There had to be other shops on the street that weren’t planning on selling.
But maybe there weren’t. Aunt Charlotte’s shop was doing well, but from the way Roger was talking, the bookstore wasn’t. Abigail didn’t understand it. If she could, she’d buy all the books in the store. Not everyone was like her, though, and she understood that. Still. “Well, I hope you’ll be our neighbor for a long time to come.”
Roger nodded. “I hope so too. I’ll see you soon.”
“You will if you come by to buy soap.”
Roger laughed. “Actually, I have to rebuy a few of my favorites. You’ll see me tomorrow.”
“And I’ll try to come by the bookstore. I need books to read.” She leaned closer. “No offense to Aunt Charlotte, but I’m not really into her favorite historical romances.”
“Tell her I got a new shipment a few days ago if she needs new ones.”
“I will.”
Abigail moved away from the store with a spring in her step. She’d been feeling down, but the conversation with Roger had helped. She wasn’t a failure, even though she’d failed at making soap and at marriage. She would learn, though, and when it came to having a relationship, well, she wasn’t planning on having another one anytime soon, if ever. She knew she was young, and in a few years if not before, people would start wondering why she was always alone. Maybe she’d change her mind and decide she did want someone in her life after all. For now, though, she was perfectly fine on her own.
The vibration of her phone in her pocket reminded her of that. She took it out on her way home, just in case it was her mom or Aunt Charlotte, but of course, it was Kevin.
She put the phone back in her pocket and ignored it.
5
“It’s too early to be here,” Abigail grumbled a few mornings later.
Aunt Charlotte arched a brow at her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who suggested we come to work early? You wanted to try making soap before the day started.”
Abigail sighed. “You’re right. I was the one who suggested it.” And she was regretting it already.
But she had to do this. She couldn’t take time away from their work hours, so early in the morning was the best time for her to try to make soap again. She’d waited a few days until she’d gotten over the disappointment, and she was ready to try again.
Hence the reason she and Aunt Charlotte were so early at the shop today.
Abigail sipped her tea, smiling at the warmth it spread in her chest. “Okay. I can do this,” she said.
Aunt Charlotte smiled softly. “I know you can. The only person who wasn’t sure about that was you, but it looks to me like you changed your mind, and I’m happy about that.”
Abigail wasn’t sure she’d changed her mind, but she was stubborn. She knew she could do this, and she wouldn’t stop until she did. “I’ll be fine,” she promised.
Aunt Charlotte unlocked the door, and they stepped in. The soap scents were becoming familiar to Abigail, and she briefly closed her eyes to enjoy the fragrances. She was also starting to be able to smell the different soaps, and it was a surprise because everything in the shop smelled like soap.
They headed to the backroom, and Abigail steeled herself. She’d gone over the instructions Aunt Charlotte had given her several times since she’d failed, and she knew how to do it. Actually doing it would be different, but she hoped that this time, she’d at least manage a decent batch. She didn’t expect to make the kind of soaps Aunt Charlotte made, but anything would be better than the mess she’d made last time.
“You remember what you have to take out?”
Abigail nodded and put down her tea. “Don’t worry about that. Sit down. Tell me if I’m doing something wrong, but I want to do this on my own.”
“You don’t have to do anything on your own,” Aunt Charlotte said, her voice quiet. “You never have to, Abby.”
Her words warmed Abigail more than the tea had. “I know.”
“We’re all happy to have you back. We understand how hard it is and how hard you’re pushing yourself, but you—”
A scream interrupted her. She and Abigail looked at each other, and Abigail knew her expression mirrored her aunt’s—wide eyes, mouth gaping in complete shock.
“What’s going on?” Abigail asked.
“I don’t know, but we should check it out.”
Abigail moved toward the door, only to stop. “Are you sure? What if something bad is happening? What if there’s a thief or something? I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Aunt Charlotte rolled her eyes and pushed Abigail toward the door. “We won’t find out what’s going on until we get there. Come on. Move. Someone needs us, and we can’t waste time.”
The woman screamed again, and Abigail knew her aunt was right. Whatever was happening, they were going to have to check. She took her phone out of her pocket, though, just in case she needed to call the police. She dialed nine-one-one, but she didn’t call yet. It wouldn’t do any good if they found out nothing bad was happening, but just in case, she wanted to be ready.
They rushed down the street. Aunt Charlotte was slower, but she kept pushing Abigail when Abigail tried waiting for her. That meant Abigail got to the real estate office before her aunt, although not by much.
The door was open, but Abigail hesitated. Whoever was screaming was inside the office, and she wasn’t looking forward to finding out what was going on. From the scream, it had to be horrible.
“What are you doing?” Aunt Charlotte asked as he reached Abigail. “Go in. We have to help. It has to be Miranda.”
Right. Because Miranda was a real estate agent, and apparently, she worked with Randall. Abigail hadn’t put those things together, and now that she had, she was looking forward to this even less. But her aunt was right. If something was wrong and Abigail could have helped and didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.
They walked in.
