A Killer Ending Read online

  "I just wish she were here to see it." Loretta had sold me the store in February, and had passed just a month ago, from pancreatic cancer. It was the diagnosis that had led her to sell the store.

  "She'd be so proud of you," my mother told me, putting an arm around my shoulder again. "I know I am."

  "I hope so," I replied, thinking of the bills that were likely piled up in the drawer—and that I hoped to soon be able to pay.

  "By the way," she said as she popped open the Tupperware and began making a pile of her golden coconut cookies next to the lemon bars, "you'll never guess who else moved back to town!"

  "Who?" I asked.

  "Remember that boy you used to go out on the boat with? Nicholas Waters?"

  "I do," I said with a pang. He'd been my first love, but it had ended badly. Very badly.

  "Well, he's come back and set up shop as an attorney here in Snug Harbor."

  I blinked. Nicholas Waters was ancient history in my book. I hadn't counted on him being back in town when I moved to Snug Harbor. Was I going to have to run into him every other day at the IGA? Was I going to encounter him on my daily walks, too? Was he going to be parading a wife or girlfriend all over the place, who I'd have to pretend not to be jealous of? I was surprised at the feelings that surged in my heart at the mention of his name; I'd thought he was no longer someone I cared about, but hearts have long memories. "Have you seen him?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

  "No. I only know because Sadie at the library told me the other day. She knew you two used to be close; she thought it was a funny coincidence, you both moving to town within a month of each other."

  Lucky me. I was dying to ask about five thousand questions. Like, was he married? Had he gained 100 pounds? Did he still have his hair? But my mother hadn't seen him, just heard about him. And the last thing I wanted was for her to know I still cared about Nicholas.

  In fact, it bothered me to find out how much I still cared about Nicholas. If only Scooter Dempsey hadn't spread those rumors about me all those years ago...

  I pushed the thought from my mind. It had all happened a long time ago. And if I hadn't met and married Ted, I wouldn't have Audrey and Caroline, the two lights of my life. Best to let it lie.

  "The cookies look terrific," I said, changing the subject. "I figure we'll start the coffee makers about a half hour before showtime. Our star author should be here any moment. In the meantime, if you want to help, I forgot to bring down the napkins; there's a bag upstairs in the kitchen. If you could bring those down and put them on the table, that would be wonderful."

  "Will do," she said, and bustled up the stairs to retrieve them.

  I straightened my blouse a little—I'd chosen to wear a starched white cotton button-down with a sea glass necklace in blues and greens, along with capri-length skinny jeans and wedge sandals—and attempted to give the impression of a prosperous bookstore owner. I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the store's side window. Dark hair, still long down my back, pulled up in a clip. Hazel eyes that were only a little bit puffy from my little crying binge, arched, dark brows, a long, straight nose, and a roundish face that looked a little like my mother's. I had to admit I looked pretty good. Even if there was a little extra real estate under the blouse at the moment. I was adjusting my blouse when there was a knock at the door

  I turned to see who it was, and smiled when I recognized K. T. Anderson. She didn't look exactly like her author photo—no one ever does—but it was a close likeness, and I could tell already that I preferred her smile in person. I hurried over to the door and opened it, and my face froze.

  Next to the author, his arm linked with hers, stood my ex-husband.

  3

  Ted and I stared at each other for what felt like a decade before I recovered myself. I grabbed at the doorknob and yanked the door open, my face still in a rictus of a smile.

  "Hello," I said in a strangled-sounding voice.

  "I'm K. T. Anderson—Kirsten," announced the author. She was an attractive woman a few years older than me with streaked red hair and a knee-length skirt that showed off her shapely calves. "Are you Bethany?"

  "Max," I gurgled, automatically holding out a hand for her to shake.

  "Max? Oh, yes... she mentioned you were the store owner. This is my boyfriend Theodore," she said cheerfully. I glanced over at my ex-husband, whose face had gone pale.

  "We've met," I informed her.

  "Oh, really? Small world!" she said in a bright voice.

