Bound To Be Dead: Cozy Mystery Bookshop Series Book 3 Page 7

  I sometimes forget Renee and my mom stayed close after I left town. “My mom told you the specifics of the adoption?”

  “Some.” Renee shrugs. “We talked about it a lot. Why?”

  I push my sundae aside. Has Renee known what Gage and I have been trying to figure out all this time? Maybe Gage is too good about not discussing his cases with others. “Do you know how Brittany’s mom paid for the adoption?”

  “No.” Renee slowly shakes her head. “Your mom planned to pay until Stella volunteered right before she signed the papers. Stella said she’d had a recent windfall.”

  Great. That doesn’t help in the least. I suspect that “windfall” was from my uncle, but still can’t prove it. “No one questioned where that money came from?”

  “Are you kidding?” Renee chuckles. “Your mom was just glad to see the ink dry on the deal so she and Brittany would never have to see Stella again.”

  “And yet Stella and her wealthy boyfriend are coming back day after tomorrow to take Brittany away.” I drop my head into my hands and sigh.

  A new set of customers pass through the front door, so Renee stands to help them. “You didn’t live here when Brittany and her mom moved to Sunset Cove, but Stella has a brother named Andrew who let them live with him until he moved. Your mom and I wondered if that’s where the money might have come from. He lives in San Francisco, the last anyone heard. Maybe Dylan can help find him?”

  I pop my head up. “Brittany never mentioned having an uncle.” Why am I just learning this now?

  “Probably because he’s about as messed up as Stella. We were all glad to see him leave.” Renee pushes her chair under the table. “Andrew’s probably a dead end, but if I remember anything else, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks.” I pull out my phone to send a text to Gage. I’ll fill him in and also tell him it’s okay to discuss my case with Renee. Hopefully, we’ll find this Andrew person quickly.

  After I hit Send, I dump my trash and gather my things. Nan can watch the bookstore for about another hour, so I head up the hill to my house. I want to ask Brittany some more questions.

  I get about ten feet from Renee’s shop when I hear, “Sawyer! Wait up!”

  Madge is rushing my way, so I stop and let her catch up. “What’s going on?”

  “Big news!” Madge drops her hands to her knees to catch her breath. “Looks like Dylan called in a favor. They moved Tina up in line for an autopsy.” Madge is coughing and panting at the same time.

  “That is good news.” I pat Madge on her yarn-covered back to help her catch her breath. “But blood tests and the like still take some time, right?”

  Madge nods as she straightens. “Here’s the most interesting thing, though.” She swivels her head to be sure no locals can hear. Ignoring the tourists milling around, she whispers, “The doc says Tina’s death was no accident. Says he needs to wait for toxicology reports to call it for sure. That means poison, right?”

  “Probably.” I weave my arm through Madge’s and tug her toward my shop so she can sit down for a second. After I wave to Nan, who’s straightening books on the other side of the store, I get Madge settled on a sofa beside Cooper. “Did you find out any more about the faulty electrical outlet at the community center?”

  “Oh, yeah. Big news there.” Madge’s hand pets Cooper as her eyes drift toward the kitchen area. “This is my lunch break, though, so I might have to tell you after I grab a bite. Unless there are any croissants left?”

  “Sure.” I jog over to the counter and grab two chocolate croissants and a cup of vanilla dream coffee. I hand them over. “You were saying about the electrical?”

  Madge stuffs her mouth full like she hasn’t eaten in a month, making me wait even longer to hear her “big news.” Another of her dramatic pauses.

  Finally, Madge wipes her chin. “We got the full written report today. There were exposed wires, but not that anyone could touch. They were under the cover, just not properly taken care of underneath. The report said the outlet worked. It just wasn’t wired up to code. The mayor told Dylan he’d repaired it himself last week.”

  I flop onto the couch on the other side of my dog and pet Cooper too as I think out loud. “And my dad’s trick checked out too, right? So, electrocution is probably not the cause of Tina’s death.”