The front office was dark, but light came through the open door of the back office. It was where the screaming came from. The sound wasn’t as loud as it had been earlier, but it had turned into a low keening that made Abigail shudder. Miranda was plastered against the wall by the door. She looked up when Abigail approached, her eyes wide and tears rolling down her cheeks.
Abigail cleared her throat. “Miranda? What’s going on?”
Miranda shook her head and looked away, pointing at something inside the office. “He’s dead,” she said with a whimper.
Abigail swallowed. That didn’t sound good.
Aunt Charlotte tsked and moved toward Miranda, pulling her closer. “Come here. Whatever happened, you don’t have to look at it.”
“I don’t want to look at it, but someone needs to help him.”
Since she’d said that whoever was there was dead, Abigail doubted much could be done for him. Still, she peeked in and instantly wished he hadn’t.
Randall was on the floor, stretched out, his face pressed against the carpet. The back of his head was bloody and caved in, and Abigail was pretty sure she saw things she’d never wanted to see peeking from the wound. Blood had pooled around Randall’s head, and a heavy-looking paperweight had been dropped by his feet. There were bloodstains on one edge, and it glinted in the light. Abigail pressed her lips together, then stepped back into the front office. She had to clear her throat a few times before she could ask, “What happened?”
Miranda shook her head. “I don’t know. I came in early, and I found him like that.”
“I see.” Abigail didn’t see anything, but she had to say something. She remembered she was still holding her phone. “I’ll call nine-one-one.” She paused. “Should I call someone else? Because it’s obvious there’s nothing we can do for him.”
“Call nine-one-one,” Aunt Charlotte said. “They’ll take care of everything.” She looked at Miranda, who was shaking. “I’ll take her outside. She shouldn’t be in here, and honestly, we shouldn’t either. Come on, Ab
by. If you’re sure there’s nothing we can do for him, we’re of no use here.”
Abigail followed her aunt as she made the call. She was more than happy to leave Randall behind. She hadn’t liked the man when he’d been alive, but he hadn’t deserved this. No one deserved to die, especially not bludgeoned on the back of the head the way Randall had.
Because there was no way it was an accident. Abigail couldn’t ignore the paperweight on the floor next to Randall. She supposed Randall could have fallen back against his desk and hit his head on the paperweight there, but she doubted it.
She hoped she was, wrong but she was pretty sure someone had killed Randall, and the thought made her stomach churn. Who could have done such a thing? Randall wasn’t a pleasant man, but killing him? It was too much. Abigail hated thinking of what had happened in the office.
She hated even more that she was involved in this, but there was no turning back, unfortunately for both herself and for Aunt Charlotte.
If Abigail had been a smoker, she would have had a cigarette in hand. Instead, the only thing she could do was tap her foot. She kept doing it, even though Aunt Charlotte glared at her. She hoped Aunt Charlotte wouldn’t say anything about it because it was her only way to stay calm.
They’d found a body. Well, Miranda had, but Aunt Charlotte and Abigail had been right there, and Abigail doubted she would ever be able to get rid of that image. She hadn’t liked Randall, but that didn’t mean she’d wanted him to die. She just wanted him to stay away, and now, she supposed he would.
She had to press her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh hysterically. She wanted to go home. She wanted to forget about everything that had happened, but the day had only just started, and she doubted Aunt Charlotte would close the shop, even after what had happened. The news that they’d been there when the body had been found was probably already making the rounds in town, and people would come by the shop to ask questions, and hopefully, to buy soap. That meant that Abigail and Aunt Charlotte’s day would be busy with customers, which was the last thing Abigail wanted right now.
She wouldn’t have a choice, though.
Aunt Charlotte huffed. “How long will it take to have someone talk to us?” she asked.
Abigail glared at her. “They have more important things to do than to bother with us,” she pointed out.
“Do they? Randall isn’t going anywhere. He’s dead. We, on the other hand, have things to do. Why can’t one of the deputies talk to us?”
Abigail didn’t have an answer to that, but she was relieved. She might not be enjoying herself, standing outside the real estate office waiting for a deputy or the chief of police to talk to her, but it was better than going to the shop and acting as if nothing had happened, or worse, talk about it. It was inevitable, but she didn’t have to like it.
Miranda had been lucky, at least in a way. She’d found the body, so she was the first person the police had wanted to talk to. They’d been clear that they wanted Abigail and her aunt to stick around, though, which was why they were still there. Abigail was tempted to find one of the deputies and tell them she had to use the bathroom and that she was headed back to the shop, but she knew better. She doubted anyone would take that well, not after what had happened.
She couldn’t imagine there were a lot of violent deaths here. She might not have lived in town for a long time, but it couldn’t have changed that much. And she was sure that Randall’s death had been violent. She might not be a detective, but even she had eyes, and she was pretty sure the paperweight that had been abandoned next to Randall’s body was the weapon that had been used to hit him. The thought made her shudder.
Aunt Charlotte looked at her, frowning. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Abigail shook her head. “What do you think is going on? We just found Randall’s body, and you sound like you don’t care.”
Aunt Charlotte’s frown deepened. “That was rude.”
Abigail knew it was. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m not feeling very well right now.”
