Chapter Thirteen
Olivia answered the door on the second knock, and Sam immediately saw what Nora meant. Her friend looked exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn’t quite conceal. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she wore an oversized cardigan despite the mild weather.
“Sam! Good to see you. I was just making tea. Want some?”
“Sure.” Sam followed her into the tidy kitchen.
Olivia went through the motions of tea preparation with automatic precision, but her hands shook slightly as she filled the kettle. Sam waited, sensing her friend needed to get to something in her own time.
Finally, with mugs of chamomile tea in front of them at the small kitchen table, Olivia spoke. “The police came by again yesterday. Chief Hawkins.”
Sam’s heart sank. “Oh, Olivia.” Her friend had really been through the wringer as a suspect in various recent investigations. She seemed to have a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“I know.” Olivia stared into her mug. “I haven’t done anything wrong.
This is just routine, of course. They’re talking to everyone who was at book club.
” Her voice caught a little. “But sitting there again, answering questions, and having Hawkins look at me like I might be a murderer was pretty awful.” She stopped, wrapping both hands around her mug as if seeking warmth.
“I’m so sorry,” Sam said quietly.
“The worst part is, I can see it in the cops’ eyes.
They know my history. They know I’ve been involved in similar situations before.
That they’ve had to question me before.” Olivia gave a hollow laugh.
“I guess once you’re connected to murder investigations, you stay connected.
Like some kind of horrible recurring character. ”
“That’s not fair to you.”
“Fair or not, it’s true.” Olivia’s expression was distant. “Hawkins was professional about it. But I could tell. I’m not just another book club member to them. I’m someone with a track record.”
Sam reached across the table and squeezed her friend’s hand. “What did they ask you?”
“The usual. Where I was during the meeting, did I notice anything unusual, what was my relationship with Margaret.” Olivia set down her mug.
“What did you think of her? Honestly?”
Olivia considered this. “Margaret was difficult. But you already know that. She had strong opinions about everything, and she wasn’t shy about sharing them. I felt bad for some of the others. Dylan, especially, after that open mic disaster.”
“Did she seem to have problems with anyone specifically?”
“With everyone, really.” Olivia frowned. “Although there was something strange about Sofia.”
“The grad student?”
“If that’s even what she is.” Olivia’s frown deepened.
“She’s still a fairly new member. At first, I thought she was just shy, you know?
Quiet. And she seemed pleasant. But sometimes, she got this look on her face like she was pained about something.
Particularly when Margaret spoke during the meetings. ”
“Did she have a run-in with Margaret?” Sam asked.
“Maybe. I mean, everyone else did. At any rate, Sofia doesn’t speak up much during the meetings. I wonder if that will change now that Margaret is dead.”
“Maybe Sofia just doesn’t like conflict and wants to avoid it.”
“Maybe. Still, it was almost as if she was taking Margaret’s actions personally.
” Olivia wrapped her hands around her mug again.
“And there was one moment a couple of meetings ago. Margaret was going on about something. Who even knows what it was. Sofia stared at her with this almost unfathomable expression.”
“Anger?”
“No. More like she was grieving,” said Olivia. “I’ve been around enough grief to recognize it.” She sighed. “After Dom, I saw that look in the mirror for months. Sympathy for myself, I guess.” She gave a short laugh.
Sam felt a pang of sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not like you haven’t been through much the same thing,” said Olivia.
“Did you mention Sofia to Chief Hawkins?”
Olivia shook her head. “I was too busy trying not to fall apart. Or trying to prove I was innocent, I guess. Besides, what would I even say? Sofia looked sad? That’s not exactly evidence of anything. Chief Hawkins would probably laugh in my face. That state police lieutenant would be even worse.”
“Did Sofia and Margaret ever interact directly that night?”
“Not that I saw. Sofia mostly stayed quiet during discussions. But she watched Margaret constantly. And when Margaret left the room to visit the restroom at the meeting, Sofia’s whole body relaxed. Like she’d been holding her breath.”
“What about after book club? Did you see Sofia leave?” asked Sam.
“She left before we did, actually. She said something about an early class the next morning. Which makes sense if she’s really a grad student.
But I did notice something else. When Margaret was particularly harsh at book club, criticizing the book club selections or something, Sofia whispered something under her breath. ”
“What did she say?”
“I barely caught it. But it sounded like ‘just like her.’ Almost like Sofia knew her from somewhere else.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the afternoon light slanting through the kitchen window. Outside, a car drove past, its radio briefly audible before fading into the distance.
“I’m probably reading too much into it. Honestly, I’m probably reading too much into everything. Maybe I’m desperate to find someone else who’s a better suspect than I am. I’m just really tired, Sam.” She attempted a smile. “Sorry. You came here to check on me, and I’m dumping all of this on you.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Sam said gently. “And it’s going to all turn out fine. You didn’t have any motive whatsoever to murder Margaret. There’s no evidence because you didn’t do it. The police are going to look at everyone else who was at the meeting. I promise you.”
Olivia’s eyes filled with tears. “Thanks,” she whispered. “I needed to hear that.
They finished their tea talking about lighter things like Olivia’s volunteer schedule and Sam’s plans for Arlo’s next agility training.
“I have news,” Olivia announced with a smile. She pulled out her phone and showed Sam a picture. “Meet Marmalade. He’s twelve, orange, and apparently just wants to sit in sunbeams and purr. The shelter approved my application this morning.”
“Oh, he’s gorgeous.” Sam looked at the photo of the marmalade tabby sprawled across a cat bed. “When do you bring him home?”
