A book to kill for, p.5
A Book to Kill For, page 5
Maggie screamed.
It only took a few minutes for the police, paramedics, and fire department to arrive.
“You’ve had a rough week, Maggie,” Officer Gary Brookes said as he walked into the shop and found her sitting on her usual stool out of the way behind the counter. “Are you all right? I meant to make it to Mr. Whitfield’s service but had to work. No rest for the weary. My condolences. He was a good man.”
Maggie knew Officer Brookes well. They’d gone to high school together.
“Thanks, Gary,” she replied and wrinkled her face with the discomfort of having to talk to someone. Even though she knew Gary and he’d always been nice to her, she had very little to say to him. He was barrel-chested even without his bulletproof vest and had a couple tattoos snaking up his arms. He rode a Harley in his spare time. What would she ever have in common with him? Except this dead person they both knew.
“You want to tell me what happened here?” he asked without being pushy.
Maggie told Gary exactly what had happened. In fact, she repeated it a couple times as if she were trying to convince herself that it had, in fact, happened, that Bo was lying there on the floor dead.
“Looks like he might have gotten a jolt of juice,” one of the paramedics said.
“Electrocution? That doesn’t sound right,” Maggie chirped. “He was a licensed electrician. Told me so himself. Well, not me directly, but I was there when he stopped Joshua from working on a light fixture. In fact, it was that one he’s underneath.” She pointed up to the ceiling, where some naked wires were sticking out. “He shut off the breaker.”
“What’s going on?” Joshua walked into the shop just as the paramedics were covering Bo and loading him onto a gurney.
“You left the door open. The whole entrance is wet,” Maggie muttered.
“So you called the cops?” Joshua looked around at everyone.
“You’re Joshua Whitfield? Alex’s son?” Gary asked.
“I am, Officer. What happened?” Joshua asked.
Before anyone said anything, the paramedics wheeled Bo’s body out of the bookshop.
As Gary talked to Joshua, Maggie got down off the stool and walked carefully around the counter. No one was paying much attention to her as she slowly wandered down the first aisle of books. On the floor was a pile of the older books Mr. Whitfield had collected, tossed there as if someone had been looking for something.
Slowly, Maggie turned around to see if she could catch Gary’s attention, but he was busy taking notes from Joshua. She knelt and looked over the titles. Having read more than her fair share of mysteries, Maggie didn’t touch anything. These books had come from one of the higher shelves but not the highest, where she was hiding all the antiquities that had more sentimental than monetary value. But only someone looking for them intentionally could have pulled these down. It wasn’t like the books Joshua had kicked over the other night. She hated to leave them there on the floor.
“Gary?” She wrinkled her nose as he turned his head in her direction. She pointed to the floor. “Did you see this?”
He walked over and looked at the pile of books. “What am I looking at?”
“A pile of books. They were pulled down from the shelf,” Maggie replied casually.
“So?” Gary waited for the punchline.
“Someone was in here looking for something.” She shrugged.
“You said the door was wide open when you got here. Maybe a customer wandered in and…” Gary replied.
“First, it’s not even seven in the morning, and we don’t open until nine,” Maggie said. “Second, you know darn well that even if we did open at six in the morning, no one in this town would be waiting for the door to open so they could quickly abscond with a fourth-edition copy of Peyton Place. I mean, be serious.” Maggie almost laughed.
Just then, Poe appeared from the stairwell to investigate the commotion himself. He hopped up onto the bookcase, knocking more than one book on the floor before disappearing between the shelves so he could continue sneaking around. Maggie pouted before looking at Gary. She knew exactly what he was thinking.
“You always were weird, Maggie,” Gary said before he turned and went back to Joshua, who had been listening with a frown.
Maggie went ahead and picked up the books. With her arms full, she grabbed the ladder and carefully stepped up to replace them on the shelf where they belonged.
“Are you the only one with a key, Mr. Whitfield?” Gary asked.
