Piper cleared her throat and tilted her head toward the stairwell. Amanda got the hint. “Well, it was so nice officially meeting you, but I see Piper giving me the eyes.” She grabbed a pile of books from the steps. “Off to work I go.” Amanda got halfway up the stairs and then turned. “It’s always nice to find a fellow book-loving friend.”

  I don’t know if I’d go so far to call us friends, but I could definitely see myself talking books with Amanda in the future. Although my best friend in the entire world makes a mean latte, when it came to classic literature, she wasn’t quite as versed. “Sure is.”

  Piper stood across from me sipping on tea, a smirk crawling up the side of her face. “What do you think of Amanda?” she asked.

  “Um … well … she sure has lot of pep.” I cupped my mug in my hands. “It’s a nice distraction from things, anyway.”

  Piper’s forehead creased. “Do you want to talk about what happened yesterday?”

  “Uh …,” I hesitated. “What part?”

  “Oh, you know. The finding a dead body thing.” Piper said it as casually as saying “finding a new pair of shoes.” She twirled some spirally hair on her fingertips and listened intently.

  I swallowed. “I’m doing alright, I guess. But,” I said, leaning in closer. “There’s something I need your help with.” I slipped the odd note Harold Ellerton left for me across the bar.

  Piper’s eyes grew wide. “What’s this?”

  “This was setting on Harold Ellerton’s desk in the room I found him.” I swallowed. “Dead.”

  Piper noticed my initials on the front. “No way!” She opened the note and inspected it in its minuscule entirety. “Is this it? Floor-ee Sophia Seeks,” she sounded out.

  “Yep.”

  Piper folded it back up and handed it to me. I tucked it into my satchel. “It was probably his way of messing with you since you destroyed his nephew years ago. “Mwah ha ha!” she evil-laughed.

  I giggled. “What? Purposely let me find his dead body and then leave an ominous note just to mess with me? I highly doubt it.”

  “True.” Piper pursed her lips. “Do you know anyone named Sophia?” she asked.

  “Nobody.”

  Footsteps bounded down the loft stairs again as Amanda reappeared with a tattered copy of Great Expectations. “Isn’t Sophia the name of the librarian at Willow Creek Public?” Amanda asked, jumping into our private conversation. She obviously caught Piper’s glare because she followed up with a quick, “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

  When people say they don’t mean to eavesdrop, that is precisely what they’re meaning to do. Amanda smiled a genuine smile and turned to Piper.

  “Be right back. Customers,” Piper said, disappearing behind the espresso machine.

  I looked at Amanda and could tell she wanted me to say something. “Actually, the librarian is Sofie, not Sophia, and I’m sure she has nothing to do with the person we were talking about.”

  Amanda took the stool next to me. “Anything you need my help with?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Just reminiscing about some high school friends.” The lie slid out easier than I expected it to. “So what brings you to Willow Creek?”

  “It’s actually funny you should ask. My boyfriend in Pittsburgh dumped me because he claimed I was too flighty to ever be settled. I decided to start fresh someplace new, so I pulled out a map of Pennsylvania and said to myself, ‘wherever your finger lands, that’s where you’ll go, Amanda.’” She grimaced. “I’ll show him settled.”

  This girl was funny. “I take it your finger landed on this quaint little village?”

  “Bingo! As soon as I got into town a few days ago, I saw the posting for this position and decided that I needed to work here. I mean, coffee plus books. A no brainer.” She pushed the glasses up her nose and continued. “I worked as a library assistant at The Penguin bookstore just outside of Pittsburgh, so figured, why not?”

  “Why not, indeed.”

  If I were staying around Willow Creek, which I wasn’t, then I could definitely friendship potential in Amanda.

  Chapter 5

  After more coffee and an additional blueberry-orange muffin, I felt like my jeans button was about to pop as I slid a leg across my bicycle’s oversized yellow seat. I turned down Ash Avenue and came to a screeching halt as a distracted man stepped out of Earl’s Shop-N-Save and knocked my shoulder.

