Chapter Twenty-Four
Sam made careful notes. Something about this storyline felt relevant.
A man who’d built a new life, a respectable reputation, all constructed on top of a past he desperately wanted to keep hidden.
When someone threatened to expose him, he became dangerous.
Sam added a pink tab: Reputation as survival. Dylan?
By the time Aiden walked up her driveway, she’d read another twenty pages and had more questions than answers about both Middlemarch and the murders.
He gave her a quick hug. “Long day?”
“You could say that. Memorial services are never fun, but this one felt particularly awkward. Feel like a snack?”
Aiden said, “Actually, that would be awesome. My lunch period got abbreviated by some students taking makeup tests, so I haven’t had much to eat today.”
Sam immediately took out cutting boards, cheese, crackers, grapes, almonds, honey, fig jam, and before she could stop herself, was arranging everything into an elaborate spread worthy of a lifestyle magazine.
Aiden watched with barely concealed amusement as she created perfect little clusters of grapes, fanned out the crackers in overlapping circles, and arranged the cheese slices at calculated intervals.
“Sam.”
“Hmm?” She was concentrating on drizzling honey in an artistic zigzag pattern.
“It’s just a snack.”
Sam looked down at what she’d created. A charcuterie board acceptable for a dinner party. For a random weekday afternoon. While they were discussing murder.
“I think I have a problem,” she admitted.
“You think?” But Aiden was smiling.
“I can’t help it. I have nervous energy.” She gestured helplessly at the elaborate display. “It just comes out like this. Last week I alphabetized my spice rack a couple of times. The second time was by cuisine.”
“By cuisine?”
“Italian spices, then Asian, then—you know what, never mind.” Sam picked up a grape and ate it, refusing to meet his eyes. “The point is, I’m aware this is excessive. I just can’t seem to stop myself when I’m processing things.”
Aiden grabbed a cracker topped with cheese and fig jam. “Well, your neuroses are delicious, so I’m not complaining.” He popped the cracker into his mouth. “Besides, it’s sort of endearing. Most people stress-eat junk food. You stress-arrange gourmet snacks.”
“It’s not gourmet.” Sam stopped herself, laughing. “Okay, fine. It’s a little gourmet. But in my defense, there are two dead people and I’m trying to figure out who killed them. That seems like a reasonable time to go overboard on cheese presentation.”
“Absolutely reasonable,” Aiden agreed solemnly, though his eyes were dancing mischievously. He carried the board to the kitchen table (not the dining room table, where Sam would have headed) while Sam grabbed plates and napkins. They were naturally cloth napkins she’d folded into triangles.
Arlo positioned himself strategically between their chairs, his soulful eyes tracking every piece of cheese and fruit that moved from board to mouth.
Aiden settled into his chair. “So tell me about this awkward memorial service.”
Sam filled him in on the sparse attendance, the vague eulogy, Sofia’s revelation about the argument between Margaret and Pamela, and Claire’s grief over Gerald.
“And I keep coming back to Dylan,” she said. “He has a strong motive. Actually, he has a couple of them. He would have been furious about the way Margaret made fun of him after the open mic night. But she also knew he didn’t have the MFA that he said he did. He’s the obvious suspect.”
“But?” Aiden prompted.
“But something doesn’t feel right. Margaret’s murder was patient and calculated.
It was poisoned coffee, not a shove down the stairs like Gerald’s death.
It’s hard for me to picture Dylan planning something like that.
” She looked up at Aiden. “Have you heard anything from your contact at the station about Margaret’s death?
I’m making assumptions about the coffee, but I can’t think how else she might have died. ”
“Actually, yes. I wanted to hear about the service before I told you. Mike called me this afternoon before I came over because he knew I’d taken an interest. The toxicology report came back.”
Sam’s pulse quickened. “What did it show?”
“Margaret’s coffee was laced with crushed blood thinner tablets.” Aiden’s voice was quiet. “Since Margaret was already on heart medication, it caused a fatal interaction. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”
Sam sat still, processing this information. “So a drug interaction.”
“That’s right. Mike said it was obviously calculated. Someone had knowledge of Margaret’s heart medication and how it would interact with a blood thinner. The bitterness of the coffee apparently masked any taste of the crushed pills.”
Something tickled at the edge of Sam’s mind. It seemed like there was something familiar. Was it about drug interactions? The thought slipped away before she could catch it.
Aiden reached across the table and took her hand. “Hey. You’ve been going non-stop with this. Maybe you need to step back for a bit. Let your brain rest.”
“I hate stepping back,” said Sam wryly.
“I know.” His thumb traced circles on the back of her hand. “But sometimes that’s when things click into place. It’s something that can happen easier when you’re not forcing it.”
Sam looked down at their joined hands. The gesture was becoming familiar and comfortable. When had that happened? When had Aiden shifted from just a nice neighbor to this? Someone whose presence made everything feel more manageable?
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said quietly.
“Me too.” His voice was warm. “Though I have to admit, when you moved in, I didn’t expect to spend quite so much time discussing murder investigations.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. It’s never boring.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I’m looking forward to our next date, whenever things settle down. Maybe in a week? Unless someone else dies, in which case I understand we’ll need to reschedule.”
“Don’t jinx it.” But Sam was smiling. “A week from now sounds perfect.”
They were both leaning slightly across the table now, the space between them shrinking. Aiden’s gaze dropped to her lips. Sam’s breath caught.
Arlo barked sharply at the back door, his “someone’s in my yard” alert.
They both jumped. Aiden laughed and sat back. “Arlo has terrible timing.”
“The worst.” Sam stood to let Arlo out, but she was smiling. Arlo took off after a squirrel in the yard. The moment had passed, but the promise of it lingered.
The next morning, Sam was folding laundry when her phone rang. Charlotte’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hi, Charlotte.”
Charlotte’s voice was immediately apologetic. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I feel like I’m always calling to ask you to come over to the shop.”
“No worries. What’s going on?”
Charlotte said, “I hate to ask this, but I’m in a bind. My mom fell this morning. I’m on the way to Asheville to see her. Apparently, the hospital wants to keep her for observation.”
“Oh no. Is she okay?”
Charlotte said, “She’ll be fine. She did twist her ankle badly and they want to rule out a hip fracture.
I left the ‘closed’ sign in the window at the shop, of course.
But Sam, I have a delivery coming to the shop today.
It’s an estate sale collection I already paid for with five boxes of vintage mysteries.
The driver called and said he’ll be there at three and if no one’s there to receive it, he’ll take them back to the warehouse and charge me again to deliver them later. ”
Sam glanced at the clock. “I can get there, no problem.”
“Would you? I know it’s a huge imposition.”
“Charlotte, it’s fine. I’m happy to help. Life happens when we least expect it, doesn’t it? How do I get in?”
Charlotte said, “The spare key is in a lockbox attached to the downspout on the left side of the building. The code is seven-two-four-one. All you need to do is to let the driver in the back entrance, make sure the boxes aren’t damaged, and lock up afterwards.
Please just put the key back in the lockbox when you’re done. ”
“Got it. Don’t worry about the books or the shop. Take care of your mom.”
Charlotte said, “Will do. As a small thank you, could you please pick out a book of your choice to take home with you today? It’d make me feel better about everything.”
“It’ll be my pleasure.” Sam could spend hours in the bookshop. Charlotte always carefully curated everything that was there.