Maggie sat quietly, chewing slowly as she mulled over everything they’d uncovered so far.

  “So, you think they’re clear? No involvement?”

  “Yup. But I’d still like to question the woman they were spying for. Problem is... I think she’s dead.”

  “What?” Maggie blinked.

  “Lora Foretree. I think she’s the one who sent them. Her reputation took a nosedive after Otto’s book. She had just as much motive to kill him as Dane did.”

  Maggie stared at the kitchen table, eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute...”

  Gary paused, watching her face. “What is it?”

  “A wig.”

  “What?”

  “A wig! She was wearing a wig! Don’t you see? She was there. Both times! At the book fair, when Dane swooped in and knocked Otto’s books over, and again at the meet-and-greet! She was there, Gary! But in a wig. That’s why her hair looked so poofy. Same body, same tan, but she didn’t talk to anyone. She helped Otto with the books and talked to him at the bar later that night. I can’t believe I missed it. It was Lora Foretree at both events!”

  Maggie clapped her hands and bounced a little in her seat. She puffed out her chest, grinned, and took an enthusiastic bite of her burger.

  “She’s dead, Mags,” Gary said gently.

  Her shoulders slumped. She kept chewing. “Thanks for raining on my parade with one tiny, inconvenient fact.”

  “Glad to be of service,” Gary said, smirking.

  “But why would she sneak around in a wig? Why not just go as herself? Dane wasn’t hiding anything, he made a whole scene at the book fair. Did he even realize that was Lora standing there in a wig?”

  “When I first talked to him, and again with you today, I didn’t get the sense he was holding anything back. A detail like Lora going after Otto in disguise would’ve come up. Even if just in bits and pieces.”

  “Unless he’s some kind of criminal mastermind who knows how to hide his feelings,” Maggie said, eyeing her fries.

  “He’s not. He was a cheater, not a mastermind. The kind of guy who doesn’t realize what he’s got until it’s gone. That kind of man can be dangerous, sure, because he’s got nothing to lose. But...”

  “But what?”

  Gary exhaled. “But I don’t think he did it.”

  “I don’t think so either. Still, something keeps nagging at me. He lied to his wife for ages. He doesn’t have solid alibis for when Otto or Lora died. And he had motive, maybe even desperation. Plus, that card. ‘Peppermint.’” She shuddered. “I don’t even want to know how that pet name came about.”

  “Only you saw that card. It wasn’t there when we looked around, remember?” Gary reminded her.

  “Right. Like a storm cloud following me around, raining on any potential joy. Thanks, Gary,” Maggie huffed.

  Gary chuckled and glanced at her, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. Maggie felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

  “What?” she snapped.

  “You’re really funny sometimes,” he said, like it was something he’d been meaning to admit but was unsure how it’d land.

  “So are you. You ever notice that when you look in the mirror?” she said flatly, then squinted at him over the rim of her glasses.

  “Very funny. Honestly, I don’t get why your phone isn’t ringing off the hook with guys asking you out. What’s wrong with the fellas in Fair Haven?”

  “They probably see me with you all the time and assume we’re a thing. Let’s face it, we’re always hanging out. You’ve known me longer than anyone. I don’t feel like an awkward nerd around you, probably because you’re nerdier than me, and that’s saying something.”

  Gary grinned. “I gotta ask you, Mags. What do you think about Joshua Whitfield?”

  Maggie paused mid-chew. She wasn’t sure what Gary expected her to say. Did he want the truth? That she thought Joshua was dreamy and that he’d been unusually kind lately? Of course, maybe he was just being polite. A guy like him could have his pick of half the town, and most of the women made it obvious they were interested. Still, it seemed to Maggie like he was too focused on the café and bookstore to notice.

  “He’s a good boss?” she said, eyebrows high with faux innocence.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I don’t know, Gary. He’s my boss, he’s good with a hammer, and... well, I mean... you know. Why are you asking?”