  “Sorry,” I squeaked, looking up into the eyes of one of the people who had once known me better than anyone else in the world. “Patrick?” My high school sweetheart, the man whose heart I’d broken into a million pieces, and who broke mine in return, stared back at me. He wore his hair longer than high school, showing off its thick, chestnut waves and the groomed stubble on his chin had grayed on the edges. I didn’t think it was possible for him to get better-looking. But it seemed I stared the impossible right in his handsome face.

  “Hello, Talbot.” At the sound his voice, the last memory of him came flooding back. Patrick down on one knee, a modest-sized ring in his hand, the largest grin on his face, as practically the entire town of Willow Creek looked on. The last words he’d spoken to me. “I’ll never forgive this, Talbot Meadows.”

  But I had other plans back then, other dreams for my future. Georgetown, books, Library of Congress, getting out of Willow Creek. And despite Harold Ellerton, I’d made most of those dreams a reality. But I’d be fooling myself if I said following those dreams made me complete. Seeing Patrick's familiar features, especially those amber eyes hidden behind long lashes, made something stir within me. No, the feelings for Patrick disappeared years ago. I meant the feeling that maybe I did want more out of my life than work.

  That thought quickly vanished however as Lizzy Peartree, high school mean girl queen bee, appeared at Patrick's side, sliding her dainty arm through his. “As I live and breathe.” Lizzy glanced from my low-key sneakers up to the braid on my head that had once again fallen across my face. “Talbot Meadows in the flesh.”

  How many salutation clichés could one person use? I forced a smile. “Hello, Lizzy. I see you haven’t changed.” I tilted my head to the side and inspected her. Perfectly curled ringlets of auburn hair hung just below her shoulder, and she wore an A-line skirt and heels that lifted her to Patrick's height.

  Lizzy placed a hand on Patrick's muscled shoulder, showing off a ginormous square-cut diamond that was decidedly not modest in size. She pushed her thin, pointy nose in the air and spoke. “I actually go by Elizabeth now.” She snuggled in closer to Patrick and batted her eyelashes. “Soon to be Elizabeth Ellerton-Bluebell.”

  I smiled smugly. “How nice for you.” Get yourself together, Talbot. It was no secret that Lizzy Peartree wanted Patrick since junior high school. In Lizzy’s mind, the head cheerleader and quarterback were destined to go riding into the sunset. She never liked that Patrick fell for me, the cute and petite bookish-type, over her.

  It seemed Lizzy was finally getting what she wanted.

  “I need to catch up with mother,” Lizzy said, pecking Patrick on the cheek. “See you at my place.” Lizzy gave me yet another glance over and pressed her crimson-stained lips together. “Talbot.”

  Patrick brushed something imaginary from his sweater.

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather.” My knuckles wrapped tighter around the bike’s handlebars.

  “And I’m sorry you had to find him like that,” he said, the familiar, crooked smile curling up his face. He scratched at the back of his head. “So, are you staying for the funeral then?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Thought it’d be right, despite …” I paused and made eye contact. “You know.”

  I could see the lump rise and fall in his neck as he swallowed hard. “The hell he put you through.” He reached out a hand, and right before it touched my shoulder, pulled it back. “I’m sorry for the way my family treated you.” He paused and swallowed again. “For the way I treated you after … you know.”

  I pushed the braid behind my ear. After I’d rejected Patrick’s proposal, I’d packed my belongings and moved out of Willow Creek faster than a speeding train. What Harold Ellerton did in retaliation, getting my acceptance to Georgtown revoked was cruel, but it was Patrick’s reaction that felt like a knife to the gut. I’d called him to apologize, to talk, to get closure over those next two years, but Patrick never once responded. Never returned my calls. Never answered my emails. Never even listened to why I’d said no. Why I needed to say no. He’d left me with the words that echoed again and again in my head, waking me up from my sleep at times.

  I pushed the past behind as best I could. “Water under the bridge,” I finally said, flicking my wrist. Now wasn’t the time to tell him how much pain he’d put me through.

  It almost looked as if a weight lifted from Patrick's shoulders as his arms fell to his side. “Okay then,” he spoke. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the viewing.”

  I sighed, suddenly feeling a bit lighter myself.

  Just as he turned away, I called him back. “Oh, and Patrick.” I pushed the bike toward him and chewed on my bottom lip, tasting the cherry Chapstick I’d applied after my last muffin at Cafe Prose. “Did your grandfather ever mention anything about a new book of some sort?”

