“It makes for good reading, don’t you think? And Otto and my sister Heather had known each other for years before she married Dane. I think he was sweet on her. But once she picked Dane, Otto got bitter. It was time for him to let it go. They’ve been married almost eight years. When you’re dead, lie down.”

  “Did you tell this to Agnes Krueger?”

  “Who?”

  “Agnes Krueger. The private investigator with the stun gun?” Maggie asked, lifting her eyebrows.

  “No. She came storming in here like Dirty Harry with that thing, as if I wasn’t used to trouble. I wasn’t telling her anything. But you, well, you don’t look like you’d hurt a fly. At least not the traditional way. I could be wrong, but usually I’m not. Just like I wasn’t wrong about Dane or Lora. As for Otto Deitz,” Paige shrugged. “My sister might know more. She’s at our mom’s place. Go bother her for a while.”

  Paige rattled off the address, then stepped back inside and shut the door. Maggie heard the lock click. The conversation was over.

  Maggie hurried back to the car, and Joshua followed.

  “She said to go talk to her sister and mother,” Maggie said, scribbling the address before she forgot it. “They live a little ways from here. Ready?”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?”

  “I’ve still got work to do, Mags. I can’t play Sherlock Holmes with you all day. But I’ll make you a deal. I’ll rearrange my schedule tomorrow and go with you wherever you need to go. Besides, the longer you wait to shelve that book, the less chance you have of winning our bet. Don’t forget.”

  He winked. He was right. Maggie started the car without a word and drove back to the bookstore.

  “You promise you’re not going to get into any trouble without me?” Joshua asked.

  Maggie promised. But Serafina Lawson made no such promise. It didn’t take long for Maggie to find herself in a very strange situation.

  Chapter 14

  Maggie pulled her car to the top of Mrs. Peacock’s driveway and immediately noticed a red Lexus she didn’t recognize. She’d never seen it before and wondered who it belonged to. Sticking to her usual routine, she walked quickly through the garden toward her cottage. It was still light out, but Maggie couldn’t help but glance around nervously. She hadn’t forgotten the attempted abduction the other night, and a bold daylight kidnapping or worse didn’t seem entirely off the table.

  When she reached her stoop, she stopped short. Her gravel driveway looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Dirt was torn up in patches, and along the street were the smallest CAT machines she’d ever seen: a mini digger, a tiny forklift. Funny, parking her car in the driveway had once been called an eyesore, but heavy machinery was apparently acceptable.

  “Well, this is a sight,” Maggie muttered aloud.

  “What was that?” came a voice behind her.

  Maggie jumped and spun around. Hand to chest, she let out a shaky breath. “Mrs. Peacock! I didn’t see you. You scared me.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I just wanted to let you know the men will be back tomorrow to finish up.” Mrs. Peacock waved a hand toward the churned-up driveway. “They say it should be done by the weekend. Normally it only takes a couple of days, but since they’re squeezing me in as a special favor, I’m at a slight disadvantage. Paying cash should speed things up.”

  “It’s okay,” Maggie nodded. “Do you have a visitor?”

  “Oh yes. It’s Serafina Lawson. She’s in hiding. How you hide in a bright red car wearing matching red dress, I don’t know, but that’s what she claims she’s doing. Why don’t you get cleaned up and come out to the patio? We’re having mint juleps.”

  Maggie’s eyes widened, but she agreed. Once inside her cottage, though, she paused. What did Mrs. Peacock mean, ‘clean up’? She wasn’t dirty. Her clothes were simple but neat. She checked her reflection: hair in place, no smeared makeup. With a shrug, she changed into a beige sundress that was casual and formless, something she usually wore on quiet weekends spent doing laundry or reading.

  As she approached the patio, the scene was exactly what she expected. Mrs. Peacock in her flowing pink muumuu. Fifi in a red dress cinched tightly at the waist.

  “Well, hello, honey,” Fifi greeted her cheerfully. “When Vivian told me you’d extended a welcome, I just had to stop by before I left town. I was hoping to see you too.”

