A book to kill for, p.11
A Book to Kill For, page 11
“Of course. He’s my boss. I sort of have to. Why don’t you go talk to him?” Maggie urged, hoping the women would take the hint.
“We’ve been trying, but Samantha Toonsley has been at his side all night.” Wilma sighed. “And you should see what she’s wearing.”
“What is she wearing?” Maggie asked. She’d had half a dozen dresses over her shoulder at Spotlight. Which one had she picked?
“Take a look.” Wilma stepped aside for Maggie to peek around the corner.
Sure enough, Samantha Toonsley was talking with Joshua, who looked to be enjoying himself immensely as she flirted, smoothing out his collar and smiling at everything he said. She was wearing a black dress that was cut low in the front and hugged her hips before flaring out around her legs. Her heels were so high Maggie was sure she would get a nosebleed. There was no denying the woman looked amazing.
Maggie was no contest for that kind of display and quickly shrugged and pushed past the bank ladies in order to take her seat behind the counter. When she looked down at her dress to smooth it out, she felt a little bit silly for having thought she would ever get the attention of someone like Joshua. Sure, his father had always encouraged her to date, but he had been an old man. His eyesight had to have been going, and what else was he going to say? That was what old gentlemen did: they complimented young ladies and made them feel prettier than they really were.
“Are you ladies going to buy any books?” Maggie asked.
“Oh, I’m not much of a reader.” Wilma shrugged and chuckled. “Unless you have some of those paperback romances with the ladies in slightly torn ball gowns in the arms of Fabio.”
“I get all my books on Amazon,” Joyce needled.
“Okay, then thanks for stopping by. You can go now.” Maggie cleared her throat nervously and began to shuffle some of the paper bags in an attempt to look busy.
Just then, Poe hopped up on the counter, stretched out lazily, and let Maggie stroke his coat.
“I want to keep the register area open for paying customers. But why don’t you look around. Maybe you’ll see something that looks interesting. Harlequin Romance novels are in the back corner, across from the westerns.” Maggie pointed.
“I could use another drink,” Joyce suggested, to which the other bank ladies agreed. Before Maggie could say anything else, they were bustling back toward the café without another word in her direction.
“Or maybe not,” Maggie huffed as they went back into the café, toward the soft lighting and the smell of strong coffee and pretty music, which had gone from classical to smooth jazz. With half the town of Fair Haven meandering back and forth, Maggie missed Mr. Whitfield more than ever. He had been her friend—her only friend—and she wished he was here. He would have enjoyed the party, and he would have enjoyed the people, even if Maggie shied away from every one of them.
Still, she was shocked at how many people did come into the bookshop, who did seriously look around, and who did buy something. What was even more astonishing was how many of them knew her name and spoke kindly of Mr. Whitfield. She had been sure he’d never left the bookshop. She’d always found him in roughly the same place every day when she came to work, sitting in his cubby or roaming the aisles of books for something new to read or something old to reread. When had he met everyone?
“Mr. Whitfield will be missed this year. We’ll have to find a new Santa Claus,” one woman who worked with special-needs kids said to Maggie, making her gasp.
“He played Santa?”
“Every year for the past ten years,” the older woman said.
The book club ladies came by and gushed all over Maggie’s new dress.
“Have you ever thought of contacts, Maggie? You’ve got such pretty eyes. Not that your glasses don’t suit you. They do. But for a change of pace, a different look,” Mrs. Pine suggested with a kind, wrinkly smile.
“I do, but I’m too squeamish to wear them,” Maggie replied and pushed her glasses up on her nose.
“We miss Alexander. We don’t know who is going to recommend our books from now on,” Mrs. Lennox added.
“He suggested your books for your book club?” Maggie asked. “I never knew.”
“Oh, yes. And I don’t think we were ever disappointed with one of his suggestions. He was such an eclectic man. Well rounded. For a man who never left Fair Haven, he was more knowledgeable than any teacher at the community college.”
