Schooled in Deceit: A Lacamas Village Cozy Mystery, Book 1, page 2
“Hey!”
“Also, don’t forget to call Perla about working at the bookstore. She said they were short-handed. Okay, sis, gotta run. Love you.”
Audra clicked off as soon as I responded. She definitely was the queen of multitasking, even as late as it was back East.
I set about getting unpacked, then opened the garage door so I could pull in my car. Apparently, it needed to be off the streets of Lacamas Village.
My sister and her husband had lived in the Portland-Vancouver area for nearly twenty-five years. This particular subdivision was the most upscale one yet. The homes were multi-storied, gabled and columned in the front. Some had long winding driveways up to the houses themselves.
I rummaged in the kitchen for cheese and crackers, knowing Audra always kept a stock on hand. Not vegan, but not meat, either. Baby steps, I told myself.
Then I took my snack and curled up in an easy chair before a large picture window that overlooked Bigleaf Lake. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I pulled myself out of the large chair and dragged my body up to bed.
The ding-donging of the front bell woke me the next morning. I stumbled down the stairs to the door, trying to look at the time on my phone through bleary eyes. Seven o’clock. Okay, a little early for the first day of summer vacation.
On the front steps stood a small woman about my age with purple-streaked short hair that was spiky on top and wearing cats-eye glasses, through which she peered at me intently.
“Misty Michaels?” she asked.
I nodded, even as I leaned my head further away from her.
“I’m Perla Daniels, a friend of Audra’s.”
“Oh, yes, Perla. Audra told me to call yo-”
“About the job at my bookstore,” she finished for me. “I’m heading to work in an hour. Do you want to ride with me? You can try out today.”
My brain screamed “no,” but my head nodded politely. After all, this was the woman who would be my boss for the summer. Or not, if the “tryout” didn’t go well.
“Fine. I’ll pick you up in forty-five minutes.” With that, Perla turned and clomped down the stairs back to the street, then marched down the circle and around the corner.
I watched her go, then jolted with the realization that I needed to shower and eat before she returned.
Perla pulled up in front of the house in a Range Rover right on time. She asked me few questions, Audra having told her most of what she needed to know.
She was interested that I was trying to be a writer.
“What do you write?” she asked as we turned out of the neighborhood.
“It’s a mystery novel.”
“How long have you been working on it?” I saw her give me a side-eye as she asked the question.
“Too long.”
Perla grinned. “Happens to the best of us.”
The conversation lapsed as we made our way through a few traffic lights.
“I hear you met my favorite neighbor,” she said, looking at me from the side.
I glanced up from adjusting my seatbelt to glance over at her in surprise.
“Word travels fast in the neighborhood, honey,” Perla said. “What’s your version of the story?
She shook her head as I told her what had happened. “Samuel Wiggins is not our best welcome wagon here, but he’s home all day, so what can you do?”
“He’s retired?” I asked.
Perla nodded as she kept her eyes on the road. “Personal injury attorney. Made buckets of money. Too bad his wife won’t ever see any of it.”
We reached the shop before I had time to ask any more questions. Perla unlocked the door and we entered from a short hallway in the back. She stopped at one door and walked inside, flipping on the light.
“This is our break room. There’s a fridge and microwave if you want to use them,” she said, pointing around the room. “I leave everything here but my handbag.”
She pulled off the light sweater she was wearing and hung it on a hook, then picked up two aprons from a stack near the microwave and handed one to me.
She continued talking as we both put on the aprons, which had the words “Village Bookshop” in the corner.
I copied her as she picked up her purse and carried it out of the room toward the shop itself. We tucked our bags under the counter.
I pointed at the aprons. “I’ve never seen a bookstore where they wear aprons,” I commented.
“It’s so I have a place to keep this,” Perla said, whipping a container of pepper spray out of her apron pocket.
My eyes grew wide.
“Is there much need for that?” I asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
Perla shrugged and dropped the canister back into her apron pocket. “I’ve only had to use it a time or two.”
Then she grinned and gestured for me to follow her. “The aprons are really more for the coffee bar,” she said. “That’s a real moneymaker right there, especially in the mornings. That’s why we open so early. Audra said you knew your way around an espresso machine.”
She wasn’t wrong. I loved a good espresso and had worked at a coffee shop a couple of summers before realizing that teaching summer school paid better.
Perla started opening the store, turning on lamps and straightening books while my eyes scanned the room. Large black-and-white squares on the floor along with the stained wooden shelves gave the store an old-fashioned vibe. A couple of barrels held books at the endcaps of certain shelves.
Two wing-backed chairs stood in front of the picture window at the front, along with a small table with four iron-cast chairs and a kid-sized table for children. What looked like old-fashioned theater seats that folded up when no one sat in them were sprinkled around the store.
A creak and rustling from the back of the shop caught my ear. Perla hardly seemed to notice until a dark-haired woman in her thirties wearing a pink twin set stepped into the main store.
“Andrea, meet Misty. She’s joining us for the summer. She’s a teacher,” Perla announced as the woman entered, then added. “Also a writer.”
With that, the woman peered at me warily.