  Gary took a sip of his Coke and cleared his throat. “I just notice how he looks at you sometimes. Thought I’d ask. You know, asking for a friend.” He smirked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. He doesn’t look at me like anything. Maybe like a harmless bug that might land on his shirt. Plus, every single woman in town is barking up his tree. And I don’t even think he reads the books we sell. That’s just weird.” She pushed her plate slightly away.

  “Hey, you don’t need to explain. I was just making conversation.”

  “A pretty intrusive kind of conversation.”

  “Since when has that stopped me?”

  “Apparently not recently,” Maggie muttered, rolling her eyes.

  Gary leaned forward, suddenly serious. “I worry about you, Mags. There might come a time when I’m not around, and I need to know you’ve got someone looking out for you.”

  Maggie stared at him. “What does that mean?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Nothing dramatic. Just that someday I might get married, or get transferred, or decide to live off the grid in a shack, selling pelts and rescuing lost hikers. If that happens, I won’t be around to keep you in line.”

  “So, you’re not dying? Not planning to get shot or anything?”

  “No! Why would you even say that?”

  “I’m just checking. Look, if you head off to parts unknown, that’s fine. But don’t act like I can’t function on my own. I’m not some charity case. I’m just... weird,” Maggie said, folding her arms as her temper simmered.

  “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. It didn’t come out the way I wanted it to. Is it so wrong for a friend to worry?”

  Maggie was quiet for a beat. “No,” she said at last, letting her shoulders relax.

  She glanced at the clock, and, as if reading her mind, Gary wiped his mouth, tucked their trash into the takeout bag, and stood up.

  “I hate to run, but I’ve got paperwork to catch up on. Thanks for coming with me to talk to Dane.”

  “Yeah. Happy to help,” she muttered, still unsure what to make of their conversation.

  After walking him to the door and locking it behind him, Maggie returned to the kitchen and sipped the last of her chocolate milkshake, staring into space. What was Gary’s motive? Was he fishing for info on Joshua, or on behalf of himself?

  It was too much to sort out. She still had to prep for her return to work tomorrow and finish planning Fifi’s book signing. Maggie exhaled deeply. Somehow, she felt like she hadn’t had a vacation at all.

  Chapter 21

  Mrs. Peacock made good on her promise to handle all the publicity for her friend Serafina Lawson’s book signing. Flyers were printed and posted all over town, and the local radio station encouraged listeners to stop by for a coffee, pick up a book, and meet one of Fair Haven’s very own authors before she continued her book tour. Goodie bags were assembled for the first twenty-five customers, each one filled with a blank journal, a coupon for a free coffee or pastry, and an elegant writing pen.

  “This is a cute idea,” Maggie said to Mrs. Peacock as she peeked inside the bags displayed behind the signing station.

  “Well, it’s set me back a pretty penny. I’ll have to eat very lightly the next couple of weeks to save that money back up. But it was worth it, don’t you think?” Mrs. Peacock replied with a satisfied smile. She was dressed in a stunning lilac muumuu with swirling red flowers and elegant wedge heels that framed her bright red toenails.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Maggie said, pushing her glasses up her nose.

  A small line of people had already formed outside the café just as Fifi arrived. It was a few minutes before nine, and she was as lively and excited as could be. Maggie thought she looked even more thrilled than she had at the convention or the meet-and-greet. Fifi strolled along the line, smiling, chatting, and posing for quick photos with the waiting fans.

  When she stepped inside, flanked by Trent on one side and the ever-stoic Mr. Thomas James on the other, she scanned the bookstore, then waved wildly the moment she spotted Mrs. Peacock and Maggie. As always, she was dressed to impress, this time in a tight denim corset top, a long denim skirt that just barely concealed her matching stiletto boots.

  “What a great place! You nailed it, Vivian!” Fifi swept in and hugged her friend tightly.

  “It was my pleasure. I hope you have a hugely successful signing,” Mrs. Peacock said. “Judging by the crowd, it looks like you’ve got plenty of fans in your hometown.”

  “I think I saw Mrs. Donovan out there,” Fifi whispered.