Maggie was shocked at all the people who had known Mr. Whitfield. But perhaps the most shocking was Tammy from the bakery. When she stopped by, Maggie thought for sure she was going to burst into tears.
“Maggie, I almost didn’t recognize you,” she said sweetly.
“Hi, Tammy.” Maggie took a deep breath and smoothed out her skirt for the hundredth time.
“Alexander would be so proud if he could see you right now. You know he loved you like his own daughter,” Tammy replied.
“Thank you, Tammy.”
“You know, he and I talked a great deal about you when he came to the bakery. He worried that you were staying close by because of him. That you might not see in yourself what he saw if he didn’t let you go eventually.” Tammy put her hands together.
“Oh, he didn’t have to worry about me,” Maggie said. “I like being alone.”
“I do too sometimes.” Tammy smiled. “But sometimes that can lead to being lonely.”
“Sometimes,” Maggie whispered.
“If you ever feel that way, honey, you come and see me. Any time. Day or night. Okay?” Tammy patted Maggie’s hand.
“Okay,” Maggie said. She’d never admit, even to herself, that sometimes she did feel lonely. Sometimes. And she’d never whisper to a soul that with Mr. Whitfield gone, she was terribly sad. She worried about her future and what was going to happen as she crept toward middle age. Although she had some savings because her rent was cheap, she hardly had a nest egg. She shook her head to scatter the negative thoughts away and smiled at Tammy.
“I have to say the bookstore looks beautiful. And who did the window?” Tammy asked.
“I did,” Maggie said, her back straightening with pride.
“Oh, the beauty salon is not going to be happy. Looks like there will be some serious competition this year during the winter festival. See, that’s what Alexander knew about you.” Tammy smiled and smoothed a few wisps of Maggie’s hair away from her face. “He knew you had more to offer than you were letting on.”
After Tammy went back to the café, Maggie walked over and looked at her window display. There were people on the other side admiring it as well. They waved to her, and she waved back before they went on their way. She rocked on her heels and felt proud of herself.
Finally, it sounded as if the evening was wrapping up. People continued to sweep through the bookshop, commenting on the beautiful display window while making a serious dent in the inventory of new books. Many of the older books were still in their places, and Maggie was glad for that. There were still so many she hadn’t read. But as she rang up the last person buying a copy of Manhattan Solstice, she was shocked to see the cash and credit card receipts in the till.
When Maggie stepped around the counter and went to lock the bookshop door, she couldn’t help but hear a few people still talking in the café. She saw Calvin Toonsley chatting about the stock market and looking at his Rolex in front of a doe-eyed woman wearing no wedding ring.
Meanwhile, Joshua and Samantha were nowhere to be seen. Maggie took a deep breath before suddenly realizing her feet were aching in her heels. She rarely wore shoes like this, but she didn’t want anyone to see her take them off and walk around barefoot. Since no one was coming to the bookshop side at this point in the evening, Maggie walked down the aisle and slipped out of her shoes. She wiggled her toes against the cool, aged hardwood floor.
Just then, Joshua appeared, and he was looking around. Just as Maggie was about to make her presence known, Samantha showed up again.
“You didn’t think I was going to give up that easily, did you?” she purred.
“You haven’t given up all night. Samantha, your husband is just across that threshold, and I think he’s had more than a few glasses of wine,” Joshua said.
“Look, I donate to a lot of powerful people in this town. I’m invited to every fundraiser, everyone knows me, and if I were to say that you did something not so nice, well, you can bet that this little business of yours would be shut down before you can say Ernest Hemingway,” she hissed.
“Are you threatening me, Samantha?” Joshua asked.
Maggie stood perfectly still and watched from between the bookshelves. Neither Joshua nor Samantha knew she was there.
“Yes, I am,” she hissed.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in doing any business with you under these circumstances,” Joshua replied.
“I gave you a chance. You’ll be sorry,” Samantha said before flipping her hair and stomping out of the bookshop.
