CHAPTER 25

C HAPTER 25

"But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence."

—Fitzwilliam Darcy, in Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice

A t noon, I ran out to pick up some turkey-salami sub sandwiches for us. I ate mine in the office and fed Darcy a can of his favorite chicken paté. He purred his delight, happy as a clam at being a guest at the shop. About midafternoon, I saw him walking along the desktop in the office, peering out through the picture window. He wasn't necessarily a people cat—other than me and Tegan, and yes, Zach—and he was most certainly not a child cat, but he did like to know what was going on. By end of day, Tegan murmured it was a good thing all three of us had been on board to ring up customers. Sales had exceeded expectations.

At six, leaving Darcy snoozing peacefully in the office, I sped home to fetch the goodies I'd made to serve to the book club. When I returned, I offered to make coffee—heaven forbid I allow Chloe to do so—and Chloe set out the food. I teetered when I saw the bottles of water she'd placed on the snack table.

"Chloe, where did you get those?" I rasped.

"From the refrigerator in the stockroom. We'd run out, so I picked up a case this morning on my way to work. I stowed them in the refrigerator to chill."

They were fresh. Untainted. Phew .

At six thirty, attendees started to arrive. Five could sit on the L-shaped couch and a few might take the beanbags or midcentury modern chairs, but there would be close to fifteen, so Tegan had put out folding chairs. Stella and Lillian, dressed to the nines, put their purses on the couch and ambled to the table of scones, cookies, and dishes of trifle. Their appreciative oohs and aahs for the trifle made me proud. It would go over well at the memorial. Piper, in a short-sleeved silk blouse and trousers, sneaked up behind them and poked them. Startled, the two women turned and laughed.

Piper said, "Nice to see you, ladies."

"You too, Piper," Stella and Lillian chimed.

I spotted a bandage on Piper's arm, which I hadn't noticed before. She'd admitted to coming into the bookshop the day Marigold died. Did they argue? Did they struggle? Did Marigold scratch her?

Stop, Allie. She told Zach her alibi, and the student confirmed it. She's not a suspect.

The three women group-hugged and moved to the reading nook, each expressing how sad it was Marigold wouldn't be here to guide them in the discussion.

A few more people arrived. Zach and Bates showed up in tandem. Bates made a beeline for the coffee. Zach slowed near the book island. He was studying his cell phone.

For a new lead, I prayed. I approached and he smiled, but the smile didn't meet his eyes. My insides snagged as I realized my feelings for him might never be reciprocated.

"Hi." Keeping my tone breezy, I said, "Did Katrina Carlson touch base with you today?"

He pursed his lips. "She did, but for the record, whether or not you believe her—"

I held up a hand to stop him. "My opinion doesn't matter. Got it. I just hope her story pans out. What about my other text regarding the water bottle?"

His brow furrowed. "I didn't get another text from you. "

Of course, he hadn't. I'd forgotten to send the text because I'd been distracted by Katrina's reveal. Quickly I told him what Tegan and I had theorized, that the water bottle could have been tampered with earlier than Saturday, and the killer could have left it for Marigold, who had been consciously rehydrating.

"Allie, stop." Zach pursed his lips, pausing as if to prevent himself from blurting something he didn't want to say. "I like you. You've got a good head on your shoulders. But you're not—"

"All right, everyone, let's get started!" Tegan cried, clapping her hands. "Convene in the reading nook. Allie Catt will be our moderator. Let's go. Chop-chop."

I stared at Zach. What had he been about to say? You're not seeing the forest for the trees? You're not a professional investigator? You're not my type? I pushed the niggling thoughts from my mind and settled onto one of the folding chairs. "Welcome, everyone."

The book club went off without a hitch. A few hadn't finished reading the book, and I told them what Marigold would have said, that it was okay. Not everyone read at the same speed. There would be no spoilers tonight. We dove into the character of Charlie and his relationship with Diesel. We discussed Charlie's former classmate, a best-selling author who was an arrogant jerk. We mulled over the setup of the suspects and their motives. By the time the book club ended, everyone had contributed, much to my delight.

Zach and Bates said good night in synch and headed for the exit. Zach stopped by the door as Bates ran something by him. I doubted they were discussing the book. Neither of them had shared the enthusiasm that the others had for an amateur sleuth handily solving the crime.

Idly Zach bounced his key chain in his palm. Seeing the action made me think of Marigold's missing keys, which were ultimately found, and I revisited a previous theory. Was it possible a customer stole the set and made a copy of the shop's keys and then, forgetting where they'd found the keys, stuffed them into a random drawer? I continued to stare at Zach's movement, the rabbit's foot attached to the key chain dancing merrily with each bounce, and thought of Katrina's key fob. Marigold had asked her about Dates and Places. Truly believing Marigold never wanted to date again after she lost the love of her life, I wondered if she'd purposely asked for the information so she could do a deep dive into Rick, aka Ricochet. Had she found something incriminating? Neither Tegan nor I had scrolled far on the app. Was there more to learn about him?

When the book club participants left the shop, I edged to one side and pulled my cell phone from my jeans pocket. I opened the Dates and Places app and pulled up Rick's profile again. I scrolled down to below where Tegan had stopped and continued reading. He touted himself as an investment banker, which wasn't a lie. He said he worked with hospitals. Also true. He claimed one of his great loves was money, saying one could never have enough. That was blatantly honest. He gave his age as sixty-two. I doubted he'd fudged that. He admitted he was divorced.

