Chapter Nine
Sam ran a few errands after that, but her mind kept running through what she’d learned that morning. Then she thought about Charlotte again, and how upset she’d been at finding Margaret. Maybe she’d bring her some food.
After running by the grocery store, Sam made a quick trip to her house to put all her purchases away. Then she stopped by Mountain View Deli to pick up two turkey clubs with all the fixings and a couple of bags of chips. She knew Charlotte liked their sweet tea, so she grabbed two of those as well.
The “closed” sign still hung in Twice-Told Tales’ front window when Sam arrived. She knocked gently, and Charlotte appeared a moment later, unlocking the door.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Charlotte said, her voice weary. She looked tired, with dark circles under her eyes and her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. “Come on in.”
They settled into a couple of chairs in the main room of the store. Charlotte sighed. “I couldn’t bring myself to open the store yet. It somehow feels sort of disrespectful to Margaret. But I will tomorrow. I know I can’t stay closed forever.”
“Finding Margaret like that was so rough, I know.” Sam split up the food and drinks between them. “How are you really doing?”
Charlotte unwrapped her sandwich eagerly, as if she’d forgotten to eat. “I keep replaying it. I should have checked the back room before I locked up. Maybe if I’d found her sooner, she wouldn’t have died.”
“You couldn’t have known she was still there. Nobody could.”
“No, you’re right,” said Charlotte. “Logically, I know that.” Charlotte took a bite, chewing mechanically. “But I keep thinking about her being alone all night. Even if she was already gone.” Charlotte swallowed. “It just feels wrong.”
Sam said, “I know.”
They quietly ate their lunch for a few moments.
Then Charlotte said, “Officer Martinez was very kind. Very professional, but not cold, you know? She took my statement and asked if I needed anything.” She took a sip of her sweet tea.
“The chief spent more time peppering me with questions about who had access to the building, whether anyone seemed upset, and where everyone was during the meeting. He also wanted to know who left when.”
“What did you tell him?”
Charlotte sighed. “You saw how it was. There were people at the cash register, buying books. People chatting. Members were coming and going. But I did notice Dylan left almost the second we finished. And that’s not like him at all.
Usually he lingers, wants to talk about the books, and ask for reading recommendations.
But after the meeting, he couldn’t get out fast enough. ”
“Do you think he was just uncomfortable? Margaret was being really critical of everyone.”
Charlotte shook her head slowly. “It was more than that. He looked almost scared. Or angry, maybe. I couldn’t tell which.” She paused. “What I didn’t mention to the police, because I didn’t think of it later, was that Dylan had been one of Margaret’s students. It was years ago at Western Carolina.”
“Wow. He probably knew exactly how she was going to act at book club.”
“Right,” said Charlotte. “He mentioned it once when he first joined the club. Dylan said something about having her as a professor and hoping she wouldn’t remember him.
Then, with what happened on open mic night?
” Charlotte made a face. “I feel awful about that. Almost like I should have been able to protect him better.”
“What happened?”
Charlotte said, “Dylan was so excited. He’d been working on honing his poetry for weeks.
He was really shy when he invited us all to go to the coffeehouse one night for their open mic night.
” She sighed again. “I mean, the whole point of those types of events is to build community for local artists and help build them up. But Margaret eviscerated him.”
“Oh no.”
Charlotte gave a sad nod. “In front of everyone. She said his work showed ‘the dangers of participation-trophy-culture meeting poetry.’ The local press was there covering it; you know how they always write-up small town events. Anyway, they quoted her. Dylan was devastated.”
“That’s incredibly brutal.”
Charlotte said, “And his girlfriend broke up with him over it.”
Sam frowned. “Really? That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, that’s what Dylan said to me. Apparently, she was embarrassed to be seen with him after the article in the paper came out.”
“That’s a pretty strong motive,” said Sam slowly.
“I know.” Charlotte looked miserable. “That’s why I told Chief Hawkins about it. But Sam, I’ve known Dylan over a year. He’s passionate about his creativity, and he can be intense. But I can’t see him murdering anybody.”
“Maybe it was just the straw breaking the camel’s back?”
“I suppose.” Charlotte took another bite of her sandwich, chewing thoughtfully for a few moments. “Then Gerald called me this morning.”
“What did he want?”
Charlotte said, “He was worried because he thought you might suspect him. He mentioned that the two of you had spoken during his lunch break at the bank. He wanted to make sure you knew he didn’t do anything wrong.
” She sighed. “Gerald’s got his secrets.
I mean, everyone does. But he’s not violent.
He’s just anxious, I think. Whatever he’s hiding, it’s not murder. ”
“Do you have any idea what Gerald is hiding?”
Charlotte shook her head. “It’s nothing that would lead to murder, Sam. I’m certain of that.”
Was Charlotte’s judgment clouded by her friendship with him?
“There was one other thing that struck me as odd yesterday. About Pamela.”
“The retired librarian?” asked Sam.
“Right. I saw her at the library yesterday afternoon. I like to go in there sometimes to read some of the national papers. Pamela is often in the library, even though she no longer works there. Anyway, Pamela was in the reading room, just sitting there staring at nothing. When she got up to leave, I could tell she’d been crying.
Her eyes were all red and puffy, mascara smudged.
” She shook her head. “Pamela’s usually so composed and put-together. I’ve never seen her like that.”
Sam asked, “Did you talk to her?”
“I wanted to, but she left before I could catch her. She was definitely not herself.”
Sam made a mental note to talk to Pamela. “Do you know if she and Margaret had any history? Beyond book club, I mean?”
“I don’t think so. But Pamela’s pretty private.
She doesn’t share much about her personal life.
” Charlotte picked at the corner of her sandwich wrapper.
“Actually, now that I think about it, Pamela usually helps me clean up after meetings. She’s always been really considerate that way.
But after book club, she didn’t even say goodbye. She just left.”
Charlotte frowned, then added, “Gerald kind of scampered away, too. I felt sure he was going to follow up on collecting dues at the end of the meeting.”
It seemed to Sam that everyone had been off that night. And Margaret was now dead.
“Sam.” Charlotte’s voice pulled her back to the present. “I need to say something, and I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
“Okay.” Sam looked curiously at her friend.
“It’s just that I think you should back off and let the police handle this.
Really. I know you like to figure things out, and you’re good at it.
But somebody killed Margaret. Gerald has already noticed you’re poking around in this, and it won’t be long before others do, too. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Sam studied Charlotte. Was Charlotte trying to protect her? Or was she trying to protect someone else? “I’m just talking to people. I’m sure the other book club members are probably doing the same thing. I promise I’ll be careful.”
Through the bookstore’s front window, Sam glimpsed Dylan Morrison walking past on the sidewalk. He had his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, his head down against the wind.
Charlotte noticed Sam’s gaze and followed it. “Dylan,” she called out, tapping on the window and gesturing for him to come in.
He hesitated, clearly spotting Sam through the glass. For a moment, Sam though he might pretend he hadn’t heard and keep walking. But Charlotte was already heading to the door, opening it.
“Come in for a minute,” Charlotte said. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”
Dylan’s eyes met Sam’s through the doorway, and something flickered across his face. Was it wariness or resignation? He came inside.