Maggie took a step toward him and was about to reveal herself when Tammy appeared. “It looks like that’s the end, Josh. Everyone is clearing out. And I think the bartender wants to get paid,” she whispered.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got his cash for him. Thanks, Tammy. Everything was wonderful,” he said as they walked back into the café.
Maggie thought she’d wait for him to come back but decided that might take a while. There was nothing to be done with the cash in the register that couldn’t wait until morning. Replenishing the display shelves could also wait until morning. So Maggie decided she would slip out unnoticed.
As she pulled the door to the bookshop closed behind her, locking it from the outside and then opening her umbrella, she didn’t notice the slouching form that was waiting in the shadows.
Chapter 19
Maggie hopped into her car and drove home. The rain had continued all evening. Maggie wondered how many sales there would have been had the weather been a little more accommodating. She started to compare how many people had shown up with the total number of people in town and an estimate of how many actually read books. Well, it wasn’t a scientific formula, but she felt a twinge of excitement at the prospect of nicer weather meaning more sales. That would ensure Mr. Whitfield wouldn’t be forgotten in Fair Haven.
As she let herself into her house, she was feeling something she hadn’t felt in a long time: excitement. She was excited that so many people had come into the store. She hadn’t liked talking to any of them, but she had done it anyway. And no one had screamed in horror or pointed at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a second head. In fact, no one had really seemed to notice how nervous she was. That was exciting too.
And Joshua noticed you too, she thought.
“Oh, no. That was nothing. He was caught up in the excitement of the night,” she said. She kicked off her shoes with a groan of relief and walked to the bathroom to get undressed. Before she could put her pajamas on, there was a knock at the door.
“Mrs. Peacock, what do you want now?” Maggie muttered. Without thinking, and breaking one of her own basic rules, she opened the door without the chain in place.
“How was the party?” Roger Hawes snapped. He had clearly followed Maggie home.
She let out a yelp then squinted to focus on the man’s shiny, wet face. “Roger Hawes? What are you doing here?” Maggie gulped and partially hid behind the door as if she were not dressed. She could see that his wrinkled clothes were sticking to him.
“I need to talk to you.” He wiped off his face with his pudgy hand. “You’re in a lot of danger. You’ve got to listen to me.”
“Roger, have you been drinking?” Maggie pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes.
“You always seemed like a nice girl. A little weird but decent enough.”
“You have been drinking,” Maggie muttered.
“No, I haven’t. But I wouldn’t mind a little snort of whiskey at the moment. Can I come in? You wouldn’t happen to have a…”
“No, Roger!” Maggie stated and rolled her eyes as she closed the door so just her face showed. “Can you get to the point?”
“Mr. Whitfield was not that close to his son for a reason,” Roger said.
“I think you should go home, Roger. Would you like me to call you a cab?” Maggie said as she went to shut the door.
Roger slapped his meaty hand against it to keep her from shutting it all the way. “You know he killed Bo Logan. He did that because he took out a new insurance policy on the men working for him. He’s going to be a very rich man when that insurance policy pays out,” Roger said, his cheeks red as if the strain of holding the door open was the most exercise he’d gotten in a decade.
“I don’t know anything about his insurance. I don’t know how you do either,” Maggie replied. She’d had more than enough confrontations today. All she wanted was to get into her pajamas and finish reading her book.
“I know people, Maggie. And I know that Joshua Whitfield is a hack carpenter. He uses bad materials. He’s got more than one creditor out to get him. You know he is responsible for Bo’s death. You know he is. And what’s more, he doesn’t care. He won’t care when something bad happens to you,” Roger said.
“What do you mean by that?” Maggie stared at Roger through the crack in the door.
“Like I said, you seem like a nice girl. I’m just looking out for you,” Roger said and clumsily cracked a smile as if it was something he wasn’t accustomed to doing. His face looked as if it had been bisected with a broken piece of porcelain.
