A killer romance, p.8
A Killer Romance, page 8
“I’m sure they have a copy.” Agatha sat back in her chair. “I’m hoping that between that and the journal, we’ll come up with a way to help Glads. She’s a mess.”
“Cash is helping her, so whatever we find, we’ll need to loop him in.”
“He’s not a criminal attorney, and that worries me.”
“He can do it. I have every confidence in him.”
Agatha chuckled. “Well, I have never heard you say that before.”
“I don’t think I ever really knew him before. We’re such good friends now.” It was true. Maybe they weren’t meant to be together romantically. Maybe they were meant to be just friends. And that was fine with Summer. She could always use a good friend.
“Be careful, Summer. I don’t think he could take another heartache.”
Summer’s head almost spun around. “I’m not interested in him. I’ve told you that.”
“Does he know that?”
Summer shrugged. “I believe he does. We don’t talk about it. Why would we? That all happened so long ago.”
“That doesn’t mean the feelings weren’t real—especially on his part.”
Summer’s chest burned. “I don’t want to rehash this with you. I’ve felt horrible about it for years. Cash and I are in a great place right now. We’ve put the past behind us.”
“Whatever you say.”
Summer set the journal down and sank into the couch. She hoped she and Cash were on the same page. She absolutely didn’t want to hurt that man again. Ever. She cherished their friendship. Should they talk about it? Maybe. But that might just ruin everything.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Summer, fully medicated and a little sleepy, picked the journal back up. Reading anything always helped calm her mind. She had so much to think about, along with her sprained ankle. Aunt Agatha was sleeping upstairs.
She opened the journal.
No young couple talks about death as freely and openly as they should. Who wants to talk about death when you have all those love hormones to deal with? We did talk about it from time to time. I remember back when we were still dating … I remember sitting at a coffee shop with you—was it Cleo’s? Yes, yes, I think it was … Anyway, I remember it as if it happened today. Your chiseled face across the table, the light in your green eyes, and you said you hoped you went first because you couldn’t live without me.
Summer’s heart burst. Wow. Intense.
I remember laughing. It made me so nervous to think of either of us dying then. I didn’t want to think of living without you either.
Yet here I am. You are on the other side of the death question. Now we both know more about it.
I think some of my friends think I may kill myself to be with you.
But they don’t know that would be the last thing you’d want for me. I am here for a reason. Even though we no longer touch in the flesh, I know you are here too.
Summer’s eyes were burning. Time to put the journal down and get some shut-eye. She needed her rest. She planned to go in to the bookstore again tomorrow and hoped that each day would get a little easier with her ankle.
* * *
After breakfast with Aunt Agatha, Summer made her way in to Beach Reads. She was a little late and was surprised that no customers were in the store.
Poppy’s lifted her chin at her from behind the cash register. “Good morning, boss.”
Summer stopped. “Good morning. Wow. It’s quiet. Maybe we can get some real work done today.”
Poppy’s eyebrows rose. “You haven’t seen, then.”
“Seen what?”
She slid the local paper across the counter. “Local Woman Questioned for Murder at Beach Read Books.”
Summer’s heartbeat sounded in her ear. A thunderous pounding took over her rib cage. She wondered if her faced glowed as red as it felt.
“Summer? You don’t look so good.”
“Who did this?”
“A reporter,” Poppy said, as if stating the obvious. “Nobody talked to her, but she pieced everything together through the court records and other news outlets.”
Summer needed to do something about the reputation of the bookstore. That’s why nobody was in this morning; she’d bet her life on it. Nobody wanted to go to a bookstore where a murder had happened. “Have we found the taped event yet?”
“No. I left a message again this morning.”
Summer needed to call in a PR consultant. She was acquainted with one back in Staunton but was unsure if there was one on the island. She’d call Macy, the woman she knew in Staunton, first.
Summer snatched up the newspaper and hobbled into her office.
Poppy followed. “I thought I would get some of these books unpacked while it’s still slow.”
“That would be great, Poppy,” Summer tried to sound normal, but she didn’t feel normal at all. The bookstore was built on love. She’d not have it come crashing down because of one unfortunate incident.
“What are you going to do?” Poppy said.
“I’m calling a woman I know to ask how it’s best to handle this.” Summer wanted to hide under the desk and not deal with any of it. But the reputation of the bookstore was paramount.
“That’s a good idea. I wonder if we should issue a statement or something.”
“Who knows? It may be best to just do nothing.”
“Well, I hope you get some answers.”
“Me too.”
Poppy left the room, and Summer could hear her moving and opening boxes.
She dug her phone out of her bag and found Macy in her contacts. She dialed her.
“This is Macy,” the voice said.
“Hi, Macy. Summer Merriweather. How are you?”
“I’m great. Where’ve you been? Someone said you retired.”
“Yes, I’m now running my family bookstore on Brigid’s Island.”
“That’s not a bad gig. I heard an island and I heard a bookstore, and my ears pinged.”
