"What was I supposed to do, harass a dying woman?" she spat.
"But she passed a month ago," I said. "Why are you only bringing this up now?"
For the first time, she looked a little less sure of herself. Her eyes darted around for a moment, and then she said, "I had to research things."
"What things?" I asked. "If you knew the will gave the store to both of you, and you had a copy, what more was there?"
"I just... anyway, it doesn't matter when I lodge the complaint," she announced, crossing her arms over her chest. The buttoned-up collar of her gray blouse was so tight it looked like it might be cutting off circulation to her head. "We need this resolved. You need to pay me fair market value for my share of the property."
"If that is the answer, that's going to take some time, I'm afraid," I said. "I put all of my money into the store; I'd have to get a loan, and that's a process." I wasn't sure I could get a loan, but I wasn't going to tell Agatha that.
"You'll need to do it fast. I have a good offer on the property. If you can't match it, then I'll have to sell to him."
"But if I own half the property—and since Loretta signed a quitclaim deed, I do own at least half—then wouldn't I have to approve the sale, too?" I asked. "Besides, you'd have to pay my half of the value, since Loretta sold to me."
Her mouth worked for a bit; I'd flummoxed her. "All I know is you're a squatter. Maybe even a killer. And I demand my money." And then, without another word, she stormed back the way she'd come, leaving me feeling like I'd won at least a tiny victory.
For now, anyway.
But it still didn't get me any closer to getting me off the suspect list for Cal Parker's murder.
19
Bethany showed up at noon, looking pensive.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I've hit a bit of a stumbling block on my mystery," she said. "I know the timing is less than ideal, but would you mind if I announced the store mystery writer's group we'd talked about? I could use some input from fellow writers."
"I've got enough of a mystery myself to contend with right now, with half the town and the police convinced I killed Cal Parker,” I said, "but go for it. Anything that brings people in the door is good in my book." It had been a slowish morning. I'd sold a few cookbooks, a couple of thrillers, and one copy of The Very Hungry Little Caterpillar, and eaten half the cookies myself.
"I'll put the notice on the Facebook page," she said, then hesitated. "There are a few things I should show you, by the way."
"What?"
She pulled up Facebook on her iPad. "You've gotten a few nasty posts from sham accounts."
"Like what?" I asked.
She scrolled to two of them. DO NOT SHOP HERE UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR HEAD BASHED IN, read one, along with BOOKSTORE OWNED BY MURDERER. The posters were named John Eastport and Jane Schoodic.
"Creative," I said with a sigh.
"I've hidden them all, but I had to change the settings on the page so that all posts are approved, and I have to monitor comments constantly."
"Who is doing this?"
"I don't know," she said, "but it's not good for business."
"Maybe we should shut down the page."
"Or, better yet, solve the mystery of what happened to Cal Parker," Bethany suggested. "Any ideas?"
As I rearranged the bookmarks I'd set up by the register—I hoped soon to have crafts from locals to sell, including handmade bookmarks and journals, presuming I remained in business for more than a week—I gave her a rundown of what I knew so far. "It had to be someone at the bookstore that night, since the murder weapon was the flatiron I keep by the door."
"Okay," she said, taking out a pad and a pen. "Meryl Ferguson is high on that list."
"Yes," I said. "She's furious he 'stole' her selectman seat, and thinks he was going to sell out Snug Harbor."
"But is that enough to kill for?" Bethany asked.
"I'm not sure it's typical 'crime of passion' material," I admitted, "but it's enough to keep her on the list. Jared Berland down at the Salty Dog is another possibility; Cal was giving him a really hard time about his business, and I overheard Jared and Sylvia yelling at each other down on the beach. She seemed to think he might have been responsible for what happened."
"Jared does have a violent temperament," she said, tapping her pad with the pen. "I'll put him down. He's got a reputation for potential domestic abuse, too."
"Poor Sylvia," I said.
"I know," she said. "What about Cal's brother Josiah?" she asked.
"I've never met him, but from everything I've heard, he's definitely on the list," I replied as I moved over to the blank book section, straightening the spines. Would anyone ever buy them? I wondered, then banished the thought. "Do you know where I can find Josiah?" I asked.
"I'd recommend the Salty Dog," she suggested. "He likes to go there for Happy Hour and trash talk his brother with the Berlands."
"I can kill two birds with one stone, then," I said. "So to speak. On the other hand, Jared wasn't at the reading that night."
She chewed on the end of her pen. "When did you notice the doorstop missing?"
"Not until the end of the night, I think," I said. "Why?"
"I saw Jared and Josiah walking on the beach behind the store earlier in the day," she said.
