Bound To Be Dead: Cozy Mystery Bookshop Series Book 3 Tamra Baumann (new books to read txt) 📖

Before my jaw drops open again, I say, “No, thanks,” and hightail it out the door.

Once in the hallway, I stop and lean against the wall to catch my breath. I reach for the blue painted stone and pull it out. No. She must’ve seen my hand in my pocket. She just guessed at what was in there.

Brother. I have to stop letting Beth freak me out.

Shaking my head at how far I’d let my imagination roam, I stuff the charm back into my pocket and head out the doors and down the front steps. The high school is a short walk along a path at the top of the rocky cliffs. A scenic stroll enhanced by the salty breeze of the ocean and the roar of waves crashing against the cliffs below that I never fully appreciated as a kid. Back then, the path was just a means to get to class, but now, it gives me a sense of peace and calm I never found when I was a chef in Chicago.

Sure, walking by the lakeshore when the weather wasn’t too hot or too cold had been nice, but nothing to compare to living by the ocean full-time as I do now. In a small town filled with nosy folks who genuinely care for their neighbors. It makes me even more determined to beat my uncle at whatever game he’s playing to ruin me and force me out of town.

As I approach the two-story high school, Dylan is standing by the front doors speaking to Principal Franklin, Gage’s aunt. She’s blonde and pretty, just like Gage is.

Dylan lifts a hand when he sees me, but keeps up his conversation. I’m not sure if I should interrupt—they could be talking about a student—so I wait by the flagpoles for them to finish.

Mrs. Franklin sees me and waves me over. “Hi, Sawyer. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” She hands me a guest badge. “Gage has a birthday coming up, and I was hoping you’d cater a themed dinner party.”

I love a good food theme. I’ve been afraid my chef skills will rust over while I wait to get my secret restaurant built. So I clip on my visitor’s badge and say, “Absolutely. Send me an email with the deets, and we’ll make it work.”

“Wonderful.” She grins and opens the door for us. “You guys know the way, so I’ll leave you to it. The lunch stampede is about to begin, and I’m on duty.”

We follow behind her through the main lobby, where she peels off toward the cafeteria, and Dylan and I go the opposite way toward the science classrooms. I whisper because it’s eerily quiet, “I stopped by your office to see if you wanted to walk here together and ran into Uncle Frank. Can you be sure he’s really going to that mayor’s meeting and not running away?”

Dylan shakes his head. “I can’t stop him. Don’t have enough to accuse him of anything. Yet.”

Hope fills me that Dylan used the word yet. Maybe we’re on the same page. “You never answered when I asked how it went with his interview this morning.”

“Not much to tell.”

It’s like pulling teeth to get Dylan to share sometimes. “What did he do when you mentioned the affair he and Tina were having?”

“I can’t talk about the details of our interview.” Dylan stops and lays his hands on my arms. “What Pete told you about the affair is gossip. Not a proven fact. Yet.”

When he stares into my eyes, I see all sorts of other information is back there in the vault. I understand it’s his job as a cop to keep secrets, but these are killing me. “Should l ask around and see if anyone else knows about the affair? So we can prove it. I have a lot riding on this too, you know.” Pattie, our hairdresser and one of the talent show’s judges, will be my next stop. She knows just about everything about everyone in town.

A loud bell clangs before Dylan can respond. Seconds later, kids stream out the classroom doors. Dylan and I plaster our bodies against some lockers and let the throng of hungry students pass. When the coast is clear, we walk the last ten feet to Emily’s biology class.

Emily’s voice, while low, rings out as she reams whoever is on the line with her. It sounds personal, so I take a step back and run into Dylan’s hard chest. His hand pushes me forward into the room.

I whisper, “Maybe it’s a bad time?”

He says quietly, “The best time to gather clues.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way, but he’s probably right. We move farther inside and stand by Emily’s desk to wait. She has her back to us and is staring out the window as she listens. Finally, she says, “I’ve had enough, Joe. Figure it out, or we’re done!” She pokes the End button and then swivels around and sees us. “Oh. Hi.” Her jaw clenches before her gaze drops to her feet as she seems to gather her emotions.

My cheeks must be three shades of red. She was fighting with her husband, and it’s none of our business. I feel like a Peeping Tom. Not that I like her husband, he’s a pain in my merchant’s butt, but couples fight.

Dylan, apparently unfazed by our eavesdropping, says, “Hi, Emily. We were on our way to lunch, but Sawyer wanted to see if she could pick up any assignments for Brittany first. Looks like she might be out for a few days.”

Emily Kingsley, who was our biology teacher too, is in her midfifties and is the logical scientific type. But now she looks flustered, and I can’t blame her.

Emily runs a hand through her short, efficient hair before she meets our gaze again. “I didn’t realize Brittany was so ill. I hope she feels better soon.” She tosses her phone onto her desk and sits behind her laptop. “Let me have a