“What do you write?” she asked, her scratchy voice sounding like she smoked a pack a day. “Hope you’re not another one of those-”
“Watch your language, Andrea,” Perla broke in, her voice warning.
Andrea took a breath. “A romance writer. Ugh, I hate them.”
I bit back a smile. Romance wasn’t my favorite genre, but I didn’t hate it. “Mystery.”
Andrea cursed under her breath.
My eyebrows went up. That was unexpected.
“Anyway, that’s Andrea Cheng,” Perla went on, turning me toward the windows. “She works the first part of the day. Jonathon will be in later.”
She nodded toward the front of the bookstore, and I dutifully followed her, straightening my apron as we went.
She pointed out genres as we passed. Mystery was by the far wall next to the Fantasy and Young Adult section. Children’s books were in the back with a small read-aloud area, and self-help was in a corner near the restroom.
Perla shrugged after pointing toward the self-help section. “Sometimes they need a good cry.”
She stopped in front of a shelf near the door. “Here is the local authors’ section. Mostly it’s just me, but there are a few others here as well.”
Perla’s books had pride of place front and center, with other authors located around hers. “I haven’t written much lately,” she added. “The store takes a lot of my time.”
Then she took me to across the room to the coffee counter, a five-foot-long counter of burnished wood with an Italian espresso machine and a variety of syrups and sauces. I stepped behind it and took in what was there, including the small refrigerator on the floor. I opened it and found what I’d expected – whipping cream and milks of all sorts, including whole fat, skim, almond and oat.
I nodded and closed the door, then looked at Perla with a question on my face.
“Make me a latte,” she said.
I held up a pretend wand. “You’re a latte,” I quipped, giggling a little at my own joke. “You’re a-welcome.”
She stared at me. Apparently, I’ve been around second-graders too long.
I bit my lip and turned toward the machine, throwing my words over my shoulder. “What flavor would you like?”
“Keep it simple, cookie. Vanilla with whole milk will do. Two shots.”
I set about making a vanilla latte, my summers of running the espresso machine at the café coming back almost like muscle memory.
I quickly wiped off the foamer, then set the completed latte in front of Perla. I stepped back, a tentative smile on my face, my fingers crossed that she would like it.
She raised an eyebrow. “It’s not for me,” she said, pointing across the counter. “It’s for him.”
The bell over the front door tinkled and I turned to gaze into the dark eyes of a man with the beginnings of a graying beard and wearing a green Oregon Coast T-shirt. His eyes were raised in a question when he saw me. My hands shook as I picked up the cup, suddenly nervous for this stranger to like my drink.
“He’s beautiful, but he’s boring,” Perla said just loud enough that the stranger could hear.
He laughed, showing white teeth and sparkling eyes. “Can’t catch a break with Perla,” he said, setting some bills on the counter and picking up his drink.
“Misty, this is Owen Murphy. Murph, this is Misty. She’s with us for the summer,” Perla said by way of introduction.
“Nice to meet you,” we both said at the same time, then laughed.
He tentatively sipped the latte, then took another sip. He gave a sideways glance toward Perla and nodded, then sipped again.
Perla tapped me on the arm. “You got the seal of approval,” she said with a chuckle. “If Professor Murphy likes it, it must be good.”
She looked at me over her glasses. “He’s a touch picky.”
The handsome professor offered me a silent toast, then turned away.
“Wait!” I called, picking up the bills and reaching for the register. “Your change.”
He waved me away and walked over to one of the wingback chairs by the front door. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him settle into the chair, setting his latte on the table beside him. He picked up a newspaper that was lying on the table and flicked it open, his eyes running down the page.
“You are still married, right?” Perla said behind me.
I nodded silently, then grinned at her. “But I’m not dead.”
Laughing with me, Perla showed me how to ring up the sale and toss the change into the tip jar.
I released a sigh and turned toward her. “So does that mean I get the job?”
Perla looked confused.
“You said I was coming in for a tryout, but you told him I was here for the summer.” I gestured toward Murph.
Perla smiled coyly. “You were always here for the summer. I know good help when I see it.”
The bell over the door jingled and Perla glanced toward it. “The morning crowd will keep you busy for a while,” she said. “When it dies down, come find me.”
I nodded, then turned with a smile to my next customer.
When a small break presented itself, I took a quick selfie of me holding my fingers in a peace sign to send to Rodney, like I did most days when I started something new. I stopped myself before pressing the “send” button. My heart clenched and tears threatened once more.
Then I lifted my chin, deleted the photo and stuck the phone back in my apron pocket. A young blond man in a blue hoodie strode toward me.
He threw a wave toward the front register. “Morning, Perla!”
“Good morning, Elijah,” Perla responded. She wandered toward the coffee cart, part of her attention taken by the books in her hand. “Misty, this is Elijah Douglas. He is president of the homeowners’ association in our neighborhood.”
I glanced at him and smiled, then turned my attention back to his coffee. He wasn’t as young as I first thought. His blond hair was streaked with gray, and lines dug in around his mouth and eyes.
Perla turned back to Elijah. “Misty is house-sitting for Audra and David this summer.”
“Ah,” he chuckled, his chin dipped toward his chest as he fiddled with his wallet. “I wondered why you were introducing me to the barista.”
