Prose & Poison, page 11
part #1 of Cafe Prose Mystery Series
“You know I can’t do that.”
Samuel frowned. “Harold Ellerton had a playbill autographed by Andrew Lloyd Webber,” he whispered.
As soon as the name escaped Samuel’s lips, I knew Kevin had no idea who he was talking about.
“And who’s this Webber fellow?” Kevin asked. I covered a chuckle with my hand.
Samuel huffed and put a hand to his chest, offended. “Only the composer of some of Broadway’s largest hits. Phantom of the Opera, Evita, Jesus Christ Super Star.” He tilted his head. “Would you like me to go on?”
Kevin raised a hand. “That’s not necessary. Just get on with your story.”
Samuel nodded. “Harold agreed to sell me the playbill autographed by not only Webber, but the two original leads of Phantom as well — Sarah Brightman and Michael Crawford.” He pursed his lips. “Names I’m sure you don’t recognize.”
“Go on,” Kevin huffed.
“The plan was to meet with Harold, purchase the playbill on our agreed upon price, and give it to Tilly along with …” Samuel paused and looked toward the entrance to the kitchen. I jumped behind the doorframe and prayed I’d darted out of view fast enough. After counting a long five-seconds, I peered back in the kitchen to see Mayor Moore reaching for something under the tablecloth in the vicinity of his pockets.
I gasped and immediately placed a hand over my mouth once he sat a small black box on the kitchen table.
“Oh!” Kevin exclaimed as Samuel opened the box. What looked to be a large round ruby flanked with two sizable diamonds sparkled under the hanging light.
“That would be a fitting proposal for Matilda Hepburn,” Kevin admitted.
Samuel leaned back in his chair. “I told you I have nothing to hide, Kevin, and I couldn’t very well discuss the meeting when you questioned me earlier today.” He flicked his wrist. “What with Tilly listening on. But please, please,” he begged. “Try to keep this between you and me.”
Kevin grunted. “I’ll do what I can.” He glanced to his notes. “When Harold called to cancel the meeting, did he give you any more specifics?”
“Hmm. I’m trying to remember …” He jutted his chin up in the air. “Now that I think of it.” Samuel’s eyes lit up in sudden recollection. “He did.”
“And that was?” Kevin asked.
Samuel pointed a finger in the air. “He mumbled something about his daughter.” He stood. “I don’t remember the details exactly, but there was definitely mention of Charlotte.”
“Charlotte Ellerton-Bluebell?” Kevin questioned.
“I would assume so,” Samuel chuckled.
Kevin stood. “Thank you, Mayor Moore. Kevin looked toward the ground. “And I’m sorry for the sudden interrogation. I was sent a lead and needed to follow it through.” He turned to leave. I ducked around the corner and into the hallway, my knee banging into the side of the door frame. “Ouch!” I muttered, hobbling on one foot.
“You!” Kevin shouted, pointing a finger in my face. He made the come-here motion with his hands and I slowly moved in his direction, awaiting the verbal blow. “Why were you going through Harold’s belongings?”
I sighed. “I thought maybe he’d left a clue.”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “Or another mysterious note.”
“Maybe,” I mumbled.
“Talbot,” he said sternly. “How much of that conversation did you just hear?” he asked, nodding toward the kitchen.
I swallowed. “Pretty much all of it.”
“Okay. And promise me you won’t go near Charlotte Ellerton-Bluebell.” He placed two hands firmly on his waist.
Kevin knew my past with Charlotte, the woman who’d thrown her full glass of red wine on me once I rejected her son. “You know I have no desire to speak with Patrick’s mother,” I spoke honestly. Plus, she’d never even consider conversing with me.
“Okay, then.”
“Why?” I raised an eyebrow, more intrigued by this mystery than I thought. “Do you think she killed her father?” I asked.
Kevin moved toward the door. “Just let me do my job, Talbot,” he said angrily, slamming the door in my face.
Chapter 11
Normally I hated clutter. But as I woke up the next morning to see moving boxes upon moving boxes filled with the contents of my old life in D.C. haphazardly scattered around the apartment, I’d never been so happy for it.