  “Right.” Madge takes a long drink from her coffee cup. “I checked all the computer file notes—Dylan hates when I do that, so keep that part zipped please—and a few people backstage noticed Tina had been drinking iced tea with lemon in a clear to-go cup from the diner. Dylan confirmed that was true.”

  While I think eating the greasy food at the diner could kill a person over time, I don’t think anyone there would literally try to kill someone. It’d be bad for business. “Who served her the tea?”

  “A high school kid who works there part-time. No apparent connection to Tina, according to Dylan’s notes.”

  Madge being able to access those notes comes in handy. But now I have to ask the tough question that Dylan brought up a bit ago. “Was there any mention of someone handing Tina a pink rose?” I hold my breath and hope it wasn’t my dad. But it’d totally be something he’d do even for a friend. He’d probably bow while he was doing it too for dramatic effect.

  Madge, her mouth filled with chocolate flakiness, shakes her head.

  That’s a relief. And one step closer to getting my dad out of the suspect pool. Not that I think he did anything wrong, but Dylan has his precious rules to follow.

  Madge washes down the last of her croissant. “Gotta run. Talk soon.” She hops up and is out the door before I can even say goodbye.

  I lean back and cuddle Cooper. If the electrical outlet wasn’t the culprit, then what was? And would my uncle really kill someone he was planning to run off with? He did ask Tina to break ties with my dad. Why do that if he didn’t expect to be with her long-term? I can only think of one plausible cause. Could Uncle Frank have had real feelings for Tina? Enough that he’d risk his fortune?

  Nan appears before me. “Couldn’t help but overhear. You should probably read the books you sometimes sell, Sawyer.” Nan hands me a book and waves. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. Have a good afternoon.” I study the book. It’s A Hundred Ways to Use Poison in Fiction.

  Huh. Brittany must’ve ordered this one. I had no idea we sold it.

  I flip through the pages, amazed at all the bizarre ways writers have found to off their victims. And who knew simple plants could be brewed up to kill? Way back in Roman times, people knew how to do this? I had no idea.

  The bell tinkles above the front door, ripping me from my fascinating reading. It’s Mary from the beauty shop. “Hey, there.” I toss the book aside and stand to greet her.

  Cooper, excited at making a new friend, dashes toward Mary and sits. I’ve taught him to politely lift a paw rather than rushing new people. Because unbeknownst to my little doodle, not everyone is going to instantly love him the way he does strangers.

  Mary smiles and kneels to his level. “Who’s this?” She shakes his paw. When he rolls onto his back, she gives him a rub all over.

  Then, again, he’s excellent at begging for attention.

  “Cooper. Sorry if I interrupted your meeting with Pattie earlier.”

  Mary stands and rolls her eyes. “Pattie’s a cheapskate. Seriously, she makes you measure how much shampoo and conditioner you use on each customer. And she makes me count to fifteen when I rinse to save water.”

  “Water conservation isn’t a bad thing.” I suspect there’s more to the story, but I won’t push. “What happened at school, and how can I help?” She obviously wants my assistance, or she wouldn’t be here.

  “Written tests. The bane of my existence.” Mary flops onto a couch and sighs.

  I sit next to her. “Did you tell your instructors you do better with verbal exams?”

  “No.” She crosses her arms. “I thought culinary school could be a new start. A
place where everyone doesn’t know I’m a freak. Maybe cooking would be a way to feel equal. But then I forgot about the exact nature of baking, my inability to always keep numbers and measurements straight, and I ended up right back to where I started. My classmates and teachers think I’m dumb.”

  “You’re not dumb. Or a freak. I know how smart you are.” My heart hurts for Mary, just like it did when she struggled in elementary school. “Can you still draw?”

  Mary nods. “I don’t do it as much as I did before, but yeah. Do you think I should pursue art instead of cooking?” Her face falls as if I’ve told her the world is about to end.

  “No. I think we should use drawing like when you were little. And I think you need to come clean with your instructors. I bet they’d be happy to help. Once you’re in a real kitchen and can learn visually, you’ll do great.”

  Mary sits up straighter. “How is drawing going to help with recipes on tests?”