  She had no idea, I thought as I stared at my husband's familiar form.

  "What a lovely store you have; thank you so much for inviting me." She paused as I continued to stare, then added, "May we come in?"

  "Of course," I said. "I'm so sorry; please do. Can I get you a bottle of water, or something to drink?" I asked, trying to sound pleasant and inviting despite the fact that I felt as if I'd been hit by a tractor trailer. I avoided looking at Ted as I chirped, "We've got cookies, too."

  "A bottle of water would be lovely, but I'll skip the cookies,” she said, patting her flat stomach. "I'm trying to lose a few pounds!"

  I nodded and pulled my blouse out a bit, hoping it wasn't molding too closely to my recently expanded waistline. I was overly conscious of Ted's presence as Kirsten's eyes roved over the interior of the store. "This is a gorgeous little place; it looks like it belongs in a book itself. Thank you so much for inviting me to the opening; it's an honor!"

  "I'm so glad you could come," I said, my eyes straying to Ted, who was studiously avoiding my eyes.

  There was maybe a little more white at the temples than I remembered, and he had thinned out a bit, but other than that he was exactly the same as he had been for the two decades we were married. He even smelled the same; I caught a whiff of his Old Spice as he followed Kirsten around the room.

  "Oooh, these cookies do look tempting," Kirsten said, distracting me from my assessment of my former husband.

  "Help yourself if you change your mind," I said. "My mother made the coconut ones on the front."

  "I thought those looked familiar," Ted said. "I've missed those."

  "You've had her mother's cookies?" Kirsten said, eyeing her beau. "You must know each other pretty well, then. How do you know each other, anyway?"

  "Ah, Maxine is my, uh, ex-wife," Ted said, a familiar flush starting at the collar of his button-down shirt and moving up to his temples.

  Maxine. Ted had never called me that. Then again, I had never called him Theodore.

  "Wait. What?" Kirsten looked back and forth between Ted and me. "You knew this was her store?"

  "No!" he protested. "I had no idea. We've been living apart for months, and we've kind of... well, not talked a whole lot."

  "You've been busy," I said, nodding toward Kirsten.

  "Right," he said, his face turning beet colored. "I've been to Snug Harbor before, of course... but I didn't know Max... Maxine was the one who bought the store. You told me you were talking to someone named Bethany."

  "Bethany's my right-hand woman," I explained. "She's been organizing most of the opening for me."

  Kirsten blinked her long lashes. "So you had no idea this was your ex-wife's shop until we got to the front door."

  "No," Ted and I said in unison.

  She started laughing, a slightly braying laugh that made me feel a little bit better. She wasn't totally perfect, thank heavens. "This is just too good," she said. "I'm going to have to use this in a book someday." She eyed me. "Max, eh? I feel like I know you already."

  "Really?" I asked, darting a look at Ted, who had turned, against all probability, an even darker shade of red.

  "Yup. You eat a bowl of oatmeal with banana and a spoonful of peanut butter almost every morning. You have a stack of books beside your bed about two feet high, and more on the night stand. You love mysteries and travel books the most, but you read just about everything. You've always dreamed of owning a bookstore, you adopted a little dog six years ago from the pound,
you take baths before bed most nights, and refused to make an offer on two houses because they only had showers." She squinted at me. "And Audrey takes after you. A lot. In fact, I can't believe I didn't make the connection."

  "Wait... you know Audrey?"

  "Of course," she said.

  I swallowed hard, uncomfortable with how much Ted had shared with her. What else did she know about me? And, most importantly, why hadn't Ted consulted me before introducing this new woman to our daughters? I tried to make eye contact with my ex-husband, but he was staring at the ceiling, evidently entranced by the recent paint job. I turned back to Kirsten. "You've met our daughters?" I asked.

  "Oh, loads of times," Kirsten said. "We took them to dinner just last week." That must have been while I was clearing the last of the stuff out of our formerly shared house, I thought. I raised my eyebrows at Ted.