  “Hi,” Maggie said awkwardly, giving a quick wave before sitting on an elaborate wicker ottoman with a green cushion.

  “You’re not leaving just yet,” Mrs. Peacock said, turning to Fifi. “You’re staying here for another day or two, and we’re going to catch up. Mi casa, su casa.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t impose.”

  “Nonsense. It’s no imposition at all. Besides, it’ll give that hormone-driven fan of yours time to cool down. I don’t know how you put up with it,” Mrs. Peacock said, sipping her drink. She didn’t ask Maggie if she wanted one, though Maggie didn’t mind. Mint juleps were strong. With her limited alcohol tolerance, three sips might have her blurting out her thoughts on Mrs. Peacock’s fixed income.

  “Trent? He’s harmless. It’s this other situation that has me a little more curious,” Fifi said, turning to Maggie. “You were there. What do you think about poor Mr. Deitz? That man had an enemies list as long as your arm.”

  “No one deserves to be killed the way he was. But you might be right. I read his book, and it literally named names,” Maggie said, then cleared her throat.

  “Have you read it, Fifi dear?” Mrs. Peacock asked.

  “I haven’t. Not enough spice for me. Besides, we all grew up in this town. I figured there wouldn’t be anything in there I didn’t already know or suspect. It was his fourth book, right? I’d be more interested in the early ones. Personal revenge never turns out the way you think,” she said, winking at Maggie.

  “Well, I’ll tell you, it wasn’t that great. And he didn’t include anything about my husband, and that man practically built Fair Haven into what it is today.” Mrs. Peacock pouted.

  “Oh, darling,” Fifi cooed. “Maybe that’s your sign to write a book about your beloved. Just make sure you include how you used to meet him behind the church after Sunday service.”

  “You do talk scandalous!” Mrs. Peacock whooped, bursting into laughter unlike anything Maggie had ever seen from her. Her eyes twinkled mischievously and her cheeks flushed red with glee. Maggie sat frozen, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, which only made the women laugh harder.

  “Seriously,” Fifi continued, catching her breath, “I don’t know why anyone would be offended by being written about in a book. I’d be flattered. What do you think?” She turned to Maggie.

  “I read the book,” Maggie said carefully. “Otto didn’t try very hard to disguise anyone. But I enjoyed it. I wouldn’t call it Hemingway, but there’s nothing like a redemption story to make you feel good.”

  “Oh, come on. It wasn’t redemption, it was revenge,” Mrs. Peacock said, waving her hand. “The character got what he wanted. The woman was destroyed. Her boy-toy fled town. The embezzler was caught. And the family that never understood him was left shouting after him like in that old Western... what was it? ‘Come back, Shane!’ Deitz wanted to prove something to everyone, and he did. He died for it.”

  “That’s true,” Maggie nodded, shifting on the small ottoman in hopes of finding a more comfortable position. It didn’t help. Still, as she tried to perch on the too-small cushion, an idea sparked.

  “Miss Lawson, if you’re staying with Mrs. Peacock for a few more days, would you be interested in doing a book signing at The Bookish Café? I work there, and I’m sure Joshua Whitfield, the owner, would be happy to host you.”

  Fifi looked up, then over at Mrs. Peacock. “That sounds delightful. I’d love to. Since I’m staying with my dear friend, I don’t see any problem at all. Count me in.” She smiled and took another sip of her drink. Still, no one offered Maggie anything.

  “Great. I’ll get everything arranged. I’ve got Mrs. Peacock’s number, so I’ll call with the details.”

  “That sounds just lovely,” Fifi said.

  “Do I have to stand in line for a signed copy?” Mrs. Peacock teased. “You know how I abhor a crowd.”

  “Please, honey. If a dozen people show up, I’ll be thrilled.”

  “You had a nice turnout at the book fair. Everyone kept drifting toward your booth, even after all the drama,” Maggie said encouragingly.

  “Did you see that woman with the hair?” Fifi asked. “I saw her at three events leading up to Fair Haven. Serious Otto Deitz fan. I didn’t know people like that existed for his kind of writing, but I’ve been wrong before.”

