I looked toward Mom’s gardens and sighed. “But still no sign of the book.”

  Kevin chuckled. “Well that is something you can search for on your own.” He threw an arm across the chair’s back, leaning casually in his seat. “You know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Even though I hate to admit it, Talbot, as much as you drive me up a wall with your theories and antics.” He looked toward the door and then back to me. “Acting like Lizzy’s attorney? Really?”

  I shrugged.

  Kevin continued. “You kind of have a knack for this whole mystery solving thing.”

  “Oh,” I said, squinting. “Is that a compliment, Officer Homestead?”

  He laughed. “I believe it is, Miss Meadows.”

  “So I can think of other people than just myself, huh?”

  He turned his lips down. “I guess so, but you almost got yourself killed in the process.” He put his hands up in surrender. “Anyway … I just wanted you to know I’m sorry and I might,” he flicked his hand and continued, “entertain your theories in the future.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Is that a job offer?” I teased.

  Kevin chuckled. “I can only handle one Meadows in my station.”

  “Very well.”

  He sat up straight, back to business. “Now I do need to get your official statement.”

  I told Kevin absolutely everything, went back to bed, and got the best night’s sleep I’d had since arriving in Willow Creek.

  Chapter 20

  Two Weeks Later

  I walked under the arched doorway of Cafe Prose, excited for another afternoon shift.

  “Surprise!”

  I stepped back in amazement, glancing around the shop. A banner hung across the fireplace that read “Congratulations!” A new selection of banners must have arrived at Earl’s Shop-N-Save. Mom and Piper stood behind the coffee bar with two triumphant smirks spread across their faces. Romeo was tucked under Aunt Tilly’s arm to their left. The three women turned to each other and high fived. “We did it!” Piper yipped. Romeo yipped in approval too.

  I glanced around the shop to see all my favorite villagers crammed in the standing room only cafe — including Madame Sarvey and Martha Huxton in fervid conversation near the staircase to the loft, Patrick speaking to a plain-clothed Kevin, an over-dressed Lizzy sipping on a drink in the window seat, and Peter, leaning an arm atop the pastry case.

  “Attention!” Newly re-elected Harold Moore called. “We are here this afternoon in celebration of Willow Creek’s residential sleuth, Talbot Meadows!”

  A huge round of applause broke out and echoed through the cafe.

  “Who would have thought a crime like this would be committed in our sleepy little town.” He turned toward me. “Talbot — without your persistence, an innocent woman would be in jail.” Samuel pointed toward a quiet Lizzy Peartree. I giggled inside at her inappropriate for the occasion, yet festive attire of five-inch stilettos, a red pencil skirt, and black sweater with a deep v-neck that showed more cleavage than necessary. Since Lizzy’s release, she’d been trying harder than ever to gain Patrick’s affection back. However, he stood in the opposite corner, unaffected by the town’s acknowledgment of her.

  Martha Huxton pushed her signature glasses from the tip of her nose and moved to the center of the café. “And we all wanted to show a token of our appreciation.” In her hand was a basket filled with cookies, candies, and hand-written cards from the residents of Willow Creek. “We are just so happy to have you back,” she said genuinely, and wrapped two arms tightly around me.

  I held back the tears, suddenly realizing my thoughts of this village the past fifteen years were unfounded and my next chapter really could start right here … back home in Willow Creek.

  “Now on to the presents!” Martha chirped.

  I smiled weakly. “Presents?” I asked. “That’s really unnecessary --.”

  “Don’t be daft. Just let us celebrate what you’ve done for a moment.”

  Madame Sarvey sauntered forward and placed an envelope in my hand. “There’s no need to open it now, dear.” She looked down at me over her beak-like nose. “But it is a free year of yoga classes at my studio,” she announced loudly. She leaned forward and spoke quietly. “And please do bring that Peter with you once he’s back in town,” she added. “I’ve always thought he’d be good at downward dog,” she trilled with a wink. “Great butt,” she whispered in my ear.

  “Madame Sarvey!” I exclaimed in faux offense and then looked to a chuckling Peter.

