Chapter Seven
Seven
I had been worried that the drama of Deacon’s arrival might put a damper on the remainder of the signing, but by the time Sebastian wrapped up his question-and-answer session with the crowd and Connor and Daphne had pulled up a big signing table with books, it seemed like the showdown had been largely forgotten.
Sebastian finished signing someone’s custom-made Mrs. Backyard Birdman shirt, and folks drifted into the tea shop to snack on the catering wares and try out my custom iced teas.
It never got boring to hear people say nice things about my offerings when they didn’t think I was around. As I cleared disposable cups and plates from the tables, I kept an ear out for any commentary on the beverages. If they didn’t like the food, that wasn’t my fault.
I spotted Melody and Connor huddled together near the end of one of the service tables, their heads bowed toward each other conspiratorially and their voices in a low whisper. For all their efforts of appearing like they were in a spy movie, they didn’t seem to notice I was in the room with them.
As readers finished their plates and left for the evening, I was able to move closer to the pair under the auspices of tidying up. They didn’t react and just kept talking.
“. . . he thinks that he’s getting back in on this, then he has another . . .” Melody’s grumbling dropping off as the bell over the door jangled. “. . . should get someone to look at the records . . .”
Connor, his expression drawn, was obviously a little concerned over Melody’s laser-focused fury. “. . . don’t think he’ll try again. Let’s not be . . .”
“And Sebastian ,” Melody spat through gritted teeth. She mumbled something I couldn’t make out. “. . . could kill him.”
At this, Connor seemed to nod sympathetically.
My confusion over what they were saying—obviously not helped by my inability to hear most of it—distracted me from what I was doing. I picked up a tray of canapes that had mostly been demolished, but I didn’t get a firm enough grip on one of the handles.
The tray lurched, and before I had a chance to try to save it, something bizarre happened.
The tray froze.
For a second, I thought my time-stopping abilities might have kicked in at a fairly unusual moment, considering I wasn’t in any physical danger, but then I noticed Melody and Connor were turning to look at me.
And the tray was slowly starting to rotate, the remaining appetizers spinning in place like little tops. Oh god, this stupid glitchy magic of mine was really picking the optimal times to mess with me.
If I caught the tray, the dancing appetizers would certainly raise a few questions, so I did the only thing I could think of in that moment of panic.
I smacked the tray to the floor.
Little balls of mozzarella cheese and tiny tomato halves went everywhere, but at least I didn’t think anyone had seen the weird fritzing magic in action.
Melody gave me a dismissive sneer, checking her shoes to see if the balsamic glace had gotten on her. “Be careful ,” she snarled.
“Sorry, tray handle was slippery. My bad.”
Neither of them bothered to offer me any assistance, and they moved back into the bookshop, where Sebastian had a group of lingering fans laughing up a storm—Daphne included. I quickly got the mess taken care of, but the magical mishap meant I never got to finish hearing what Melody and Connor had been saying.
*
I was exhausted and relieved by the time I locked up the shop at six. Normally I wouldn’t have stayed the whole day, but it had taken us a long time to clean up after the signing, and we’d had customers backed up at the cash desk for almost an hour.
The one nice thing about people being forced to wait longer to pay was that they had no choice but to browse the store, and as a result the stacks of books we were ringing through just kept getting taller and taller.
We had sold out of all the extra birding books I’d ordered, and we had only a handful of copies of Sebastian’s book left, which he generously signed so that anyone who’d been unable to come to the event still got one.
Daphne carried hers out before close, hugging it to her chest like a baby, her cheeks flushed with joy. The rain had let up by the time the event ended, and everyone was enthusiastically talking about the next morning’s hike and whether or not Sebastian would find his Pacific tanager.
I had a box in one hand with what scant remains there were of Amy’s beautiful cake after everyone had left. I was too tired to cook anything, so I planned to sit on my couch with the box in my lap and have that for dinner.
I was just about to get into my car when a window over the shop’s rear door opened and a familiar mop of shaggy dark hair popped out.
“You’re here late on a Saturday,” Rich Lofting said, resting his arms on the window ledge and smiling down at me.