  Maggie had seen her. In fact, she’d just finished talking to her. Fifi might be comforted to know the woman’s hair wasn’t always that high.

  “She was at the meet-and-greet, too. Just before Otto was found,” Maggie added.

  “He wasn’t the only one who died,” Maggie said quietly.

  Both women turned to her. Fifi leaned forward, squinting.

  “I suspected there was more to you than meets the eye,” she said with a knowing smile.

  Maggie sighed and shared that the police found Lora Foretree dead under mysterious circumstances. She left out names and specific locations and made them both promise to keep it to themselves.

  “That includes Mrs. Donovan,” Maggie added, pointing at Mrs. Peacock.

  “Are you still talking to that mealy-mouthed ninny?” Fifi asked, raising a brow high into her hairline. “After what she tried to do?”

  “That was a long time ago, Fifi. And you never liked her.”

  “She won’t like you either when she finds out I’ve been staying here,” Fifi said. “You read Otto Deitz’s book. Did he mention the saintly Donovan family at all?”

  “No. He didn’t,” Maggie answered.

  “Oh, now that’s a book waiting to be written,” Fifi scoffed. “That family alone could fill ten volumes. Deitz missed his chance.”

  “You stop spreading rumors, Serafina Lawson,” Mrs. Peacock giggled.

  “What rumors?” Fifi said. “It’s all true. Well... maybe not who Reginald Donovan’s real father is. People say it’s old droopy-jowl Max, but I’ve got my doubts.”

  “Yes, most of us do. But far be it for me to entertain such gossip,” Mrs. Peacock said, glancing out over her garden.

  Maggie nearly choked on air. She had just told them she’d found another body possibly tied to a murder, and they were more interested in family scandal. Somehow, that made her feel safer. If they were this wrapped up in the Donovans, they were unlikely to breathe a word about the case.

  “What did Mrs. Donovan do to you, Mrs. Peacock?” Maggie asked innocently. Unlike her landlord, Maggie wasn’t one to tiptoe around a subject in hopes of gathering a few crumbs. She preferred to stick her face straight into the cake and take a bite.

  “Oh, don’t listen to Miss Lawson,” Mrs. Peacock replied, waving her hand. “She has a tendency to make mountains out of molehills. That’s why she’s such a good writer.” She took a long sip from her silver goblet, the sprig of mint sticking out like a garnish on a sundae.

  “Vivian, don’t fib to the girl.”

  “I’m not fibbing. I’m not saying anything,” Mrs. Peacock said with a shrug, her eyes darting everywhere but at Maggie or Fifi.

  Maggie wrinkled her nose. Maybe they were just messing with her. Maybe there was no secret, no scandal. Still, once she had Fifi at the bookstore and could get her alone, she might press a little harder and see what spilled out. For now, she was ready to get inside, lock her door, and decompress. She had her goodies from the book fair and intended to enjoy them.

  With renewed energy, she excused herself from the ladies and confirmed one last time that she’d be in touch about the book signing. As she turned to leave, Fifi said something strange.

  “Have a good night, honey. And make sure to lock your doors.”

  Maggie smiled and waved. But the words lingered. She hugged her bag of books closer and glanced over her shoulder. Both women were still waving. A few more steps, and the conversation behind her dropped to a whisper.

  Were they talking about her? Maybe it was about Mrs. Donovan. Or the Donovan family in general. Or maybe it really was about Maggie.

  “Stop being paranoid,” she muttered. “Fifi couldn’t chase you like that shadow man did the other night. Not in those heels.”

  She let herself into her cottage and quickly locked the door. But her breath caught. She remembered Fifi at the meet-and-greet. It wasn’t Fifi that held her focus though. It was Trent, the clingy companion.

  Her heart thudding, Maggie dropped into her favorite reading chair. She set her bags on the floor and tried to gather her thoughts. Trent had been tall. Thin. Like the figure she saw in the shadows. He’d been with Fifi at the event and got angry when she dismissed him. Where had he gone after that?

  She remembered him at the bar. He’d thrown back a drink. After that, she’d been deep in conversation with Otto and lost track of him. She only recalled seeing him again when Fifi discovered Otto’s body. He came running, disheveled. But where had he been before that?

