Bound To Be Dead: Cozy Mystery Bookshop Series Book 3 Read online

  Dylan sighs. “It’s never been a problem to watch you be a mother to a kid who really needed you. In fact, I think it’s made me fall deeper in love with you.” He squeezes my hand. “And I told Brittany that. I also told her we’re all miserable without her.”

  “You miss her too?” A big smile stretches my lips. “I wondered if you’d be happy raising someone else’s kid rather than starting fresh with our own.”

  “Are we going to do that? Start fresh and have kids one day?” Dylan leans closer and whispers, “Even if I had to arrest your father?”

  I’ve thought about that every moment since the possibility arose. “Yes. Even then. I might not cook your favorite things for a while as punishment, but in the end, you’d only be doing your job.”

  “Good to hear.” Dylan smiles for the first time in days. “But your dad’s off the hook. We have some new evidence from your Aunt Carol that saved him.”

  Whew, that’s a relief, but Dylan could have led with that fact. “That was mean, but great news.” I poke him in the arm. “What new evidence did you find?”

  “Carol gave me some pictures and videos this morning when we spoke. She’d had someone following your uncle to gather evidence for the cheating clause in their prenup. The man volunteered to help backstage so he could record your uncle. I saw your dad pouring vodka from his flask into the cup in the background of one of the pictures. And the diner footage cleared Max of tampering with Tina’s food.” He holds out his hands. “I’ll help you with these books.”

  “Thanks.” I pass him the stack. “But does that mean the man has pictures of the murderer?”

  “Maybe. But I can’t figure out how they did it. Without knowing that, I can’t make an arrest.”

  I get out and meet Dylan on his side of the car. “Was Beth, right? Was it a woman who killed Tina?” I mean, really, she had a fifty-fifty chance at that guess.

  Dylan hitches up the books with one arm and takes my hand with the other. “I can’t tell you that.” We start up the steps, dodging the occasional kid who didn’t escape within moments of the bell.

  So frustrating. “The book club thinks it’s either my uncle, Pattie, or Emily.”

  “Makes sense.” Dylan drops my hand to open the door for us. “Except for Pattie. She was originally supposed to get the roses Tina got.”

  I stop in my tracks. “You think the roses were the murder weapon?”

  Dylan grabs my hand and tugs again. “I didn’t say that.”

  He didn’t have to. I can tell he’s considering the theory. I run the possibilities through my head as we walk down the quiet hall toward Emily’s classroom. Dylan thinks the murderer is either my uncle or Emily. “Were you coming to talk to Emily when you saw me?”

  “Yes.” A ghost of a smile tilts Dylan’s lips. “But I was going to find you next.”

  Okay. He’s on a mission too. But his has nothing to do with returning a textbook. “Is there anything you’d like me to do when we talk with Emily?”

  We stop walking, and he leans closer. “How about you act like you’re returning the textbooks and your boyfriend is just tagging along? Idly check out what the kids have been working on in the back display. Maybe something will click.”

  “I can do that.” But now my stomach has a swarm of bees buzzing around inside. It’s nerve-racking to think we might be in the same room as the murderer.

  We turn the last corner before Emily’s classroom, and she’s opening the door to the nearby teacher’s lounge. She doesn’t appear to see us, so I start to call out to her, but Dylan’s big hand slides over my mouth.

  After the door closes behind Emily, Dylan whispers, “Let’s go have a look in her classroom before she gets back.” He drops his hand from my face.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “We’ll know if we see it. Come on. Let’s hurry.” Dylan jogs the rest of the way to the classroom.

  I’m following behind, but he’s faster than me. When I arrive in the science lab, Dylan is looking through cabinets that hold chemicals and beakers. Probably looking for the poison.

  I wander back to where the kids’ current hypothesis assignment hangs. They’re being tasked to find out what the most common blood type is. It’s O. I remember doing the same experiment. But now the kids can just google it. It surprises me that Emily hasn’t updated her materials to something more challenging.

  I move along the row of animals in the back, checking out the various poster boards on the walls above the cages with past experiments the kids have completed. Nothing has to do with poisons, however.

