Was this what had prompted the claim on the property? I wondered.
As I stepped out of the copy room, I heard Scooter's low voice.
"Look again," he was saying. "If we can't put our hands on it, the whole deal is off. I want to help you, you know I do, but it's got to be taken care of." I paused and listened.
"By the end of the week," he said. "I don't want to take any chances." Another silence. "No! Of course I didn't have anything to do with it. Probably some woman he broke up with, crime of passion, and all that." He paused for a moment, then said, "All right. Remember. By the end of the week."
I could hear the click of the phone being hung up, and strode down the hallway to where Rupert was sitting. "Here," I said, handing him the will, then put on my nicest smile and said, "Hey... could you tell me who just called Mr. Dempsey?"
"No," he said flatly. Then, "Have a nice day."
Oh, well. It was worth trying.
I let myself out of his bitter-smelling office and took a deep breath of the cool air, thinking about that note on the will. What did those letters mean, anyway? I had no idea... but I had a feeling if I could figure it out, it would help me understand why Agatha had chosen to stake her claim so suddenly. And what was it that she was looking for that she needed to talk to Scooter about? It made no sense.
And it took me no closer to explaining what had happened to Cal Parker.
As I walked the fresh-scrubbed brick sidewalks toward Main Street, enjoying the cool breeze playing with my hair, my thoughts turned back to the grisly discovery I'd made outside the shop. Already I was getting the impression that not only the police, but ordinary folks in Snug Harbor suspected I had something to do with it. After all, I wasn't totally "local," and he had been found on my property the morning after he'd threatened to shut me down. With my flatiron embedded in his head, no less, although that supposedly wasn't common knowledge.
Whoever Scooter had been talking to had seemed to be asking if he had anything to do with it. He'd denied it... but why would someone think that?
And who were the women Cal had been dating?
I rounded the corner onto Main Street, where I was met with the flashing stained glass ornaments outside of Snug Harbor Suncatchers, along with the chiming of the clock outside the bank. I caught a whiff of coffee—the delicious, non-burnt variety—and glanced over to Sea Beans, which seemed to be doing a booming business, I was glad to see. Maybe we could serve their coffee at the bookstore? I wondered. I took two more steps and decided coffee was definitely in my immediate future.
Because parked right outside was the green Jaguar I'd seen at Windswept.
14
The hum of the espresso machine and the chatter of animated voices mingled with the sound of jazz coming from the speakers as I pulled the door to Sea Beans open.
I'd been in the coffee shop a few times before—I was watching my budget, so didn't spend much on food and drink I hadn't made myself these days, but I’d treated myself a couple of times—and today, as always, I was struck by the cheerful, lively vibe of the place. The front case was filled with luscious pastries, including cinnamon rolls, bagels, muffins like the one Denise had brought over yesterday, croissants, and other carbohydrate-infused delights. A young barista at the old-fashioned espresso machine was pulling two shots of espresso, while another woman closer to my age handled the cash register.
I scanned the little shop, which was filled with a delightful hodgepodge of tables and chairs, including four squishy armchairs in the front corner and a couch and love seat toward the back, and I spotted my target immediately. She was facing away from me, at a small table along the back wall, still wearing her sunglasses even though she was inside and facing away from the windows. The pendant diamond in her ear sparkled as she tilted her head to sip from an espresso cup.
Denise wasn't there. I ordered a drip coffee and paid for it, smiling at the barista, then drifted over to the table next to where the mystery woman sat nursing her espresso.
She was an attractive woman—regal, almost—with dark hair pulled back into a loose bun. She wore jeans that looked tailored (if jeans can be tailored), expensive-looking brown suede pumps, and a red silk blouse, her small waist cinched in by a belt. Her phone, nestled in a silver case, lay face-down on the table; she kept picking it up and checking it, as if waiting for something.
I sat at the table next to hers, sipping my coffee and trying to act nonchalant. She took another sip of her espresso, leaving a russet lipstick print on the white cup. I was about to try to engage her in conversation when there was a buzzing sound from the phone on the table. She grabbed for it, her other hand touching her hair with a nervous gesture as she pressed it to her ear.
"What did you find out?" she asked. A moment later, her chin quivered. "Are you sure?" Silence. "I just... I still just can't believe it," she said, swiping at her eyes beneath the