  Fifi had been nearly hysterical. Maggie didn’t believe she had anything to do with Otto’s death. But maybe something in Otto’s book struck a nerve. Trent was obsessed with Fifi. Rejected, drunk, and jealous. That was a dangerous mix.

  “But what about Lora Foretree?” Maggie whispered. “How does she fit in?”

  She headed into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. There was still some coffee cake left from when she and Gary had gone over the case. She’d need to talk to him again, see if he had any insight on Trent. Or Lora. Or both.

  Excitement tingled under her skin. She took a bite of cake and called Gary mid-chew, launching into a recap of everything on her mind.

  “And make sure no one’s following you,” she added.

  “Who would be following me? I’m not the one harassing Heather McKenny’s twin sister,” Gary teased.

  “No one was harassing anybody. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll stop home, take a shower, and then come over. I’m off duty tomorrow anyway, though I have a feeling whatever you’re about to tell me will keep me on the clock.”

  But by the time nine o’clock rolled around and he still hadn’t shown or called, her nerves kicked in. She called and received no answer. She checked the station. No one had seen or heard from him since he’d clocked out.

  Against her better judgment, she went looking for him.

  She drove to his place. It was a small unit in a row of five apartments, just ten minutes from the bookstore. She’d only been there once, back when he first moved in, almost a decade ago.

  Chapter 15

  When Maggie pulled into the guest parking space near Gary’s unit, she let out a small sigh of relief. His squad car was parked where it always was, and the lights in his apartment were on. But something felt off. There was no movement inside, no shifting shadows, no flicker from the television.

  She considered honking the horn but looked around the quiet neighborhood and decided against it. Instead, she cut the engine, stepped out of the car, and walked up to the front door.

  It was slightly ajar.

  Maggie froze. The open door felt like an invitation, and not the good kind. Still, she knocked loudly, called out Gary’s name, and waited.

  “You better say something or I’m going to shoot the first thing that moves with my... Smith and Wesson... twenty-two Magnum,” she called into the apartment, her voice shaking just enough to make it sound serious.

  Holding her breath, she stepped inside.

  That’s when she heard a commotion from the bathroom.

  “Gary?” she called again, louder this time.

  No answer.

  Keeping the front door open behind her, she crept down the short hallway toward the noise. The bathroom door was ajar, and just as she reached it, she caught a glimpse of a leg sliding out the small window.

  “OH!” she screamed, just as the figure vanished over the sill and out of sight.

  Panicked, she darted into the bedroom, then back to the bathroom, as if the intruder might’ve somehow doubled back. With no better option, she grabbed the plunger from beside the toilet.

  If the trespasser came back, she was ready. Maybe he’d kill her, but not before getting a face full of toilet rubber.

  Weapon raised, she crept back toward the front room. Her heart was thudding. Every nerve was on edge.

  That was the exact moment Gary walked through the front door, weapon drawn.

  “Holy moly, Maggie! What are you doing here?” he yelled, lowering his gun as soon as he saw her. He leaned against the doorframe, exhaling hard.

  “I came looking for you. You forgot we were supposed to meet earlier. I had tuna fish sandwiches all ready. Well... I had the cans out of the cupboard,” she admitted. “When I got here, the door was open. I thought something happened to you.”

  “Maggie, come on. If you see a door open that’s supposed to be closed, you don’t go in. You call for backup,” Gary said, his voice stern.

  “But I thought you were in trouble,” she said, her voice small. Now that he was home and safe, the full weight of the situation hit her, and her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  Gary’s expression softened. “Hey. I’m sorry I barked at you. It’s been a long day. Yeah, I was supposed to meet you. But Agnes Krueger is in the hospital. Not dead, but she got her clock cleaned pretty good. I spent the evening talking to her. Then I had to get back to the station, and every time I tried to call you, something else came up.”

  “If I’d called, you wouldn’t have come here. Mags, I’m sorry.”

  He pulled her into a side hug, his arm resting naturally around her shoulders. It was warm and comforting, like a cup of tea.