Keep Calm and Candy On Read online

  “Amazing!” I murmur. “He really knew how to rub people the wrong way.”

  Her expression changes. “I didn’t kill him. You have to believe that.”

  “I do believe it. I don’t know how any business owner on Main Street could have killed him.”

  “Well, somebody did,” she remarks. “I know everyone here…. I mean, I knew everyone here except you, and now I know you, too. I don’t know anyone who could kill anybody, but the killer must have been someone on Main Street, don’t you think? Who else would have a motive to kill him?”

  “I can’t think of anybody,” I tell her, “but I am convinced it had something to do with the real estate deal. The killer must have been trying to stop the development.”

  “Why should they want to kill him, though?” she asks. “I’ve been talking to a lot of people since this started, and I don’t know anyone who wanted to sell out.”

  “Patrick Donohue did,” I reply, “but he was only one person. “You would think any reasonable person would wait to see if the strip mall would really get built before they did something as rash as killing the developer.”

  She nods. “That’s what I think, too.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Elizabeth,” I tell her. “I feel better, now that meeting you isn’t haunting my mind.”

  She laughs all over again. She laughs so easily, she puts me right at ease. “Me, too!” She gives me a spontaneous hug and hurries back to work.

  I go back outside. Strike another one off my list of suspects. So far, I don’t believe any of these people killed Mark. For a start, everyone on Main Street cares way too much about their own businesses ever to threaten them by getting sent to jail.

  I run through the list of names. Stacy Koontz of the Happy-Go-Lucky Café. Sabrina Harris of the Baker’s Dozen on the corner. There’s Simone Peretti at the antique shop. Mr. Stewart at the dog grooming parlor. Horace Bentley at the used bookstore.

  None of them had any reason to kill Mark. They’re all steady, reasonable members of this community. They all must have known they could just hold out, and Mark would have no choice but to drop his whole development scheme.

  Then there’s Patrick Donohue. He certainly wouldn’t kill Mark. He banked his whole future on Mark buying the toy store. He lost more than any of us when Mark died.

  Thinking about Patrick makes me think about Bea. She’s a different ball of wax. She had a reason to stop Mark sooner rather than later. If Mark finalized those papers, he would have bought the toy store regardless of what the other business owners did.

  I don’t know Bea hardly at all. I don’t know her personality the way I know the others. I don’t feel as confident judging her character as, say, Stacy.

  While I stand there pondering the subject, Horace Bentley comes out of his bookstore. He peers at me through his thick glasses. “Hello, Margaret. Did they let you out of your kennel?”

  I bite back a smile, my first smile since last night when my world caved in. “How are you, Horace?”

  “I’m grand, now that Mark Sheridan is dead.”

  I grimace. “I wouldn’t talk like that with an active murder investigation going on, Horace. Everyone on Main Street is a suspect. I’m supposed to be questioning you right now, too.”

  He weaves his head back and forth on his spindly neck like a bird. “Are you investigating his murder? In that case, I can tell you right now I didn’t like him, and I’m glad he’s dead. I didn’t kill him, but some people deserve what they get.”

  “What did he do that was as bad as all that?” I ask. “Did he do something worse than offering to buy your bookstore?”

  “He threatened me,” Horace replies. “He said if I didn’t sell, I could wind up getting driven out with nothing. He hid a very nasty side under that gregarious smile of his.”

  “Maybe you misunderstood him,” I suggest. “Maybe he was trying to imply that, if the strip mall project went ahead, you could be left behind and miss out on a good price.”

  “I don’t think I could misunderstand him when he reiterated it more than once. He came back to my store three times, and every conversation ended with a veiled threat. He even said certain people might take offense and visit me in a way I wouldn’t like. I started to suspect he was mixed up in some organized crime ring or something.”

  I frown at him. “That’s odd. I don’t think he visited anyone else on Main Street more than once.”

