The Scuccis’ home was beautiful, with aged photos of family from “the old country” taking up every bit of space on the walls. The floors were nicked and scratched hardwood with area rugs and runners strategically placed down the hallway and in front of each guest’s door. The boards of the stairs and hallway creaked under her weight, making her hope she wasn’t sounding some alarm to Mrs. Scucci that someone was roaming the hallway uninvited.

  So Maggie hurried to door number four and pressed her ear against it. She heard nothing stirring inside and hoped that in such a quiet town, Toby knew well he might ignore the notion of locking his room. She gripped the old-fashioned glass doorknob and gave it a twist.

  Without hindrance, the door opened. Maggie quickly looked both ways down the hallway then stuck her head inside.

  “Hello? Toby?” she whispered then held her breath. Nothing.

  Without waiting another second, Maggie stepped inside the room and closed the door tightly behind her. The room was dark, with the curtains closed tightly, and it took a second for her eyes to adjust. Once they did, Maggie hurried to the elegant little desk next to the window and snapped on the small lamp sitting there. It gave off just enough light for her to see the room was indeed empty.

  Toby’s suitcases and toiletry bag were on the bed. It did look as if he’d just arrived, as he’d said. There was also a briefcase. Maggie carefully snapped the locks open. Inside, she found several legal documents with Toby’s name on them. They made no sense to her as she skimmed them, looking for Mr. Whitfield’s name. Her first thought was that Toby was going to take legal action against her late boss or his estate or Joshua. Perhaps he was going to try to secure Mr. Whitfield’s library as his own. But it didn’t look that way, since the documents mentioned neither Alex nor Joshua.

  Instead, they all mentioned Toby and threatened legal action if certain debts were not paid or repayment plans were not agreed upon. As she continued digging, she saw at least three credit card statements with more than thirty thousand dollars in debt shown on the total line. The charges had not been incurred in the exotic locations she would have expected; they were from the Golden Nugget Casino, the Bellagio Hotel, the Flamingo, all in Las Vegas. Maggie swallowed hard. Then she saw an old receipt that looked familiar. It was from the bookshop in Mr. Whitfield’s handwriting.

  “To be delivered upon receipt of payment in full” was what it said. It was for a first-edition copy of William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. The price was $10,200. That was one of the books Maggie had stashed behind the rows in order to make sure Joshua didn’t throw it away accidentally, thinking it was a worthless old title. But even Maggie had to gasp at what it was worth. She’d had no idea. It had never even crossed her mind to look into the value of the books in Mr. Whitfield’s library. She’d thought they were priceless because of their stories and the memories she had of discussing them with her friend.

  From the looks of things, Toby had gambled away a fortune. It looked as if the book was something he could have used to pay off some of the debt. But Mr. Whitfield hadn’t given it to him. He’d expected to be paid first. Of course he had. Who wouldn’t?

  Before she could put everything back, she heard noises in the hallway. Toby’s deep voice was unmistakable.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Scucci! I’ll do just that!” Toby called down the stairs.

  Maggie ran to the door. Her body trembled. What would she say? She could hide under the bed, but what if he stayed in the room the rest of the night? As her mind raced, she saw the old lock, just a flat brass switch that would open with the help of a skeleton key. Without thinking, Maggie snapped it into place. She braced herself against the wall and held her breath.

  Within seconds, Toby grabbed hold of the doorknob and gave it a turn. Only it didn’t turn. The lock was in place, buying Maggie a couple precious seconds—maybe a minute or two—to think. She ran to the window and looked outside. The continuous rain and slippery ledge quickly dashed any idea of escaping through the window.

  “Mrs. Scucci?” Toby called. “Mrs. Scucci? It appears I’ve accidentally locked myself out of my room.”

  Maggie hurried on tiptoe back to the door and listened. She was sure she heard Toby’s footsteps sounding off the symphony of creaks as he went back down the hall and downstairs. It was now or never.