He said barista like it was an insult. My shoulders tightened a little.
“Nice to meet you, Misty. If you need anything, let me know.”
I nodded, handing him his drink and taking his card to pay.
The rest of the morning went quickly, a blur of lattes, mochas and chai teas. Once I cleaned up the coffee counter, Perla had me familiarize myself with the store. Mostly, because I just couldn’t help myself, I browsed the mystery section. I forced myself to put back the books I looked at. No sense spending my paycheck before I got one, after all.
Just before the lunchtime crowd filtered in, the front bell tinkled and a tall man probably in his mid-twenties rushed through. He stared at me as he hurried through the store to the hallway that led to the back.
“Who is that?” I heard his loud whisper from nearly across the room.
I couldn’t understand Perla’s murmured reply, but I’m sure she was telling him who I was.
“But why—”
With another murmur, Perla shushed whatever question he had, and a moment later, the two of them reappeared behind the register. They approached the coffee counter.
“Misty, this is Jonathan Cook. Jonathan, this is Misty.” She turned toward Jonathan. “There. Happy?”
He made a face at her back as she walked away. “Was that so hard to make introductions?” he asked before turning to me and continuing. “And no, I can’t.”
“Can’t what?” I asked.
“Cook.” He smiled. Apparently it was an old joke. “Don’t think you can go and change things around here. We take care of everything just fine.”
“Duly noted,” I said. He looked at me like he thought I was being sarcastic, But alas, I was not.
After my shift, Perla drove me home. She waved to the man pruning the bushes along the side of the road.
“Wasn’t that the guy who came in the shop earlier?” I remembered his disdain at meeting the barista. “Why is he trimming the bushes? Surely you have people for that.”
Perla waved a hand again. “We do. Elijah finds it calming to work with his hands, so we mostly ignore him. Since his wife left, he doesn’t have much to do.” She snorted. “His wife, however, is spending his money hand over fist.”
She dropped me at Audra’s driveway, then sped back to the store, having left Jonathan alone to mind the shop.
After being surrounded by books all day, I felt inspired to dive back into my mystery novel. I knew that if I finished writing it this summer, I would feel a huge amount of success. But first, I wanted to take a quick walk around Bigleaf Lake before I sat at my computer.
As I locked the front door and headed across the circle toward the lake, an SUV barreled around the corner. I ran toward the sidewalk to get out of the way. The driver slammed on the brakes, then jumped out of the car.
“What are you doing in the middle of the road?” Samuel Wiggins barked at me.
“I-I-I-” No complete sentences would come out of my mouth, so I pointed to his SUV. “You’re the one driving like a lunatic.”
“Stay on the sidewalk!” With that, he stomped back to the driver’s side, stepped in and pressed the car up his driveway, disappearing into a large garage.
My heart still racing, I paused to catch my breath. Twice in two days? By summer’s end, I could be a nervous wreck, but my heart might be stronger.
Chapter 4
As I opened the gate that separated the neighborhood from the county-owned regional park land, I nearly rammed into someone coming from the other side.
“I’m so sorry,” I started.
“Sorry about that,” the man said at the same time.
He stepped aside so I could exit the neighborhood and recognition lit his face.
“Say, didn’t you make my coffee this morning?”
I peered closer at him and grinned in response. “That was me. I hope it was memorable in a good way.”
He smiled back and held out his hand. “Owen Murphy. Most folks just call me Murph.”
“Misty Michaels,” I said, shaking his hand.
He gestured through the gate. “Have a good hike.” Then he added, “Don’t be out too long. It gets dark fast on the trail because of all the trees.”
I smiled my thanks and set off through the gate, the professor latching it shut behind me.
The trail veered off to the right down a small hill. A small children’s play structure stood on one side with a couple of sturdy benches surrounding it. Another bench overlooked the trail.
Bigleaf Lake park features about six miles worth of trail. I wasn’t sure if I had it in me for a whole loop. I just wanted to clear my head before hitting my laptop.
I thought back over my day and giggled a little at Andrea, the foul-mouthed writer in the pink twin set. She was what my mother would have called a “hoot.” I didn’t have an opinion on Jonathan yet. He mostly worked the register while I was at the coffee counter.
I turned the first curve and tripped over a root stretched across the trail. Down I went on my hands and knees. If the trail hadn’t been soft and a little damp, it probably would have hurt. As it was, I scrambled to my feet and set a rueful eye at the dirt stains on my capris.
A bird chirped overhead nearby, and I smiled, lifting my head and closing my eyes. Quiet surrounded me. I breathed in deeply, brushed off my hands and continued my trail walk. What did a few dirt stains matter when I was in such a beautiful and quiet place?
Only a few people walked past in two’s and three’s. The afternoon drizzle felt fresh on my face. After about forty minutes of steady walking, I turned around. The whole loop would have to wait another day.
The closer I got to the trail head, the more shadows appeared and the fewer people I passed. The professor was right about the sun setting in a hurry. I picked up my pace, my heart beating faster. Starting up the small hill, I retraced my steps past the playground to the gate, throwing a glance toward the west.
