Page 79 of Murder on the Page

“I interviewed him to redo the inn’s gardens. I wanted to add more azaleas. He said azaleas didn’t do well here.Ha!” She coughed out a derisive laugh. “They are the most populous plant in the Asheville area other than Indian hawthorn and mountain laurel. So I checked out his references and not one former client had anything good to say about him. Plus don’t get me started about his Yelp! reviews.”

I recalled Stella Burberry claiming Quinby lived frugally. Perhaps being bad at his job was the cause. Was there a reason he might have held a grudge against Marigold and pinned the crime on Piper to deflect suspicion from himself?

“Back to Piper.” Tegan sighed. “I can’t believe she’s a killer.”

“Lillian said Piper is secretive,” I said. “She saw Piper hugging a younger man. She thought the boy was over sixteen, but what if”—I swallowed hard—“he wasn’t?”

“No way,” Noeline said. “Besides, she was at the bookstore when we all arrived, so she couldn’t have done it.”

“Mother, are you as naïve as toast? Anybody who was there could have done it. There are more than two hours unaccounted for after Graham saw Auntie that morning, and Allie talked to her on her cell phone.” Tegan paused. “I think the killer lay in wait outside her house, followed her to the shop, sneaked inside, did the deed, and left out the rear, avoiding being picked up by any CCTVs—”

“Those weren’t working in the area,” I said.

“Right,” Tegan continued. “Do you think the killer knew that?”

“Hard to say.”

“No matter what, the killer avoided being seen by anyone in the area. Since there was no blood at the crime scene, the killer didn’t need to go home and change. Feeling cocky, he—”

“Or she,” I cut in.

“He or she came to the shop at the regular opening time to establish they were as innocent as apple pie.”

“Innocent as a lamb,” I corrected.

“I mix metaphors. Sue me.” Tegan took a bite of her burger. Sauce squirted out of the bun onto her lap. She wiped it off with a napkin.

“The doors were locked,” I stated.

Noeline set her fork down with aclack.“I’m losing my appetite. This is why I don’t like reading murder mysteries. I can’t handle the gory details.”

Tegan patted her mother’s leg. “That’s because you’re a visceral reader. You read as if it’s happening in real time. That’s how I read, too.”

“And yet,” Noeline said, “you can digest those kinds of books with ease.”

“I read all genres, Mother. I like to experience a range of emotions, not suppress them like you.”

Noeline glowered at her daughter.

“I’m sorry,” Tegan said. “That was rude of me. I . . .” She pressed her lips together.

“I forgive you. We’re all tense.”

Tegan turned to me. “What about Piper’s alibi?”

“I spoke to her on the pretense of consoling her. She says she was at home alone, but there was something off about the way she said it.”

“And do we know what Graham’s alibi is?”

“No.”

“I think we should go to his house,” Tegan said, taking another bite of her burger. “And keep watch.”

“Don’t you dare,” Noeline warned.

“Mom, we won’t approach him. We won’t even talk to him. But his neighbor Mrs. Harrigan said she saw someone suspicious hanging around more than a week ago. Maybe the killer is a person who lived near Auntie and staked out her house from across the street so they could follow her. C’mon, Allie, what do you say?”

Throughout our childhood, though Tegan was not an extrovert when it came to public speaking or taking charge of something as simple as a book club, she had been a sly scamp, able to talk me into all sorts of hijinks. Ride bikes to the mall on a busy street to buy éclairs. Jump off the top of the roof into a pile of leaves. Steal through a graveyard while whistling for ghosts.

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