Prose & Poison, page 6
part #1 of Cafe Prose Mystery Series
“How was it?” Piper asked, chewing the lipstick off her bottom lip. She tapped a pink toe of her flats on the brick sidewalk below.
“Not bad,” I mustered as cheerfully as possible. “You’ll be in and out in no time.”
Piper narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re heading back, aren’t you?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yep.”
She frowned. “See you in a few weeks.” Her arms wrapped behind my back.
Even though I’d miss my three best ladies — Piper, Mom, and Aunt Tilly — I was ready to pack my belongings, cuddle Romeo, and travel back to Washington where the rest of my life, well … work, awaited me.
My phone binged just as I stepped foot in the apartment. A message belonging to an unfamiliar number popped up.
Peter: Would you care to help me with what we spoke of the other night? - P
Peter. Although I wanted to believe Mr. Ellerton’s death was natural, something in the pit of my stomach told me otherwise. But I refused to get involved.
I tapped the side of my phone, weighing what to text in return. I settled on the truth.
Talbot: I don’t think it’s a good idea. Leaving tomorrow. - T
The three text bubbles popped up, indicating Peter was crafting a response. Then they disappeared. Then they reappeared again until the next message came through.
Peter: Well then. Can I at least buy you a cup of coffee? Please?
I sighed. This guy was good.
Talbot: Fine. 8 tom morning at Stick of Butter?!
Peter: Perfect. See you then.
I put my phone on silent and laid back on the duvet deciding a catnap would do me some good.
Chapter 6
The next morning, I awoke to bright light streaming through navy curtains, making the apartment take on a calming light blue hue. If Piper were here, she’d tell me that the color was indicative of how my day would go. I hope so.
“What do you think?” I asked a sleepy Romeo who had nuzzled himself against my leg. “Peaceful day today?”
My t-shirt felt tight, so I reached down to adjust it. “What?” I looked down at the black dress from Harold’s viewing still clinging to me. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was texting Peter back. Did I really pass out at five in the afternoon? I looked to the digital clock on the nightstand where four red lights blinked back. The power must have gone out during last night’s storm. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and shuffled to the wicker stool at the foot of my bed where my phone had been charging.
“Shoot!” I yelled so loud, Romeo yipped. He barked once more and then curled back into a furry little ball next to my pillow.
I was so drained from the past few day’s antics, I’d slept in until 7:30. And worst of all, there were four missed calls, two last night and two early this morning, and two texts from Bradley Cooper — boss of the year. Ugh.
I opened the text messages from him.
Bradley: Urgent. Be here at 7 a.m. - 9:23 p.m.
Bradley: Did you get my message? - 5:42 a.m.
But Bradley had told me I was fine until Wednesday, even though I planned on returning today – two days early. I shot him back a response.
Talbot: We agreed on Wednesday. Leaving Willow Creek this morning. Be there by noon.
The nerve of that guy. Sure, maybe I’d been more scatter-brained than usual, which wasn’t out of the question considering the circumstances. But I didn’t hallucinate Bradley’s giving me until Wednesday to get things squared away.
He texted back.
Bradley: Have you checked your work email?
Oh, goodness. I hadn’t checked on work email since Friday morning.
I swallowed hard as his next message popped up.
Bradley: This is awkward. Just check your email.
This is awkward? What was that supposed to mean?
I grabbed my bulky work computer and logged in. There were the usual morning meeting briefing notes from Friday and Saturday, a few questions about the new National Book Award Exhibit, and at the very top an email marked with the red urgent exclamation point and the subject line YOUR POSITION from Human Resources. I swallowed down the lump in my throat and reached for Romeo, sensing I’d need her.
Dear Ms. Meadows,
This letter confirms your discussion this morning with Bradley Cooper that you are being laid off from your employment with the Library of Congress effective immediately.
Unfortunately, economic conditions in the industry have resulted in the elimination of all mid-level positions in the appraisal branch of the Library.
You will receive one week’s severance pay for each year you have worked for the Library of Congress. In your case, with five years of employment, you will receive five weeks of pay at your normal weekly salary. A Human Resources representative will contact you to discuss your personal benefits options.
Should the Library of Congress choose to retain your services on a contractual basis, a representative will be in touch.
If not completed in your layoff meeting, you will need to provide your office key, identification badge, and Library of Congress-issued laptop within five business days.
Please know that this layoff is not a statement about your work at the Library of Congress. You have been a dedicated employee for five …
I stopped there, unable to read another word of the form termination email drivel, and buried my face in Romeo’s tan fur. What? There was no discussion with Bradley. And the entire department was being laid off? I was the entire department! Sure, things had been slow lately, but I assumed this lull was another example of the ebb and flow in the appraisal business I’d seen over my twelve years in the industry.
I looked away from the screen, blinking a few tears back before continuing to read. For the past five years, the Library of Congress was my life, consuming every part of me. And as hard as it was to admit, it truly consumed every part of me. I had one friend in D.C., a grand total of two men I’d dated seriously, and a barely-lived-in apartment. After college, working with books had literally been all I’d known; all I did.
I looked to the screen.