  My ex-husband cleared his throat, now studying the floorboards. "I, uh, was going to talk to you about it..."

  "A bit late now," I pointed out. I was a little hurt; I'd talked with them at least once a week, and neither of them had mentioned that Ted had a girlfriend. Their dad and I had only been officially divorced for eight months; maybe they were trying to shield me from the pain? I didn't know, but I was definitely going to bring it up soon.

  "I gave Audrey a book of mine to read a few weeks ago; I can't wait to hear what she thinks of it. Like I said, I know you favor mysteries and travel writing, but I've been introducing her to some more literary work."

  I resisted the urge to bean her with an Agatha Christie compendium and pasted on a polite smile. "You seem to know all about me," I said to Kirsten, "but Ted's never even mentioned you to me."

  "No?" she asked.

  "Not a word," I confirmed. "How did you two meet, anyway?"

  Kirsten beamed up at Ted, and a dreamy look crossed her face as she turned back to me. "About six months ago, he came to a reading I did, in Boston."

  Six months. When the ink on the divorce decree had barely dried. I turned and stared at Ted. "A book reading?" I asked. My ex-husband hadn't attended a single literary event in the 22 years I'd known him.

  He shrugged, a sheepish look on his face. "It looked interesting."

  "Oh, he was a great audience member. He'd read the whole book, asked the most interesting questions... and even invited me out for a cocktail afterwards. We hit it off immediately, and we've been inseparable ever since. We've been to Greece and Italy, and we're planning a month-long tour of Eastern Europe in the spring."

  I stared at the stranger to whom I'd been married for two decades. Attending author events in his spare time? A month-long tour of Europe? Inseparable? Ted had been a workaholic as long as I'd known him. Getting him home to dinner before eight had taken either an act of God or a promise of chicken and dumplings and possibly apple pie, his absolute favorite dinner. I could barely get him to take a weekend off to visit Snug Harbor, much less spend a month across the Atlantic. And now he was accompanying this woman to weekend readings and spending all his spare time with her?

  And why was she telling me all this, anyway?

  "I've got a few more things to take care of," I informed the happy couple, forcing a pleasant expression and trying not to look as upset as I was. "Help yourselves to snacks; I'll be back in a few minutes."

  Without waiting for an answer, I turned and fled up the stairs to my apartment, where I sank down in the welter of boxes and burst into tears.

  I allowed myself a good five-minute breakdown before telling myself it was time to pull it together. I was sitting between two boxes marked "mystery books," wiping my eyes and giving myself a pep talk, when there was a knock on the apartment door. It couldn't be Ted... er, Theodore... could it?

  "Max?"

  I was relieved to recognize Bethany's voice. "Come in," I said, doing a last tear-swipe.

  "It's almost time to open the front..." She rounded a stack of boxes and spotted me, and broke off mid-sentence. "What happened?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "Your face is all... blotchy."

  "It's nothing," I said, clambering to my feet. My face always got mottled when I cried. Hopefully a good splash of cold water would make it less apparent.

  "Balderdash," she said. "Something's wrong. Did the paper not run the announcement about the opening? Did you hear something bad from the bank?"

  "No," I said. "Nothing like that."

  "What, then?"

  "You know the man with the author?"

  "Theodore?" she asked. "He seems very nice; I just met him."

  I took a deep breath. "I always knew him as Ted. He's my ex-husband."

  "He's your... what?" Bethany blinked. "K. T. Anderson's boyfriend is your ex-husband? But didn't you just divorce, like a few months ago?"

  "Eight."

  "Still, that's, like, practically yesterday. What is he doing here? That's so thoughtless!"

  "He didn't know," I said. "When she was setting up the book talk, Kirsten only talked with you, not me. And we've been taking a break from each other, so he had no idea I'd bought the shop."