  His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Mmm, not that I can recall. I know my cousin Peter was working with him on estate planning and his old collection, but I never heard a thing about new books.”

  “Okay, Patrick.” I smiled shyly. “Tomorrow, then.”

  * * *

  The funeral was a tasteful affair — just like all-things Ellerton, and had been the talk of the town since Friday.

  A long line of Willow Creek residents stood outside in a line that wrapped around Kreamer’s Funeral Home, the only parlor in the village, to say their goodbyes to Harold Ellerton. And I was stuck in the middle of the pack. Thank goodness I’d stopped by Here’s Looking at You after I’d run into Patrick yesterday, where I picked out a suitable, although unflattering in its high neckline and rustle sleeves, black dress. Mom and Aunt Tilly stood with me as we waited. A shiver ran down my spine.

  “You okay dear?” Mom asked.

  I wrapped two arms around my torso. “Fine, you know I don’t like these places. Ghosts and such,” I teased.

  Aunt Tilly rested her arm on my shoulder. “Oh, Talbot. It’s not the dead we should be afraid of. It’s the living.”

  I swallowed down the unease. “Fair point,” I muttered, taking a step closer to the entrance. I turned to say something else, only to see Mom and Aunt Tilly engrossed in a heated discussion over whether or not chrysanthemums were the proper choice for funeral flowers. Mom was unwaveringly against them, while Aunt Tilly thought the vibrant colors brought cheer to an otherwise somber event.

  Madame Sarvey, owner of The Point, the only dance studio in the village, waited in line in front of me where she held a towering elegance over Mrs. Martha Huxton, Willow Creek’s known town gossip. Mrs. Huxton was a key figure in the spreading of the great Meadows, Ellerton-Bluebell break-up of 2003. Needless to say, I didn’t feel any urge to say hello.

  Madame Sarvey tapped the tight gray bun atop her head and spoke. “I never cared for the man as he never attended my shows, but there was no denying what he did for our village.” Her hooked nose pointed in the air. Madame Sarvey was right. Although a grumpy old man who ruffled more than a few feathers, Harold loved Willow Creek, and it was through his generous philanthropy our town stayed afloat. Ellerton money was partly responsible for the bridge reconstruction project going on right now, a twelve-acre recreational park complete with a jogging path, tennis courts, and a playground. But his greatest contribution of all was financing the library’s seven-hundred-thousand-dollar renovation.

  Pleasant — no. Giving — absolutely.

  Mrs. Huxton leaned in closer to Madame Sarvey. “Well, between you and me, I heard he might have been seeing someone.”

  Madame Sarvey put a delicate hand to her chest. “No!” She gasped and bent over the petite Mrs. Huxton to get a better earful. “You don’t say.”

  I stepped forward in the kitten heels Mom had let me borrow, and listened for more. Do not get sucked in, I warned myself.

  Mrs. Huxton shook her veil-covered head. “I do say. A supposed meeting with a red head.”

  Madame Sarvey raised a drawn-on eyebrow. “And who would this mysterious woman be?”

  Martha Huxton shrugged. “Haven’t a clue, but I heard from Eloise Pepper, a reputable source, I assure you.” She poked an eye above her red-framed plastic glasses for effect. “That Harold’s grandson from England came to town to help change the terms of the will, and isn’t a woman usually behind an alteration like that?”

  Madame Sarvey gasped, once again, in a dramatic fashion. “Do you think this mysterious woman will get some of Harold’s fortune?”

  “Who knows,” Mrs. Huxton answered. Her muddy eyes peered above her glasses. “But this lawyer grandson, Peter, can stay in the states as long as he’d like,” she added with a wink.

  Madame Sarvey contorted her lithe body to get a better view inside the funeral home’s door that opened in front of us. Her eyes settled on Peter, and her continuously pursed lips curled up into a smile. “Mmm. I do hope he lingers around.” I glanced across the sea of black and locked eyes with Peter Ellerton. His lips made a flat line across his face, and he shook his head from side to side as if saying this is not right. Not right at all.

  Madame Sarvey and Mrs. Huxton both giggled like school girls, rather than the late sixty-somethings they were, as the door closed behind them.

