A Deal to Die For (7 page)

Sam nodded in agreement, and Dot took a deep breath as if gearing herself up for the
coming talk and then headed down the sidewalk.

Maggie opened the door to peek inside. The lights were on, so she flipped the switch
down, and the room darkened into shadows. She glanced at the floor where Vera’s body
had been.

It was hard to believe how different this morning had turned out from how it had started.
She closed and locked the door. She wanted to get back to the flea market and keep
her promise to Bianca to pack up the Madisons’ booth.

She turned and stepped away, but Sam reached out and grabbed her elbow. He gently
pulled her around to face him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Maggie said. She stared pointedly at his hand on her elbow.

“You were great in there with Doc and Bianca,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said. “It had to be a shock for both of them. I can’t imagine.”

“Yes, you can,” he said.

Maggie met his gaze. Yes, he knew she had been through something similar. Not only
when her husband had been killed in the line of duty but also just a few months ago
when she’d had the misfortune to find a dead body in the basement of the library.
This morning’s events brought back all of the horror, and she shuddered.

His blue eyes softened with understanding, and, oddly, it was that kindness that brought
Maggie closer to tears than anything else today. She swallowed hard, fighting back
the urge to give in to the hysterics that were hovering just under the surface of
her skin, looking for a crack from which to escape.

“I’m fine,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.
It didn’t matter, as she fooled neither of them.

“You are a terrible liar, Maggie,” he said, and shook his head.

Without warning, Sam pulled Maggie close and hugged her tight. Her cheek found its
old spot on his shoulder, and his soft sweatshirt smelled of fresh laundry and that
particular scent, a citrusy spice that was all Sam. The scent triggered memories of
warm summer nights spent just like this. They came back thick and fast, and Maggie
felt swamped by them.

It was sensory overload, and when her hands circled his waist to pull him closer she
knew she had to step away or she was done for.

She took a quick step back, and his hands slid away from her as if reluctant to let
her go.

“Thanks,” she said. She cleared her throat, feeling choked by the ghosts of their
past that seemed to be filling her up, giving her no room to breathe. “I’m fine, really.”

“You sure?” he asked, clearly not believing her for a second.
Smart man.

She wondered if he felt the past casting a long shadow over them as well. Then she
shook her head. It didn’t matter.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. She took two quick steps back and then turned, breaking
into a power walk to put some distance between them.

“Maggie!” he called after her.

She debated pretending that she hadn’t heard him, but she knew he would just chase
her down, and that would be no good.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him, not trusting herself to turn her
body around for fear she might make a diving leap and tackle him.

“I’ll be checking on you later,” he said.

She heard a little squeak come out of her throat, and she turned it into a hacking
coughing. Not trusting herself to speak, she just nodded. She resumed power walking,
but she could feel Sam watching her, his eyes burning on her back as she rounded the
building and headed back to the town square.

The scene at the Madison booth was tense. Summer was pacing around the booth like
a lion stalking a herd of gazelles. If she was looking for the sickly one in the bunch,
she was out of luck.

Ginger, Joanne and Claire had fanned out and were standing watch over the vintage
designer dresses, shoes, handbags and hats. Maggie sighed. She loved hats. She would
love to have some of Vera’s hats in her shop.

“Who put you in charge, anyway?” Summer asked.

She was trying to sneak past Ginger, but her every move was blocked, and Ginger stopped
her from picking up a
sparkly Christmas brooch from a box marked costume jewelry.

“Bianca did,” Ginger said. Her voice was even but her tone was sharp, and Maggie could
tell she was on the brink of losing her temper.

“Well, you listen to me, Ginger Lancaster.” Summer shook her right index finger in
Ginger’s face, and said, “You’re not the boss of me.”

Maggie felt her eyebrows lift in shock.

Joanne moved to stand next to Maggie, and said, “Oh, that’s a bad plan. You do not
wave a finger in my friend’s face.”