  “He said my store was in a unique position. He said my store and the toy store were the most important to his development plans, so he was more insistent about me selling than anyone else in town. It appears his plan was to develop this section of Main Street first. Between the toy store, my bookstore, and the vacant lot, he was going to begin by building a short complex of shops here first. Once they started bringing in revenue, he would be able to afford to offer more for the other stores in town. That’s what he said, anyway.”

  “Thank you, Horace,” I exclaim. “Thank you for telling me. That’s a big help.”

  “Of course. Now you see why I didn’t have any motive to kill him. My store was the lynchpin in his whole stratagem. I could sit tight and play him like a puppet on a string. I didn’t care if Patrick Donohue sold out. I could drive the price sky high, and Mark Sheridan would have no choice but to pay it if he ever hoped to build so much as a popsicle stand in this town. I could twiddle my thumbs until he could no longer afford to pay my asking price.”

  I gape at this spidery man with his head full of books. A mischievous smile plays at the corners of his lips. Of everyone in town, he has the keenest grasp of his own power, and he played it to his advantage. He’s absolutely right. He had no reason whatever to kill Mark. In fact, he had as much reason to keep Mark alive as Patrick did—maybe more so.

  He sweeps his arm across his stomach and bows. “Au revoir, Ms. Nichols. Until we meet again.”

  He hustles back into his shop and leaves my head spinning.

  7

  I get home to find Zack making dinner. “Get comfortable, Mom,” he calls from the kitchen. “It’s you and me tonight, and we’re going to do it right.”

  I put my handbag and keys on the hall table. It’s nice to have a reliable man to come home to, but I don’t tell Zack that. I don’t want him to know anything about my problems with David.

  How silly of me. What am I thinking? I don’t have problems with David because there is no me and David. It’s over, and the sooner I face that fact, the better for everyone involved.

  Zack bustles in with a large roasting pan piled with lamb chops, roasted yams, and succulent carrots. He lays the steaming platter on a hotplate on the table. He adjusts the position of a fork next to my plate and waves me to the chair. “Take a seat.”

  I get lost in my own thoughts while he serves me. When I look up, I find him watching me. “You’re awfully quiet this evening, Mom. You’re not your usual bubbly self.”

  I shrug. “Maybe this is my usual self. Maybe me being bubbly was too out of the normal for me. Maybe I’m just coming back to the middle.”

  He settles in his chair and we both start eating. “Did something happen? Are you upset about something?”

  I look down at my food. All of a sudden, I can’t muster the appetite to eat anything. “I’m okay. I guess I’m just thinking about Mark Sheridan’s murder case.”

  Another lie. Now it’s me lying to Zack, using the case to cover up something. I hate myself for that, but I can’t tell him the truth.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “Maybe that will help you get it off your mind.”

  I color again. I don’t want to talk about the case. I always talked about cases with David. Now I don’t have that anymore, and I don’t want a substitute. “No, thanks, sweetie. I think I’ll just get an early night tonight.”

  “All right. I’m going out tonight, so if you need anything from me, let me know now.”

  My head shoots up. “You’re going out—again?”r />
  “Yeah. Some friends of mine are going to Peterborough to play paintball. I could be kind of late getting home, so don’t wait up.”

  “But you just went out the other night!” I exclaim. “You’ve gone out three times this week.”

  He breaks into a brilliant smile. “Ain’t it great? I can’t believe it myself. I never knew I could make friends so easily. I love it!”

  He gets up to take his plate to the sink. I sit stunned. He’s finally doing it. He’s building a life for himself while I backslide into solitude and isolation. It isn’t fair!

  He goes up to his room while I drag my weary footsteps to the kitchen. It’s my night to do the dishes. They’re all stacked up in the sink, waiting for me like so many skeletons. Is this what I’m reduced to—washing dishes while my son paints the town red?

  In a few minutes, he leaps downstairs smelling of cologne and hair tonic. He gives me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and leaves me alone to feel sorry for myself.