  She grabbed hold of the latch, turned it as quietly as she could, and opened the door. Her body rigid with nerves, she stepped out into the hallway, pulled the door shut behind her, sashayed to the nearest door across the hallway, turned the knob, and stepped inside. She shut the door behind her, dropped to her knees, and peeked beneath the door. She watched as Toby’s shoes reappeared along with those of Mrs. Scucci, who was saying something so fast that Maggie couldn’t tell if she was speaking English or Italian.

  “Voila!” she exclaimed as the door opened.

  “Grazie, Mrs. Scucci,” Toby exclaimed.

  “Prego, prego,” Mrs. Scucci replied and walked away quickly.

  Just as the door to Toby’s room closed, Maggie got to her feet, quietly turned the doorknob, and opened the door. No one was in the hallway. With her nerves doing the jitterbug and her heart beating so fast she felt it in her fingertips, she stepped into the hallway, pulled the door shut, and tiptoed past Toby’s room. Without worrying about the squeaky floorboards, she went downstairs and carefully peeked around the banister to see if Mrs. Scucci was at her counter. The coast was clear.

  With as much grace as a bulldog maneuvering under a kitchen table, Maggie made it to the door—after bumping into the side table, tripping on a flap of area rug, and fumbling with the doorknob into the foyer. For her final act, she grabbed her umbrella as she stepped outside into the rain and disappeared down the sidewalk.

  Chapter 12

  The next day, Maggie arrived at work and saw more than a dozen boxes from various publishing houses piled in front of the counter. The new inventory had arrived. As Maggie unpacked the books, she wondered where they were supposed to go. She’d never be able to fit this many old titles on the shelves. Joshua or someone would notice if she crammed too many, and then what?

  Then she had an idea that Joshua might consider. If he wanted people to be lured by the siren song of trendy, easy-to-read novels, then maybe having bookshelves on either side of the new door joining the café to the bookshop would be promising.

  Without delay, Maggie went to find Joshua but stopped when she saw him standing in the back of the café with Officer Gary Brookes.

  “I’m telling you that I wasn’t anywhere near the shop when Bo died. Had I been here, I would have sent him home. He was doing me a favor. I had no reason to hurt him,” Joshua said.

  “I’m just telling you that we have a witness who said they saw you here at the store around the time Bo died and that you made tracks out of here quickly, like you were running from something,” Gary said.

  “Who? Who’s telling you this?” Joshua snapped.

  “I’m not at liberty to reveal that information at this time, but…” Gary started, but Joshua stopped him.

  “If you aren’t going to tell me the name of my accuser, then you better come back with something more solid. If I’m not being arrested, I’m going to politely ask you to leave.” Joshua shook his head, put his hands on his hips and looked at the floor before nodding toward the door. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Gary clicked his tongue before turning and walking out the back exit to the alley.

  Maggie hung back a few minutes so Joshua wouldn’t think she was eavesdropping. Finally, she intentionally dropped a couple of books and muttered a few words just so he knew she was there.

  “Margaret? Is that you?” he called.

  “Yes!” she shouted back.

  Just as she was about to go to him, Joshua appeared in the doorway and caused her to again drop the books that had been in her hands.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Joshua said.

  “It’s okay. I’m a klutz.” She wrinkled her face and shook her head. “Were you talking to someone? I thought I heard voices.” Maggie fully expected Joshua to say no, that he hadn’t been talking to anyone, and that maybe she’d heard his radio or he was just talking to himself. But he didn’t.

  “That was Officer Brookes. He says that someone saw me running away from here the night Bo was killed. The coroner pinpointed the time of death, and I was busy then. Nowhere near here. I’m telling you, I don’t know how my father put up with the people in this town,” Joshua said. “You read stories about people in small towns knowing everyone else’s business. Well, Fair Haven fits that stereotype to a T.”

  “It can be kind of rough when you don’t know people very well,” Maggie replied.

  She knew most of the people in town from a distance herself. No one ever said more to her than “How’s Mr. Whitfield?” these days. And now that he had passed away, after enough grieving time had gone by, Maggie figured no one would speak to her at all. But her introverted nature saw no downside to that scenario.