“Not if you ever want to use it again,” Maggie agreed. “Let’s go, before Summer is
left with just a bloody stump.”

“This is how this is going to go,” Summer continued, lecturing and wagging her finger.
Maggie was pretty sure she could see smoke rising from Ginger’s close-cropped black
hair. “I’m buying what I want, and you’re selling it to me—hey!”

Joanne had gone to the left while Maggie took the right. They hooked their arms through
Summer’s and forcibly dragged her away from the booth.

“You let me go, Maggie Gerber!” Summer tried to dig in her heels, but Joanne Claramotta
had been born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. Despite her bouncy brown ponytail and
sunny disposition, she was as tough as nails.

“Zip it, Phillips,” Joanne snapped. “We’re saving your butt from a serious beat-down.”

Maggie had no real place in mind to dump their armful, but then she saw Bertram’s
pickle booth up ahead. Bertram saw them coming and, with grin that made his mustache
curve up on the ends, he rolled out an empty wooden half barrel and gestured for them
to make a deposit, as it were.

With her back to the barrel, Summer had no idea what was coming. She was too busy
cursing and kicking.

“On three,” Maggie said. “One, two, three!”

Joanne and Maggie released at the same moment, leaving Summer off balance and windmilling
the air with her arms. She landed butt first in the barrel. She appeared to be wedged
in nicely, but Joanne gave her head a push just to be certain.

“Bertie, if she moves, pickle her,” Joanne said.

Bertram, a big, beefy man with a boisterous laugh, broke out in a guffaw that shook
his tent.

“I don’t know, ladies, she looks a bit dill to me,” he joked.

“I’m going to get you for this, Maggie.” Summer kicked her legs but couldn’t get any
leverage.

“Oh, Summer, don’t be a gherkin,” Maggie said.

Bertie’s laughter made the tent shake again, and Summer’s face turned a violent shade
of red. Joanne was laughing, but she looped her arm through Maggie’s and pulled her
away for fear that Summer would escape and come after her. Together they ran back
to the Madison booth with Summer hollering threats after them.

Claire and Ginger were waiting for them when they returned.

“You did not just do what I think you just did, did you?” Claire asked. Her eyes were
wide behind her black-framed glasses.

“Yeah, we did,” Joanne and Maggie answered together. They gave each other a knuckle
bump.

“It’s no less than she deserved,” Ginger said. “Wave her finger in my face? Humph.”

“Listen,” Maggie said, growing serious. “There’s been a change of plan, and I need
to tell you what’s happening.”

As if sensing from Maggie’s tone that bad news was
looming, the four women huddled up in the tent while she quickly told them of the
events of that morning.

“Oh no,” Ginger gasped. “Vera is dead?”

“How’s Bianca?” Claire asked.

“What can we do?” Joanne asked.

“Yes, Vera is definitely dead,” Maggie said. Her voice was grim. “Bianca is a hot
mess, and for now all we can do is pack up their booth for them. I told Bianca we
would.”

“Who’s with Bianca now?” Joanne asked.

“Their housekeeper, Molly Spencer,” Maggie said. “She was taking it pretty hard, too,
so I’m sure she’ll keep an eye on Bianca until things settle down.”

They were all silent for a few moments, acknowledging the changes that Bianca would
have to deal with over the next few weeks. The death of a parent was never easy, but
in Bianca’s case, her mother was the only family she had. It had to be a crushing
blow.

“Well,” Ginger said, “we’re not doing her any good standing here. The boxes are under
the tables. Let’s get them repacked, and I’ll see if I can get us a pickup truck to
get them back to the Madison house.”

It should have taken a few hours to pack up all of the clothes and apparel, but as
the news about Vera Madison’s demise traveled through the flea market, people stopped
what they were doing and came over to help. In no time the booth was packed up and
ready to go.

When Tyler Fawkes rolled up with his pickup truck to help cart the items away, he
asked Maggie where to bring them. Maggie didn’t have an answer.