  I frowned. Peter was leaving for England in two days’ time. A month away from his law firm was simply too much; however, he did promise to make it back for Piper and Henry’s wedding in December. Plus, he’d told me over dinner last night there was potential for opening a brother law firm here in the states.

  “Thank you. That was very generous, Madame Sarvey.”

  She gave me a double cheek air kiss and waltzed back to her place by the stairs.

  “And there’s more where that came from!” Martha sing-songed. Heike from Castle & Crown came forward with a gift certificate of $100 dollars to her boutique, the owner of Stick of Butter Bakery, Annette, offered me six weeks of baking lessons on the house, and Hauser Vineyards gifted me with four bottles of their newest Bordeaux blend.

  “Geesh!” I smiled, overwhelmed with gratitude. “I really don’t know what to say. Thank you, everyone!”

  Another round of applause broke out. “And the entire town is looking forward to this.” Martha gestured toward the coffee bar as Mom and Peter pulled from the bottom of the pastry cooler a sheet-cake decorated with fondant flowers, cups of coffee, and books.

  Piper threw an arm around my shoulder and squeezed. She sighed heavily. “I can’t believe I had a murderer working right under my nose.”

  I looked up at her. “Didn’t you read her leaves?” I smiled mischievously.

  “I’ll have you believing in my hocus-pocus.” Piper waved her arms and hummed a ghostly Oooohhhh. “Eventually.”

  I rolled my eyes and stuck out my hand, palm up. “Okay, then. Can you tell me what comes next?”

  Piper brought my palm toward her face. “I see …” She closed her eyes and touched her other bracelet covered wrist to her forehead as I held back a laugh. “I see an adorable little coffee shop in need of a used bookstore manager.” Her lips curled into a smile and her eyes shot open as she dropped my hand. “The job’s yours if you want it?”

  The prospect of working with books again made my stomach flip with excitement. I bit my lip. “I’d love it.” I paused. “But … what would you think about me starting up my own little appraisal business in the loft as well?” I inspected Piper’s face as she twisted her lips to the side. I put out a hand. “Of course, I’d run your book business too.”

  I had been thinking about it since the truth of Harold’s death was revealed. Sure, there were antique shops galore in Central Pennsylvania, but the closest business to specialize in the appraisal of books was in Philadelphia, and I’d hate my schooling and expertise to be wasted.

  Piper readjusted the headband holding back her spirally hair and then stuck out a hand. “I think that will work just fine,” she said with a business-woman-like shake. “Now go get some cake!” she demanded and then grabbed my chin. “This town will fatten you up yet.”

  Just as I reached Mom and the beautiful cake, Patrick grabbed my wrist and pulled me aside. “So, I have a surprise for you too.” His fingers lingering on my hand a little longer than necessary. I could feel Lizzy’s eyes like laser beams burning into the side of my head.

  “Thank you?” I muttered awkwardly.

  He handed me a pink and blue gift bag with crumpled tissue paper peeking from the top. I raised an eyebrow. “I take it you wrapped this yourself?”

  Patrick shrugged. “I think these have some meaning for you,” he said as I pulled out the first edition of Alice and Wonderland I first saw at Harold’s house – the book that piqued my interest in the book business. And then the copy of Emma Harold had gifted to me what seemed like forever ago.

  “Oh, Patrick.” I stared at the weathered books in shock. “This is too much.”

  I attempted to pass them back to him, but he gently pushed them into my hands. “Grandfather told me he’d wanted you to have these.”

  I flipped Alice in Wonderland on its back, inspecting its faded blue and tan cover. “When?” I asked, looking at him through wet eyes.

  “Ohhh.” He scrunched his face. “About two months ago, I guess. When he came to my office to place an order.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “An order?” I knew the orders Patrick dealt with. “A coffin?”

  Patrick chuckled. “It’s more common to pick out your own arrangements than you think.” He looked away. “That way the family isn’t burdened with it.”

  “Makes sense, I guess,” I said sadly.

