the bookkeeping processes and daily deposits.
âLet me know if you need anything.â I gazed around the shop that had defined my life for the last five years.
Aunt Jackie gave me a hug. âDonât worry. Iâll take good care of the shop.â
That was what worried me. Before she retired, Aunt Jackie had run the most successful coffee shop in her neighborhood for thirty years. Even before they called them coffee shops. Asking her in to help felt more like surrendering my life. I hoped Iâd be able to walk back in when this was all over.
After handing over my life to my aunt, I went down to Lilleâs to retrieve my car. I had to head back to Bakerstown today and finish up the details for Miss Emilyâs service. Maybe I could charm some information from Doc Ames. There must be a reason why the autopsy had convinced Greg that Miss Emily had been murdered.
I practiced my best off-the-cuff questions as I got into my Jeep. I turned the key and stared at a flyer stuck to my windshield. Leaning out the driverâs door, I grabbed the offending paper. Probably South Cove Vineyardâs weekly announcement of a wine tasting on Sunday. Darla, the winery owner, kept trying to get a steady local clientele built to supplement her tourist crowd.
Sheâd spoken on local marketing during last monthâs Business to Business meeting sponsored by the council. I resented getting a flyer on my car every week, but I couldnât fault her tenacity. Planning local advertising for the coffee shop would go on the to-do list as soon as I finished planning the funeral and remodeling the house. Throwing the paper on the passenger seat, I drove to Bakerstown.
The drive took just twenty minutes, but the trip took me smack-dab down the coastal highway for a long stretch. A lot of Mondays I made the drive just to clear my head and drink in the oceanâs energy. Sitting on a deserted beach with waves crashing calmed my head and my heart. My body recharged, adjusting to the wave rhythm and resetting my internal clock. It might be metaphysical hoo-haw, but the results felt like magic, so who was I to judge? Today I had no time for a stop on the beach, but the drive calmed me just the same.
Last nightâs open door problem kept nagging at me. Had George and his wife actually made the drive down to see what they missed out on in the will? I figured they were more likely to spend their time with their lawyer, scheming about how to get their hands on whatever money Miss Emily left me. Although I didnât feel totally comfortable with the inheritance, I felt better after meeting the meek George and bull-like Sabrina. Miss Emily must have thought she had a choice of leaving her money to me or the Church of Diseased Cats.
My cell rang in my purse. Keeping one hand on the wheel, I dug through my purse with my right hand, without looking down once. I grabbed the phone and flipped it open. âYes?â
âWhere are you?â Amyâs voice came over the speakerphone.
âI thought you were taking off on some trip.â
âThis evening. Listen, where are you?â Amy asked, her voice terse.
âOn my way to the funeral home, why?â Amy never called me during the day, unless we were heading to Lilleâs for lunch.
âYour lawyerâs here,â Amy mumbled.
âHold on, I canât hear you.â I rolled up the window, cutting out the road noise. I couldnât understand her. I thought she said my lawyer was at the mayorâs office. I didnât have a lawyer, unless you counted Jimmy Marcum. My appointment with him had been changed to Monday. âOkay, go ahead.â
If anything, Amyâs voice got lower. âThe lawyer from Miss Emilyâs letter. Heâs here in Mayor Baylorâs office. He just went in.â
I slowed down and considered turning back to South Cove. âHow do you know itâs him?â I glanced at the clock on the
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