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I went down around six, which was just when Christina and Eddie closed the shop. I slipped out through the back and walked around to meet up with Alistair. He was on the pavement between my shop and Nancy’s. He was dressed the same, though he had put on some extra cologne, which I noticed as I approached. I couldn’t blame him; with this weather I had used my deodorant three times already.
His lips curled into a smile as he spotted me.
“Thanks for coming,” I said.
“No problem. Where are we going?”
“I want to visit Gus and see if I can get him to open up about my aunt.”
“Oh, boy,” Detective Black said. “No good can come of that.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” Alistair asked.
“Nancy is still very upset about it, I can tell. I think he broke her heart, and he didn’t give her a reason why. Maybe we can still get that explanation for her, so we can give her some closure. If not, I’ll have at least tried.”
“What makes you think he’ll tell you the truth? He might not know the reason himself, not fully. Or perhaps it’s something embarrassing or painful.”
“I’m not expecting anything, but I want to try. She would do the same for me.”
Alistair scoffed. “She’d probably attack anyone who’d break your heart, with a broom.”
“More like with a chainsaw, but yeah. Did you know that chainsaws were actually invented to assist with childbirth back in the day? When a lot of women died in childbirth, the male doctors—they had to be men in order to come up with this—thought it might be handy to saw the pelvic bone and make it ‘easier’ for the baby to come out. They did this during child birth, by the way. Without anaesthesia.”
Alistair winced.
“But it would take quite some time, so they basically came up with a mini chainsaw that would work faster.”
“How do you know this?”
“Research,” I said. “Just like how I know what a corpse flower is. And that they smell terrible.”
Alistair grinned. “Aren’t you supposed to research murder stuff? Like poisons? Causes of death?”
“I also know plenty about that. If anyone saw my browser history, they’d think I was a serial killer. And in a way, I am. I just couldn’t kill an actual person. I still don’t understand how some people do that. I still feel guilty about watching a neighbourhood kid step on snails while all I did was yell at him. I was a child myself, but it still bothers me.”
“Who did that then?”
“I don’t remember. I don’t think it was anyone I went to class with. It was a long time ago.”
“Well, you shouldn’t feel guilty, but it’s a good thing that you care that much. It means you’re a good person. I’ve learned that there are very disturbing people out there, and that usually those people seem, and sometimes are, otherwise normal. Some people are born killers, some experience things that make them into killers, and some people are pushed into a corner and believe that murder is the solution.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve read up on a lot of information about serial killers, and even ‘normal’ killers, but I still don’t truly understand that lack of emotion. But like you say, that’s probably a good thing.” I couldn’t help but think about what Christina had told me about Alistair and his partner back in London. That was undoubtedly something his psychologist was helping him with as well.
“The same with people who kill in self-defence,” I add. “It would be odd if that person didn’t really care at all.”
Alistair cast a glance in my direction. “Right.”
“In fact, it would be normal if they did.” I stopped as we reached The Antique Shoppe. “Oh, look. We’re here.” Without awaiting any reply that might or might not have come, I knocked on the door to Gus’ shop. He would probably be in the back, finishing up for the evening. The ‘closed’ sign was already turned.
He came out from behind the curtain to the back of his shop and froze for a moment as he stared at me. Then he glanced at Alistair and rushed over.
“See, it’s good to bring a detective along,” Detective Black said. “Otherwise he’d have turned around and hid.”
He was probably right.
Gus took a moment to take the keys from his trouser pocket and unlocked the door slowly.
I eyed Alistair as impatience bubbled to the surface and took the shape of a frown. He, however, seemed unperturbed.
“Detective, Maggie, what can I do for you?” he asked with a forced cheerfulness.
“May we come in, please?” I asked.
He stepped aside to let us through. “Is this about the murder? All those mystery authors visited my shop at some point, according to my assistant, but I haven’t spoken to them or seen anything suspicious.”
We remained standing in the middle of the crowded shop. It was filled with antique bits and pieces. Baskets, mirrors, combs, dolls, tea cups, a typewriter—oh my, a typewriter!
