Prose & Poison, page 16
part #1 of Cafe Prose Mystery Series
The whole situation surrounding Harold’s murder proved Mom’s point. Too many secrets. That’s when I realized I had a few things of my own I hadn’t discussed with my mother. “Speaking of secrets,” I began.
“Oh, what is it, Talbot? You’re in debt too and need to borrow a cool million?” Mom smirked. “Kill me off?” she added, morbidly.
“Mom!” I exclaimed. I raised an eyebrow. “But after my shopping spree at Castle & Crown, maybe,” I teased right back. I sat down the bite of bread I was about to take. “No. It’s something to do with Harold.”
“Alright.” She shifted in her seat.
“Remember how Harold used your phone to trick me into appraising a book?”
Mom nodded. “I think he knew you’d never answer if he called himself.”
“Even so, he did lure me back to Willow Creek,” I accused. “But, I never got to see the book.” I moved to my nightstand drawer where the note Harold left for me was tucked. “This is going to sound silly, Mom, but I think Harold left this for me to find … right before he died.”
“Another note?” Mom took the note from my hands and read the words aloud a few times. “And what does it mean?”
“That’s just the thing, Mom. I’m not one hundred percent sure.” I pushed some loose hair behind my ear. “The other day, after Aunt Tilly mentioned the anagram thing, I rearranged the letters.” I pointed to the sheet in her hands. “And they spelled out Shakespeare’s Folio. I think maybe Harold left this clue for me before he died.” I narrowed my eyes at Mom.
“He did like puzzles,” she affirmed.
“Yes, and I think he acquired a new book, the Folio, even if it’s nowhere to be found. And you know, more than many, I’m sure, of Harold’s collection of rare materials.”
“I do.” Mom tilted her head. “And I know for a fact he did have a new acquisition a little over a week leading up to his mur … his death.”
I jerked back. “Wait … what?” I asked, suddenly wishing I would have said something to Mom about this earlier.
“Harold hasn’t driven a car for years.” Mom chuckled. “Who do you think drove him to the airport to pick it up?”
My eyes grew wide. “And was it a First Folio, Mom?” I asked in disbelief.
My mother shook her head from side to side. “I haven’t a clue. He didn’t speak much of it on the car ride home, just that he needed to contact someone to authenticate it as soon as possible.”
“And you didn’t think to ask him what the item was?”
Mom laughed. “Harold was a bit eccentric when it came to old books. For goodness sake, he has a rotting set of Encyclopedias in his study as we speak.”
I remembered seeing that exact set the night of his murder.
Mom sighed. “Talbot, what are you getting at?”
I chewed the gloss from my lip. “I’m not sure, but something keeps bringing me back to that rare book. Maybe it did have something to do with his death, after all?” I rapped my fingertips on the island. “Something is off, Mom. I can feel it here.” I pointed to my growling stomach. “Why would someone be stupid enough to keep the poison they used to murder a person in their own home?” I asked. “Could Lizzy have been framed?”
“Well, I’m not sure,” Mom responded. “You do have a valid point, Talbot. But you know Kevin’s not going to want to hear any new theories. In his mind, this case was closed as soon as they found that cyanide.”
I frowned. “And hes already dismissed the note I found and the Shakespeare Folio thing before. Plus, he’s surely tired of me.”
Mom finally took a seat on the gray stool at my island. “Kevin can prove motive, proximity, and found the weapon in Lizzy’s possession. I think we need to trust that the right person is behind bars.”
I shook my head. “That’s what Piper said too.” But I couldn’t shake the feeling from my gut that this did have something to do with the book. “What if she isn’t the right person though?” I bit at my nail, lost in thought, suddenly getting an idea. “Mom, is Kevin still holding Harold’s day planner?” I asked a little too enthusiastically.
“No, it wasn’t needed anymore since it had nothing to do with Lizzy.” She shrugged. “I put it back in Harold’s study this morning. Where you found it.”