Summer laughed. It was a lovely store on a beautiful island. She had much to be grateful for. “Yes, it’s a great place, but something unfortunate has occurred, and I wonder if I could hire you to tell me what to do about it.”
“Tell me what’s going on. I’ll give you an hour for free, and then we can chat about whether or not you need to hire me.”
“Well, that sounds like a good deal.”
“It is. So, what’s going on?”
Summer reported the whole situation to her.
Silence on the other end of the phone.
“Are you there?”
“Yes, I am. I’m just thinking.”
“Okay, think away.”
“Did you tell your employees not to talk to the press?”
“Yes. One has, but her bit was fairly harmless.”
“That’s good. You should keep it that way. I’d suggest laying low for a while. Just going about your business. I think this will blow over. These things always do.”
“What about issuing a statement of some kind? I’ve already written a blog post.”
“That’s enough. I don’t think you need more than that. It will further add to the news cycle, and I think you just want it to go away as quickly as possible.”
Summer had been torn between giving a statement and keeping quiet. Now she had reason to keep quiet. “Okay. That makes sense.”
“Now, if something happens, like another angle to the story comes up, call me.”
“Can you give me an example of what you mean?”
“For example, the reporter digs up dirt on the suspect and prints a profile of her.”
“Geesh. I hope that doesn’t happen.”
“Right,” Macy clipped. “I’ve got to run, Summer. Good talking with you.”
Could anybody find any dirt on Glads? It dawned on Summer that Glads had always been in her life—a friend of her mom’s since she was a little girl. But there was little she knew about her. One thing she did know was that Glads was no killer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The only people who came into the bookstore were those on the Valentine’s Hop. Customers were given a paper heart they could get stamped by all the local businesses. Once their heart was filled with stamps, their name went in a big barrel for a drawing for a grand-prize vacation in Paris. All the local businesses had chipped in—including Beach Reads.
They didn’t stay long. They came in, didn’t even glance at a book, and got their cards stamped. This was the first day of the hop. The Valentine’s week of activities and events would be over soon. Valentine’s Day was in two days, and Summer was ready for it all to be over. She didn’t care for the holiday, and all this tourist stuff in the midst of a murder investigation made her even more nervous.
Two young women came in, and Poppy was on her break, so Summer stamped their hearts.
“Is this the murder bookstore?” one asked.
Summer rubbed her palms on her pants, leaving a hint of sweat on them. She was speechless.
“Get your cards stamped and move long. You’ll get no gossip from her!” Poppy came out of the back, and the two young women did as she suggested.
“That was amazing,” Summer said, embarrassed by her own lack of action.
“I’ve more experience with the public,” Poppy pointed out.
Indeed. And the public was different from the classroom. At the university, the professor was expected to be in charge, and a certain amount of respect existed. Most of the time. Since Summer had been back at Beach Reads, she had noticed that most of the public were lovely. But for some, the minute you got behind a counter or had an employee tag on, they treated you as less-than.
Summer recognized that these folks were probably unhappy in their own lives and were projecting their unhappiness onto the clerks. But it was no excuse to mistreat people.
Aunt Agatha entered the bookstore. “Hello. I didn’t expect to see you behind the register. How’s your ankle?”
“Not bad. Poppy’s on a break.”
“It’s over,” Poppy announced. ‘I think you should go in the back.”
Agatha lifted a bag. “Lunch!”
Summer hadn’t realized how hungry she was. “Yes, please.”
“You like hummus, right?”
“Yes, I do.” Summer grabbed her crutches and followed Agatha into her office.
After they got situated, each with a hummus and bread, between the stacks of paper on Summer’s desk, Agatha pulled a newspaper out of her bag. “I suppose you’ve seen this.”
Summer nodded.
“Did you read it?”
“No. I didn’t have to.”
“Well, good. No worries, then. What’s the plan?”
“I spoke with a friend of mine who’s in PR. She suggested keeping our head down and doing what we do best. Not to issue a statement or anything.”
Agatha looked pleased. She dipped her bread in the hummus. “Sounds like good advice.”
“Indeed.”
“I was with Glads this morning.” She took a bite of her hummus-covered bread.
“How is she?”
Agatha finished chewing her bread and swallowed. “She’s not handling this well.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean she’s not herself at all. She’s been grumpy and mean.”
Glads? That was hard to imagine. “What?”
“I know. It doesn’t make any sense at all.”
“She’s been around forever. But I don’t know much about her. Do you?”
“She’s a private person,” Agatha said. “Come to think of it, I don’t even know what she did for a living.”
“Did?”
“She’s retired now—or at least I think she is.”
Summer chewed her hummus and bread and swallowed. “She must be. She volunteers here so much, and she also volunteers at the library.”
“Well, Marilyn got her into that.”
Marilyn was the town librarian. She was also a member of the Mermaid Pie Book Club—and a good friend of Glads’s.
“How’s Marilyn doing?”