  After I get the dishes done and the counter wiped down, I have nothing left to do but go to my room. I don’t want to hang around the house stewing in my own juices, though. Things are bad enough without that.

  I go out onto the porch to look around the neighborhood, but somehow, I just keep on walking. A few paces down the sidewalk, I run into Kyle Davidson out walking his dog Jonah.

  “It’s a beautiful night for a walk, Margaret,” Kyle greets me. “I love these late summer evenings. They make me so nostalgic.”

  I bend down to pat Jonah. “I know what you mean. For some reason, saying goodbye to summer makes the time seem sweeter.”

  He studies me closer. “Are you okay, Margaret? You look a little drawn.”

  My hand flies to my forehead. “I guess I am. I have some personal stuff weighing on me. It’s nothing serious. I’ll get over it.”

  “You’re resilient, but you’re not superhuman. I don’t care what anybody says. If you need help or support, all you have to do is ask. I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. You’ve done enough for all the rest of us. You’ve earned the right to lean on someone else for a change.”

  I smile up at him. “Thank you. You’re right. I should lean on my friends for support.”

  He squeezes my arm. “We’re more than your friends. We’re your family. I never felt closer to any family than I do to you.”

  My heart bursts open with fellow feeling. “Thank you, Kyle. I feel the same way about you and all my friends in this town. I really appreciate your support.”

  “I better get home, but my door is always open if you want to talk about it.”

  He heads off to his house. A minute later, the light turns on in the window. It beams a glow of warmth and hope into my dingy little life. I keep walking, but that chance encounter already makes me feel better. I shouldn’t discount the connections I made in this town. A lot of good people around here have my back. I have to remember that.

  My footsteps lead me toward town. Unlike the neighborhood, Main Street yawns dark and deserted—all except the Happy-Go-Lucky Café, which is still open for business. I won’t find any friends out haunting the streets now. All the business owners will be home by now.

  I lurk around the sidewalk and survey the shops and stores lining the street. The faces of each of my fellow business owners pass before my eyes. I know each of them like my own family. I can’t imagine any of them killing Mark Sheridan, not even to stop him bulldozing their cherished businesses to build a strip mall.

  I stroll on down to the candy store just to peek through the window. Maybe that will give me a boost of energy. When I get there, I see a light on after all. It shines out of the back of the Baker’s Dozen next door. I saunter over to the window and spot Sabrina Harris hard at work in the kitchen, all alone.

  When I gaze through the candy store window, I notice a piece of paper taped to the front door. I peel it off and read the words scribbled in curvy handwriting, He got what he deserved. Leave it alone.

  My blood runs cold. Why do all these murders keep leaving me these inane notes? Don’t they realize I won’t leave it alone? Leaving me a note like this will only encourage me to investigate further.

  I slip the note into my pocket. A week ago, I would have texted David without hesitation to come on over and fingerprint the note and run a bunch of forensic tests on it. I won’t do that now, though. Whatever’s going on between us, I’m on my own investigating this case. I can kiss all those police resources goodbye.

  I cast another wary glance up and down the street and notice Bea Donohue walking toward me from the east. She holds three leashes in her hands. They all extend to three identical Shih Tzu dogs waddling around her ankles. They all sport the same haircut of their long, silken hair. Each dog’s fur dangles in a perfect skirt to the ground to conceal their fast-moving feet.

  I hail Bea when she gets within range. “Excuse me, Bea. Did you see anybody hanging around my store? Someone put a note on the door. Did you happen to see who it was?”

  She bows her head and keeps walking. “I didn’t see anybody. I just got here.”

  I smile down at her dogs. “What cute little dogs. I love the bows in their hair.”

  I bend down to pet the nearest one, but it snarls and snaps at me. I spring away in alarm. “Don’t try to touch them,” Bea snaps. “They’re champion show dogs. They’re highly temperamental.”

  I’ll say they’re temperamental. The dog backs away with its teeth bared. Bea turns her steps toward the toy store. I watch the little creatures scuttling around her feet. The next minute, a light blinks on in the toy store. Then another light streams through the windows upstairs and the one downstairs goes out. Someone closes the curtains to cut off the light.