As Mom promised, she’d had a moving company pack and deliver all of my possessions that fit compactly into exactly seven moving boxes. Living in a tiny studio apartment forces one to purge unnecessary belongings bi-monthly.
Romeo jumped from my bed and traipsed through a foot-wide path leading to her water dish. I shuffled a few more boxes around to create a slightly larger path to my morning beverage of choice — coffee. I made a fresh cup, splashed in some creamer and a touch of vanilla syrup, and sipped on happiness in a mug.
“Let’s do this!” I said excitedly, sliding a butter knife through the packing tape of the first one. “Womp, womp,” I said with disappointment. From this first box, I pulled out four black blouses that without scrutinizing too closely looked exactly the same — one with scalloped sleeves, one that buttoned half way, one that buttoned its entire length, and another sans collar. Underneath the funeral-appropriate clothing sat two gray cardigans, a navy sweater, and a cream-colored wrap.
The next box held pants and skirts — all professional, all neutral in color, and all a little too long for my petite frame. Crammed in the next box were non-form-fitting pantsuits, and the final box of clothing contained my go-to casual wear — yoga pants, jeans, hoodies, and solid color sweaters. Over the past fifteen years, I’d acquired the world’s largest collection of boring wardrobe with a capital B O R I N and G. Working tirelessly, six days a week could do that to a person.
I sat on the floor, blasé clothing strewn around me and sighed. Other than the clothes I brought with me and one box filled with casual wear, I had the wardrobe a monk would be proud to own.
My collection of shoes was in the fifth box. I opened it and thanked my lucky stars I’d been wise enough to purchase platformed and heeled shoes in a variety of colors and styles.
I grabbed my phone and dialed my best friend.
“Wardrobe emergency, Pipe,” I said, my eyes darting from one pile of blah attire to the next. “If one wanted to spruce up one’s wardrobe, where would one shop nowadays in Willow Creek?” I asked in a lofty tone.
Piper giggled a high-pitched laugh on the other end of the line. “I thought you’d never ask,” she snarked. “Have you checked out Here’s Looking at You?”
“Yup. Too old-lady-ish,” I admitted, even though I would have totally worn that black funeral dress to the Library of Congress if I still had a job.
“Oh!” she squealed. “There’s a great little boutique called Castle & Crown that opened a few months ago on Chestnut. A little pricey, but they have the cutest stuff.”
I smiled, satisfied with her suggestion. “Perfect,” I spoke. “Do you mind if I come in at noon today? I have some shopping to do.”
“No prob!” Piper exclaimed.
Gosh did I love my best friend.
I jostled my way to the island, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out two giant black trash bags.
“No need for you anymore,” I shouted at the clothing scattered on the floor below. I grabbed my first fistful of clothes and threw them into the bag, a sudden weight lifting from my shoulders.
Maybe this was the beginning to my next chapter.
* * *
Like its name promised, Castle & Crown was truly fit for a queen. A pastel shade of pink on the walls offset the bright white trim, and in the center of the room, a tiffany robin’s egg blue chandelier suspended from a tress ceiling. Racks upon racks of colorful tanks, blouses, and tops lined the walls, and two refurbished dining room tables stood in the center of the space holding sweaters of every color in the color wheel and skinny jeans galore. Four racks on the wall right when walking in housed dresses and skirts of all styles, fabrics, and prints.
Two dressing rooms made of draped fabric were situated in the back of the shop and a bubbly woman who looked about my age with a short brunette asymmetrical bob and long feather earrings stood behind the front register. I could see why Piper liked this place.
“Welcome to Castle and Crown,” the woman announced brightly, stepping from behind her counter. “I’m Heike,” she said, but I almost missed her name because I was so entranced by her amazing outfit. She wore a pair of brown leather booties with zippers down the back, dark skinny jeans with a floral embroidery at the bottom that just brushed her ankle, and a peasant-shaped top in a deep purple and autumnal orange paisley print. If her attire were any indication of the clothing in her shop, my wallet would be in trouble. Major trouble.