“Wow, you really are a good private investigator. Did they teach you observation skills like that when you were a cop, or are you just naturally quick?” I grinned at him. He made me feel like I was thirteen again, because we had grown up over our summers together lobbing good-natured abuse as the only form of flirtation we had a grasp on. Little had changed now that we were adults.
“Where’s your better half?”
“He had to stay home today.”
“Oh no, Bob got stuck on time out?”
I laughed, opening my passenger door to put the cake on the seat. “We had a big signing this afternoon. Did you sleep through all the commotion?” Rich’s job required him to work truly bizarre hours, so sometimes he was asleep until midday.
“I was actually in Barneswood until about fifteen minutes ago. Sorry I missed your event.”
“Unless you love birds and a moderate sprinkling of high drama, I don’t think you missed much.”
Rich made a little face. “I can’t say I love either of those things.”
“Isn’t drama your literal job?”
“I’m a PI, not a playwright.”
“Ugh, go away.” My cheeks hurt I was smiling so hard.
“Hold on, I had a legitimate reason for bugging you, and while this feels a little more Romeo and Juliet than I’d like, I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner with me next week? Like, real dinner, not just Sweet Peach’s.”
While the food at Sweet Peach’s, our local diner, was unbelievably good, so far it had been the only place we’d really been out together, which would have been fine if we were still teenagers, but it made it difficult for me to put a name on what it was we were to each other.
Rich and I were both recently divorced, and it had made us gun-shy about jumping into a romantic entanglement. The problem was that we both very obviously liked each other, and ever since I’d gotten back into town, we had been playing a very stupid game of When will they start dating? It was a trope I hated in my real life even more than on TV.
We kept talking about doing things, and we kept accidentally doing things, but now was the moment he was finally asking me out on the long-promised real date.
“I would like that a lot,” I told him. “Now, by real dinner, you’re going to need to give a lady guidance on what to wear, because I normally dress like a very hip spinster librarian.” I gestured to my jeans, cardigan, and silly book-themed shirt.
“Let me mull that over and get back to you.”
We said our goodbyes and I headed home, ready for my dinner of cake.
*
In the morning, I was greeted by the most unusual thing when I opened my eyes. It wasn’t the big orange lump on my pillow; that had become a pretty standard part of my morning. When I looked out the big picture window in my bedroom, bright, butter-yellow sunshine was beaming through.
I sat up in bed with all the enthusiasm of a small child on Christmas morning. I could barely believe what I was seeing. After day upon day of rain, the sight of a clear blue sky and sunlight blasting over everything was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
My alarm had been set early, the plan being to head out on the hike in a big group by seven o’clock. The early Sunday start was both to allow churchgoers to make it back in time for an afternoon service and because there was apparently some truth in the saying that an early bird catches the worm, because an early birder sees the best birds.
I had a quick shower and decided to forgo my usual morning run, figuring the hike would give me more than enough of a workout. It did feel strange to skip over my usual long skirts and jeans in favor of a good pair of shorts and my long-ignored hiking boots. I couldn’t resist letting my shirt have some personality and donned one that had an old-fashioned library card on it and said Sometimes I Overdue It in typewriter font underneath.
Bob watched as I hustled around to get ready. I was usually at the shop before seven every morning, yet for some reason I was running late today. Perhaps the signing yesterday had tired me out more than I’d expected.
Since I’d never make it on time if I walked or biked, I decided to drive to the little parking lot near one of the town’s iconic covered bridges. There was a great—and relatively easy—hiking trail that started next to one of them, which was where today’s event was going to begin.
I made my way through town, taking a different route than I normally went, since I wasn’t going to the shop. It was funny how you could live in a town for almost a year and still find new things you’d never seen before. I decided I really should make more time to see all the different streets and avenues in Raven Creek rather than keeping to the five or six places I was most accustomed to.
I was soon passing the Primrose B and B, where we’d rented rooms for Sebastian and his crew, and I was so focused on getting to the hike that I almost didn’t notice the two police cars and the ambulance. When what I was looking at finally registered, I slammed on the brakes and parked my car at the curb.
I spotted Melody almost immediately, sitting on the front step of the B and B, her eyes puffy and red, cheeks streaked with tears.
“Melody, what’s going on?”
The police were coming and going, but the ambulance was eerily quiet.
“I-it’s Se-Sebastian,” she stammered. “Someone killed him.”