Bunny approached Tides from the beach like she had when she’d attended the book club. The salty air whipped at her face, and she pulled her hood up to protect herself from the cold. It was getting dark, and she felt a tiny bit uncomfortable as she kept her eye on the dunes, looking for the three-story Victorian house.
“There’s nothing to be worried about out here,” she reassured herself. The killer wasinsideTides, so the beach was safe. But even so, she was a little uneasy as she continued on. She felt Mr. Smith wouldn’t expect someone to approach from the beach, and she wanted the element of surprise.
The lights on the main floor of Tides were on, and Bunny crept closer to the house, keeping to the shadows lest Mr. Smith be peeking out. She could hear what sounded like sawing somewhere on the back side of the house. Odd, because she assumed Mr. Smith would be alone with his victim. Did he have accomplices? No, maybe that was just the television. She cocked her ear to listen, but the sound of the waves crashing on the beach behind her drowned out almost everything.
Skirting along the edge of the building, she tiptoed up onto the porch, crossing her fingers that the boards wouldn’t creak. She peeked out from the shadows just as someone passed the window. It was Mr. Smith! She jumped back. It wouldn’t do to let him see her now.
He had someone with him. Was it the same man he’d met at the Rachel Carson Refuge? Bunny couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter, though. Whoever it was, Bunny had to save them.
They headed into the side parlor, and Bunny inched over to the French doors. She reached out to touch the handle and tried turning it ever so slowly. It was locked!
Mr. Smith passed the doorway. He had something in his hand, and it looked like a knife!
Bunny’s heart lurched. She had to get inside. She ran to the front, hoping the foyer door was open. It was!
She rushed inside, barely aware there was a lot of noise coming from the back of the house. She was more interested in the side where Mr. Smith was. She hurried through the dining room, down the hall, and through the door to the side parlor.
“Stop right there!” she yelled, then she hesitated in the doorway, confused about what to do next.
She’d been ready to tackle Mr. Smith and stop him from stabbing his victim, but she hadn’t been expecting to see what was in front of her.
Mr. Smith and his victim were seated facing each other, a pile of books, two glasses of wine, and a tray of cheese and crackers sitting between them. They were both looking at her with startled expressions. Mr. Smith did have a knife, but he was using it to cut a slice of cheese.
She heard someone coming up behind her. “Yes! Stop!”
She whirled around.
Sam?What was he doing here, and why was he holding up the book club book?
Before she could say anything, he grabbed her elbow and escorted her into the room.
“Mr. Jamison, we were wondering if you’d be so kind as to sign our book.”
Mr. Smith’s concerned look morphed into a smile. “Very astute. I see you figured out who I am. I’d be delighted to sign it.”
* * *
Bunny played along with the whole thing. Apparently, Sam had researched the author of the book club book and recognized him as Mr. Smith. Bunny felt like she’d made a rookie mistake in not doing that herself.
The man with him was Steven Thompson, his agent—not a victim, as Bunny had suspected. Mr. Jamison had invited his agent to Tides to discuss a release date for his next book and sign some copies of the last one.
“I decided to come here in the off-season so I could have peace and quiet. I need to immerse myself when I’m writing,” Mr. Jamison said.
“That makes perfect sense.” Bunny nibbled on a cracker. “But I thought I saw you on the cliffs at the beach with a cantaloupe.”
“I thought the beach was empty when I did that. It was research for the book. Now I can’t tell you exactly what. Don’t want to give away any spoilers.” He winked at Bunny.
“And your trip to the hardware store?” Bunny asked. She didn’t dare mention the list of poisons that Liz had found in his trash, but it made sense that that was probably research as well.
“Yep. More research.”
“But why register here as Mr. Smith?” Bunny persisted.
Jamison grimaced. “I know it sounds pretentious, but I need peace and quiet to write. Whenever I go anywhere and use my real name, word gets out, and next thing you know, people are showing up in the lobby and following me around.”
“That must be terrible.” Bunny took another cracker. She felt a little silly knowing the truth. She was glad that Mr. Smith, er… Jamison wasn’t a killer, but it was a bit embarrassing that she’d just spent the last week following him around thinking nefarious thoughts. Luckily, he hadn’t noticed.
“To tell you the truth, it was a bit of a surprise to discover that they were having a book club meeting about my book here. I couldn’t help but lurk in the hallway and try to overhear what you all thought.” Jamison looked apologetic as he signed Sam’s book with a flourish and handed it over.