“No. Maggie has one. But I gave my key to Bo, because he said that he’d be able to get the majority of the wiring work done before the rest of his crew came in. He’d been coming in early for the past couple of days,” Joshua said.
“I think we can cross Maggie off our list of suspects,” Gary said.
“Hold on. Did you say suspects?” Joshua’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Do you think someone intentionally hurt Bo?”
“I don’t know, Joshua. It’s just hard to ignore that some strange things have happened since you got to town,” Gary replied.
“Strange things? Like what?” Joshua snapped.
“Like finding a dead guy in your bookstore,” Gary replied.
“That’s the café. This is the bookstore,” Maggie corrected. When no one invited her to continue in the conversation, she shrugged and muttered to herself.
“Not to mention the rain picked up as soon as you got here,” Gary replied.
“Are you serious? You’re going to blame me for the rain?” Joshua shook his head. “I knew my father lived in a simple little town, but I didn’t think you all were superstitious. Tell me, do you lock all the teenage girls inside when there’s a full moon? Do you have some old broad in town who will read the bottom of your coffee cup for ten bucks?”
“That’ll do, Joshua,” Gary replied.
“Forgive me if I’m not in the mood to cooperate any further. The only decent electrician in town is dead, and you think I killed him? What could possibly be the reason?” Joshua asked.
“You tell me,” Gary replied.
“No. I’m not telling you anything. I’ve told you everything I know. Margaret’s the one who found him. Ask her,” Joshua said before shouldering past Gary and heading upstairs to the apartment.
Without flinching, Gary walked up to Maggie and tucked his notebook back into his pocket.
“You don’t really think Joshua had anything to do with this?” Maggie huffed.
“I don’t know. I’ve never worked a murder case before. Where is the circuit board?” he asked.
Maggie led him around back to the small storeroom, which was accessible from both the new café side and the bookshop. Maggie wished she hadn’t seen what she had seen. But all the switches to the café were in the off position so the guys could work—all but one. The one Bo had been working on was the only one in the on position.
“Looks odd, don’t you think?” Gary said.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t prove Joshua did anything,” Maggie replied. “Even if they did have an argument yesterday.”
“What about?” Gary asked.
Maggie gave him a quick version of what had happened. Even as she related the incident, she didn’t think it was enough to push Joshua to murder. She didn’t think anyone related to Alexander Whitfield, whether he read or not, could be capable of such a thing. Plus, if anything happened to Joshua, she would be out of a job.
There were plenty of weirdos in Fair Haven. Any number of them could have finally snapped and set Bo up. The possibilities were as vast and diverse as the books in the shop. Maggie was going to have to push aside her own suspicions. Joshua was the only one who knew Bo had been coming in early. But if there was anything she’d learned from the books she’d read, it was that the most obvious answer wasn’t always the correct one.
Chapter 8
The rain had not stopped for more than twenty-four hours. In fact, some of the locals who stepped into the bookshop to get out of the rain and have a quick peek at the gruesome death scene mentioned that the two bridges that led out of town had already flooded. Anyone who was visiting had no choice but to extend their stay until things got a little drier.
The news of Bo’s death had spread as fast as the water running down the ditches into the drainage pipes. Only a couple of the men who had been on Bo’s crew showed up to finish the job. They managed to get the light fixtures attached with no problems. Maggie had to admit they had transformed the empty furniture store into a fine café. Even she could see it would be quaint and lovely with some paint and decorations.
She stood in the doorway that joined the two places, her arms full of the new inventory Joshua had insisted she buy.
“Are you putting those on display in the window?” Joshua asked as he passed, his tool belt clanking against his hip and his boots clunking on the floor.
“Yes.”
“Just stack them there. I want as many as you can cram in the window so people know we are selling them,” he replied. He looked down at the cans of wood varnish that were on the floor.
“I thought you wanted a nice display,” Maggie replied.