Sincerely,
Janet Rebock
Director of Human Resources
I slammed the laptop lid shut. Who did this Janet Rebock think she was? And what was wrong with Bradley? He couldn’t even get up the nerve to tell me in person this was coming? He had to have known for some time.
“Hug me, Romeo!” I cried. With one two-hundred-word email, my life in D.C. was gone. Aunt Tilly’s words came flooding back to me. What is the next chapter of your story? The question weighed heavy with new, immediate meaning.
“What do I do now, Romeo?” I squeezed my dog even tighter and let the tears drop down my cheek. “I need to contact a head hunter, apply for other positions in the city …”
Romeo wiggled from my squeeze and jumped down. His nails ticked across the gray floor until he stopped in front of the coffee maker.
“You’re right, boy” I nodded. “Coffee.” Just as I touched a finger to the Keurig’s ON button, I realized something. “Breakfast with Peter!”
I glanced in the mirror to see two bloodshot eyes peering back behind glasses. It would be a no contacts kind of day for sure. My cheeks and neck had blotchy red patches on them, and my hair frizzed out like I’d just stuck my finger in a live socket. Breakfast with Peter could wait. I needed another person right now.
Mom.
Still donning the black dress from yesterday, I tossed on my sneakers, left the garage apartment, walked through Mom’s small yard full of yellow goldenrod and Oak Leaf Hydrangeas, and entered her sunroom through the unlocked back door.
“Mom,” I called, my voice traveling from the sunroom and into the adjoining kitchen where she was bent over, pulling a fresh batch of buttermilk biscuits from the oven. “What is wrong with this thing?” she muttered to herself, gently kicking a toe to the tray holder of her oven. Half of the biscuits were baked to a perfect caramel color. The other half looked like they hadn’t been in the oven more than three minutes because liquid batter bubbled in their centers. She scooped the few perfectly-baked biscuits off the tray and onto a Polish pottery plate and then popped the others back in.
“Mom,” I said again.
Mom jumped. “Oh, Talbot. Are you leaving already?” she asked, her back to me as she grabbed black raspberry jam from the refrigerator. She cut a biscuit in half and then spread butter on each side. Within seconds, the biscuits cupped pools of buttery goodness.
“Well?” Mom urged. She finally looked up to see me seated at the island across from her. I bit my lip to stop it from trembling.
Mom’s face dropped. “Honey?” She sat down the knife and ran to my side. “What’s wrong?” She tossed an arm around me and grabbed a napkin.
I dabbed at my nose and then spoke between sobs. “I lost …” Sniff. Sniff. “My job at.” Sniff. “At the Library.”
Mom cradled my head in her hands as I let the tears flow, really flow, this time. She rubbed a hand across my head, and after what felt like ten minutes, she spoke. “Head up, Talbot” she said, delicately pushing my chin up with her hand. “When God closes a door -.”
“He opens a window.” I repeated the line Aunt Tilly told my Mom when she played the Mother Superior in the Astor Place production of The Sound of Music. Mom had said it over and over again after my father’s murder, reminding herself and reminding me through the two-year investigation, though the years of therapy after his death, and through the years to come without him. Thinking of those years of grief made losing my job feel so minuscule compared to what others go through. But my current reality stung nevertheless.
Mom poured me a mug of coffee and added a splash of creamer and teaspoon of sugar, just how I liked it. I cupped the warm mug in my hands and brought it to my chest. “My entire life, Mom, I knew where I was going. What I wanted. And now what?”
My mom spread jam on top of a biscuit and placed it in front of me. She sighed and leaned on the island, locking her eyes with mine. She raised a hand. “You might not love this idea, but just hear me out.” She looked toward the back of the house, across her garden, and then at me. “How about you move back home for a while? Maybe take some time to breathe.” She smiled. “You’ve been going nonstop since you were eighteen years old, after all.” She bit at her lip. “Really, since you were twelve.”
I opened my mouth to protest but stopped after seeing the hurt in my mother’s own eyes and how new, deeper lines I hadn’t noticed before had appeared on her face. She pushed away a stray piece of hair, the strawberry graying around the edges. She’d missed me these last fifteen years. My day-long visits twice a year hadn’t been enough. This was my opportunity to make up for it. To write my next chapter.
Plus, Mom was right. I ran from Dad, from Patrick, from Willow Creek, went to college where I worked in the University of D.C. Library when not studying or in class, then worked a string of back-to-back jobs until receiving my current … former … position at the Library of Congress.
I let a sip of coffee warm my insides. Logic took over. “But what about all my things in D.C.?”
Mom placed a hand under my chin. “Let me handle everything. I’ll send a service to pack up your apartment and then drive them to Willow Creek.”
I shook my head. “You can’t afford that, Mom. I’ll head out tomorrow.”
“Talbot Juliet Meadows,” Mom said firmly, bringing back the memory of being a chastised fifteen-year-old caught sneaking out of her window to meet Patrick at Hidden Pond. “Let me do this for you.”
I relented. “Okay,” I agreed and then laughed between sniffs. “It shouldn’t take them long.” You can only fit so much in a five hundred square foot efficiency in downtown Washington. My closet crammed with work business attire and shoes would take longer than anything else.