I smiled and tucked that information away. “Okay.”
“Talbot Juliet Meadows.” Mom’s voice was firm. “Don’t you go sneaking around Harold’s estate.” She paused. “Again.”
“Fine.” I crossed two fingers behind my back.
Mom knew me too well though. “Talbot.” Her tone became serious as she placed a hand on mine. She looked toward the home we’d once shared as a family — Mom, Dad, and me. “Sometimes you just need to know when to let go of things.” Her words were thick with meaning. It took Mom two years of false-leads, sleepless nights, and anti-depression medication to come to terms with Dad’s death.
I squeezed her hand in return, my lips curling into a knowing smile. “Mom, I need to get some more rest.” I faux yawned. She stood and kissed the top of my head. “See you in the morning?” I asked.
She nodded. “See you then.”
As soon as the door closed behind my mother, I opened up my tablet and got to work on a timeline of events since my arrival in Willow Creek.
Harold called
Harold died and left the note
Peter asked for help
Harold’s funeral
I got fired
Deciphered the anagram
Dinner with Peter
Found out Harold was poisoned
Peter prompted me to show Kevin the note
Kevin wouldn’t listen
Found Harold’s planner
Accused Samuel Moore
Accused Charlotte Ellerton-Bluebell
Wine dinner with Peter
Mom two million dollars
Note left in my house
Lizzy arrested
Patrick’s visit and claim that someone went through Harold’s things
My eyes scanned the timeline of events over and over and over again. The conversation with Mom bounced around my head too. After Harold picked up the rare material, he told Mom he wanted it authenticated as soon as possible. I didn’t arrive until a week later.
Sure, Lizzy left that threatening note for me, but I wasn’t convinced she had something to do with Harold’s murder.
I looked over my timeline again. If going by the Folio-as-motive theory, at the time of Harold’s murder, who would have known about his rare material?
My mother, apparently.
Me.
And.
Oh, no.
Peter.
“How did I not see this!” I shouted aloud. My stomach rolled, but not from hunger this time, as more pieces of the puzzle fit into place.
The day of Harold’s death, when I first met Peter at Cafe Prose, didn’t he say he needed to head over to his grandfather’s estate, again?
After Harold died, it was Peter who showed up at my apartment, asking me about the rare book.
It was Peter who urged me to tell Kevin about the note from Harold, knowing Kevin would dismiss my book theory and get it tossed out as a motive.
It was Peter who wanted me to take a step away from the case for “my safety.” He didn’t want me getting closer to the truth.
It was Peter I called after Lizzy left that note at my house — so he knew she’d be an easy target to frame.
If Harold was killed because of a rare book, then there was only one person, other my mother and me, who knew he possessed it and who would have known its potential worth.
Peter.
One questioned remained? If Peter wanted his grandfather dead in order get the book, then why hadn’t he left Willow Creek yet?
Suddenly it became clear. “That’s it!”
Patrick’s voice from last night echoing in my head. Grandfather’s belongings picked up and then put down, askew.
Peter had no idea where the Folio was. He was sticking around Willow Creek to find it.
Why didn’t I see this before? As much as I didn’t want this theory to be true, it added up. And I had to figure out a way to prove it.
Chapter 16
I threw on yoga pants, a black hoodie, sneakers, and biked the seven blocks to Harold Ellerton’s Estate. The full October moon cast ominous shadows on the willow trees, shadows that looked like spindly finger waiting to snatch me up as I pedaled down Black Locust Lane. At the end of the path loomed Harold’s mansion — all dark and jagged and full of secrets.
I parked my bike on the side of the house and tiptoed on the pavers leading to the back, stopping at the bird bath on the corner of the home just as I’d said. I glanced at my phone. 10:07. Piper said she’d meet me at precisely 10:00, and in true Piper fashion, she was late.
The green giants to my right rustled together in the breezy air, sounding like approaching people. Take a deep breath, I reminded myself. Nobody’s here. It’s just you and —
“I have a bat!” I cried, feeling a hand on my shoulder. I stepped back and breathed out. “Oh!”