  “Well, it wouldn’t be proper to pull her to the front of the line. She’ll just have to wait her turn,” Mrs. Peacock replied smoothly. Maggie was certain she caught a mischievous glint in her eye. The kind that said she’d very much enjoy watching Mrs. Donovan stew.

  “Of course, it wouldn’t,” Fifi purred.

  When she turned to Maggie, her smile widened again and she extended her arms. “Hello, darlin’. This is such a lovely space you’ve given me. Thank you so much.”

  “It’s really Joshua Whitfield’s place. I just work here,” Maggie replied with an awkward smile as Fifi linked her arm through hers.

  “Do me a favor,” Fifi said in a confidential tone. “Find a seat at the other end of the café for Mr. Trent. He thinks he’s going to latch onto my coattails and tag along to Virginia, where Mr. James and I are headed. Can you handle that?”

  “Sure. Do you want me to ask him to leave altogether?” Maggie asked, giving him a quick sideways glance and secretly hoping for the opportunity to toss someone out of the bookstore.

  Trent and Mr. James had hung back while Fifi chatted. Despite the fact that Thomas James, another local author from the convention, had to be at least two decades older than Trent, the two shared a similar build. Tall, thin, though Mr. James had a little more padding around the waist.

  “No. The poor dear is severely smitten. I can’t help it that some people take an act of kindness as an invitation to sink their claws in. I’ll let him down easy. I’ve had to do it a million times before,” Fifi tittered.

  Maggie’s eyes popped. “A million?”

  “Well, maybe not a million. Maybe just two or three times,” she giggled, patting her hair into place. It was clear she was no stranger to male attention. But unlike Maggie, Fifi knew exactly how to handle it, and how to stay in control.

  “What about Mr. James?” Maggie asked.

  “Mr. James is a different story. We’re discussing a collaboration soon on a crime that took place not far from Fair Haven in the 1800s. My stories may be fiction, but no one can say I don’t know my history,” she winked.

  “Oh. That sounds interesting.”

  “Yes. Mr. James has some delectable stories swirling around in that head of his. Why, just last night, he told me the tale of poor Otto Deitz’s demise would make a marvelous read for spooky fall nights.”

  “It’s a little soon for that, don’t you think?” Maggie asked.

  “Early bird gets the worm, honey. I think poor Mr. Deitz would be thrilled his fellow Fair Haveners followed his lead and found juicy stories in their own backyard,” she winked again, her long lashes practically waving to Maggie, who couldn’t help but smile.

  Within minutes of opening, The Bookish Café was swarming with people. Joshua stood at the door greeting customers and encouraging them to grab a coffee or hop in line for an autograph.

  “Or feel free to roam around and find your next page-turner,” he called out.

  Fifi was as gracious as Melanie Wilkes from Gone with the Wind, speaking sweetly and confidently to everyone as if they were long-lost friends. There wasn’t a sour face in sight. Fifi could melt even the crustiest patron with a simple hello. She took her time chatting, laughing, telling stories, and listening with genuine interest as fans gushed about her books.

  Maggie, thoroughly enjoying the event, began plotting ways to bring more authors in for future signings.

  Across the room, poor Mr. Trent sat sulking in a chair, just like at the meet-and-greet. A steaming coffee sat untouched in his hand as he gazed mournfully at Fifi. Maggie, who wasn’t used to approaching strangers, decided to check on the pitiful, love-struck fellow. She knew too well the sting of being ignored at social gatherings.

  Pulling together a bit of courage and brushing aside her own awkwardness, she approached him. Squinting slightly like she needed bifocals, lifted her chin, and smiled.

  “Trent, can I get you anything? We’ve got some great muffins, and Babs makes the best chocolate chip cookies.”

  He crossed one leg over the other, eyes still on Fifi. “I’m fine. Thank you.” His coffee remained untouched, and he barely spared Maggie a glance.

  Maggie straightened, smoothed her skirt, and happened to catch Joshua watching her from the doorway. He grinned. She walked over and looked up at him, no squinting, no wrinkled nose.

  “Something to say, boss?” she muttered.

  “Don’t call me that. You practically run this place. I’m just the fix-it guy by comparison.”