“I don’t know. I’ve not seen her. The library keeps cutting staff, and she’s in up to her neck.”
“So she’s not been around Glads?”
“I think she’s been in and out, but as I said, she’s been working a lot.”
Summer was sure not seeing Marilyn was part of Glads’s problem. Those two were always together. “It’s a traumatic thing to be accused of murder. She probably feels like she’s living in a nightmare.”
“I get that, but it doesn’t take much more energy to be polite with people trying to help you.”
Summer shook her head. “Once again, I’m unsure of what to say, because that’s not the Glads I know.”
Poppy stuck her head in the doorway. “Someone here to see you. A reporter.”
“Please tell them I have no comment. And don’t talk to them after that. I mean it, Poppy. Say nothing to them. Except ‘No comment.’”
A reporter to see her? The audacity! One article out about Lana’s death as a potential murder at the bookstore, and now the reporters were swarming?
God! As if she didn’t have enough on her plate.
She crossed her fingers that he’d listen and go out the same door he’d come in.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“How are you doing?” Agatha asked, after she helped Summer to the couch.
Summer let out a huge breath. “It hurts.”
“I’ll go and get the medicine. You only have two pills left. Are they going to give you more?”
“I’ll call the doc and find out.” She’d assumed she could go to the bookstore on a daily basis. But the way her ankle was hurting, she wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing. She’d have to stay home tomorrow.
Aunt Agatha brought in a glass of water and the pills. “It’s a shame the video company hasn’t returned Poppy’s calls.”
Summer downed her pill. “I’m beginning to think there is no video.”
“I hear you, but why? The company has a good gig doing your events. Why would they want to screw that up?”
Summer realized her aunt was right. Maybe she should send someone in person to their offices. “There must have been a problem or a misunderstanding. Poppy said they just sent an empty file. Which is weird.”
“I agree.” Agatha sighed. “I’m tired. I think my travels are finally catching up to me. I’ll reheat the lasagna, then I’m afraid it’s bedtime for me.”
She stood and walked into the kitchen.
Summer picked up Lena’s journal and read further:
Do you remember the summer we met? I remember it so clearly, I can almost taste the pierogis I was eating that day. I was sitting at a table at the food festival and had my mouth full when you approached me. “Excuse me,” you said. (You being the ever-polite person you are.) “May I sit next to you?”
When I looked up at you, it was weird, right? We’ve talked about this before, but there was an instant of knowingness the minute our eyes met.
Oh, brother. Summer had heard of such things, and she’d read about these moments in romances, of course, but nothing similar had ever happened to her. She’d always assumed it was all the stuff of story. But here Lana was writing about it in her journal, not trying to prove it to anybody. Summer sighed out loud.
“Bored?” Aunt Agatha brought in the lasagna.
“No, not at all. They were just very much in love.”
“Who?”
“Lana and her husband.”
“I wonder what went wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she’s a suspect in his murder, so something must have happened.”
“He was poisoned … she was poisoned … Maybe the same person did it.”
Aunt Agatha swallowed the bite of lasagna she had in her mouth. “It does seem odd they both went the same way.”
“I haven’t heard from Cash. Have you?” Summer asked.
“No.”
Summer picked up her phone and dialed him.
“Hello, Summer.”
“Hello, Cash. I just wanted to touch base about Glads’s case.”
“I can’t tell you much about it. I’m her lawyer, remember?”
“Okay. I just want to know if she’s going to be okay. Like, is there a lot of evidence against her? Can you tell me that?”
“No solid evidence. That’s why they let her go. But they are working hard to get more evidence. That PI guy? He’s a piece of work.”
“Really? How so?”
“I can’t get into details, but he’s gunning for a conviction. It’s like he’s on a mission—whether or not the person is guilty.”
“I suppose he has his reasons. He’s been working on Lana’s case for a while. He probably just wants some satisfying conclusions.”
Cash breathed into the phone. “Don’t we all?”
* * *
Summer watched Agatha pick up the dishes. A wave of weariness came over her. She sank back into the pillows, wishing she were upstairs in her bed.
Agatha came back into the room. “I don’t mean to scare you, but there’s someone on the front porch.”
Summer sat up. “What? Just sitting out there?”
Agatha nodded.
Summer often had problems with tourists taking a seat on her private porch. But it wasn’t tourist season.
“Shall I open the door and find out?” her aunt asked.
“Hand me my crutches. We’ll go together.” Summer didn’t think there was much danger, but she wanted to go with Agatha just in case.
Summer hated these awkward situations where people didn’t realize someone actually lived here. The pink house with the blue shutters that needed a few repairs—okay, a lot of repairs—couldn’t possibly be occupied?
They made their way to the front door and opened it. The little person sitting on the stoop stood up and turned to face them.
“Glads?”
“I’m sorry. I just couldn’t think of anywhere else to go,” she said meekly.
“Come in out of the cold,” Agatha said. “Let’s get you warmed up with some tea.”