“Down girl,” Detective Black said.
Right, focus.
“Actually, this is about my aunt.” I smiled because I wanted to give him a false sense of security; if he turned out to be a jerk, I would have to pull a Poppy and sit on him.
“Right,” he said and looked at the floor. “Look, I do really like her. A lot, actually. Things just didn’t work out.”
“It’s just that I think she would benefit from some closure.” I wanted to tell him how upset she was, but I couldn’t. I knew she wouldn’t want him to know about that, and if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t want the guy who jilted me knowing how upset I was.
Gus scratched his head and started pacing around. I glanced at Alistair.
“You don’t have to tell us the reason,” Alistair said, “but perhaps you can tell Nancy.”
At this he looked pained. He shook his head sadly and sighed. From his trouser pocket he retrieved an amethyst stone. “She gave me this to help me sleep. I have it on me all the time; it reminds me of her. She was so sweet and caring.”
Alistair made what sounded like a snort, then covered it with a cough.
I glared at him.
“Look, you clearly have feelings for her. If that’s the case, then why end things so abruptly?”
“What were you afraid of?” Alistair asked. “Of letting her down? Worried she could do better?”
I studied Alistair’s face, but he kept his eyes on Gus. Was that what he was worried about with me? Or was he just speaking from a past experience?
“Maybe both,” Detective Black said.
Gus took off his small round glasses and stared at them. “The doctor gave me six months.”
I let out a gasp. I hadn’t seen that coming.
We were both too shocked to say anything.
“I am sure you’re thinking that it’s a good reason to keep seeing her, make the most of it. But that would be selfish, because what about the aftermath? What about those final moments? It’s not like we’ve been together for years. This way, things would stay light and casual. And so would the impact.”
“You clearly don’t know my aunt, if that’s what you think. She is fierce when it comes to love, and I believe she loves you. I’m really sorry you’re going through this, but please don’t underestimate Nancy. Give her a chance. She’ll never forgive you if you don’t at least do that.”
He looked up at me. “I’ll think about it. That’s the best I can do.”
“Thank you. And I really am sorry,” I said.
He nodded.
We left quietly and took a moment to process everything before strolling back in the direction of Alistair’s. It was still light out and it was quiet on the street. Most people were having dinner right about now.
“That was quite something,” Alistair said.
“Do you think he’ll tell her the truth?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because he’s in love with her. Despite everything, a chance to be with her is still too enticing.”
We looked at each other.
“Do you think they’ll get together?”
“I hope so.”
I looked ahead. “I think so. If it’s meant to be, then they will find a way.”
––––––––
I HELPED ALISTAIR COOK a vegetarian lasagna, and while it was in the oven, we made an apple pie. It looked so delicious I wanted to forget all about the lasagna and just skip to dessert. It was so delightfully normal to do something like this with him.
The lasagna still had ten minutes to go, so we sat in the garden with home-made lemonade.
“Are your parents happy that you’re back?”
“My mum is excited. I go out to the farm every now and then. Even though she’s retired, she’s keeping herself entertained. My dad is still very busy with the farm, so he’s the same as always. I think he’s a bit disappointed I didn’t stay in London.”
“Did he say that?” I asked.
“No, but I can tell. He’ll get over it, I’m sure.”
“Of course. I’m sure he will realise that it’s not about what sounds cool, but what makes you happy. He didn’t become a farmer because of what other people thought of him. He did it because it’s his passion.”
“Actually, he did it because his dad expected it of him.”
“Really?” I asked.
“No, I’m just kidding. He does really love farming.”
“Well, there you go.”
He smiled. “You make things sound so simple.”
“Things are simple. People make them complicated.”
“I suppose so. I definitely should have come home as soon as I realised that I wasn’t happy in London. Everything there was fast and hard. I did my best to keep up, but in the end I just became someone I wasn’t. It was surprisingly easy to lie to myself, just because I was afraid of change. Afraid of admitting I’d made a mistake.” He shook his head. “I was so stupid.”
“You weren’t stupid. You were scared.”