  “Tough? I’m being accused of murder. That’s a little more intense than not being invited to the neighborhood block party.”

  “Do you have an alibi?” Maggie asked innocently.

  “So what, do you think I killed Bo too?”

  “No. I don’t. I’m just saying that you don’t have to be Agatha Christie to know a good alibi will do wonders if you are being accused of murder,” Maggie snapped right back with an added eye roll for dramatic affect.

  “You really have a serious attitude problem,” Joshua said.

  “I do? You’re the one clomping around here, telling everyone what to do,” Maggie replied, only to see Joshua smirk.

  “That’s because I’m the boss. This is my bookshop now and my café, and it’s going to be my lounge in the evening too,” Joshua said.

  “Bar? What are you talking about now?” Maggie didn’t know if she really wanted to hear what Joshua had to say. It seemed that every time he opened his mouth, it meant more bad news and uncomfortable moments coming her way.

  “Once the café is up and running and we get the early birds and lunch crowd to come by, I thought it would be good to have a nice lounge for people to have a cocktail. Just wine and beer. No hard stuff. Maybe a couple festive coffees or a rum drink when the weather calls for it, but…”

  “So, now we’re going to be a bar?” Maggie pursed her lips.

  “Yes, we are,” Joshua replied. “No matter what Deputy Dog thinks or anyone else in this town. My dad’s shop isn’t going to get closed down because it isn’t making any money, and I’m not going to invest my life savings in a ship destined to sink.”

  “Are the people who are drinking going to be able to come into the bookstore?” Maggie asked nervously. People who had alcohol had the tendency to talk more, and the last thing Maggie wanted was people around her talking more.

  “If they want to,” Joshua replied.

  “Some of these books are valuable. If someone spills a glass of merlot on one of your father’s copies of Charles Dickens, they’ve ruined it.” Maggie shook her head.

  “We’ll have a ‘You spill on it, you’ve bought it’ policy. Will that make you happy?” Joshua replied. “Why do you have to fight me on everything? You are no different from anyone else in this town.”

  Maggie gasped. It was as if he had called her a string of things that would make a sailor blush.

  “Your father thought I was fine the way I am. In fact, your father was the only one who thought that. He never made me feel self-conscious or nervous. Not like you and everyone else in this town. I’ve got work to do,” Maggie snapped and bit back tears. “Put bookshelves of the new titles around the door. Maybe your trendy new crowd will find them more easily.”

  “That’s a great idea,” Joshua said as Maggie walked to the back of the store. When he considered what she had described, it really did seem to be a good idea. He felt terrible for talking to her the way he had.

  The truth was that Maggie really was the only person in Fair Haven who had been honest with him from the second he’d shown up. She was a little prickly, yes, but there was something about her that he liked. Maybe it was just the fact that she was always there, reliable and steadfast. Or maybe it was how she wrinkled her nose when she was faced with a problem. He wondered if she wrinkled her nose when she laughed. Then it dawned on him that he hadn’t seen her laugh. That made him feel all the more terrible. But what could he do now? He had deadlines and painting and a few last-minute details to tend to before the big unveiling. He’d have to deal with Maggie later. Right now, he had to make some phone calls and hope that Roger Hawes hadn’t somehow gotten to Tammy and convinced her to sell her pastries to his construction workers, leaving Joshua with no coffee, no food, and no help.

  Chapter 13

  When Maggie finally got home, she felt as if she’d been at the bookshop for twenty-four hours straight. When Mr. Whitfield had been alive, her days had never dragged on like this. She was so aggravated with Joshua that she didn’t know what to do.

  And as if hearing her thoughts loud and clear, as soon as Maggie had slipped into her pajamas for the night and was ready to cook some soup, her landlady was on the porch, her giant golf umbrella overhead making her look like a giant mushroom.

  “Mrs. Peacock, are you all right?” Maggie asked.