Her aunt came closer, wrapping her arm around Abigail’s waist. “I understand you’re traumatized. Trust me, I know I’m going to dream about this for a while. I don’t see a reason to act all sad, though. I didn’t like Randall, and while I’m not happy he’s dead, I am relieved that he won’t try to push me into selling again. It was bothersome, and you know he wouldn’t have stopped.”
“Careful there, ma’am. That sounds like an admission,” a man said.
Abigail and Aunt Charlotte turned to face him.
Abigail had never seen him, but she was pretty sure he was the chief of police. She’d recognized most of the deputies when they’d come in, either from going to school with them or from seeing them around town since she was a child. The chief of police was new, though. He’d been in town only a few years, so Abigail wouldn’t recognize him.
He was tall and stood ramrod straight, which made Abigail wonder if he’d been in the military. She doubted this was his first job in law enforcement. She’d watched him earlier, and he looked like he knew what he was doing, even though there weren’t many homicides in a town this small. His expression, too, hinted at a disciplined life. Even though Abigail doubted he’d been serious just now, he was looking at them as if trying to read them, and it made Abigail want to squirm even though she hadn’t killed Randall.
Aunt Charlotte faced him. “I’m not admitting to anything because I didn’t do anything. Can we leave?”
“Not yet. I’d like to talk to both of you.”
“And you can’t do that at the shop? I’m not a youngster anymore, Chief. I’d like to sit down.”
In normal circumstances, Abigail would have snorted and pointed out to her aunt that while she might not be the youngest person around, she also wasn’t that old, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who needed to sit down.
She didn’t, though. Not only wasn’t this a normal situation but as her aunt had said, even though she wasn’t showing it, she was probably freaking out, too. Maybe she did need to sit down. Maybe she needed one moment of normalcy in this madness.
The chief of police looked them up and down. They could see the soap shop from where they were, and Abigail wished she could ignore him and head there. If he wanted to talk to her, he knew where to find her.
“You’ll be let go as soon as you answer a few questions. I just want to know what happened this morning.”
He looked from Abigail to her aunt, and Abigail had enough. When Aunt Charlotte didn’t say anything, she decided it was time for her to do it. “We came to work early,” she started. She had to swallow to continue. Her mouth felt dry, and she would have killed for a bottle of water.
It wouldn’t be the best idea to say that out loud, though.
“I’m learning to make soap,” she continued. “We wanted to have the time for me to try to make a batch before we had to open the store. We were talking and headed to the backroom when we heard Miranda scream. We came running, and we found the office door open. When we went in, Miranda was standing at Randall’s office door, looking in, and she was still screaming. We pulled her away, and I peeked inside to make sure there was nothing we could do for Randall. Then, I called nine-one-one.”
The chief blinked at Abigail. Abigail wasn’t sure what to make of his expression, and she was afraid to try to read it. “So the fact that you were here early was a coincidence,” he said.
“Of course it was,” Aunt Charlotte interrupted before Abigail could snap at him. “As Abigail said, she’s learning to make soap, and we can’t exactly do that when the shop is open, can we? That’s why we came in early, and the only reason we were there when Miranda screamed. How is she, the poor dear?”
Abigail was pretty sure her aunt didn’t care much about Miranda. Miranda had never liked Abigail, but Abigail suspected she didn’t like a lot of people, including Aunt Charlotte. Still, Aunt Charlotte looked worried for Miranda, so maybe Abigail was wrong. She might not be Miranda’s biggest f
an, but even she was worried about her. It couldn’t be easy to find your boss dead.
The chief of police slowly nodded. “All right. I think I have everything I need for now, but I’ll have to talk to you again, ladies. That means you shouldn’t leave town.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Aunt Charlotte promised. “You know where to find us. We’ll be at the shop, or if it’s later at night or early in the morning, Abigail will be in my house while I’m staying with my sister.”
If the chief was surprised that Aunt Charlotte volunteered that much information, he didn’t let it show. Instead, he made a note in a tiny notebook and nodded at them. “Thank you,” he said. “I’d say have a good day, but a nice day doesn’t begin with finding a body.”
“We didn’t find him,” Aunt Charlotte said. “Miranda did.”
“Still. It can’t have been easy for you. Maybe you should go home.”
It was like he’d never talked to Aunt Charlotte before—and maybe he hadn’t. Abigail might want to go home, but she knew that if she was left with her thoughts, she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Randall’s body. The best thing they could do was to get to work, no matter how hard it would be, no matter how many times she would have to talk about this.
They headed back to the shop after the chief was done talking to them, and Abigail wasn’t surprised that Aunt Charlotte had something to say. “I’m not surprised Randall was killed,” she started. She looked at Abigail, maybe waiting for her to say something, but she had nothing to say. She shook her head, and Aunt Charlotte continued, “He was pushy. He didn’t pay his debts.”
“Asking you to sell the shop doesn’t mean he deserved to die,” Abigail pointed out.
Aunt Charlotte looked horrified. “Of course not. No one deserves to die, not even him. I was just saying I’m not surprised, and I’m wondering who did it. Chief Holden doesn’t seem to have a clue for now, or at least, he didn’t let anything slip.”
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