He made a face. “That’s even worse.”
“How so? Oh, let me guess...you’re a man, you’re not supposed to be scared. You’re supposed to wrestle boars with your bare hands and then bring them home to eat. And when someone hurts you, you’re not supposed to cry, right? Otherwise your tears will melt your face.”
He laughed. “Something like that.”
“And that is why people make things complicated. We come up with all these ‘rules’ and thoughts of how things should be, what they should look like, and then we desperately struggle to fit that image. It just sets us up to be miserable. People don’t fit into boxes. We are what we are. And we are lots of different things all in one.”
He stared at me. “You’re quite wise.”
“It’s the writer in me.”
“Speaking of which, when is the next book coming out?”
“You read the last one already?”
“Of course.”
My pulse quickened as it always did when I asked people this question. “Did you like it?”
“No.”
My eyes widened. “No?”
“No, I loved it.”
I let out the breath I was holding and playfully punched his arm. “Don’t do that again, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Does my opinion matter that much?”
“Yes,” I said without thinking.
He gave a slow, sexy smile.
“Shut up,” I said and took a sip of my lemonade.
The oven dinged and Alistair got up to get us our food. We would be eating outside. At least he knew me well enough to not bring out a salad. That was food fit for a bunny, not a Maggie.
A moment later we were eating and discussing the Summer Festival so far. Apparently Nancy had joined the flower arranging while Emblyn was minding the shop—a huge step forward for Nancy—and she had sprayed the twigs and flowers black and basically made a goth version. Then she had wailed about how love was a curse and everybody should quit while they were ahead. Alistair had heard this from Dawn, the postwoman and Ava’s wife.
Oh, poor Nancy. I hoped Gus would tell her the truth soon. “You’re taking part in gossip already. Very good.”
“It’s not very difficult. Dawn tells everybody everything. I think it’s a compulsion.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. But it would probably be that way for almost everyone here. They’d have to start a Gossip Anonymous support group.”
“And that would then turn out to be a group where everyone gossips.”
My lips curled into a smile. “Definitely.”
After dinner, I helped Alistair clean the kitchen, which also made me feel like we were a married couple. It didn’t feel weird, though. It felt like it had always been like this. And thinking back to when we were teens and spent that one day together, it had felt like that as well. Weird.
“Alright, come with me,” Alistair said when we were done, “I want to show you my office now.”
I followed him to the front of the house where we entered the door to the right of the staircase. It was a room with three large bookcases and two armchairs placed near them with a small table in between. Perfect for reading. There was a fireplace that wasn’t burning. A desk by the window, a tray with alcohol, and a record player in the corner.
“I love it,” I said.
“Please,” Detective Black said, “Someone shows you a large bookcase, and you’re hooked.”
“Look,” Alistair said and pointed at a row with my Detective Black novels.
“Okay, I like him a bit more now,” Detective Black said.
“That’s awesome. Do you want me to sign them?”
“Oh, yes.” He broke out in a wide smile and hurried to his desk to get a pen.
I grabbed half of the books and sat down while Alistair grabbed the other half and put them on the table between our armchairs. The books looked like he’d read them multiple times. Was that because he liked the books that much or because I had written them? Perhaps I was thinking too much of it.
I signed each and every one with a different general message or a quote. I knew a lot since I had done a few signings. Alistair got up to turn on the record player while I finished signing the last two books. Now that he wasn’t looking, I wrote a more personal message:
“The funny thing about the heart is a soft heart is a strong heart, and a hard heart is a weak heart.”
I got that quote from a book called Healology, and it seemed to fit our earlier discussion.
Alistair returned now that he’d put on a slow song by Dolly Parton. I had not seen that coming, but I liked it. She had some good songs.
He stopped in front of me and held out his hand.
I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, but I gave him my hand anyway. He pulled me up and moved to the middle of the room. With surprising grace he pulled me into his arms, and we started swaying.
When I got too nervous from staring into his eyes, I brushed my cheek against his and closed my eyes. It was nice to be held by him. It felt like home.