  I sigh in defeat. What am I doing out here all alone? I have to get home. I have a son. I have friends. Why am I moping around in a funk?

  I get ready to leave when I catch a glimpse of Sabrina in the bakery again. She takes off her apron and switches off the light. She leaves through the back door and comes through the alley into Main Street. Her eyebrows jump up when she sees me. “Oh, it’s you, Margaret. What are you doing out of bed at this hour?”

  I have to laugh. “I guess I’m just thinking about stuff.”

  “Let me guess. You’re thinking about Mark Sheridan’s murder. You never could leave a murder alone.”

  I give a rueful grin. “You’re right about that.”

  “I just don’t understand why everyone had to be so rude to him.” She looks around town like she’s envisioning her fellow business owners the same way I did. “You didn’t have to agree with his plan to develop West End, but that’s no excuse to assassinate a man’s character.”

  “Who assassinated his character?” I ask.

  “Everyone.” She waves her hand at the shadowy shopfronts. “Mr. Stewart and Stacy Koontz and Simone, for a start. They wanted me to shun Mark. I don’t know if they wanted to drive him out of town or just shut down his development project, but they weren’t nice about it. They said I shouldn’t let him buy coffee and donuts from my bakery. They said I shouldn’t even talk to him. I mean, how low can you go? He was still a human being. I wasn’t going to ban him from my bakery just because he had a business plan. We’re all part of the same community here.”

  “You’re right, Sabrina,” I reply. “I agree with you, and I got the same thing from a few people. My son Zack didn’t want me to sell Mark chocolates after he proposed to buy my store.”

  “You see?” She points at me. “I’m not the only one. A polite ‘no’ when he offered to buy the bakery was all I had to say to shut him up. After that, we had a very pleasant conversation.”

  “Horace Bentley says Mark got belligerent toward him. He says Mark planned to buy up the toy store and the bookstore first to get his project started before he pressed the other store owners. He says Mark threatened and harassed him.”

  “Well, I don’t know anything about that,” Sabrina replies. “I can only go b
y what he said and did with me, and he was polite. He took my refusal with grace and humor. He was really nice about it. He said maybe once the other storekeepers sold, I might be more inclined to do the same. Other than that, he just let it drop. He bought a coffee and donut from me. I was sorry to hear what happened to him.”

  “Interesting,” I muse. “You’re one of the few that feels that way.”

  She narrows her eyes. “What are you thinking, Margaret? Do you have any leads on the killer?”

  “I wish I did. Maybe that’s why I’m out roaming the streets at all hours. The killer is alluding me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find the person soon enough.” She nods down the street. “How about you walk me to the corner? I never get to spend time with you anymore. We’re both so busy working, I never see you.”

  I join her heading down Main Street. Talking and walking with another person makes me feel human again. “I guess I haven’t been very social lately. I’ve been too occupied with my own stuff. I should get out more.”

  Sabrina halts at the corner and points to the far end of town. “You know, Margaret, I was thinking. We should use that empty building that Scott Freeman left behind. It’s not doing anything but sitting there vacant. We should organize another community event like we did with the street fair, only indoors.”

  I spin around to gasp at her. “That’s a really good idea, Sabrina. We should do it.”

  She breaks into a grin. “Wonderful. You and me? What do you say?”

  “You’re on.” I throw out my hand and she grabs it. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we can start the ball rolling.”

  We both laugh in unison. Excitement and possibility infect us both. All the darkness and despair of the evening evaporates. Sabrina beams at me and squeezes both my hands. “See you later, Margaret. I can’t wait to get started.”

  “Good night. See you tomorrow.”

  She heads off for the western neighborhood, and I head east toward home. I spring every time I take a step. I’m not alone. I have people around me who care about me. I have a community, and that makes me strong and happy. Whatever happens between me and David, I’ll be okay.