Page 52 of Murder on the Page

“Of course, they are. Detective Armstrong is a good cop, but as Hercule Poirot said, ‘Suddenly confronted with the possibility of being tried for murder, the most innocent person will lose his head and do the most absurd things.’” I juddered. Who had taken over my body, and why was I spouting famous lines fromMurder on the Orient Express?

“Are you saying Tegan is acting strangely?”

“Not at all, but I want her to feel confident that no stone has been left unturned.”

Piper whispered again to whomever she was with. “Listen, Allie, I’ve been thinking about Marigold’s murder a lot, too, but I’m sort of busy. Can I call you at another time? We can bat around theories. Thanks for understanding. Bye.” She hung up.

I stared at the phone wondering why she’d ended the call so abruptly but decided that was not evidence of guilt. She’d sounded as grief-stricken as Chloe had made out. Grappling with the loss of a beloved friend was difficult.

Chloe said, “Everything okay, Allie?”

“Uh-huh.”

Tegan sagged against the sales counter, a fresh glass of water in hand. “Is everyone going to have an opinion about who killed Auntie?”

“It’s only natural,” I said. “Curiosity shows interest, plus we all want resolution.”

Chloe ran her fingers through her tousled hair. She turned pale. “Oh, golly, am I a mess?”

“You look a tad harried,” Tegan said tactfully.

Chloe stepped into the stockroom to consult the mirror on the other side of the archway and gasped. In seconds, she returned. “Better?”

“Much,” Tegan said.

“It’s been nonstop today.” Chloe resumed organizing booksthat customers had brought to the sales counter but hadn’t purchased.

Tegan’s cell phone pinged. “It’s Vanna.” She read the message and talked to us as she typed a response. “I’m telling her to come here so I can bring her up to speed about what we discovered from Ms. Ivey, and she can update us about Auntie’s house and whether she found any valuable items.”

“What did you learn at the bank?” Chloe asked.

Tegan rattled off our findings.

“You and your sister are going to be rich,” Chloe said. “Are you sure she didn’t kill your aunt?”

“Chloe!” Tegan exclaimed.

Chloe propped a fist on one hip. “She thoughtyoudid.”

“Because of the letter,” Tegan replied. “FYI, you should know Allie will be inheriting one-quarter of the bookshop.”

Chloe whistled.

Tegan rushed to add, “I’m sure Auntie would have included you in her will, Chloe, if she’d been certain you’d commit to running the shop as your career.”

Chloe batted the air. “Don’t worry. I won’t take offense. I’ll come into plenty of money one day. My family’s well-off. They’ve established a trust fund. Besides, I don’t want to own anything. I want to be free to go wherever the wind blows me.”

“From bookstore to bookstore,” Tegan said.

“Well, duh.” Chloe pulled a face. “Marigold knew this about me, and besides, she’s known Allie forever.”

One of my fondest memories of Marigold was when she’d joined Tegan and me for a tea party to celebrate Tegan’s birthday. I was eight and attended in pink shoes with satin bows and my prettiest dress, a pink frilly one I’d begged my mother to buy. Marigold gushed about my sense of style. Later, when Tegan opened my gift and saw it was a copy ofA Wrinkle in Time—would any child ever forget how scary yet exhilarating that story was?—her aunt praised me for being so considerate.Reading, she said, developed one’s mind. After that, Tegan fell in love with fantasy stories.

“I’m excited to have you on board,” Chloe said, and hugged me. When she released me, tears sprang to her eyes. “I really loved Marigold. She is going to be missed. She was so wise and, well, you know, so . . . so . . .”

“So Marigold,” I finished.

Chloe covered her mouth and fled into the stockroom.

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