In answer to a standard app prompt, Previous employment, he wrote that he used to work in banking telecommunications and had also served as a sales rep before breaking out on his own to raise funds for hospital bonds. The sales rep mention made me laugh. He'd told Tegan and me that his ex-wife couldn't handle his being on the road because her father had been a traveling salesman, but then Rick had joked that he sure as heck wasn't a salesman. Wasn't a sales rep the same thing?

I read further and froze. Rick had repped pharmaceuticals. Someone who had worked in the drug industry might know a thing or two about poisons. As Tegan had glibly asserted, had he killed Marigold? Tegan patently did not like him. Was there more to her aversion than being overly protective of Noeline ?

I thought again about the misplaced keys. What if Rick stole Noeline's set of keys from the B&B, made a copy of the shop's keys, and used one or both of them to access the bookstore on Saturday morning? In order to cover his intended duplicity, with malice aforethought, he swiped Marigold's keys and deposited them in a desk drawer so it would appear that she, like Noeline, had a tendency to misplace things. The theory was a stretch but sounded plausible.

Something else occurred to me. At the pawnshop, Rick had rubbed his arm as if eager to conclude his business transaction and get a move on. Was it possible his arm had a scratch on it? Inflicted by Marigold?

My cell phone buzzed. I didn't recognize the number but answered.

"Miss Catt?" a man with a genteel Southern accent asked.

"Yes."

"I'm Frank Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam and Sons."

Frank, not Darcy. Either Marigold had dubbed the agency's contact as Detective Darcy in jest, as Tegan and I had speculated, or she'd done so as a diversion to ensure someone wouldn't realize what she was up to. "Did Marigold Markel hire you?" I asked.

"She did."

"Did you hear that she was murdered?"

"Yes. What a shame. I didn't reach out with my condolences. Our matter was concluded well before that time."

"Could you tell me why she hired you? I'm a dear friend and a partner in the bookshop."

He hesitated.

"Sir, please. Did it have anything to do with"—I made a wild guess—"prejudice?"

"Prejudice?" He made a clicking sound with his tongue. "I can't say it did, but I won't say it didn't. She wanted me to find out about a man she didn't trust. "

"Rick O'Sheedy?"

"That's correct. I delivered my findings."

"In writing?"

"In a PDF file."

When I'd browsed Marigold's personal computer, the Adobe Reader app hadn't been open. I hadn't thought to peruse it. Was the file still on her computer? Or did Rick, who I was now certain killed my dear friend, delete it after he hacked into her computer to erase her Internet search history of him? Noeline said he was savvy in all things technical. If he did a slapdash job, the PDF file might still be in Trash.

"Can you give me a few hints as to the contents?" I asked.

He hummed.

"Please," I prompted.

"I don't see the harm. Sure. The man is broke. He has a lot of outstanding debts. I won't say he's a gambler, but he hasn't been frugal, if you catch my drift."

I thought of the book Marigold had been holding when she died, Pride and Prejudice, and it all became clear . She'd grabbed it as a clue to warn her sister that Rick was not all he appeared to be. He wasn't a nice guy making room for Noeline in his heart when he'd pawned his wedding ring. He was, as Tegan theorized, targeting Noeline in hopes of gaining access to her deep pockets. He was Wickham, not Darcy.

I thanked Mr. Fitzwilliam as a scenario took shape in my mind. Marigold found out Rick was active on a dating site. She had him investigated. What if, armed with her findings, she told Rick to leave her sister alone or else she'd tell Noeline the truth? What if, as a last-ditch effort, she offered to pay him one hundred thousand dollars to go quietly?

One of the lines in Marigold's manuscript read: The killer's threats had been real, she had no doubt. What if Rick, seeing an opportunity to make out like a bandit, agreed to Marigold's demands and asked to meet at the bookshop Saturday morning before the event? Naively believing she had the upper hand, she agreed. But using the keys he'd copied, he sneaked in before her and was lying in wait. He pushed her, poisoned her, took the money, and created a phony alibi of house hunting. Would the photographs on his cell phone of the homes he was considering be time-stamped?

I saw Zach standing outside the shop with Bates. Both were studying Zach's phone. Would he listen to me if I shared my theory? Doubtful. I didn't have any hard facts, only suppositions. It dawned on me that if Rick hadn't disposed of the shop's keys that he'd copied, they might be hidden in his room at the inn. If I could find them, they would be solid evidence of his guilt.

Tegan swept past me, carrying a tray filled with used cups and saucers. Chloe was tending to the water bottles and plates.

"Tegan, psst. " I motioned her to join me.

She did, tray in hand. "What's up?"

I told her.

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "Zach's still outside. Tell him."

I explained how he didn't want me butting in. "Plus it's only a conjecture."

She considered that for a moment. "Here's what we'll do. I'll go to the inn. Rick is there with Mom. A bit ago, she texted asking when I'd be back. They're in the backyard and would like to spend time with me. Before I join them, I'll search his room for the keys. If I find them and they match mine, I'll take a picture. That's enough proof, right?"