. "Don't remind me."

  "With his girlfriend. The author. Did you know they were together?"

  "I had no idea," I said. "But apparently, he's told her everything he knows about me, including my favorite foods. It's a little disconcerting."

  "I'll bet," she said, brown eyes dancing. Except for her hair color, she hadn't changed much. She still had the same engaging smile, the same slight build, and the kind of energy that always made me think of Tigger.

  "But enough about me," I said. "Didn't you say you were bringing scones or something?"

  "And coffee," she said, holding up a carton with two paper cups and a pastry bag. "Where should we sit?"

  "There's no one in the store, so let's go out to the porch."

  "Sounds like a plan," she said, and I followed her back out the door to the front of the store, taking a deep breath and wondering once again at the difference between the diesel-scented air of Boston and Snug Harbor's salty, pine-tinged breezes.

  "I do love it here," I said as she handed me a cup and I sat down on one of the rockers.

  "Well, then, we just have to make sure you stay," she said. "Last night's receipts must have been good."

  "They were," I said. "But tell me about you."

  "Oh, not much to tell," she said, pulling two enormous blueberry muffins out of the bag and handing one to me. As she spoke, I took a big bite, and just about swooned. Sweet, moist blueberries, soft, slightly tangy muffin, and crystallized sugar that added a sweet blast of crunch.

  "These are amazing," I told her.

  "You think?" She smiled. "It's my recipe; I've been working on it for years. We just started selling them."

  "I'll take all of them," I said, and she laughed. "But I didn't mean to interrupt; tell me more.”

  She took a big bite of muffin herself first, and when she'd swallowed, she took a swig of coffee and gave me the short version. "I went to school for a couple of years, got an English degree. Spent some time in New York City and L.A., trying out some corporate jobs, but I missed Snug Harbor, so I came home. I manage the coffee shop now, but my dream is to own a shop of my own.”

  "It was the same way for me in Boston," I said. "Although I hadn’t realized I wanted to own my own shop until Ellie—my manager—suggested I look into Seaside Cottage Books. She couldn't make it to the opening, but she's going to come up this week on her day off."

  "I can't wait to meet her," Denise said. "What made you decide to go for it?"

  "Ellie offered me an assistant manager position in Boston, but there was no way I could afford rent with the salary. And Loretta and I came up with something I could manage—barely— so I went for it."

  "Good for you," she said. "You're an inspiration. How are you with the whole... divorce thing?" she asked, compassion in her eyes. "It must have been hard seeing your ex with someone else so soon."

  "It's fresh," I admitted. "It's still sinking in."

  "I'm sure the grief will still come, at the most unexpected moments. But I know it will get better." She reached out to grasp my hand as the tears rose to my eyes. We hadn't seen each other in years, but despite everything that had happened in the interim decades, it was as if that day on the playground had been just a few days ago.

  "Thanks," I said in a husky voice, and swiped at my eyes. "Whatever happened to Donny Knee, anyway? Do you know?"

  "He still lives with his parents and works down at the library," she said. "He's part of the town; we all look out for him."

  "Life as it should be," I said. As I spoke, a woman with a purposeful stride and an unpleasant set to her mouth stopped at the end of the walkway and marched up the front walk.

  "Is that Agatha Satterthwaite?" Denise asked under her breath.

  "I have no idea," I said. "I've never met her."

  "It is," she confirmed as the woman came closer. "Gird your loins. She looks like she's spoiling for a fight."

  The woman stopped a few yards from the store. Her eyes swept over it with a proprietary air, then came to rest first on Denise, and then me. As I sipped my coffee, she marched up to the porch and put her hands on her hips. "You're Maxine Sayers," she announced. She wore boots, a long black skirt, and a gray blouse that buttoned all the way up to her chin and was covered with a lint-specked cardigan; something about her reminded me of a visitor from the late 1800s.

  "I'm Max," I confirmed.

  "I came by three times this week and you weren't here."

  "Bethany mentioned someone had come by," I said. "Can I get you a coffee, or a cookie, or something? I'm afraid we don't have enough muffins..."

  "No," she said shortly. "I'm not here to be buttered up. You're on my property."

  "I know about your, uh, claims," I said. "I'm sure we'll be able to clear everything up."

  "You'll clear it up when you pay me my share," she sniffed. "My sister tried to put one over on both of us. Always did act like she was the only one in the family.”

