Books, beach roses… and bodies.
Bookseller and recent divorcée Max Sayers has risked her life savings to start a fresh chapter with the purchase of Seaside Cottage Books in cozy Snug Harbor, Maine. But she’s barely opened the shop’s doors when her new storybook life takes a dark turn. The morning after the grand opening–featuring a famous author who shows up at the store on the arm of Max’s ex-husband–Max’s rescue dog Winston finds a dead man on the beach behind the shop. The murder weapon? One of Max’s doorstops, an antique flatiron.
Will Max solve the case before the murderer strikes again?
Or will her bright new beginning turn into a killer of an ending?
Here’s the second chapter of A KILLER ENDING, the companion series to the Gray Whale Inn mysteries. Want to read the whole thing? You can find your copy here:
Welcome to Snug Harbor!!!! I hope you’ll love it as much as I do. <3
CHAPTER TWO
(You can read Chapter One here if you missed it!)
Winston and I jerked awake simultaneously, both sitting up in a near panic. Winston stood at attention, issuing short yippy, anxious barks. I shushed him, listening; sure enough, there was another clunk, from somewhere below me.
My thoughts sprang to the skulking figure I’d seen behind the shop earlier. Had someone broken in?
The moon had risen as I slept, illuminating the room enough so that I didn’t need to turn on a light. I grabbed my bathrobe from the hook next to the door and wrapped it around me, tiptoeing toward the bedroom door. Winston watched from the mattress, no longer barking but whining anxiously. Evidently, he wasn’t quite brave enough to join me.
I grabbed the dust mop, edged over to the door to the stairs, and took a deep breath. Then I unlocked the door, yanked it open, and turned on the light. “Is someone down there? I’m armed,” I announced, stretching the truth just a tad.
There was a shuffling sound from downstairs, then footsteps. I caught a glimpse of movement; a moment later, I heard the back door creak open and slam shut.
I closed the apartment door and locked it, and hurried to the back windows. Sure enough, a flashlight bobbed down the path, right where I’d seen someone earlier that day. Winston joined me, growling quietly, as I watched it disappear. Then, still holding the dust mop, I unlocked the door and headed downstairs, Winston a safe ten steps behind me, still growling.
It was weird being in the store knowing someone had just left. I headed to the back door first; it was shut, but unlocked. I opened it; there was no splintering on the door frame, or any sign of forced entry. Did someone other than Bethany and me have a key? I wondered. When I’d bought the place from Loretta Satterthwaite, she’d turned over the keys, and I hadn’t had the doors rekeyed. Maybe one of the former employees had a copy.
But why would they be breaking into the store?
At first glance, nothing looked any different than it had when Bethany and I walked through. The desk appeared untouched; nobody had been rifling through the drawers, thank goodness, and the table Bethany had set up in the front room was still pristine.
Something had fallen over, though. I’d heard it.
But what?
I found it in the back room.
Someone had dumped the books off one of the shelves Bethany and I had neatly organized in the Nature section and started to pry the back of the bookcase away from the wall.
If they were looking for a cavity of some sort, they were out of luck; the only thing behind the shelf was wallboard.
I touched the splintered wood of the bookshelf and cursed under my breath, then stooped to retrieve the books that had been thrown to the floor—several were favorites by Rachel Carson and Bernd Heinrich. It bothered me that someone would treat books with such disregard, but I reminded myself to be thankful that the damage wasn’t worse. A few had bent covers, but most were okay, and I replaced them carefully on the shelf. I’d have to get someone in to fix the back of the shelf, but thankfully the books covered the worst of it; there was only a small pulled-back area visible above the books on the left end of the shelf.
After I finished rearranging the shelf, I tapped around the other shelves, listening for a hollow sound, but heard nothing suspicious. Then I walked through the rest of the shop, tapping on walls, looking for more damage, and wondering why someone had broken into my shop to pull back a bookshelf.
Had they been looking for something hidden?
And if so, what?
* * *
The next day went by in a whirlwind. Bethany’s cousins, Shane and Ernest, came by and helped me unload the U-Haul, leaving the formerly empty apartment riddled with boxes and furniture, including my bed, which I’d disassembled for the move and which now lay in pieces on the bedroom floor.