“Just me!” Piper lifted her hands up in surrender. “Thought I’d test out my sneaky sleuthing skills.” She chuckled. “You didn’t even hear me coming.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, Pipes.” I put my weapon to my side. “Sneak up on the girl with the baseball bat. I’d say that’s real smart.”
Piper ran a hand through her black hair. Her headband glistened pink in the moonlit night. Way to be inconspicuous.
“So you really think it’s Peter?” Piper asked.
I frowned. “I ran everything over in my head, and all signs point to him.” I pushed the toe of my sneaker into pebbles. “Just my luck.”
Piper tilted her head to the side. “I’m sorry, Talbot. I never expected—.” She scratched her fluffy hair. “I didn’t read anything suspicious in his tea leaves.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “You read his leaves?”
She smirked. “I read everyone’s leaves.”
“Follow me.” I made a come here motion with my hands.
Hunching over, we traveled the back path, cutting through Harold’s extensive gardens leading to his study entrance. Piper pulled on my hood, practically choking me, and I flew backward, my hands flailing in the air. “What was that for?”
“Stay down.”
We crawled behind the bed of irises, its blooms reaching almost three feet high.
Piper pointed to the study’s French doors. “I thought I saw movement, that’s all.”
I followed her finger, peering through the blooms to see a still, pitch black room. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I mean,” I started, gesturing to our ominous surroundings. “Aren’t senses heightened in the dark?”
“True,” she whispered. “But I’m getting a bad vibration about this place.”
“Well, a man did die in there.” I looked to the study’s glass doors again. Dark. No movement. Nothing suspicious. “We’ll be in and out. I’ll grab the key under the pot, get inside, take the agenda, and we’ll be on our way.”
Piper narrowed her eyes. “Under the flowerpot? That’s original.”
I ignored her snark. “Two minutes, tops,” I assured her. “Then we can prove my theory.”
She turned her face away from me and muttered, “Wouldn’t having the Shakespeare’s Folio prove your theory?”
“Hey,” I whisper-yelled. “That will come later.” I paused. “Maybe,” I admitted under my breath.
I shushed my best friend and signaled her to creep forward with me. I reached under the flowerpot and sighed in relief as my fingertips hit damp metal. I placed the key in the keyhole and twisted. “We’re in.” But the look on her face was one of sheer terror. “Behind you! Watch out!” she screamed.
I turned to see a dark figure standing on the other side of the door. Before I had a chance to lift my bat, they’d swung the door outward, its heavy wooden edge slamming into my shoulder, sending me flying backward and into Piper. “Oof,” I yelled, as we landed hard on our backs.
The person saw this as an opportunity to get away, so they jumped over us and darted through the gardens.
“Stay here!” I demanded Piper. I jumped to my feet and ran after the mysterious person, my back throbbing along the way. But my days of running track in high school were decidedly over. Whoever it was, they were too fast. As I rounded the house and got to the front lane, the mysterious person had disappeared.
My heart pounded in my throat as I made my way back to Piper, but she’d disappeared too.
“Piper?” I called.
“In here,” she yelled, her trembling voice coming from inside Harold’s study.
“I couldn’t make out a thing. Did you get a good look?” I busted through the French doors. “Do you think it was Pet—.”
Piper was on her knees on the carpeted floor hunched over someone. An eight-inch iron paperweight shaped like dog laid on the floor.
“Peter!” I finished. I ran to him.
“Ugghhh,” Peter groaned, placing a hand to the back of his head. “Talbot?” he asked. His expression disoriented. “Did she think it was me, what?” he asked to Piper and then turned back to me, confusion across his face.
I let out a sigh I didn’t realize I held in. “Thank goodness.”
“Ugh,” Peter muttered in pain, bracing himself on Piper’s shoulder as she gently helped him sit up. “Thank goodness someone bashed me on the head with a paperweight?”