  Patrick shook his head. “So anyway, he ordered the coffins and then we talked about the estate a bit.”

  “Wait?” I put up a hand. “What do you mean by coffins? Plural?”

  Peter chuckled. “Grandfather chose the one he was buried in and then ordered a smaller one. No etchings, no intricate carvings like his, just a 24-inch by 30-inch solid box made of the same indestructible materials.” He shrugged. “I thought it was strange, but didn’t want to question the old man.”

  A weird feeling pricked at my stomach. “Interesting,” was all I said. I stood on my tiptoes, kissed Patrick on the cheek, and held up my books. “Thank you for this.”

  Aunt Tilly placed a hand on my shoulder, her new ruby and diamond engagement ring glistening in the drop lights. “Doesn’t the guest of honor want a piece of cake?” She touched a finger to my nose.

  “You know it!”

  Mom cut a piece from the center with a perfect cake-to-icing ratio. In the middle of my square sat a flower with a pink middle and deep purple leaves. “Did you design the cake, Mom?”

  She shrugged and licked a dab of icing from her fingertips. “It’s a Queen Protea,” she said with a regal air, pointing to the flower in the middle of my piece. “All flowers have meaning, Talbot.” She placed a lanky arm around me. “And this one means courage.” Mom pushed some hair behind my ear and sighed. “Because you are the most courageous woman I know.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” Peter said warmly, smiling at my mother.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the fact I’d been sleeping well enough to finally have some clarity, the reference to coffins and flowers, or all three combined. But my jaw dropped at a sudden realization. “Oh my goodness!”

  “What is it?” Peter asked.

  I stood on my tiptoes, kissed him on the cheek, and then turned to my mom. “Thanks, Mom!” I grabbed my jacket from the stool next to me and threw it over my shoulders. I looked back to Mom and then to Peter. “Meet me at Harold’s in twenty minutes.”

  I ran past my guests and opened the door.

  “But your party!” Piper called.

  “I’ll be back later.” The bells jingled behind me.

  I rode my bike to my apartment and bounded up my stairs two at a time. I flung open the door, rushed to my nightstand, and pulled the note Harold left me from the top drawer.

  “He loved puzzles,” I said aloud. And he left a note for me that couldn’t be deciphered by anyone else.

  FLORAE SOPHIA SEEKS

  “It’s not just an anagram!” I shouted. I grabbed my tablet, plugged in the name Sophia, and read the meaning aloud. “Greek for wisdom; wise.”

  Then I searched one more thing, praying it would lead me in the right direction. “Florae.” I spoke the next words aloud as I typed. “What flower means wisdom?”

  My eyes scanned the alphabetical list of flowers and their meanings. I read quickly through letters A through H, my eyes finally settling on the one that made the most sense.

  “Yes!” I cried, piecing it all together.

  Wisdom.

  The small coffin Harold had ordered.

  Harold’s favorite flower.

  I knew where we’d find Shakespeare’s Folio.

  * * *

  I grabbed Mom’s gardening gear from the shed, tossed it into the basket on my bicycle, and made the trek to the Ellerton Estate. With Harold’s murderer behind bars, the finger-like willow trees didn’t seem so ominous this time as I pedaled down Black Locust Lane.

  Mom and Peter were pacing on the front porch when I approached.

  “Out back!” I shouted. I hopped off my bike and lay it on its side, not even bothering to put down the kickstand.

  “Talbot Juliet Meadows!” Mom began. “You tell me what is going on this very instant.”

  “The flowers, Mom.” I bit my lip at the prospect of being right. “You said that they have meaning, and I think I know where Harold hid the Folio.”

  “What?” Peter asked, unable to decipher my scattered thoughts. “Talbot, we searched the house high and low.” He was right. After Amanda was arrested, Peter, Patrick, Mom, and I searched every single nook and cranny inside Harold’s home over a half dozen times.

  I looked into Peter’s eyes. “That’s just the thing.” I smiled. “We never looked outside.”

  “What?” Mom asked as I grabbed the shovel from the gardening bag around my shoulder.

