Page 25 of Murder on the Page

Chloe disappeared and returned with three fresh copies ofPride and Prejudice,as well as the CliffsNotes versions. “These might help you plan for the memorial.” Marigold had stocked a lot of guides because students at UNC Asheville, as well as Bramblewood Junior College, often needed help organizing their thoughts. “What do you think about putting quotes from the book around the shop for the memorial? They could be decoration.”

“Good idea,” Tegan said. “We could also download photos from the television series starring Colin Firth.”

At the same time, Chloe and I whispered, “Colin Firth.” When he was young, he had been drop-dead gorgeous. He was still a handsome man.

“By the way,” Tegan continued, “I scoured my house last night for the letter Vanna claims she saw. There was nothing anywhere. Not in new mail. Not in old mail. I even went through my recycling bin, in case I accidentally tossed it, but nada. Zilch. And Auntie didn’t send me any kind of email, so . . .” She wrapped her arms around her torso. “If the police find the letter, will it incriminate me?”

“No,” I stated, as if I was an authority. “You didn’t know about the inheritance.”

“And I have an alibi,” she stated.

I threw her the side eye. “Which you won’t elaborate on.”

She frowned but stayed mum.

“Let’s contact the estate attorney,” I said. “Do you know who it is?”

“Mom is handling that.”

“Okay. In the meantime—”

“Who killed Marigold?” Chloe cried.

“Vanna!” Tegan blurted.

I frowned. “Your sister did not kill your aunt.”

“Of course not. Believing Auntie didn’t want her to inherit the bookshop, she’d have done everything to keep her alive so she could sweet-talk her into changing her mind. No, you misunderstood me.” Tegan propped an elbow on the sales counter. “I’m going to ask Vanna to help with the memorial. Maybe that will earn me some Brownie points with her.”

“Good luck with that,” I murmured.

“You’re right. She hates me.” She wrinkled her nose. “She’s always been my enemy. Mom told me stories about how Vanna reacted when I showed up six years after she was born. She was always saying, ‘Baby, be gone.’ ‘Baby, go away.’ ‘I hate baby.’ ”

“No,” Chloe said.

“Yes.”

Tegan had told me the story years ago, adding she intended to put the memories behind her. She’d failed. I took a sip of coffee.

“I mean, c’mon,” Tegan went on, “was it my fault that Mom and Dad had sex?”

I spit out the coffee. Luckily, it didn’t hit any of the books. I would hate to have marred a book with spewed liquid. Or any liquid, for that matter. I was dedicated to the beauty of books. I’d never even dog-eared a page. “You want to make nice and woo her?”

“Woo-woo.” Chloe twirled fingers by her ears. “Marigold always said Vanna was a little nutty.”

We all laughed. Good old Marigold, ever present in our thoughts.

“Time to get serious,” Tegan said.

“Call your sister,” I suggested.

“Are you crazy? She’ll rip me to shreds when I tell her you’re the caterer. I’ll text.” Tegan pulled her cell phone from her pocket, typed a message, and pressed Send. She stared at the phone. “No response.”

“Maybe she’s serving a hoity-toity brunch for the mayor,” Chloe said.

“Or I could be wrong about her innocence, and the police are questioning her a second time,” Tegan said conspiratorially. “By the way, have you talked to Detective Armstrong, Allie?”

“Briefly.” I told her how the police were considering this a robbery gone wrong.

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