“Can I just say, I absolutely love your top,” I admitted, as she surely wondered why I was staring at her. Heike glanced down and pulled up her shoulders. “It’s over there.” She smiled and pointed to a rack of blouses to my right. “Just got them in from New York last night.” She grabbed a size small top from the rack and then held it in front of my torso. “And these colors would make you green eyes glow!” she said, but not in one of those pushy, saleswoman tones. Heike was being genuine.
She pulled the blouse away and moved toward the dressing room. “I’ll just get you a room started,” she chirped. Heike moved over to the next tufted white curtain and spoke in what I would describe as a cautious tone. “And how are you faring in there, Miss Peartree?”
“Great,” I muttered under my breath, as Lizzy Peartree made her grand exit from the room in a fitted cream-colored dress that, and I hated to admit this, looked stunning on her five-foot-seven, curves-in-all-the-right-places frame.
“This will do for the dinner,” she said, so enamored with her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t see me hiding behind the rack of SALE items in the front corner of the store. “I just wish I’d have had more notice,” she huffed. “Here’s my card.” Lizzy passed a credit card to Heike and then slipped through the curtain to change.
The rack couldn’t keep me camouflaged much longer, so I darted to a small room that appeared to have once been a kitchen in the far corner of the store. A nonfunctioning sink housed hand-made soaps and lotions, and the counter to its left boasted accessories and baubles of all sorts organized by type —necklaces, rings, watches, bracelets, clutches -- and color.
I picked up a long-pendant turquoise necklace on a gold chain and just as I fastened it around my neck a loud shouting grabbed my attention. “Try it again,” Lizzy Peartree demanded, pointing a skinny finger at the cash register.
Heike slid the card down the card-reader just as Lizzy had commanded, and the loud “beep” of a declined account echoed through the store. “I’m sorry, Miss Peartree, but it keeps saying declined.”
Lizzy huffed and snatched the card from Heike’s fingers. “Try this one!” She thrusted another card in Heike’s hand. “I can’t wait all day!” she exclaimed, her toe vigorously tapping on the floor below. “I have my weekly manicure appointment in ten minutes.”
I poked my head around the corner just as Heike slid the second card through the reader. “Beep!”
She flinched. “I’m sorry, Miss Peartree, but this one says the same thing.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?!” Lizzy screamed this time. She threw her hands in the air and stomped a foot in true four-year-old fashion. “It’s not like this store is my style anyway,” she spat, turned on her heels, and marched out the door.
I moved from my hiding spot and slipped back into the shop’s main space. Just as I reached for that adorable paisley-print top, Lizzy reappeared in the doorway.
Heike held out a hand. “You forgot your —,”
“Give it to me,” Lizzy spat, snatching her defunct credit card from Heike’s fingers. She turned to leave for the second time but froze mid-spin when her eyes locked on me. I consciously closed my gaping mouth and then inspected the rousching hem on the three-quarter sleeves.
“Don’t you even —,” she started, wagging a finger at me as I stood frozen in place. “Uggghhhh!” she huffed and slammed the door on her way out.
I picked my jaw from the floor. “Well, that certainly was interesting, wasn’t it?” I asked to nobody in particular as another customer came in.
Heike placed Lizzy’s dress back in its proper place and then moved to my side. She leaned slightly to the left so her face was just inches from mine. “It’s not the first time that’s happened to Miss Peartree.” She smirked.
“Hmmm,” I hummed. “Interesting, indeed.”
* * *
“You were right about Castle & Crown,” I said, taking my place behind the espresso bar.
“Told ya,” Piper quipped while refilling a coffee carafe with the blend of the day — Spice is Nice. “I’m afraid to ask how much damage you did?” She turned up an eyebrow and leaned toward me.
I giggled. “It sure looks like you’re afraid to ask.” I tied the apron around my back. “Actually, not as bad as you made it sound,” I spoke honestly. “After living in the city where a basic white t-shirt cost thirty dollars, forty dollars for a cute top with double the amount of material doesn’t seem too bad.”
All told, I spent roughly five hundred dollars on a brand now wardrobe of peasant tops, skinny jeans, colorful skirts and dresses, and accessories to boot. “But I will not be shopping for a while.” I gestured to the machine in front of me. “Barista-ing doesn’t bring in the big bucks,” I teased.