“In a few days. I’ve already bought him three beds, even though I have the feeling he’ll probably be camping out on my lap a lot.” Olivia’s smile dimmed slightly. “It’s nice to have something happy to focus on.”
By the time Sam left, Olivia looked tired but calmer; the worst of the storm had passed.
Sam pulled away from Olivia’s house feeling lighter than she had in days, although her mind was still busy trying to digest everything she’d learned so far.
She wanted to dig deeper, but she also wanted some direction. Maybe someone with investigative experience who knew how to read between the lines of public records.
Sam took out her phone at a red light and texted Aiden. Free this afternoon? Need your detective brain.
His response came quickly. For you? Always. Your place or mine?
Mine. I’ll make coffee.
Thirty minutes later, Aiden sat at her dining room table with his laptop open. Arlo contentedly sprawled across his feet. Sam had her own computer out, along with a legal pad already filling with notes.
“So Sofia Smith,” Aiden said, pulling up the Western Carolina University website. “Grad student in what program?”
“She never said specifically. Just ‘grad student.” Sam frowned at her notes. “Which is sort of vague, now that I think about it. Wouldn’t you usually say what program you were in? Maybe she’s just really private, though.”
Aide nodded. “I wonder if she might be a teaching assistant for a professor.”
“I think a lot of grad students do that to earn money while they’re in school. Maybe she’s in the faculty directory?”
They worked in comfortable silence for several minutes, the only sounds were Arlo’s occasional snuffling and the click of keys.
Sam found herself acutely aware of small things: how Aiden had rolled up his sleeves, showing his forearms. How he’d brought his own coffee mug from home and set it next to hers without comment, like he belonged in her kitchen.
How their knees touched under the table and neither of them moved away.
“Hmm,” Aiden said, leaning closer to his screen. “I’m not finding a Sofia Smith in the faculty directory. Or in the school’s social media.”
“Nothing?” Sam frowned.
“Let me try a broader search.” He typed quickly. He paused. “Wait. Here’s something.”
Sam scooted her chair closer to see his screen. Their shoulders pressed together as they both leaned in.
“Is this your Sofia?” he asked. “Sofia Brennan. She graduated with an undergrad degree seven years ago. It looks like she might not have enrolled full time in the program, according to her social media. Her last known address was in Asheville.”
“Brennan,” Sam said slowly. The name triggered something in her memory. “That’s Margaret’s last name. Dr. Margaret Brennan.”
Aiden turned to look at her, and Sam could see the gold flecks in his brown eyes. “You think they’re related?”
“Olivia said Sofia watched Margaret like she was grieving.” Sam’s mind raced. “What if Sofia is her daughter? Or stepdaughter?”
“That would explain why she joined the book club. I’d have thought a grad student would be too busy to do much outside reading.” Aiden was already typing again. “Let me see if I can find any family connections.” He turned to look at her. “Nice catch.”
“We make a good team.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “We really do.”
She realized she was still leaning against him, and she didn’t want to move.
“Found something,” Aiden said, breaking the moment. He clicked on a link. “Here. Margaret Brennan’s obituary from the Sunset Ridge Gazette. It lists survivors.” He scrolled down. “Look—‘survived by her daughter, Sofia Brennan, of Asheville.”
“So Sofia might have misled us about being a grad student.” Sam pulled her legal pad closer, jotting notes. “But why join your mother’s book club under false pretenses? Why not just say who you were?”
“Maybe they were estranged,” Aiden suggested. “You said Olivia noticed Sofia looking pained when Margaret spoke.”
“Right. It sounds like unresolved family dynamics. But then why go to book club at all?” Sam tapped her pen against the pad. “If you’re estranged from your mother, you don’t usually seek out her social groups.”
“Unless you’re trying to reconnect,” Aiden said slowly. “Or gather information.”
“Or you’re checking up on her before you murder her,” Sam said.
They sat in silence for a few moments, the implications settling between them.
“I need to talk with her,” said Sam.
“Want company?”
Sam nodded. “Definitely. Tomorrow morning? I’ll text her and set something up.”
“It’s a date.” Aiden smiled, then seemed to catch himself. “I mean, not a date-date. Just, well.”
“I know what you meant.” Sam smiled back, feeling warmth spread through her chest. Then, on impulse, she added, “But maybe we could do an actual date sometime soon? Dinner?”
Aiden’s expression softened. “I’d really like that.”
“Me too.” And she meant it. Sitting here with him, researching together, Sam realized she’d stopped second-guessing every moment.
She wasn’t thinking about her ex-husband or failed marriages, or all the ways relationships could go wrong.
She was just thinking about Aiden, and how much she trusted him, and how good it felt to have someone show up every time she asked.
“So,” Aiden said, his voice lighter. “Tell me more about what Olivia noticed at book club. The little details you’re so good at catching.”
Sam launched into a recap of her conversation with Olivia, and they spent the next hour building a profile of Sofia Smith—or Brennan. All her possible motives.
When Aiden left for the night, with plans to meet the next morning for their interview with Sofia, he paused at the door.
“Thank you for calling me,” he said. “For letting me help.”
“Always,” Sam replied, echoing his earlier text. And then, before she could overthink it, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek.” See you tomorrow.”
She closed the door and leaned against it, a smile playing on her lips. Arlo trotted over and sat at her feet, looking up at her expectantly.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Sam told him. “I’m allowed to be happy.
Arlo’s tail thumped against the floor in apparent agreement.