Mom stood, a pleased smile on her face. “Well, that’s settled then. You’ll move into the studio you’ve been staying in until we get things situated.”
I tried to process all that happened in the manner of two hours, and the only thing I could think of to say was, “Thanks, Mom.”
* * *
“That’s amazing news!” Piper squealed, jumping up and down so her necklaces clanked together like wind chimes. She cleared her throat. “Well … um …” she stuttered. “Not about the losing your job thing.”
I rolled my eyes. Typical Piper — always speaking before she thinks.
She leaned over the coffee counter at her shop. “This morning I read in my tea leaves a big change was coming.” She hopped one more time in excitement and spun on her toes. “This is what it meant, I just know it!”
I rolled my fingers around the edge of my mug. Today it read Hello, Gorgeous, and although I didn’t feel gorgeous in the same jeans I’d been wearing since Friday, I was happy to have at least changed out of the black dress and even happier to have washed my face after talking to Mom this morning. “I’m just trying to figure out what to do about work. I need to do something with my time.” I perked up. “Do you think Sofie is hiring at the library?”
Piper shook her head. “She’s not. She just brought on a full-time children’s librarian and a new aide.”
My shoulders slumped. “Bummer.”
“But.” Piper put a pointer finger in the air. “I’ve been doing a lot of wedding planning lately while Henry is away on business.” She flicked her hand. “Meetings with caterers, florists, and such, so my dad covers when I need him to. When Dad gave me the business though, he wiped his hands clean of it. I know he hates having to come back.” She rolled her eyes. “Cuts into his golfing game.” Her eyebrows shot up so high, they almost reached the orange headband at her hairline. “I’d love to hire someone part-time to help with the business. The coffee part.” She pointed to Amanda who was re-alphabetizing the loft. “Books are covered right now. So a barista job’s yours if you want it.”
“What? You’d do that for me?”
“You’re my best friend, Talbot.” She threw a dishtowel at my head. “Now, clear off the coffee bar,” she teased.
“It’s only temporary,” I assured her. “Until I figure out my next move.”
Piper winked and grabbed my hand, pulling it palm side up to her face. She traced an invisible line along the side of my hand. “Your new job line is strong.”
I snapped the dishtowel at her. “There’s no such thing as a job line,” I spat.
“I know.” She shrugged. “But you have a job here as long as you’d like.”
While Piper got to work on a few drink orders, I watched the gossipy Martha Huxton who lived just a few blocks down on Pin Oak, struggle to pull two tables together.
“Can I help with that?” I asked, grabbing hold of the cafe table and pulling it close to the next.
Martha smiled. “Thank you, Talbot. My back just isn’t what it used to be.” We sat the table in place and she placed a thick hand on her equally thick hips. “It sure is nice to have you in town again.” Her dark eyes twinkled behind the same red, thick glasses she’d worn since I was a child.
No surprise she already knew of my news. “Oh, so you’ve heard?” I asked more rhetorically than anything else.
“Who hasn’t?” she quipped. Between her and Madame Sarvey, I’m sure the entire village of Willow Creek heard Talbot Meadows was here to stay. For a little while, at least.
Martha pulled five red pens from a canvas totebag and sat them around the table.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked.
“Well, we decided to cancel last Friday’s Drop Write In because of that terrible news about Harold Ellerton.” She frowned for a millisecond and then continued. “Rescheduled our meet up for this morning.”
I shrugged. “Well, enjoy, Martha.”
She placed a wrinkled hand on mine. “Would you care to join us?” she asked. “You’ve seen plenty of writings in your line of work. Surely you’d give us aspiring writers some valuable feedback, hmm?”
“Oh, come on, Martha,” Piper called from her barista station. “You know as well as I do, your Drop Write Ins have become more town gossip and less writing for months now.”
Martha gave a mischievous giggle. “Well, perhaps she’s right.”
“Another time,” I promised. “I’ll be around for a bit, after all.”
“Indeed you will.”
I turned to head back to the coffee bar when the shop’s bell dinged as Lizzy Peartree entered. “Ugh,” she snarked once seeing me. “Please tell me your staying’s just a nasty little rumor.”
“It is not, Lizzy …” I fake-gasped. “Oh, I mean Elizabeth.”
She turned her attention to Piper. “Latte.” She snapped a French-manicured finger. “Now.”
Piper narrowed her eyes, but her heart was too kind to say anything out loud to Lizzy.
Mine wasn’t. “You know,” I said, eyebrow raised. “If you spoke to me that way, I’d be politely inclined to spit in your drink.”
“Well, I … I.” She huffed and stomped her pale peach stilettoed foot on the wood floor. For once, Lizzy Peartree was at a loss for words. “Thank God you don’t work here then,” she finally remarked.
I moved to Piper. “I need to be going. Just wanted to tell you about my news in person,” I said to Piper as she glided effortlessly behind the bar, creating the wicked witch of the west’s latte. I turned and said my next sentence so Lizzy couldn’t not here. “And thanks for the job,” I sing-singed.
Lizzy’s eyes widened as she huffed in irritation.
“Sounds good,” Piper said, a bit distracted with drink orders. “Later then.”