  “It’s like when you were younger. We’d read the material to you, and you’d make notes and squiggles that you’d understand. You aced your verbal tests. Let’s try it.” I get some paper and a pen from behind the register and hand it to her. “So, if I said a recipe calls for three cups of sugar, how would you draw it?”

  Mary was always a fast sketcher, and in no time, she’s drawn three drinking cups on the paper and a pack of sugar like you’d see in a restaurant.

  She says, “If it was a half a cup, I’d only fill it halfway with water.”

  “Makes sense. What if the recipe called for three ounces of chicken broth, though?”

  Mary smiles. “Since liquids are in ounces, this might work!” She holds up a drawing of three chickens in a swimming pool.

  Not what I would have expected, but if it works for her, then good. And I have to smile at how cute the chickens are. Mary is an exceptional artist. “That’s amazing. Why don’t you go home and make yourself a legend of visual measurements, then come back? I’ll call out some recipes, and we’ll see how it works.”

  “I will. Thanks, Sawyer.” She starts for the door, but stops. “I almost forgot.” Mary turns around and says, “Pattie lied to you earlier.”

  I stand up, my curiosity piqued. “About what?”

  “She said she gets supplies in Monterey on Saturdays, but that’s not true. She gets all our supplies from a big beauty warehouse in LA. I know because she makes me unpack it all and put it away.”

  This is strange. “Could it be something special she buys? Something she wouldn’t have you unpack. Like expensive scissors?”

  “Nope. I’m the chief minion, and Pattie likes to make me do all the menial work.” She shrugs. “The other hairdressers love that Pattie is gone every other Saturday, though, because they get to take her appointments. It’s our busiest day.”

  “Have you said anything to the other hairdressers? Asked what they think?”

  Mary grimaces. “I hate to say because it’s gossip, but they think she’s secretly seeing someone new. Mostly because she’s been nice to them for a change.”

  Another secret affair? I can’t take many more here. “Pattie’s single. Why would that be such a big deal?”

  “They think she would’ve said something—unless he’s married.” Mary wiggles her brows. “I’ve got to go. Thanks again for the help, Sawyer.”

  I lift a hand to say goodbye and then sink onto the couch again. Why wouldn’t Pattie have just said she was meeting a friend in Monterey. Why lie to me too? That makes no sense.

  It seems all three of the talent show judges have some sort of secret. Did one of them commit murder?

  Chapter 7

  While stirring the base of what I’ll call Sawyer’s Surprise on the stovetop, my thoughts go back to the one thing we know for sure about Tina’s death—we don’t know what actually killed her. The doc said he was stumped by the initial results and will look to her lab work for answers. Madge immediately jumped to the poisoning conclusion, which might be a good thought. And if true, was the prick on Tina’s finger important? Or did she eat or drink something tainted? Do the flowers and the switched name tags have anything to do with her death? Or did she simply prick her finger before she fell?

  I need to talk to Madge. Get her thoughts. So I dial her number.

  When Madge answers I say, “I’ve been thinking about Pattie. All the gals in her shop think she’s secretly seeing someone. But what could that have to do with Tina’s death?”

  Madge sighs. “I don’t know, but Woo-Woo Beth said an affair was involved.”

  “True. But I still find it strange Pattie lied to me.” I fill Madge in on my conversation with Mary.

  “That is odd.” Madge is quiet for a few moments. “You would’ve never given it a second thought if Pattie had just said she was meeting a friend rather than make up a story about getting supplies. Unless Mary is mistaken and Pattie really does get certain supplies in Monterey?”

  “I’ll have to explore that a bit while she cuts my hair tomorrow.” I stir my pot while I think. “So, if not Pattie, how about Emily Kingsley? But other than having a fight with her husband, and being guilty of a little flower switching, I can’t see how she’d be involved.”

  Madge says, “That brings us right back to your uncle.”

  “Yep. Now all we have to do is prove it.” Which is always the hardest part.

  “That’s the plan. I have to run. Catch up later?”

  “Sure.” I turn down the heat under my pan. “I’ll call you after my hair appointment tomorrow. Maybe I’ll have more answers about Pattie then.” I hang up, but a part of me keeps fighting that niggling voice in the back of my head that reminds me that just because my uncle is the easiest and most obvious suspect, we don’t have any evidence to support a crime.