  "Like I said, I'm sure we'll get it cleared up," I said. "In the meantime, you're welcome to go in and browse if you like
."

  "Nope," she said. "Just wanted to make sure you knew what the situation was. If you don't come to the terms in the letter in thirty days, I'm taking you to court. By the way, I had an appraisal done."

  "You did?"

  "It's right here," she said. "I wanted to give it to you in person. You took advantage of my sister, and I plan to right the wrong." As she spoke, she fished a battered manila envelope out of the cloth grocery bag she had slung over her left shoulder. "Here," she said. "There's an appraisal in there and a bill for what you didn't pay."

  The envelope felt heavy in my hand. "I'll take a look at it," I assured her.

  "As I'm sure you know, you can refer any questions to my attorney, Scooter Dempsey," she said.

  "I will. By the way, did you hear the news?" I asked.

  "What news?"

  "Cal Parker was murdered on the beach this morning," I said.

  An expression that might have been surprise crossed her face, and then her jaw snapped shut and her face hardened. "What does that have to do with anything? You're trying to bilk me out of my inheritance."

  "Bilk you out of your inheritance?”

  "Our mother changed her will. She willed the property to both of us, not just Loretta," Agatha said. "Scooter found the second will."

  "Found it where?"

  "At her attorney's office," she said. "Well, missy," she said, shaking a finger at me, "you've got another thing coming if you think I'm going to roll over. I'll bet you killed that selectman, too, for trying to mess with your store."

  "What? You're kidding me, right?" I asked in disbelief.

  She raised her chin. "I'm going to the police right now to tell them what you did."

  "I already talked to the police," I said. "I don't think you can tell them anything they don't already know."

  "They don't know you're a murderer," she spat, "or you wouldn't be drinking coffee on my porch, looking pleased as punch." With that, she whirled around, her skirt flaring out and exposing narrow, pale calves that looked like they'd never seen the sun.

  Denise and I watched her hurry down the walk and take a sharp left, moving with new purpose.

  "The police station's that way," Denise observed, taking another sip of her coffee.

  "I gathered," I said, looking down at the envelope that lay heavy in my lap. "Do I open this?"

  "I always prefer to face bad news head on, but it's up to you."

  I took another bite of muffin to give me courage and pinched open the brass clip on the back. When I tipped the envelope over, a stack of papers slid into my lap with a thunk. On the top was a letter from Agatha claiming that the value of her share of the property was thrice what I'd paid for Seaside Cottage Books, and that she was entitled to that amount.

  "There's no way," I said as I looked at the cover letter.

  "What?"

  "She wants three times the money I paid for the place," I said. "And after all the work I put into it..."

  "If she's working with Scooter, you know she's not planning on moving in."

  "They want to raze it, don't they?"

  She nodded. "No doubt he wants to put in some big mixed-use retail place so he can make bank. I think he recently picked up a few more waterfront properties. It's all about money for him." She took a sip of her coffee.

  "He’s successful?" I asked.

  "Oh, yes," she said. "Usually through loopholes and a predatory instinct, from what I hear. Buying distressed properties, putting the pressure on people to sell, finding out-of-state and foreign investors... you know."

  "So really adding to the sense of community," I said dryly.

  "Exactly. I'll bet he drummed up Agatha's claim and convinced her to go after you. And hired the appraiser, too."

  "There is a package from an appraiser in here. I should probably look at it, shouldn't I?" I asked, poking at the stack of paper like it was a dead fish.

  "Probably," she said. "But you already know the price they're asking for it.”

  I groaned and opened it up. Sure enough, they'd appraised the property for hundreds of thousands more than I'd paid for it. "They appraised it after I made the improvements!" I said. "That's not fair!"

  "That you can contest, I'm sure, but I don't think the improvements are going to knock the price down by two-thirds."

  I looked through it and my heart sank. "She did give me a deal on the property. I had no idea."

  Denise sighed. "The council's been holding the line in terms of development, particularly with properties owned by out-of-town investors, but ever since Cal Parker bought his way onto the council, the tide has turned."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He is—or was, rather—voting yes on things the old council never would have approved. And a lot of people say our old friend Scooter was lining his pockets."

  "So I'm not the only one he's targeted?"

  "Nope," she said, shaking her head. "Half the town couldn’t stand him."

  "And the other half?"

  "They were dumb enough to have believed his promise to cut taxes and make life here even more touristy. Some people like that idea, but most of us kind of like things as they've been, you know?"