As Shane and Ernest manhandled a queen-sized mattress up the exterior stairs, I turned to Bethany, who was bundled up against the morning chill and sipping coffee out of a heavy pottery mug. “Have you had any issues with anyone breaking in?” I asked her.
“What?” she asked, her young brow furrowed. “Not that I know of… why?”
I related what had happened the night before.
“That’s terrifying,” she said. “Did you see who it was?”
“No,” I said, “but whoever it was seemed to have a key; the back door was unlocked.”
“I’ve had a few things move seemingly of their own accord the last few months, but I put that down to forgetfulness—or you being here when I wasn’t. Nobody’s taken a crowbar to anything, though. Are you sure the door was locked?” she asked. “It’s easy to forget.”
“I wish I could say I was,” I admitted, “but I don’t specifically remember actually locking it.” I sighed. “I should probably have everything rekeyed.” I didn’t want to spend the money, but I didn’t want to have to reassemble my bookshelves, either. I did a quick Google search on my phone, left a message for the first local locksmith that came up, and then started hauling boxes up the stairs.
The U-Haul was unloaded in record time, leaving me with a thicket of boxes to sort through. The apartment could wait, though; not only did I have to return the U-Haul, but there were still preparations to be done for the grand opening. As soon as Shane and Ernest left, each with an envelope of cash and some home-baked cookies, I headed out to drop off the U-Haul. It was almost 2:00 before I returned to the store. Bethany was already there, wearing an “I LOVE BIG BOOKS AND I CANNOT LIE” T-shirt and cleaning and setting up chairs she’d found in the storage shed out back; we’d need them for the author reading.
It was an hour before opening when I began putting out cookies and setting out cups and plates, satisfied that I’d gotten everything else about as clean and fresh as I could. Bethany was doing a few last-minute errands while I made the punch and set out the treats. When I had arranged the cookies—I’d included my favorite lemon bars, several dozen of my specialty double-chocolate-chip cookies, and three batches of jam thumbprints—added the last bottle of soda to the punch bowl and filled the percolators with ground coffee and water, I collapsed into the chair behind the big antique desk. Winston, who had spent the day busily running around supervising, sank into his dog bed beside me, looking exhausted. My eyes drifted to the top drawer; Bethany had said there were some important-looking letters in there, but I hadn’t gotten around to looking at them yet. I was sure many of them were bills I should probably make myself face, even if that was the last thing on the planet I felt like doing right now. I sighed and steeled myself for what was in the drawer.
As I reached for the handle, there was a knock at the front door. I looked up in surprise to see my mother, her long gray hair swept up into a loose bun and a cheerful smile on her round face.
“Welcome to Snug Harbor, sweetheart!” she said, pulling me into a one-armed perfumed hug (the other hand was holding a bag) as I opened the door. My mother had a camp on Crescent Lake that she’d taken to staying in full-time a few years back; it was where I had spent many summers as a girl. My daughters had practically grown up there, spending every school vacation canoeing off the dock and catching fireflies, then coming in for root beer floats and jigsaw puzzles. Once Ted and I separated, I went on a week-long trip to the Gray Whale Inn on Cranberry Island, Maine, with my boss and old friend Ellie as I tried to figure out what to do next; it was there that I found out about Loretta’s situation, and both Ellie and the delightful innkeeper, Natalie Barnes, encouraged me to look into taking over the store. I’d then spent a few weeks at my mother’s camp, losing myself in the Agatha Christies that still lined the bookshelves, and drinking hot chocolate on the dock while reflecting on my new circumstances and trying to decide if becoming a bookstore owner was the right thing to do.
After a week of thinking, I’d ventured out to find Loretta, who told me that Seaside Cottage Books was indeed for sale, and that she’d love for me to take over the store. When she and I came to a number that almost exactly matched my settlement, it seemed like a sign from the universe that this was where the next chapter of my life was meant to unfold. My mother, of course, was delighted that I was relocating to Snug Harbor, although she hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that Ted and I were no longer married. I knew she fostered hopes that our expired marriage would one day be resuscitated.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said as my mother released me from her scented hug.
