“Hadn’t thought of that,” I whispered.
“Maybe it was suicide?” Vera asked.
Jack leaned forward in the recliner and steepled his fingers. His dark eyes smoldered with determination, and his chiseled jawline hinted at the ruggedness that lay beneath his casual clothes. Great. Exactly what we needed. A hot Sherlock Holmes.
“Maggie, did you see a weapon?” he asked.
“No. I don’t think it was suicide.” I paused as a fresh chill went down my spine. “Unless he was extremely proficient with a gun, but I don’t think Gene was that talented. He was shot in the back of his head.”
My gaze met Vera’s. Our eyes were the same color—it was one of the few physical characteristics we shared as nonidentical twins—and I knew that the panic in her expression mirrored my own.
Chapter Six
Despite my still-shaky insides, the next morning I went into the bookstore. Vera had errands to run, thankless tasks like the tax collector, the bank, and most importantly, the police station. She wanted to make sure her stolen gun report was indeed logged in the system, and I figured I’d help her get a head start on taming the chaos that swirled in her mind and probably in the store.
I unlocked the glass door. The smell of fresh paper and ink, along with a hint of lavender, greeted me. She said she’d gotten several book shipments in, and a few boxes of nonbook items, like notebooks, planners, and cards.
I flicked on the lights and passed all the boxes that she hadn’t yet unpacked on my way to the back room, where I stowed my go bag.
My sister had found this space on Main Street a year ago, when it was a tired, bland office-supply store. She’d called me, breathless, and said it was the place of her childhood dreams.
At first, I’d resisted the idea of coming home. The job at the zoo was secure and paid well. I had plenty of friends and Boston was an interesting city. But one monster snowstorm, one week of dealing with poorly behaved rugrats throwing French fries into the iguana exhibit, and one lackluster date with my then-boyfriend later, I’d made up my mind to return to Florida. That was all before Dad died.
I loved Boston, don’t get me wrong.
But it never quite felt like home the way Wahoo did. The older I got, the more I yearned for my little town located smack in the middle of Florida’s swampland. Plus, the pandemic. Not being able to travel freely to see Vera and Dad was physically painful; before, I’d tried to visit them every few months. I didn’t want to be in that situation ever again.
Unfortunately, it took a while to set the wheels in motion to leave, and Dad had died during that time. The guilt I felt over that was still palpable. If only I hadn’t dithered and screwed around in Boston. It had only strengthened my resolve to follow my bliss. Life was short.
But now that I was home, I felt a bit unmoored. Wahoo without Dad seemed like a different place, and I wondered if I’d made the right decision. Seeing firsthand all the work it took to open a store, and ramp up the trapping operation, made me wonder if Vera and I really were cut out as small business owners.
Everything felt out of order, especially the store. We were only days away from our soft opening and this fact stressed me out immensely.
Boxes littered the large space, and the shelves lining the walls were empty. Two wooden tables were haphazardly jammed in the back near a wall, as was a floral-print loveseat. I wasn’t sure what Vera had planned for that, but she had an eye for quirky beauty and decoration, so I hadn’t asked.
Truthfully, I didn’t have a clue how the store should look. Vera, on the other hand, had done watercolor mockups of the interior. She’d already set a vase of fresh pink and white roses on the new wooden counter, near the electronic cash register. I paused to smell the flowers, then noticed a card stuck on a plastic stick.
I plucked it out and opened it.
I don’t want to set the world on fire, I want to start a flame in your heart. -Ty
I rolled my eyes so hard that I thought I might go blind. What a cheese-fest. Gah. I made a retching noise out loud. So she was dating Tyler Carr, who communicated in clichés. I nestled the card back into the arrangement.
No wonder she’d been so evasive. She knew I wouldn’t approve, given how mean he’d been to us in high school. But it was my sister’s life and choice, not mine. I’d have to deal with whoever she chose.
I took out the to-do list she’d stuffed into my hand when I left the house. Vera was forever making lists in an effort to be more organized. I’d bought her countless planners and notebooks over the years, but as far as I could tell, she was still using plain yellow Post-it notes because, as she maintained, the planners were “too darned pretty” to write in.
Still, she’d made some progress on her organizational skills, since she’d left me a list of things to do.
Essential oil diffuser on the counter: press the button that says MIST.
I located the contraption and turned it on, sending a stream of lavender vapor and scent through the air.
Check the mail.
Put the sign on the sidewalk.
There was no mail yet, but the sign rested by the front door. I wrangled the two-foot-high wooden frame out the door and set it outside, trying to place it where people would see it and where it wouldn’t impede foot traffic.