  “Yes, dear. I’m fine. I hear that Mr. Whitfield the younger is really making some drastic changes at the bookshop. So I am assuming that you will continue to work there?” She sounded more like she was giving a command than asking a question.

  “Yes, I’ll be working there,” Maggie replied and tried to force a smile.

  “Good. You have no idea how hard it is to find good tenants, and I’d hate to have to put you out on the street. But you know I’ll do it. I’m on a fixed income, and I rely on your steady contribution to live,” Mrs. Peacock said. “Without it, I shudder to think what could happen.”

  Mrs. Vivian Peacock had been telling Maggie she’d put her out on the street for the past six years. At first, Maggie had fretted about whether poor Mrs. Peacock was eating saltine crackers and drinking nothing but water as she lived from one rent check to the next. That went on until Mrs. Peacock invited Maggie to her annual Fourth of July celebration and the tenant saw the inside of her home. It was a beautiful place with dozens of pretty antiques as well as a few convincing knockoffs. The woman was rich. But she was cheap.

  “Yes, well, if my situation changes, you’ll be the first to know,” Maggie said, hoping that would be enough to chase her landlady from her front door. Or maybe the rain could pick up or lightning could start flashing.

  “I heard that Joshua Whitfield is a very handsome man and recently divorced,” Mrs. Peacock said as subtly as a passenger train at rush hour.

  “I wouldn’t know about that,” Maggie replied, looking down and then behind her into her little cottage that she wanted so desperately to be alone in.

  “You wouldn’t? Why, I heard he’s told Tammy McCarthy that he’d have no idea what to do if it weren’t for you,” Mrs. Peacock said. “It’s too bad he’s being investigated.”

  “Investigated for what?” Maggie asked.

  “For the death of my handyman. Oh, I don’t believe it, but the rumors around town are hard to ignore. Bo knew how to do just about everything, and to make such a mistake as to forget to turn off the electricity, well, the man would rather have sliced off his own hand. You have to admit it is a queer situation.” Mrs. Peacock nodded as she stared at Maggie, hoping for a wisp of gossip.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Maggie replied.

  “You’ve not heard anything? You haven’t spoken to Officer Brookes? You two went to high school together, didn’t you?” Mrs. Peacock kept digging.

  “Yes, we did,” Maggie replied. “I didn’t really know him. Still don’t.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I think if Joshua Whitfield can manage to clear his name, he might be a very promising prospect for you. You really should go out more. I can’t be responsible for you the rest of my life. A young girl like you should be thinking of her future.”

  Maggie twisted her face and let out a deep sigh, indicating she wasn’t at all comfortable with the conversation and more than likely didn’t believe it. “Mrs. Peacock, my dinner is on the stove,” Maggie lied. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. Just good to know that your job is secure,” Mrs. Peacock said. “Oh, this rain is never going to stop. My whole yard is going to have to be relandscaped. Lord knows I don’t have the money for that.” She continued telling her tale of woe to the raindrops as she quickly shuffled back to the big house.

  After mentioning it, Maggie decided she was hungry and made herself a mug of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. As she stood next to the stove, she wondered who could be saying such things about Joshua without even knowing all the facts. As the heat from the burners chased any chills from the gloomy weather from her body, Maggie thought of Toby’s cruel letter to Mr. Whitfield and the debt he was in. She wondered if a confrontation was necessary after all. The books had been knocked to the floor. Someone looking for a specific title would have done that. Maybe Bo had seen him or questioned why he was there after hours. Maggie didn’t know. But she was going to find out.

  Chapter 14

  The next day, Maggie made the mistake of buying a sticky bun from Tammy’s Bakery. They were one of her favorite guilty pleasures. But because of how sticky they were, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t prevent the gooey frosting from getting on her face, so she ate them privately in the alley.

  It would have been a simple task on a regular day, but maneuvering her umbrella with one hand and a sticky bun with the other was more than a little tricky. Just as she was about to turn the corner off the main street, already sinking her teeth into the gluey pastry and anticipating the protection from the awning over the back door, Maggie froze.