“Here are some lemon cookies,” she said, proffering a Tupperware container. “I figured you could use extra.”
“Thank you!” I said.
“I made a batch of your favorite coconut cookies, too; they’re in the back of the car. I’ll go get them.” She marched down the steps to where her green Subaru was parked, then opened the back door and pulled out a second big Tupperware container. “I thought I’d come early in case you need a little help,” she said as she closed the car door and headed back up the walk to the store.
“Thanks,” I said half-heartedly, trailing her up the porch steps and into Seaside Cottage Books.
She stopped as the door opened. “Oh, wow, Maxine.” My mother was the only person on the planet who still called me Maxine; I’d been Max since junior high, and I preferred it that way. “The place looks terrific.” Her eyes crinkled into a smile as she turned to me and said, tenderly, “Loretta would be thrilled.”
“I just wish she were here to see it.” Loretta had sold me the store in February, and had passed just a month ago, from pancreatic cancer. It was the diagnosis that had led her to sell the store.
“She’d be so proud of you,” my mother told me, putting an arm around my shoulder again. “I know I am.”
“I hope so,” I replied, thinking of the bills that were likely piled up in the drawer—and that I hoped to soon be able to pay.
“By the way,” she said as she popped open the Tupperware and began making a pile of her golden coconut cookies next to the lemon bars, “you’ll never guess who else moved back to town!”
“Who?” I asked.
“Remember that boy you used to go out on the boat with? Nicholas Waters?”
“I do,” I said with a pang. He’d been my first love, but it had ended badly. Very badly.
“Well, he’s come back and set up shop as an attorney here in Snug Harbor.”
I blinked. Nicholas Waters was ancient history in my book. I hadn’t counted on him being back in town when I moved to Snug Harbor. Was I going to have to run into him every other day at the IGA? Was I going to encounter him on my daily walks, too? Was he going to be parading a wife or girlfriend all over the place, who I’d have to pretend not to be jealous of? I was surprised at the feelings that surged in my heart at the mention of his name; I’d thought he was no longer someone I cared about, but hearts have long memories. “Have you seen him?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“No. I only know because Sadie at the library told me the other day. She knew you two used to be close; she thought it was a funny coincidence, you both moving to town within a month of each other.”
Lucky me. I was dying to ask about five thousand questions. Like, was he married? Had he gained 100 pounds? Did he still have his hair? But my mother hadn’t seen him, just heard about him. And the last thing I wanted was for her to know I still cared about Nicholas.
In fact, it bothered me to find out how much I still cared about Nicholas. If only Scooter Dempsey hadn’t spread those rumors about me all those years ago…
I pushed the thought from my mind. It had all happened a long time ago. And if I hadn’t met and married Ted, I wouldn’t have Audrey and Caroline, the two lights of my life. Best to let it lie.
“The cookies look terrific,” I said, changing the subject. “I figure we’ll start the coffee makers about a half hour before showtime. Our star author should be here any moment. In the meantime, if you want to help, I forgot to bring down the napkins; there’s a bag upstairs in the kitchen. If you could bring those down and put them on the table, that would be wonderful.”
“Will do,” she said, and bustled up the stairs to retrieve them.
I straightened my blouse a little—I’d chosen to wear a starched white cotton button-down with a sea glass necklace in blues and greens, along with capri-length skinny jeans and wedge sandals—and attempted to give the impression of a prosperous bookstore owner. I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the store’s side window. Dark hair, still long down my back, pulled up in a clip. Hazel eyes that were only a little bit puffy from my little crying binge, arched, dark brows, a long, straight nose, and a roundish face that looked a little like my mother’s. I had to admit I looked pretty good. Even if there was a little extra real estate under the blouse at the moment. I was adjusting my blouse when there was a knock at the door
I turned to see who it was, and smiled when I recognized K. T. Anderson. She didn’t look exactly like her author photo—no one ever does—but it was a close likeness, and I could tell already that I preferred her smile in person. I hurried over to the door and opened it, and my face froze.
Next to the author, his arm linked with hers, stood my ex-husband.
Want to find out what happens next? You can find the rest of the book here:
