"Maybe," she said, then released the cup and checked her phone again. "It's been nice talking to you—thanks for listening—but I've got to go."
"Feel free to drop by the store anytime," I said. "And if you need anything..."
"Right. Thanks again," she said, and gathered up her Coach purse and strode to the front of the shop, leaving her espresso cup behind.
As she pushed through the door, I wondered who she'd been talking to before I struck up a conversation with her.
And why she hadn't told me who had inherited Cal Parker's estate.
Because I would have bet one of the last dollars I owned that Deirdre knew.
"How'd it go?" I asked Bethany as I walked through the front door of Seaside Cottage Books a half hour after, taking a deep breath and savoring the scent of books, floor polish, fresh cookies, and fresh outside air. I'd stopped at the grocery store to pick up supplies for dinner along the way, and was carrying two grocery bags. Winston trotted over to greet me, standing up on his hind legs to inspect the grocery bags and say hello. I normally discouraged this behavior, but today my heart warmed at the welcome, and he half-closed his brown eyes in ecstasy as I rubbed the top of his head.
"Another seventy-five dollars in sales," she said brightly. "And those cookies are a hit!"
"Good," I said. The cake dish I'd set up next to the register was filled with what was left of the raspberry meltaway cookies; I'd made. "There's shortbread dough in the fridge upstairs; I'll toss those cookies in soon."
"Sounds yummy," she said. "But I want that raspberry cookie recipe."
"Of course," I told her. "Anything exciting to report?"
"I don't know if it's exciting," she said, picking up a slip of paper from the desk. "But Nicholas called."
"Oh," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. I guess I hadn't given him my cell number, so he'd called the store. "Thanks. I'm going to run upstairs and give him a call back."
"I'll be here," she said, but I thought I saw her lips twitch up into a little smile as I hurried up the stairs.
Winston followed me up the stairs. I closed the door to the store, grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge for my fluffy friend, took a deep breath, and dialed the number. A woman with a professional voice answered, and connected me to Nicholas.
"Hey," I said. "Max here."
"I'm sorry I called the store; I realized I didn't have your number."
"No worries," I said. "I'll give it to you now." Feeling a flutter of excitement, I reeled off my number. "Sorry again about the coffee incident. I owe you one."
"I ran into you," he reminded me. "Anyway, I'm sorry to have to be the bearer of bad tidings, but..."
"Oh, no," I said, sinking down onto a card-table chair. "I'm sitting down. Lay it on me."
"The only will recorded gave the store to both sisters," he said.
"There wasn't another one?"
"If so, it wasn't recorded," he said. "And I can't find anything else recorded that would forfeit Agatha's right to the property."
"Uh oh. Which means..."
"That unless you can come up with some kind of evidence to disprove it, Agatha's claim is valid."
15
"Evidence," I said, leaning back as I took in what he'd told me. "What kind of evidence?'
"A different will, a deed; anything that shows that Loretta was the property's sole owner when the transaction took place. Hopefully you registered the deed?"
"I don't know that we did," I said, "but I'll look. I'm confused, though; why would Agatha be complaining about this now, and not years ago, when Loretta took over the shop? Or when she sold it to me?"
"There is something odd about the timing," he agreed. "But without a piece of paper showing that Loretta owned the property outright, Agatha's got a good claim."
I leaned back, feeling drained. "What do I do?"
"I'd talk to some of Loretta's friends. Find out if she mentioned anything about a transaction between Agatha and Loretta. Or if she had a safe deposit box we don't know about... anything that might turn up something in your favor."
"I can't believe she'd take money for a property that wasn't hers."
"From what I knew of her, I can't either," he said. "But people do funny things."
"They do, don't they?" I asked. "Hey... are wills public knowlege?"
"Are you thinking of Cal Parker?"
"Yeah. I normally wouldn't ask about something like that, but I'm worried I might be a suspect, and I'm wondering who would benefit from his death."
"Hmm. It's early for the will to be probated, but I'll see what I can find out."
"Thank you," I said. "I really appreciate your help... can I cook dinner for you sometime?"
There was a long silence during which I cursed myself for my forwardness.
"Ah, let me think on that."
"Oh. Okay. Sorry if I kind of overstepped..."
"No, no, it's okay. Hey... I've got another call. Can I catch up with you later?"
"Sure," I said, feeling a rush of embarrassment. "And thanks again."
"No problem," he said, and as he hung up, I resisted the urge to bang my head against the wall repeatedly.
"Nice going, Max," I said to myself. Not only had I presumed that his services were free, I'd done something that sounded like asking him for a date. When he hadn't spoken with me for decades and things were just starting to warm up again.
And then there was the fact that I'd spent everything I had to buy a building that apparently now didn't belong to me.
I needed a break from reality, I thought as I stood up, Winston looking at me questioningly—he always knew when I was upset—and trudged back downstairs.
Thank goodness