  “You pay the bills. And my paycheck. You’re the boss,” she said with a salute.

  “Come on. That makes it sound like we aren’t friends. We’re friends, right?”

  Maggie blushed. “Yeah. Yes, we’re friends. Yes.” She quickly looked around the room, eager to focus on anything other than Joshua, who was clearly enjoying her awkwardness more than a slice of apple pie.

  Mmm... apple pie sounds good, she suddenly thought.

  She looked over at Mr. Thomas James who, stoic as ever, was sitting in a high-backed chair just out of the sunlight, occasionally glancing up from his newspaper to scan the room before returning to the news. When he lifted the paper in front of his face, she saw it. The ring. The Dracula ring. She blinked, squinted, and leaned in for a better look.

  “What are you staring at?” Joshua asked.

  “He’s wearing the ring,” she whispered, clutching his arm to pull him closer. “He’s wearing the Dracula ring.”

  “What are you talking about?” Joshua asked.

  “When Gary and I went back to Lora Foretree’s house after Agnes got attacked, we saw a picture of Lora with a man wearing that ring. But his head was missing from the photo.”

  “What?”

  “He’s wearing the Dracula ring,” she hissed again.

  “So... are you saying that man is Dracula?”

  Maggie looked up at him, unimpressed. “No.”

  “Because I thought vampires couldn’t come out in daylight.”

  “They can’t.”

  “So he can’t be a vampire. Let alone the Dracula.”

  “I know that. What I’m saying is⁠—”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “I wish. No. I need to call Gary. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Gary Brookes?”

  “Yes. Officer Brookes. He needs to get here. Fast.”

  She turned to head for the phone in Joshua’s office nook, but a firm hand closed around her forearm. Her heart jumped. She looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

  Mr. James hadn’t been questioned. He hadn’t mentioned knowing either murder victim. And now he was planning to leave town with Fifi? Every red flag in Maggie’s brain was waving furiously.

  “Maggie, you are not calling 9-1-1,” Joshua said.

  “Fine. I’ll call his cell. But this is an emergency.”

  “You can’t have the police show up here right now. We’re already close to capacity. If people panic, it could get dangerous.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll call his cell and leave a message. He’ll call back.”

  “I don’t think I have his number in my Rolodex.”

  “That’s fine. I know it by heart.”

  Joshua straightened. “You know his number by heart?”

  “Of course. We’ve been friends since high school. He’s going to faint when he hears what I’ve got to tell him.”

  Maggie walked toward the phone, but paused. Why had Joshua asked so many questions about Gary’s number? Sure, it made sense not to cause a panic. But was that all it was?

  Of course he’s surprised. Because he likes you. Her conscience was suddenly smug. No guy asks that unless he’s at least a little interested.

  “Margaret,” Mrs. Peacock called out just as Maggie reached for the phone.

  “I’ll be right with you, Mrs. Peacock.”

  “Sorry, dear. This is important.”

  “Just a sec⁠—”

  “Margaret. Would you be a princess and bring that velvet chair over to Fifi’s table? My feet are killing me.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Peacock. Just give me one minute⁠—”

  “Oh look, Mrs. Donovan’s finally made it up in line. Wearing those garish red shoes. Doesn’t she know how ridiculous they look? Oh, Maggie. Let’s get that chair right now. I really need to sit.”

  Maggie sighed and put down the phone. Mrs. Peacock was going to keep buzzing in her ear until she got her way. Maggie should’ve told her to wait, but Margaret Bell had been raised to respect her elders.

  She dragged the velvet chair across the store with a clatter, plunking it down where Mrs. Peacock gestured. It wasn’t center stage, of course, but it was still in full view of the signing crowd. Which, Maggie realized, was exactly the point.

  This wasn’t about comfort. It was about optics. Specifically, about Mrs. Donovan seeing Vivian Peacock seated beside the town’s bestselling author, acting like royalty.

  It irritated Maggie, but not enough to distract her. She stole a glance at Mr. James, who she thought was peeking out from behind his paper. Hard to tell, but it didn’t matter. She was calling in the cavalry.