She didn’t think Bianca was up for dealing with a truck full of boxes at her house.
She was going to be overwhelmed with taking care of her mother’s service and dealing
with the estate.

Maggie supposed she could put them in her own garage for Bianca, but it was already
pretty full of items for the shop. The shop. She supposed she could fit most of the
boxes in her storeroom for now.

“Take it over to My Sister’s Closet,” Maggie said. “I’ll meet you over there and help
you unpack.”

“Will do,” Tyler said as he and the other helpers began hauling the boxes to his truck.

“Oh no you don’t,” Summer Phillips said as she stomped toward them across the town
green. “You’re trying to get your sticky little fingers on Vera Madison’s things by
pretending to be the helpful little neighbor, but I’m not buying it.”

Maggie narrowed her green eyes at Summer. They should have had Bertram put a lid on
the barrel they’d dropped her in and ship her out of state.

“And I suppose your shop would be so much better for storage,” she said.

“Yes, it would,” Summer said.

Summer turned her curvaceous figure to its best advantage under Tyler Fawkes’s gaze.
She gave him a hair toss and a seductive little purr.

“You’ll bring those boxes over to my shop, Second Time Around, won’t you Fawkesy-Locksy?”
she asked, while she walked her fingers up his forearm.

Tyler Fawkes was not the sharpest ax in the shed, and when Summer pouted her artificially
puffy lips at him, he gave her a besotted fish face in return. Maggie thought she
might vomit.

“He will not!” Claire said. “Maggie promised Bianca that she would hold her things
for her and that’s that. This is not debatable.”

“Shut it, book nerd,” Summer snapped at Claire.

“Hey, you shut it, collagen queen,” Joanne sniped. She moved to stand beside Claire.

“Is there a problem here?” Sam Collins strode into the group.

“She’s a thief!” Summer said as she pointed at Maggie. “She’s helped herself to all
of Vera Madison’s things, and she’s had help from her little coupon-clipping buddies.
You need to arrest all of them for theft as well as assault.”

“Assault?” Sam asked. He gave Maggie a worried look.

“Yes!” Summer insisted. She looked as if she thought she’d finally gotten Sam’s attention.
“They beat me up and dragged me over to Bertram’s pickle booth and stuffed me in a
barrel. I’m covered in bruises and scratches, and I broke a nail.”

Maggie was pleased to see that it was the same fingernail she’d been jabbing at Ginger.
Karma.

Sam gave her a considering look. “I don’t see any bruises or scratches. You must be
a swift healer.”

“I have witnesses!” Summer insisted. “Bertram!”

While she marched over to his booth, Maggie gestured for everyone to keep filling
the back of Tyler’s pickup truck.

Summer was back in moments, and she shoved Bertram toward Sam.

“Tell him,” she demanded.

Bertram looked at the assembled group, and then faced Sam. “She fell in a pickle barrel.”

“See?” Summer asked. Then she gasped. “Fell? I did not fall. I was pushed.”

“No, you fell,” Bertram said. Then he looked at Sam. “Am I done here?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. He lowered his head as if he was trying not to laugh.

“What about my nail?” Summer cried. “I want Maggie to pay for it, and I want damages,
too.”

Maggie could feel her temper start to heat. She knew she shouldn’t let Summer get
to her, but the fact that she was whining about her manicure when there had been a
real tragedy today was too much.

“Listen, you big cow,” Maggie said. “I’m just trying to help out, unlike you, who
would steal your own grandmother’s silver if you thought you could make a buck off
it.”

“Hey, that was just one time when I was…” Summer’s voice trailed off as they all stared
at her. “What? I was a kid.”

“Maggie is in charge of Bianca’s things,” Sam said. It was his sheriff voice, which
meant arguments would not be welcome.

“Oh, I see,” Summer huffed. “So, what sort of special favors are you doing for him
to get him on your side? Anything she can do I can do better.”