  "I know," I said. "It's a balance."

  "Not anymore," she said. "Although with Cal Parker out of the way..."

  I took a sip of coffee. "I think I'm Suspect Number One."

  9

  "I already told you that’s ridiculous," Denise scoffed. "You never met him before yesterday."

  "But he threatened my business." I looked at her. "And whoever did him in used the flatiron I repurposed as a doorstop."

  "Wait. The murder weapon came from the shop?"

  I nodded.

  "But half the town was here last night!"

  "I know. And I told them my prints are all over it."

  "That must be why they printed you. To eliminate your prints."

  "Then why did she ask me not to leave town?"

  Denise winced. "Yeah. That is a problem."

  She was about to say something else when a woman I didn't recognize trotted up the sidewalk and turned into the path leading to the bookstore, almost running up to the porch. She stopped when she saw us, the strings of her apron flapping in the breeze and her chest heaving.

  "Is it true?" she asked, wild-eyed.

  "Is what true?"

  "Is Councilman Parker dead?"

  "I'm afraid so," I said.

  "Murdered?"

  I nodded.

  She swallowed, and something—fear?—crossed her face. "You found him, right?" she asked, addressing the question to me. "How did he die?" she asked, staring. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she was wringing her apron, a hand-stitched checked number that appeared to have seen a lot of use, in her hands.

  "I don't know that I'm allowed to say," I told her, glancing at Denise.

  "It was... violent?"

  I hesitated, then nodded. She sucked in her breath.

  "Were you close with him?" I asked.

  "Close?" She blinked, then let out a hard sound that was something between a sob and a guffaw. "No. I rue the day he set foot in Snug Harbor." And with that, she turned around and headed back down the path, walking slowly this time, her shoulders drooping.

  When she was out of earshot, I turned to Denise. "Who the heck was that?"

  "Sylvia Berland," she informed me. "She and her husband own the Salty Dog Brew Pub."

  "Why was she so upset about what happened to Cal Parker?"

  Denise glanced at me. "I imagine she's afraid her husband Jared might be responsible."

  "Why?"

  "Cal's been going after all kinds of business owners, telling them they need extra permits, or they're not in compliance with town law... just being a pain in the neck. The Salty Dog has been in his crosshairs lately; he's saying the pub is too close to a school, even though it's a half mile down the road."

  "What was in it for Cal?"

  "I think he made 'deals' with businesses... they’d p
ay to be forgiven, if that makes sense."

  "Graft, in other words. But aren't there other selectmen? Why was he so powerful?"

  She took another bite of muffin. "There are five, but at least two of them seem to have been in Cal's back pocket."

  "But he was just elected, so he's junior."

  "There are a lot of theories about why that might be," she said. "He was a wealthy man. He had power. I'm guessing he dug up dirt on them and they were afraid he'd run smear campaigns and get them ousted."

  "Mudslinging."

  "His specialty," she said. "And rich as he was, he didn’t seem to be averse to making more dollars, even at the expense of those who are just getting by."

  "And he and Scooter were close, you say? No surprise there."

  "I know. I wonder which one of them came up with the idea of setting Agatha on you?"

  "What's Agatha's deal, anyway?"

  "She's bitter... she and her parents had a falling-out years ago. Loretta took care of their mom during her last years. I don't know this for sure, but I heard their mom gave Agatha some of the money she had left, but left the store to Loretta."

  "Why is Agatha contesting it, then? It sounds like it was a reasonably equitable settlement, right?"

  "This is a valuable piece of property," Denise said. "I'm guessing once Agatha got wind of what Loretta sold it to you for—or, rather, when Scooter informed her that she'd sold it to you—she started looking for ways to get her piece of the pie."

  "She has no reason to have wanted to kill Cal Parker, though. Me, on the other hand..."

  "Oh, you're not the only suspect. Lots of dysfunctional families in Snug Harbor; Cal's brother is a prime suspect, too."

  "His brother?"

  "Josiah Parker. He's had it in for his brother for years."

  "Well, that's something, I guess." I sighed. I'd thought Snug Harbor would be a refuge from the big, bad, scary world, but there are rotten eggs everywhere.

  And unfortunately, I reflected, one of them had ended up cracked open right behind my shop.

  Denise headed out at around noon, just as lunch-break customers started drifting into the shop. If nothing else, I reflected as I fielded yet another question about the murder and sold a hardbound P.G. Wodehouse collection, the news was good for business.