  The back door opens, and Dylan strolls in. “Hi. Something smells good.”

  “Hi, back.” I turn and face him. “How often is the first suspect the one who did it?”

  Dylan cocks his head. “You mean your uncle?”

  “Yeah.” I add heavy cream, fresh basil, and mushrooms to leftover roasted chicken. I’ll toss in some parmesan and chili flakes for punch and pour it all over fettuccini noodles. No one will be the wiser that they’re eating leftovers.

  “Not as often as I’d like.” Dylan joins me at the stove. “I’ve been tempted to throw your uncle in jail for being such a jerk to you. But there’s this thing called the law.”

  “Pesky detail. But it must mean you still love me.” I drop the noodles into boiling water. “I had my doubts when you dumped me to see Beth earlier.”

  The corner of Dylan’s mouth tilts. “Is that your way of asking what Beth told me?”

  “It is. So, spill please. Especially if she has any details about Pattie. The gals at the shop think she’s seeing a married man twice a month in Monterey.”

  Dylan’s brows arch. “At a place called The Blue Hippo?”

  “Yes!” I nearly drop my spoon. That’s the restaurant where Pattie claims she saw my uncle and Tina. I’ve spent most of my life doubting Beth’s so-called powers, but maybe I need to open up my mind a bit. Or, perhaps this is a small town, and secrets are hard to hide. “Did Beth say who the married guy is?”

  Dylan shakes his head. “I got the same story you did from Beth. About jealousy and someone scorned. But then her eyes got weird, and she added the restaurant part.”

  I don’t even want to think about those weird eyes. “Beth didn’t use the word scorned with me. But then, who hasn’t been scorned sometime in their life? A good charlatan uses common words all people can relate to.”

  Dylan leans closer. “Why does it scare you so much to think Beth might really have some special insight?”

  “I…it doesn’t… I’m not.” I cross my arms. “I just think it’s odd.”

  “Not buying it.” Dylan smiles and draws me close. “Your turn to spill.”

  Tears burn in the back of my eyes. I don’t want to tell him, but maybe talking about it will help. My
heart hurts whenever I think of it.

  I slip a hand on the side of his stubbly face and stare into his pretty blue eyes. “Beth told me something when we were kids that—”

  My dad’s voice calls out, “Is it chow time? We’re starving.” He, Brittany, and Meg storm the kitchen.

  Meg skids to a stop. “Oh. Sorry. Are we interrupting?”

  Dad slips into the nook. “I hope so. Any man who thinks I could kill Tina shouldn’t be kissing my daughter.”

  I sigh and start to move away, but Dylan holds me in place.

  He whispers, “We need to finish this later. Promise?” And then he kisses me.

  The man makes my toes tingle, so I allow myself to enjoy the sensation for a few moments before I put an end to the fun. “Promise. Will you pour the wine? But not on my dad’s head, please?”

  Dylan chuckles. “Maybe you have psychic powers too.”

  After the noodles are done, I bring the food to the table and join everyone. “So, I have a question for all of you. Why am I the only one here who didn’t know Brittany has an uncle named Andrew?”

  The blood drains from Brittany’s face as her eyes lock with my father’s. “Did you tell her?”

  “Nope.” Dad fills his plate with chicken and mushroom fettuccini. “I was sworn to secrecy.”

  I turn to Meg. “Seeing as I didn’t even know mom adopted Brittany until I arrived in town, you all must’ve taken an oath.”

  My sister takes a gulp of her wine. “Andrew’s not a nice guy, Sawyer. Brittany is better off with you.”

  I glance at Dylan. “And you? What’s your excuse for not telling me?”

  Dylan breaks a roll in two and hands me half. “I figured you knew about him. And that he’d never be a good option for Brittany as a guardian.”

  I huff out a breath. “Just to be clear here. Renee said Brittany’s mother claimed she’d received a windfall to pay for Brittany’s adoption. Do any of you know where that money came from?”