  A cute little hamster is eyeing me hopefully, so I pick up a sunflower seed in a nearby bowl and poke one through the bars. Charlie, as the nameplate on the cage reads, shoves the seed into his cheek, ready for another. His cute little eyes and fat cheeks are hard to resist, but I remember how strict Emily used to be about her animals’ feeding schedules, so I move on.

  The next set of cages are filled with squirmy insects. I hated when it was my turn to feed them when I was a kid. Bugs and frogs were never my favorite. Give me something soft and furry any day of the week. And it’s unfortunate for those beetles. They’ll be dinner for the frogs at the end of the row any day now.

  Wait a minute. What was I just reading in Brittany’s book? About frogs who eat beetles and are poisonous. So poisonous, only a small drop on the tip of a spear could take down their prey! Or maybe a dot on a rose thorn to kill a person?

  I take off at a full run toward the stack of books Dylan left on an empty desk. Digging through, I find the science book. “Dylan. I think I know how she did it.” I page through the book as fast as I can to find the illustration I saw earlier.

  Emily calls out from the doorway, “Hi, you two.” She crosses the room to her desk and grabs her purse. “What can I help you with?”

  Dylan moves to block Emily’s view of me. He says, “Brittany forgot to return her textbooks. Can we leave them with you?”

  No. Not yet! I have to find that cave drawing. I’m desperately paging through the book as fast as I can but must’ve missed it. I’ll have to go back to the middle and start again.

  Emily says, “Sure. And please tell Brittany I’m sorry to lose her. She was one of my best students. Like you were, Sawyer.” Emily’s footsteps are moving closer. “What are you looking for?”

  Finally, I find the drawing. I should respond to Emily, but I’m too busy reading.

  Dylan says, “We had a bet. She’s looking up the answer. I don’t know why I bother, though. Sawyer always wins.”

  That was an excellent cover. And also true. About the winning part anyway.

  “Really?” Emily clears her throat. “What kind of bet?” Her voice has changed from pleasant to mean teacher now.

  My eyes fly across the words: The Golden Frog (aka the golden poison frog) fed the right kind of beetles produces a poison (Batrachotoxins). It eats small insects or other arthropods (insect, spider, or crustacean). In today’s use, the toxin that causes paralysis is prepared for medicinal purposes in a highly diluted form. In its full form, the main poison is an alkaloid, which causes paralysis and death, similar to the way strychnine and hemlock do. However, after the respiratory system becomes paralyzed, the heart may continue to beat for some time.

  Bingo! And the poison starts with a “B” too, just as Madge thought. Emily must’ve fed the frogs the right kind of beetle to make them secrete the poison. This doesn’t explain why Tina died. But it makes perfect sense if the intended target was Pattie for cheating with Emily’s husband. My uncle must’ve screwed everything up by switching the flowers at the last minute.

  But how do I tell Dylan with Emily standing right there?

  I glance at Emily, whose eyes are narrowed at me in suspicion. Worse, she has one hand inside her purse.

  The perfect place to hide a weapon.

  Chapter 18

  It’s hard to think when my heart is pumping blood so fast, it makes me dizzy. I don’t know what to d
o. Should I blurt out I know how Emily did it? And tell Dylan to arrest her? But what if she has a weapon in her purse?

  I could ask to borrow a copy machine and show Dylan later, but if she suspects we’re on to her, she could disappear before Dylan can make the arrest. Instead, I shove the hardback book in front of Dylan and say, “See? It’s right here. I told you the most common blood type is O.”

  Dylan takes the book, and I point to the part about the frogs.

  While Dylan reads, I look up. Emily has a gun pointed in our faces.

  “What are you doing?” I stupidly ask as blood pounds in my ears. All I can think is what an idiot plan that had been to shove a book at Dylan, distracting him. This is all my fault.

  Emily says. “Don’t move. Or I will shoot.” She points the gun at Dylan. “Sawyer, move slowly toward the door. Now!”

  Dylan growls. “Don’t do this, Emily. Drop the gun, and no one gets hurt.” He tosses the book aside but keeps his hands in front of him where Emily can see them.