“I do. But I need to get things moving. We’re having a reveal party in just a few days, and this place has to be ready. So, chop-chop,” Joshua said.
“Did you just say ‘chop-chop’ to me?” she asked. How could this rogue have been sired by such a kind and gentle heart? For heaven’s sake, what was his mother like? She had to be the cranky one of the bunch. Maggie was sure of it.
“I did,” he replied.
Maggie pinched her lips together, clutched the books tight, and was about to go put the finishing touches on her display in the window when she heard something by the back door.
Every storefront had a back exit that led to the alley. Maggie was about to push the heavy door open when she realized it was already open. She saw a slim shaft of light from outside and felt a cool, wet draft immediately. Carefully, she pushed the door open and looked into the alley. There wasn’t much trash, and it wasn’t uncommon for someone to cut through the gangway from Pearson Street. But just as she was about to pull the door shut, she heard footsteps.
Maggie peeked around the door, screwing up her face as the drops of rain quickly found her. That was when she saw the umbrella.
“Hey, who is that?” she called to the person standing in the alley with her back to her.
The person turned around, and it was poor Ruby Sinclair. Maggie let out a sigh.
“There’s fourteen. Fourteen of these and then eight more turns. I’ll flip the switches and give another five turns. I have to tap-tap-tap…”
Poor Ruby Sinclair was weird. She had more money than the Toonsleys but lived in a messy Cape Cod–style home by herself. From what people said, she suffered from a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder that often had her wandering into people’s open garages or opening and closing car doors. She would tap on windows and hop on sewer covers.
“Hi, Ruby,” Maggie said as the woman continued to mutter.
Ruby waved but continued to mutter more to herself than for anyone to understand.
“It’s nasty outside. Do you want to come in for a second and dry off?” Maggie asked.
“The switches. I’ll flip the switches and give another five turns. Then I’ll tap-tap-tap,” Ruby muttered. She was wearing an expensive-looking dress that had gotten frayed around the edges. Her hair was graying at the roots, and her eyes were surrounded by wrinkles from being in the sun so much of the time.
“Yeah, come on in out of the rain for a few minutes.” Maggie held the door open.
As if she’d been inside the bookstore a million times, Ruby folded her umbrella and sauntered in. But then Ruby did something that made Maggie’s breath catch in her throat. She walked over to the fuse box. It had been closed and a little brass lock put on it to keep it safe from curious hands.
“The switches. I’ll flip the switches,” Ruby said. “That’ll get things going nicely.”
“No. You can’t,” Maggie replied and wondered if Ruby had slipped into the store and flipped the switch while Bo was working. He never would have seen her. And if the back door were open like it was now, she could have wandered in.
In a huff, as if all she’d ever wanted was to flip some fuses back and forth, Ruby looked down her nose at Maggie. She squared her shoulders and folded her hands politely in front of her before taking a deep breath.
“My father will hear about this,” she scoffed, putting her right hand to her throat as if to clutch a string of pearls. With all the flair of a silent movie actress, she swept her other arm in front of her and walked out of the bookshop and back into the rain. With just as much grace, she pressed the button on the plastic umbrella handle, and it blossomed perfectly. Then Maggie watched as she hopped on the manhole cover three times before leaving the alley.
“Your father’s been dead for two decades, but okay,” Maggie muttered before shutting the door. Part of her wanted to let poor Ruby just go about her business. She was harmless, and in all her years of roaming Fair Haven, she’d never hurt or scared anyone. Even at her most eccentric, she managed to decorate her house for Christmas and keep the yard tidy all summer. She was just weird.
But if she accidentally did this, it means she might hurt herself or someone else. Maggie’s thoughts flew. Plus, that would mean that Joshua is in the clear, and maybe the crew will come back, and he’ll be happy. Not that you care if he’s happy. Why would you care about that? You just need this job.
