“You look like someone who needs a strong cup of coffee. And something to eat.”
The woman in the apron smiled, revealing a gap between her front teeth. She was both tall and wide and her big, curly black hair added to her already considerable bulk. Her apron said, “What the Dickens Diner—for the best of times and the worst of times.”
“Milk?” she asked as she held out a coffee pot. “Sugar?”
Alice shook her head. So, after giving Kris and Mr. Bunce a refill, the woman topped up Alice’s cup too.
She cocked her head. “You know, you look so much like someone I ought to know. Have we met before?”
Alice stared down at her coffee cup, trying to hide her emotion. She was exhausted. She wished she could curl up in her hideaway—her Wonderland—and not have to talk to anyone. And the last thing she wanted to do was talk about her personal connection to Blithedale.
“I’m sorry for prying,” the woman said. “Let me get you some food. It won’t be much, since I’ve got half the town in the diner and my one waitress off duty. I’m Becca Frye, by the way. This is my diner. I’m sorry about your trouble.”
Alice thanked Becca and said, “Thanks for saying so—it was pretty awful to find Vince.”
“Oh, sure, that too. But I meant about losing your fiancé.”
“I didn’t exactly lose him…” Alice took a sip of coffee and tried to hide her discomfort. “Besides, what bothers me is that I found Vince’s body and saw someone run out of the bookstore. Though no one seems to believe me.”
“Oh, I’m sure everyone believes you,” Becca said.
“I don’t,” Bunce said.
“Well, I do. It’s just that a shock like that…”
She shook her head, and Alice understood that she didn’t mean the shock of finding a dead man, but rather the shock of her wedding falling apart.
“All I’m saying is that you must be exhausted.”
There was no denying Becca’s statement. Alice’s arms and legs ached. Pain radiated up from her lower back to the top of her spine, gripping her neck. Her head throbbed. She closed her eyes for a moment.
“Clearly hysterical,” Bunce said. “Imagining things.”
Alice opened her eyes again. Her aching tiredness flared into anger. “Look, I did see someone. I didn’t hallucinate or imagine it.”
“Anyway,” Becca said, changing the topic, “I know what everyone will say about Vince’s death.”
“They’re all idiots,” Bunce said.
“Oh, now, Bunce, be nice.”
“They read that tabloid and they believe its lies and then I have to deal with it.”
“The Blithedale Record,” Kris explained to Alice. “It’s our local paper. Entirely online. And it’s run by Todd Townsend, who handles all the town news.”
“News,” Bunce scoffed. “You can hardly call it news.”
Kris brought out her phone and, opening a browser, showed Alice a news site. The top headline said, “Tragic accident at deathtrap bookstore.”
“Wow, there’s already a story on Vince’s death,” Alice said, as Kris retrieved her phone. “There’s even a quote by Chief Jimbo about the status of the investigation.”
“News travels fast in Blithedale,” Becca said. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Todd is sitting in a booth over there typing away on his laptop right now.”
Alice leaned out of the booth. Across the diner, a tall, gangly man sat hunched over a laptop in a booth tapping at the keys.
But her view got cut off when a man stepped in front of her. She was staring at his gut. She looked up. He wasn’t tall—certainly under 6 feet—though from her current vantage point, he towered over her. Plus, he had a squareness to him that made him imposing. The dark blue suit with a crimson tie added gravitas.
“You must be the young lady,” he said with a smile, “who’s lost her fiancé.”
“Woman,” she corrected him. “And I’m the one who found Vince’s body.”
Where did that come from?
She was surprised by her own pluck. Her mom had taught her to stand up for herself, but that side of her had been muffled for so long—in part, because of Rich’s influence.
The man offered his hand, unperturbed by her correction. “Darrell Townsend. Welcome to Blithedale.”
She shook it. “Townsend?”
As if the name was a magic word, the tall, gangly guy whom Becca had identified as a journalist materialized at Darrell Townsend’s side, notepad in hand. In spite of one being tall and the other broad, their faces looked like variations on the same theme. There was no doubt about them being brothers.
“Are you the mayor?” she asked Darrell.
He flashed a big smile. His teeth were so sparkling clean, you might have used them as a makeup mirror.
“Oh no, Mayor MacDonald has that honor. I’m merely a humble citizen. And the owner of Townsend Development, the area’s premier real estate development company. But I prefer to think of us as a rejuvenation engine.”
“Fancy words,” Bunce grumbled, “for bulldozers and concrete.”
“My interest is in the future of this town,” Darrell said, ignoring Bunce. “And a tragic death, like the one today, is a blight on Blithedale’s name.”
“Good one,” Todd Townsend muttered, hunched over his notepad, pencil scratching on paper. “Blight. Blithedale.”
“Which is why,” Darrell continued, his voice rising, as if he were speaking to a larger audience than just this diner booth, “I personally appreciate you cooperating with local law enforcement.”
“Well, you’re welcome,” Alice said, confused by the theatrics. “I don’t think Vince’s death was an accident. But except for Becca, people don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you.”
“You do?”
“In fact, I believe we all know who the killer is.”
“Really?”
This was something. Would she actually witness Darrell Townsend point to the killer right here in the local diner?
“Who?” she asked.
“A killer who’s been waiting to strike,” he said, swiveling around to address the entire diner. He raised his voice. “A killer we all turned a blind eye to…” He paused for effect, apparently confident he had everyone’s attention.
Darrell raised a hand, turned on Bunce, and pointed. “Blithedale Books killed Vince Malone.”