“Touché, my friend.” Piper clanked together the mugs she held in her hands. Touché.”
Amanda jogged down the stairs. “You checked out Castle & Crown?” she asked, jumping in. “It is everything a small-town boutique is supposed to be!” She smiled excitedly and re-wrapped her hair in a bun atop her head. She turned to Piper. “I see you got some old Nancy Drew books,” she remarked. “Do you want them with the children’s lit or the mysteries?”
Piper untied her apron and set it on the counter. “Let’s have a look.” She moved up the stairs and met Amanda at the top. “Talbot, you got the coffee covered?”
“Yep,” I answered confidently. But the confidence wavered as Patrick walked through the door. I bit my lip, pushing his fiancé’s financial troubles from my head.
“Hey, Pat,” I said as cheerily as possible, using the nickname I’d used when we were together. “Eh, Patrick.”
Patrick rubbed at his eyes and slumped on the stool across from me. “Hi, Talbot.”
“Your usual?”
He nodded. “Can you add an extra shot of espresso this morning?” He rolled his head around and his neck cracked. “It was a late night.”
To ask or not to ask? I settled on the former. “Why’s that?” I moved effortlessly from the espresso grinder to the espresso maker and watched the brown liquid pour into the shot glasses, listening intently.
He sighed. “Well, Kevin took Mother to the precinct for questioning.” He leaned toward me and I purposely evaded eye contact. “It seems my mother may have been the last person to see Grandfather alive.”
“Ahh,” I gasped, feigning surprise while steaming the milk, silently willing it to stay in the steel mug this time and not splatter down my new shirt. “Do they think she did it?” I poured the froth over the espresso, stirred gently, then slid the mug to Patrick.
Patrick took a sip and closed his eyes. “This is awesome.” He took another drink and sank into the stool. “They don’t think she did it anymore.”
“Oh?”
“Mom did visit Grandfather that afternoon, but it certainly wasn’t to kill him,” he said. “She wanted to discuss his will.”
“Patrick.” I scrunched my face. “I’m sorry, but that does seem a little suspicious to me.” And it was. “She went to discuss her father’s will and then he winds up dead a few hours later?”
Patrick shot me a pained look. Even though he didn’t have the best relationship with his mother, it was his mother we talked about. “Sorry,” I said, regretting my accusatory tone.
“That’s okay, Talbot.” He smirked. “I know you and she were never the best of friends,” he admitted.
“Well,” I began to protest, but decided that saying less in this case was more.
Sure, Charlotte Ellerton-Bluebell and I never were fond of one another, but I’d never wish her to be guilty of murder. When Patrick and I began dating sophomore year, Charlotte was less than thrilled. In her mind, a Meadows wasn’t good enough for an Ellerton. But I always knew it was more than that. My mother and Charlotte were both classmates at Willow Creek High. Both were captains on the tennis team. And most of all, both were in love with Charles Meadows – my father. However, Charles was only in love with one. Busy Eloise Lamb – my mother.
I thought of Lizzy’s engagement to Patrick and groaned inside – I guess Charlotte got some sort of happy ending after all.
“What did she want to know about it … the will, I mean?” I tightened the apron strings behind my back.
Patrick rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How it was changed.”
“Changed?”
“Apparently, my grandfather flew Peter in to make some alterations.” He cleared his throat. “Redistribute his fortune.”
In an attempt to not seem as interested as I really was, I nonchalantly poured hot water into a mug and dropped in a chai teabag. A piece of conversation I overheard at the viewing came rushing back. I cupped the mug in my hands. “I heard Mrs. Huxton mention something like that, but brushed it off to town gossip,” I admitted. “What sort of changes did he make?” I asked, knowing our years of relationship must instill some trust in me.
“That’s the thing.” Patrick frowned. “Mother asked me to leave the interrogation room at that point. Peter arrived and took it from there.”
“So you have no idea how the will was changed?” I asked.
Patrick shook his head. “It’s not a matter of how it was changed, it’s who it was changed for,” he added. “Mom refused to tell me, and Peter’s lips were sealed. Kevin said he’d get to the bottom of it and move forward from there.”