  I don’t know what to do, so I glance at Dylan for guidance, but his eyes are laser focused on Emily.

  My mind races with possibilities to get Dylan and me out of this—preferably without bloodshed—as I walk as slowly as I can toward the door.

  Without bloodshed? That’s it! I’ll take a page out of my father’s book whenever he sees blood. “I’m not feeling so…” I drop to my knees and then let the rest of me fall to the hard tile floor in a dead faint. I’ve seen my dad do it enough times, so I hope it looked real.

  The fall kills my shoulder, but I keep my eyes screwed shut and hope I was enough of a distraction for Dylan to act.

  Desks being tossed aside and heavy shoes pounding the tile floor sound before a single loud bang rings out.

  Please don’t let Dylan be hurt.

  A colossal thump reverberates not far from me, so I sit up and spin my head in its direction. Dylan is on top of a struggling Emily. A gun rests a few feet away. She reaches for it through the blood on the floor beneath them. I’m not sure whose blood it is, but Emily was the one holding the gun, so it makes sense it’s Dylan’s.

  Incensed that Emily may have hurt him, I crawl as fast as I can toward the gun. I’m not sure what I’ll do with it when I get it, but it’ll be whatever it takes to stop Emily from hurting anyone ever again. Even if that means pulling the trigger.

  I’m almost to the gun when Dylan raises his head. Blood gushing from his face makes me dizzy but even more determined to get the gun.

  Emily’s hand almost reaches it, so I muster all that’s inside me and lunge on top of her arm. We both claw our way to the weapon. Her hand tangles with mine in a race back and forth when suddenly, she’s yanked aside, and the coast is clear for me to grab the cool steel in my hand.

  Got it.

  I pick up the gun, grab the nearest desk for balance, and stand. Dylan has Emily facedown, with one of her hands behind her back, and is reaching for the other to slap on the cuffs. With things seemingly under control, I want to set the gun down and help Dylan, whose blood is still flowing freely from the side of his face. But I’ve seen enough movies to know better, so I stand guard until Emily is secured and Dylan rolls off her onto his back.

  He grabs his walkie, and with his eyes closed, says, “Madge, I need an officer at the high school to escort Emily Kingsley to a hospital and then lockup. And two ambulances.”

  “Copy,” Madge’s voice says, “But two? Who else is hurt?”

  “Me. I’ve been shot.”

  “Shot?!” Madge’s voice rings out.

  Dylan clenches his jaw. “Hurry, Madge.”

  “Yes, yes, of course. Don’t die on us!”

  “10-4.” The hand holding his radio hits the floor.

  After setting the gun on a desk, I scoot to his side. The blood seems to be coming from his forehead. “Dylan? Dylan?” He must’ve passed out from the blood loss.

  Emily, whose closed eyes are streaming tears, whispers, “Clean towels are under the sink.”

  I run to find the towels, grabbing the whole stack. After sliding on my knees beside Dylan again, I wipe away the blood as fast as I can. “Help’s almost here, Dylan. Hang on.” I furiously sop up blood until I finally see the large wound that I have no idea how to treat. Is it better to put pressure on it, or could that drive a bullet in further?

  My sister will know what to do, so I grab the phone from my back pocket and take a picture of the injury before the blood fills in again. Then I text the photo along with a brief explanation and hit Send.

  With a clean towel over the wound, I gently hold it there to absorb the blood, wishing desperately for the wail of an ambulance or the ding of a return text. I’d take either.

  My phone rings, and I answer without looking at the screen. “Meg?”

  “Yes. Put pressure on and hold. On my way.” She disconnects the call.

  Thank goodness.

  I press harder on Dylan’s wound and whisper, “Hey. We just made a deal, remember? About having those kids one day. That means you have to get better.” Still no response. Why didn’t I tell him how much I love him when we were in the car earlier? Because I do. With all my heart.

  After a few moments in silence, Emily says, “How did you figure it out?”

  I’m so mad at her for what she’s done, I don’t want to look at her. On the other hand, I want her to know she’s not as smart as she thinks. “Cooper knocked the science book off Brittany’s bed. She had a piece of paper tucked inside on the cave drawing page. When I was looking at the animals in their cages, it all came back to me. Should’ve updated your lessons over the years.”