Roger Hawes had never looked out for anyone other than Roger Hawes. There was something going on, and Maggie didn’t like the sound of it. Roger was up to something.
“I think it’s time you leave, Roger. Don’t make me call Gary Brookes to come and escort you off the property. Or worse, Mrs. Peacock herself,” she said.
At the mention of the lady of the estate, Roger’s face went gaunt, and he looked over his shoulder. It wasn’t as if Mrs. Peacock had a black belt in karate or even a twelve-gauge shotgun to protect herself. What she did have was the fastest-dialing fingers on the East Coast, and Roger knew if the word got out that he had been lurking around the property to harass Mrs. Peacock’s tenant, well, Roger Hawes might have his own problems getting work in Fair Haven. He was known as an extreme cheapskate himself, and the last thing he needed was to have the rumor floating around that he had come to bully the quietest, shyest woman in town.
“You just be careful, Maggie. Things happen when you least expect them,” Roger said as lightning flashed and a low growl of thunder rumbled.
Maggie watched him back off the porch, pull his soaked collar up around his neck, and hurry down the sidewalk, past the big house, and into the darkness. She shut the door and slipped the lock into place, leaning against the door.
“I can’t call Gary and tell him he needs to look into Roger Hawes, too,” she said to herself. “I told him I suspected Ruby Sinclair, then Toby, and now Roger is showing up at my house in the rain with cryptic warnings.”
Maggie thought for a moment.
When she finally made up her mind, she walked to her room, pulling off her dress at the same time, and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a baggy flannel shirt. Without any thought, she let her hair fall to her shoulders and dashed out the door with her umbrella and car keys. It didn’t take her long to get to the bookstore, which was now dark and quiet.
“I’ll tell Joshua what he said and then be on my way. That way he can deal with Roger or not. I’ve done all I can. I feel like I’m babysitting,” she muttered to herself as she parked the car in front of the bookshop.
When she got out of the car and looked up, she saw just a slight glow of light from the upstairs apartment.
Maggie took a deep breath and walked to the door. After collapsing the umbrella, she unlocked the door quickly, as she was getting wetter by the second. The rain wasn’t pouring down; it was just constant. Maggie usually enjoyed rainy days better than sunny ones. There was something about the sound of it against the windows that encouraged snuggling under blankets or wrapping up in a bulky sweater with a good book.
Suddenly, the idea of cozying up under a thick blanket with Joshua Whitfield popped into her head, making her hands tremble.
“What are you, crazy?” she whispered as the deadbolt slipped back with a loud click.
Maggie stepped inside, closing the door gently behind her. The smell of coffee lingered just below the scent of all the books she’d surrounded herself with for so many years. When she thought back over the years she’d worked with Mr. Whitfield, she couldn’t recall a time she’d ever been required to come to the bookshop when it was this dark and late in the evening.
A shiver suddenly ran up her spine. Maggie, who prided herself on reading books of all genres, suddenly found herself recalling scenes from some of the scariest titles she’d read. The faint triangles of light cast through the display window by the streetlamp down at the end of the block offered her no comfort.
“You’re being silly,” she whispered. “This place is the same now as it was this morning. Get a hold of yourself.”
She propped her umbrella by the door so she wouldn’t forget it and proceeded to walk into the store that she knew so well. Books no longer lay on the floor beside the counter, since she’d moved them for the event. The coffee-table books that had been sticking out had also found a new home, where they could be seen without snagging someone’s leg or skirt, so the aisle to the back staircase was clear.
Except it wasn’t.
Maggie carefully walked to the back of the store, running her fingers gently along the spines in the bookcase on her right to keep herself from getting scared. This was Mr. Whitfield’s shop. These books held some of the greatest stories ever told. They’d been her friends for years. There was nothing scary here.
But just as she was about to let out the breath she was holding, Maggie’s foot snagged on a book on the floor. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she kicked and stumbled over another then tripped completely over a stack of books that had been left on the floor, and she landed with a thud on her face.
