Page 28 of Murder on the Page

“We’re canvassing the shops near Feast for the Eyes. It being Sunday, very few are open. Bates is following up with some of Marigold’s friends, like people in the theater foundation, her bridge group, and such.”

“Did you go through the customer list at the shop?”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Tegan was pretty sure the police rifled through the filing cabinets.”

“We did,” he admitted.

“And the shop’s computer, et cetera?”

He nodded.

“You should poll Marigold’s neighborhood, too.” I told him what Lillian had said about the suspicious activity at Graham’s house a week ago.

“Why didn’t Miss Bellingham tell us when we questioned her?”

“She didn’t know. One of her customers lives near Marigold, a woman named Celia Harrigan. She came into Lillian’s shop for a fitting late yesterday.”

“Gossip,” he muttered.

“Marie Curie said, ‘Be less curious about people and more curious about ideas.’ ”

“Wise woman.” He polished off his cookie and took another.

“Tegan said Marigold was muttering about Graham the other day, wishing he’d get his act together.”

Zach tilted his head. “The two don’t seem to equate.”

“I thought I’d loop you in on what I heard. Also you should know Marigold owned other jewelry, in addition to the pendant.” I outlined my theory about her going to the bank and the killer, possibly Graham or someone hanging outside his house, stalking her to steal it.

“I’ll consider that angle.” His mouth quirked up on one side and his awe-inspiring dimple appeared. “Are you going to be looping me in a lot?”

“You know, caterers and bakers have an eye for detail. I also have a steel-trap memory when it comes to books, as well as remembering things people say.”

“Modesty becomes you.” He chuckled and tapped his cookieto mine as a toast. “You know, you left the bookshop pretty fast yesterday, once I was done with Tegan.”

“Wasn’t I supposed to?”

“I wanted to ask you a few things.”

Worry swelled in me like a hot balloon. Was that what this was? An interrogation, not a date? Suddenly my interest in him waned. If he was going to be a sneaky Pete . . .

Testily I said, “Fire away.”

“Tell me about your timeline Saturday morning.”

“Mine?” I uncrossed and recrossed my legs in the other direction. “Am I a suspect because I was the last one to speak to Marigold?”

“No,” he replied, but he didn’t say it with conviction.

“Fine.” I recapped my mundane morning. Getting up. Feeding the cat. Packing up the food. Loading the van. Calling Marigold. “At eight, I went to wake Tegan, but she wasn’t there.”

“Once you got to the shop, what happened?”

I replayed those movements. Parking the van. Noticing the crowd. Wedging through the throng to the front door. Seeing Piper and Graham, as well as Noeline and her boyfriend. “Everyone was concerned. I told you, Graham spied Marigold in their neighborhood earlier, didn’t I?”

“You did. Did you believe his account?”

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