  Emily grunts. “So, a goldendoodle brought me down.”

  “Yep.” I replace the towel on Dylan’s head with a clean one. He’s losing way too much blood. “But Dylan was close to figuring it all out anyway.”

  The wail of sirens screeching toward us sends hope coursing through me. “Help’s almost here, Dylan.”

  The classroom door bangs open. In a heartbeat, Meg is beside me, gloved up and pushing me out of the way with her elbow. “I’ve got this, Sawyer.”

  I slide back a few feet out of the way, but not far enough that I can’t see Dylan. I don’t want to let him out of my sight, so I pull my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around them. Prepared to wait as long as it takes. I refuse to believe Beth’s dire prediction about Dylan all those years ago is coming true. Please don’t let him die.

  Meg pulls the towel aside and pokes around a bit before she leans back on her heels. “The bullet just grazed him. These kinds of head wounds bleed like the dickens, though.” She turns and looks at me. “Good thing both our guys are so hardheaded. That bullet probably bounced right off.” When I don’t smile at her attempt at humor, she says, “Dylan will be fine, Sawyer.”

  Hot tears stream down my face, and I’m so choked up at the good news that I can only nod as the police and paramedics arrive. I quietly slide into one of the student desks in all the confusion, hoping Dylan will wake up. I need to tell him I love him.

  While my sister bosses the paramedics who help Dylan, the second set of paramedics arrives to help Emily. After a brief exam, they sit Emily up and tell her and Deputy Ben that she has some bruises but nothing serious. After Emily refuses medical treatment, Ben stands her up and marches her out the classroom door.

  Good riddance.

  I’m desperate to talk to Dylan, but the doctor won’t let anyone see him yet. Lucky for me, my sister was allowed in the back and has been texting me regular updates. But it’s taking forever.

  In the time we’ve been here breathing gross antiseptic air—which in reality has probably only been forty-five minutes or so—it seems like half the town has shown up and been turned away from our small hospital’s waiting room. The head nurse said we had to limit guests for fire safety reasons. The good part is, she’s left the choice of who stays and goes up to me. I guess because most everyone in town knows Dylan and I are a package deal too.
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  Madge and the Admiral are sitting on either side of me, silent with worry for Dylan, and Ben is pacing back and forth in front of us, taking calls from the station. My father is practicing disappearing coins and handkerchief tricks while pretending he’s not concerned. Gage and Renee have gone to get coffee for everyone from the diner. We’re just missing Brittany. It makes me sad.

  I’ll add a call to Brittany to the mental to-do list in my head. I’ve had a niggling feeling that I’m forgetting something on the list, but I can’t put my finger on it. Something about food…

  “Oh, man. I have jambalaya on the stove. I need to go turn it off.” I jump from my chair and grab my purse. “Can I borrow your car, Dad?”

  He stands too. “Let me do that, Jellybean. You need to make things right with Dylan.” My father grabs his keys. “What do I do with the pot, exactly?” Asks a man who could literally starve to death if it weren’t for frozen food and microwaves.

  “Thanks. Just turn the fire off under the pot. I’ll deal with it later. And can you feed Cooper too, please? Extra. He was the one who solved the crime.”

  My father smiles. “I can handle that!” He starts to leave but stops. “Can I eat what’s in the pot? I’m kind of hungry.”

  “Sure.” So much for John’s jambalaya. I’ll have to make it up to him.

  After my dad’s gone, the Admiral asks, “How exactly did Cooper solve the crime, Sawyer?”

  “Purely by accident.” I tell everyone about the textbook and the frogs in Emily’s classroom.

  Ben stops pacing and sits across from us to listen. When I finish, he says, “Emily’s spilling her guts in lockup too. Full confession because she thought she’d figured out how to pull off the perfect crime.”

  Madge pipes in, “And we all know there isn’t one of those. But this one is a doozy. So, start from the beginning, Sawyer. How did Emily pull this off?”

  I’m just about to dive in when the doctor’s voice rings out.