  No one in a million years would think someone would hide such a valuable book in the elements. “Over here!” I gestured for them to follow me on the paver path to the back of Harold’s estate. “It was right under our noses this entire time.”

  The three of us stood over Harold’s favorite bed of flowers.

  “The irises?” Mom asked.

  “Remember that day we found Harold’s planner?”

  “Mmm hmm,” she responded.

  “You had to tidy up Harold’s garden because he’d made a mess tramping through the Iris bed.”

  She nodded. “I remember. He always made a mess of my beds.”

  I handed Mom the shovel. “Harold didn’t walk through the dirt, Mom. He’d been digging in it.”

  “What?”

  “Harold must’ve had a suspicion Amanda was up to no good, so he hid the Folio before she arrived and then left me the biggest clue of all — the note.” I pointed to the soil below the plant. “You can do the honors,” I said.

  Mom bent over, shovel in hand and began to dig at the soil under Harold’s favorite flower. She sighed. “The Immortality Iris.”

  “How fitting,” I added.

  On her fifth scoop, not seven inches from ground level, a loud thud sounded as the metal shovel hit wood.

  “Help me,” Mom said.

  Peter grabbed another hand shovel from her bag and pitched in, haphazardly pulling soil from the ground as the rectangular shape of a box appeared. “It can’t be!” he exclaimed.

  I bent over the box, dug my heels in the ground, pulled on each end of it with all my strength, and flew backward as the soil gave way. Peter helped me to my feet.

  We took the box inside and sat it on the middle of Harold’s desk.

  “Here goes nothing.” Mom brushed the remaining dirt away and then unclasped the hook on front. She opened the lid of the miniature casket.

  At first glance, it looked as if someone buried a box full of dishtowels, but after peeling cloth after cloth away from the sides and the top, a hint of weathered, deep red vellum peeked out.

  With trembling fingers, I pulled away the remaining towel.

  “Is it?” Peter asked, his breath hot on my neck.

  I gingerly wrapped my hands around the box’s contents and sent a quick “thank you” to Harold. He didn’t lead me astray.

  Tears filled my eyes as I ran my fingers across the leather binding with textured gold edges. I delicately opened the cover of the most influential book known to man and stared at the beauty that was inside.

  In the center was a portrait of the Bard himself.

  And the words that authenticated the twenty-million-dollar rare material in my hands — Mr. William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories, & Tragedies. 1623.

  I pushed a tear from my cheek and turned around.

  “We’ve found Harold’s Folio.”

  ***

  For more sweet and cozy mysteries in the Cafe Prose series, be sure to sign up for Jemma’s Reader’s Club

  Book 2 in the series Letters & Larceny will release this summer!

  Acknowledgments

  For years, I’ve wanted to write a book that features Shakespeare in some way, shape or form, and after working with one of Shakespeare’s First Folios at the Folger Shakespeare Library (yes … I cried when I held the book in my hands), I knew I needed to somehow incorporate his Folio into my work.

  My very first experience with Shakespeare was in playing the role of Witch 3 in Macbeth the summer before ninth grade. My parents had signed me up for an acting camp, and I never imagined how a spark for Shakespeare was alighted from that. So thank you to my parents for signing me up, and a special thanks to Mrs. Gretchen Leitner, my theatre teacher, for introducing me to the Bard’s works. I went on to play Juliet and Puck under Mrs. Leitner’s direction, and my love for all things Shakespeare only grew from there.

  Thank you to my friends and colleagues at the Folger Shakespeare Library, where I spent a magical six days researching and learning a few summers ago.

  As many of you know, I left my job of 13.5 years as a high school English teacher to pursue my dream of becoming a full-time author. So a huge thank you to all of my family, friends, and fans who have supported me throughout that process. I am anxious, yet excited to see what this second career will bring.

  Thank you to my agent, Sarah Landis, for your support of both my traditional and indie writing careers!

  And a huge thank you to my biggest fans of all — my husband and son. I love you both to the moon and back!

 

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