Page 75 of Murder on the Page

Was he tapping into my mind and questioning my reasoning? Was he trying to tell me there was someone I’d overlooked? To be honest, I felt as stumped as I had when readingAnd Then There Were None.There had been lots of suspects, but not one had a clear-cut motive to kill.

Think outside the box, readers,Marigold would urge us at book club discussions.

“Okay,” I muttered, as if she was in the room with me.

Was it possible Marigold’s murder was, as Zach theorized, a robbery gone wrong?

Katrina didn’t finish college because her mother needed round-the-clock care, but perhaps funds had been the real issue. If Graham’s business was suffering, he, too, could use an influx of money. What about Piper? Was she flush or in need?

Hercule Poirot claimed, “In conversation, points arise! If a human being converses much, it is impossible for him to avoid the truth.”

“That’s it!” I said. “I need to get these suspects to talk to me, but how?”

Darcy rose on his hind legs and batted the door with one raised paw. Was he giving me a high five in agreement?

Out of the blue, I remembered Marigold advising Tegan and me, after our friend’s mother died in a tragic accident, to reach out to our friend, adding,No one needs to mourn alone.I couldcall Katrina and sympathize with her about losing Marigold in hopes of getting her to chat, but the ploy hadn’t worked on Graham when we’d conversed at the bookshop. Quite the contrary.

Deciding Katrina, given her work schedule, probably slept in until noon, I opted to call Piper again, tobat around theoriesas she’d suggested before she’d cut me off last time. I hadn’t memorized her number, so I opened the file Tegan had sent me with the shop’s customers’ emails and phone numbers, found her contact, and dialed.

Her phone rang three times before she answered. “Hello?” She sounded breathy.

“Hi, Piper, it’s Allie Catt.”

“Oh, Allie,” she said, her tone instantly sorrowful. “I’ve been meaning to call you back, but I’ve been so busy. I haven’t come up with any theories as to who might have killed Marigold, if that’s why you’re calling. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“Actually, I was calling to console you,” I fibbed. “Chloe said you swung by the shop Sunday. You seemed grief-stricken.” It felt too bold to mention that she’d wanted to see the crime scene. “I wish I could’ve given you a hug.” I nearly choked on the word “hug,” remembering how Lillian had seen Piper embracing a younger man. “How are you holding up?”

“Like you, I miss Marigold something fierce. She was so wonderful. Her leadership on the theater foundation board was remarkable. I wish . . .” She sniffed. “I wish I’d come to the shop earlier Saturday morning, instead of staying home to grade papers. If I had, maybe . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“We all wish we could have saved her.”

She exhaled softly, but didn’t add anything more.

“Were you home alone that morning?” I asked, and silently berated myself, knowing Hercule Poirot would have clicked his tongue at my lack of finesse. But how else could I coax out the answer?

After a long moment, Piper said, “Yes, I was alone. I’m not married.”

Did she think I cared if she spent the night with a boyfriend?

“Alone,”she repeated, to drive home the point.

That was when I knew she was hiding something.

CHAPTER18

“I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!”

—Elizabeth Bennet, in Jane Austen’sPride and Prejudice

Ichecked the updated list of orders on my Notes app, made sure I didn’t forget anyone, and in a matter of two hours, baked the scones and muffins I needed to deliver, packed each delivery in the appropriate boxes, left the dishes to soak in the sink, and dressed in jeans, white blouse, and peacoat. I threw on my scarf, too. The sun was shining, but the weather report said the temperature would be chilly. Before heading out, I assured Darcy I’d check in on him at midday. With a twitch of his tail, he bounded to the bay window and nestled on the sitting bench to soak in a beam of sunlight.

While tootling around town, Zach came to mind, but I forced myself not to text him. He was miffed at me. I didn’t know him well, but I could imagine his response if I begged for mercy being akin to what my father’s response would be—my mother’s opinion about me investigating, notwithstanding.Drill it into your stubborn head,my father would say.You are not to get involved. End of story.If I knew what Zach’s favorite cookie was, I could make him a couple dozen to win him over.

At noon, after all the deliveries were made, I went home. I gave Darcy a ten-minute hug-and-petting session, fixed myselfa toasted English muffin topped with mozzarella cheese, sliced tomatoes, and chopped basil, and headed out again, this time to purchase supplies. It was impossible to shop at only one store for my goods. I picked up fruits and veggies at a farmers’ market. Eggs were a specialty purchase at Garden Greene Farm. Their eggs were unparalleled, and they claimed it was the organic, homegrown feed they gave their chickens that did the trick. The best butter, however, was sold at Butting Heads Farm. They raised cows and sheep and churned butter daily. For flour and sugar, which I bought in bulk, I had to drive to Baker’s Club, located at the eastern end of Main. The club was a warehouse setup for restaurants and concerns like mine. I tried to make any shopping trip in less than four hours but always failed.

After I’d unloaded all the perishable items at home—I’d cart them to Dream Cuisine in the morning—I dialed Tegan again. This time she answered, sounding depleted. When I asked why, she went into a tirade about Winston, who’d had the temerity to harangue her. I offered to bring takeout to the B&B. We could eat in her room, she could bend my ear, and I could tell her about my deep dive. Maybe, in person, I’d reveal that she was once again on Zach’s persons-of-interest list.Maybe.

“I’d love a burger,” she said. “From the Brewery. And potato skins. If you don’t mind, bring enough for Mom . . . and Rick,” she murmured, resigned to his presence in her mother’s life. “Helga has been on a fancy-food kick, and Mom is craving good old diner food.”

---