I bit my lip, realizing how that sounded. “I meant, thank goodness you’re not a murderer.”
He winced. “That would be the second time in two days you had a thought like that,” he teased through a crooked smile. At least he wasn’t maimed enough to joke.
Piper stood. “I’ll call Kevin.” She pulled out her phone. “And leave you two to talk.”
Peter reached a hand to the back of his head. When he brought it back around, blood dotted the tips of his fingers. “I don’t do so well with --.” He swooned and fell back against the chair. “Blood,” he finished.
A substantial man like Peter afraid of blood? I guess he isn’t perfect, after all, I thought to myself, surprisingly relieved.
I ran to the powder room across the hall and wetted a hand towel. When I returned Peter stood against the bookcase, a hand resting just in front of the shelf with Harold’s planner.
I nodded toward the shelf. “That’s one of the things I came for.” I took the planner from its position.
“Let’s talk more in the kitchen,” Peter said, his eyes moving from Harold’s bookcase to desk to the garden. “I’ve spent enough time in this room.”
Piper stood in the kitchen, cell phone in hand. “Kevin will be here in twenty.” She chuckled. “Grandma Homestead was already in bed.”
I looked to the clock above the stove. 10:28.
“I’ll make us some coffee,” Piper said, while Peter and I sat down at the kitchen table.
“Talbot.” Peter narrowed his eyes. “Why were you snooping around my grandfather’s house at ten o’clock in the evening?”
“It’s a long story,” I mumbled while tapping Harold’s planner, now resting in front of me.
“One I’d love to hear.”
I told Peter what I’d learned from Mom. From being with Harold while he picked up the rare book, creating my timeline of events, and everything leading to Peter. Peter’s gaze never wavered from me, not even as Piper slid two piping hot cups of coffee in front of us.
“And you thought that I killed my grandfather and was hanging around Willow Creek until I found the book?” Peter sounded more amused than anything else.
I bit the side of my lip in embarrassment. “It was the only thing that seemed to make sense. You-” I raised my cup toward him “-just seemed to be everywhere.”
Peter added cream and sugar to his cup. “I understand,” he said, wrapping his hands around the coffee.
I leaned against the back of the chair and crossed my arms. “And why were you here tonight?”
He smiled the smile that made me want to melt like warmed brie. “Believe it or not, I had a similar thought as you. Things with Lizzy just didn’t seem to add up. And I kept coming back to that note Grandfather left for you. I thought I’d see what I could find for myself.” He cautiously reached to his head. “I was looking for something … anything out of the ordinary. Any hint of the book.”
“And did you find anything?”
“No. I had just arrived to his house when I heard rustling from his study. I ran into the room to see someone rifling through Grandfather’s books. I turned to grab the fire-poker from the formal living room when I felt the blow to the back of my head. The next thing I knew …” Peter touched the cut on his head and winced. “I was on the floor, with you and Piper leaning over me. What good my searching did?” he mumbled as his cheeks flamed red. “Maybe if I’d followed my intuition in the first place …” he trailed off.
“Don’t fault yourself for that, Peter. I brushed off the whole Folio angle too.”
Peter took another sip coffee. “And now that I hear what you’ve learned about the trip to the airport, I’m more confident than ever in the original theory.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
“Grandfather was killed for a book.” He spoke with authority. “I am almost certain the note to you was to lead you,” he paused. “To lead us, perhaps, to find it was a First Folio. And I think Lizzy Peartree was framed for my grandfather’s murder.”
“We seem to be the only two to think that.”
“Don’t forget about me!” Piper chimed from the hallway. She’d just hung up the phone from Henry, poured herself a cup of coffee, and sat with us.
I smiled. “That makes three of us, then.”
Peter’s face turned serious. “And I think that person was in Grandfather’s house tonight.”
Piper chimed in. “Searching for something.”
“Oh …” I said, not missing a beat. “We know exactly what they were looking for.”