  "Oh, man... I'm so sorry I invited her," Bethany said. "It's just her last book hit the New York Times list, and it's set in Maine, and I thought... "

  "You did the right thing," I reassured her. "It's the right thing for the shop, and there was no way to know. But now," I said, "it's time to face the music. The show must go on. Or something like that." I touched my face again. "As soon as I get rid of the blotchiness, that is."

  "I'll go down and get her situated while you do what you have to do," Bethany said. "I'll do the author-wrangling if you'll schmooze. Are you sure you'll be all right?"

  "Right as rain," I lied, wondering if I was going to be reduced to communicating in idioms for the rest of the day. At least the day can't get any worse, I told myself as I hurried to the small bathroom and turned on the cold water tap.

  Sadly, I was dead wrong.

  4

  True to her word, Bethany handled Kirsten and Ted for me as I finished a few last-minute chores, such as sweeping the front porch, figuring out how to turn on music, and starting the coffee pots.

  It was ten minutes to opening when my mother reappeared. "Not much of a crowd, is there?" she commented as I let her in the door.

  "We're not open for another ten minutes," I pointed out. "But Ted is here. Although he goes by Theodore now, apparently."

  "Ted? Awww. That was so nice of him. He still cares for you, you know," she said, and patted my cheek. "It's so good of him to support you!"

  "He's not here to support me. He's here with his girlfriend. The author." I pointed to the sign on the table with the glamour shot of K. T. Anderson front and center. Her cheekbones looked like someone had sculpted them with a chisel, and her lips were as full as a twelve-year-old's. I resisted the urge to make some alterations with a Sharpie. "Apparently they're taking a trip to Europe soon."

  She blinked at me. "What? Ted never wanted to go to Europe before."

  "He does now. And he goes to literary readings these days, too, apparently."

  My mother's face softened into a sad look that threatened to make me cry a little again. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

  "Thanks. I'm glad he's happy," I said staunchly.

  And I was. Our marriage had died a slow, inexorable, natural death, crushed under the strain of day-to-day-living and divergent growth, and although both of us were torn up when it ended, we were also a little relieved to no longer have to live with the constant tension. But it stung to think that the things I'd wanted in our marriage for so long were suddenly on offer to someone else. A glamorous bestselling author, no less.

  Who was doing a reading in my store with her adoring boyfriend looking on in just a few minutes.

  "You never know. He could come back," my mother attempted to reassure me.

  "Mom, I know you're trying to help, but we parted ways for a reason. I want to be friends with him, and share parenting our daughters, bu
t our relationship..." I trailed off.

  "You never know!" she repeated, then, at a slitty-eyed look from me, thankfully dropped it. "Anyway. Where is he? I'd like to say hi."

  "On the back porch,” I said in a voice that sounded surly even to me.

  "Are you sure it's okay if I say hi?"

  "It's fine," I said flatly.

  At five minutes before the opening, I turned the sign to OPEN and said a little prayer.

  At three minutes before the opening, I began to worry.

  At two minutes before the opening, I began to panic.

  And then, just as the minute hand on my watch turned to 12, about twenty people materialized on the sidewalk in front of the store and trickled onto the store's front porch.

  I threw open the door and welcomed them, trying not to look as relieved as I felt, and within fifteen minutes, the little store was full of locals and tourists, browsing bookshelves and plowing through the cookies and coffee.

  "I told you it would be fine," Bethany murmured as she drifted in to check up on things. "Free food works every time."

  "How's Kirsten?" I asked.

  "She and... well, I set them up on the back porch for now, and your mother's there, too," she said. "We're already running out of cookies... I'll go refill them."

  "Thanks," I said, and turned to greet another customer.

  When we were five minutes from the start of the reading, the chairs had all filled up and folks were standing on the edges of the room. I was edging back toward the front door when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around to face a handsome man about my age, with salt-and-pepper hair, high cheekbones, and very familiar brown eyes.

  "Max? Is that you?"

  "Nicholas?" I blinked.

  "That's me," he said. "A bit grayer than I was," he said. "You look just the same, though."

  "No," I said, flushing. "Two kids and a lot of years have taken their toll."