  “Can you believe the crowd?” my mother asked, sliding her arm through the crook of my elbow. I glanced behind me to see the line growing in length and number, now taking up the sidewalks of two village blocks.

  “Well, he did do a lot for the community,” I repeated what I’d just heard from gossip-queen USA.

  Mom smiled a sad smile. “More than people realize,” she said, her voice breaking at the end. She cleared her throat and perked up. “Anyway, looks like we’re next.”

  The door to Kreamer’s Funeral Home swung open and the proprietor Gerry Kreamer ushered us into the room where Harold lay. Peter stood erect in a navy suit tailored to perfection, showing off his athletic frame, directly to the coffin’s left where he received guests and their condolences. On the foot end of the casket stood Patrick’s mother Charlotte Ellerton-Bluebell and then Patrick to her right. A crying Lizzy Peartree sat in the front row of the dimly lit room wearing a fitted black dress, a hat more appropriate for a royal wedding with its large brim and bow-like feature atop, and stilettos that would put her a solid foot above me.

  “Looks like your aunt’s not the only one known for her theatrics.” Mom pointed at Lizzy as she pulled a floral embroidered handkerchief from her clutch and dabbed it to the corners of her stencil-lined eyes. “She barely knew the old guy,” Mom huffed. This cattiness was new for Mom, but I brushed it off to the circumstances.

  Finally, we’d made it to Harold Ellerton’s family.

  “Talbot. Thank you for coming,” Peter said, his eyes burning into mine. But there was more than simple gratitude behind his tone.

  “Of course, Peter. I am so sorry for your loss.”

  I placed my hand in his and shook firmly. “Thank you,” he repeated, lightly brushing his thumb across the top of my hand so slowly it would be unnoticeable to the naked eye.

  I glanced briefly at Harold, as I’d seen enough of his dead body in my mind, repeating Friday’s find over and over again, and then looked at the beautiful decorative carvings on the edges of the wooden casket — a casket carved by Patrick himself. Patrick did exquisite, though morbid work. Then I moved quickly to Charlotte Ellerton-Bluebell.

  She grimaced as I reached a hand toward her. “I’m so sorry to hear of your loss, Mrs. Ellerton-Bluebell,” I spoke through a throat dry as overcooked muffins.

  “Thank you,” she bit, brushing my handshake off with a nod and then happily receiving Aunt Tilly’s condolences.

  “Sorry about Mom,” Patrick mouthed as I reached him.

  I shook my head. “It’s okay,” I assured. “How are you holding up?”

  He sighed. “Okay. This is the easy part.” He ran a hand through his curls.

  I read between the lines. He referred to the big question whispered through town — who would inherit the Ellerton Estate? Everyone would assume Harold’s only living child, Charlotte Ellerton-Bluebell. But she’d been in and out of rehab for a drinking problem more times than anyone could count. And then there were two eligible grandsons to consider as well. Sometimes families, especially families with money, couldn’t survive the fallout after the passing of the patriarch.

  “Well,” I said, my hand remaining in Patrick’s. “I wish you luck.”

  I wish you luck? What kind of statement was that?

  I chastised myself for that ridiculous comment as I made my way to the back of the room where pictures of Harold and his small family sat on easels. “Thank goodness that’s over,” I murmured, looking at a photo dated 1998 of Mr. Harold Ellerton at a beach with his son, daughter, and two grandsons.

  “What’s that, pumpkin?” Mom asked, suddenly appearing next to me.

  Mom’s shoes were a half-size too small and my feet ached. I shifted my weight from one foot to another. “I need to get back and pack up.”

  She pushed some hair behind my ear, something she’d done since I was just a tiny girl. “But we’ve barely had any time together.” Her lips turned down on the ends.

  I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Christmas is right around the corner.” I couldn’t believe what I was about to say. “And maybe I’ll stay a night or two this year.”

  “Wonderful!” Aunt Tilly joined in, grabbing my other hand in hers.

  We exited the funeral home and the crisp autumn air cut through my hair. “I can smell the storm a mile away,” Mom said as blowing leaves swirled orange and red patterns on the sidewalks. The line of visitors had shortened to roughly one block, and I ran over to Piper and Amanda who both stood at the very end.

 

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