Right. It was her duty to tell Officer Gary Brookes about Ruby. She grabbed the big umbrella Mr. Whitfield had given her and left the shop without anyone noticing.
As she walked down the street, she inhaled the cool, damp air. The rain was steady, but it wasn’t a storm as it had been the previous night. Cars slowly rolled past on the slick pavement with their windshield wipers lazily slapping back and forth. The lights of the other storefronts were a warm and inviting contrast to the gloominess of the day. Maggie felt the drops of rain that managed to sneak under the edge of her umbrella speckle her neck with tiny chilly kisses.
She wondered if Ruby Sinclair had any idea what she’d done.
“You don’t know if she did it, Mags. You only have a suspicion because she was acting suspiciously. But she always acts suspiciously. Every day. That doesn’t mean she did anything,” Maggie mumbled as she walked, oblivious to the looks she was getting from the few other pedestrians, who would have thought her just as goofy if not kin to Ruby Sinclair.
“Maggie! Margaret Bell!”
The shouting behind her made Maggie whirl around with a frown. Who would be shouting her name? Loudly! Out in public? She narrowed her eyes at the barrel-shaped man waving and waddling quickly in her direction. For a second, she squinted as the man in the wide-brimmed Stetson hat and tweed blazer approached. But it took just a few more steps for her to recognize Mr. Toby Hodgkin.
Tobias S. Hodgkin was one of the few people Maggie would come out of her shell for. He’d been coming to the bookstore ever since she had started working there and told grand stories, some of which were as exciting as the short-story collections on the shelves. He had met all kinds of people and seen so many sights that she often wondered where he actually called home. England seemed to be his favorite place, but it was one of many. Unlike Mr. Whitfield, who was much more reserved and spoke quietly, Toby was a lion tamer in comparison. If Allan Quatermain ever needed some tips, Maggie would suggest he speak with Toby. If he weren’t a fictional character.
“Hi, Toby!” Maggie finally smiled as she recognized the older man.
“I’m so sorry. I meant to get here in time for Alexander’s wake. The weather,” he said and shrugged sadly.
“You didn’t miss anything, Toby. It wasn’t like I expected him to wake up and scold us all for being ninnies,” Maggie said.
“That would be exactly what he would say. Oh, who will I play chess with on my visits to town? Tell me, what’s happening with the shop?” Toby asked as he offered Maggie his elbow like an old-fashioned gentleman.
“His son has come to take over,” Maggie replied.
“You don’t sound all that impressed. Is he not what you expected?” Toby asked.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Toby, you knew Mr. Whitfield. He was a very well-educated man. Self-taught. Humble and kind with a sense of humor. Joshua doesn’t even read. He wears blue jeans and has this tendency to run his hand through his hair every couple of minutes so he looks like James Dean. And he talks with the construction crew like they’ve been friends for years. He made me order some of the most horrible titles to display in the window to get more customers. He hasn’t even read them. He just thinks since they are popular, they must be good. Who thinks like that? Talk about judging a book by its cover,” Maggie said. She continued lamenting her dilemma in working for Joshua Whitfield for several more minutes.
“You know, Miss Mags, I once had a professor at university who asked the class if we thought any of the works of art at the Louvre didn’t belong.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of gum. He continued speaking as he offered a stick to Maggie. “Well, of course, yours truly immediately raised his hand and decried the fact that Winslow Homer’s Summer Squall would be better suited for a fish-and-chips pub in Piccadilly Square,” Toby said. “I prattled on and on, and when I was finished, I was certain that my professor would nod his head in agreement. Instead, he said, ‘Tobias, the true purpose of art is to promote thought, discussion, stir emotion. You just proved why Homer’s Summer Squall should most definitely be at the Louvre.’” Toby looked down at Maggie.
“Your point?” Maggie asked, wrinkling her nose as if she smelled something peculiar.
“My point, Mags, is that you sure do have a lot to say about a fellow who you claim has not the slightest appealing quality.” Toby winked.
