As I walked past Lizzy on my way out, she turned to me, sneered, and then pushed a coifed curl from her shoulder. “Try not to overstay your welcome,” she said. But her biting tone made it feel more like a warning.

  Gheesh. I guess not everyone was happy with my new move.

  Chapter 7

  After a day of shopping for the necessities to hold me over until my belongings arrived later this week, I got back to my apartment that night to see a giant banner hanging at the top of the stairs on my door. HAPPY BIRTHDAY it said in rainbow block letters. I wrinkled my nose. My birthday wasn’t until April, and we were at the end of October. What was this about?

  I knew as soon as the door opened. Aunt Tilly stood in the threshold of my apartment with cupcakes balanced on a tray. Gosh, I hoped she didn’t make them.

  “As soon as your mother told me the good news, we knew we just had to celebrate!” Aunt Tilly used the back of her hand to push the banner from her face. “They were out of the congrats banners at the Earl’s Shop-N-Save,” she lamented through a shrug. “So it was between this or.” She paused and threw her hands up for effect. “Happy Retirement.”

  I glared at my mother. “I thought we weren’t going to make a big deal over this?”

  Mom hid her laugh behind a hand. “You know there’s no stopping my sister.” Boy did I ever. “I made the cupcakes,” she assured me quickly.

  Aunt Tilly ushered me into the room and Romeo jumped off the sofa donning a celebratory yorkie-sized conical cap with bells jingling from the tip. “Right after your mother called me with the good news of your staying, Martha Huxton rang to tell me you’d been offered a job at Cafe Prose.”

  Mom jumped in. “I told you a window would open.”

  I wasn’t sure this was the window I’d been waiting for, but I decided to go with it for now.

  “I’m going to call my theatre friend at Wilson College and see if they have any adjunct positions open too. I could see you as a professor. Couldn’t you, Busy?”

  “Mmm hmm,” Mom murmured, flicking a wrist as her sister.

  Aunt Tilly kissed my cheeks, leaving pink lipstick behind. “Now, we won’t keep you long, Talbot, as I’m sure you have things to take care of. But I am just so excited! Sunday dinners at my pla-,”

  “We’ll talk about that later, Tilly.” Mom cut her off.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed to mom, referring to her Sunday night dinner save, as Aunt Tilly moved down the stairs in a tizzy of enthusiasm. She crossed the street just as someone jogged into Mom’s driveway.

  “Ooh,” Mom said in a high-pitched tone. The streetlamp caught the sharp curvature of the man’s jaw. “Peter Ellerton.” She bumped her shoulder on mine. “I like that strapping man,” she added. “Always so kind to me when I’d garden at Harold’s.” She flicked a hand in the air. “Anyway, I need to get back to Chief Kevin. I’ve ignored four of his calls because I had some celebratory baking to do!” She wiggled her fingers toward the chocolatey cupcakes on my island.

  I pointed at mom. “You better watch out. Don’t want to miss a call and the PD goes terminating you out of the blue.”

  “They couldn’t get rid of me if they wanted to,” Mom said. And that was the truth.

  After Dad was killed, Mom stepped away from her secretary job at the police department for a few years. There were too many memories there, and too many late nights where Mom sat hunched over her desk sifting through evidence, re-reading witness statements, contacting leads herself. After two years of getting nowhere, she and the Chief of Police at the time, Gregg Foster, decided it was time for Busy Meadows to take a step away. So she did. She threw herself into the Master Gardener program at Plasterer’s Florist Shop, started picking up gardening jobs throughout Willow Creek, and hasn’t look back since.

  That is, until Kevin was promoted to the Chief of Police role five years ago and needed a new administrative assistant. Mom decided then it was time to re-enter the full-time working world. So she took the job at the Willow Creek PD. I wasn’t thrilled about it at first, but Mom had assured me on a number of occasions it keeps her mind active. Plus, she still appeases her creative side with gardening jobs.

  “Kevin couldn’t function without me,” Mom said matter-of-factly, bringing me back to the present. The entire town knew that was true. Sure, Kevin was the face of crime-solving, but my mother kept him organized, and that was key to an effective policeman.

  “Mrs. Meadows.” Peter nodded at my mother as she crossed the yard to her sunroom.

  Mom gestured to me. “She’s got cupcakes up there.”

  “Thank you, Busy,” Peter said. Mom moved through her gardens and then disappeared into her house.

  I unclipped the Happy Birthday sign at the top of the stairs as Peter climbed his way toward me.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t bring you a present,” he said, stepping into the apartment. I closed the door behind and sent a quick prayer that I wouldn’t do something stupid in front of this handsome man.

  I pushed some hair behind my ear. “It’s not actually my birthday.”

  He tilted his head to the side, prompting me to explain further. “It’s my Aunt Tilly’s. Well, not her birthday. I mean she went to the store … and there were no more congratulations.” I giggled and then I took a deep breath to center myself.

  Why does Peter Ellerton have this effect on me?

  “So what you’re telling me is, your Aunt Tilly wanted to purchase a congratulations banner, but the only one left was a Happy Birthday one?”

  I swallowed and met Peter’s serious gaze. His blue eyes looked extra blue, almost cerulean, against his navy hoodie. It was nice to see him look casual in a pair of jogging pants with gray Under Armor running shoes. “I seriously just rambled on for a solid twenty seconds, and you were able to decipher what I said?” I asked, shocked by his uncanny ability to read the elusive language of babbling.

  “I like reading you,” he said confidently, his eyes meeting mine, as he helped himself to one of my Mom’s from-scratch chocolate cupcakes with perfectly piped peanut butter icing. Although Aunt Tilly was the known artist with her theatrics, my mother was an accomplished pastry and floral artist in her own right. Immediately Romeo ran to Peter’s side, waiting for bits of chocolate, peanut buttery goodness to fall.

  “Hey!” I protested, attempting to take the pastry from his hands.

  Peter pulled back from my grasp, sending me off balance. I fell toward him, and just as I was about to crash into his chest for the second time in three days, his hand gripped my elbow in an act of reflexive chivalry. “You okay there?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Just been a bit off balance lately.” I regretted the unintended pun as soon as it escaped my lips.

  Peter smirked and glanced around my tiny abode. I hadn’t been here long enough to make a mess of the place, so there was no embarrassing bra drying in the bathroom or pile of dishes stacked in the sink … yet.

  “Do you want to sit?” I gestured toward the small living space to our right.

  I sat on the upholstered couch while Peter took the wingback chair across from me. He leaned awkwardly on the rope-rimmed pillow.

  “You can just toss that on the bed if you’d like,” I said, watching his arm bend back, throwing the pillow so it made a perfect landing center on the bed.

  “I’m sure you know why I’m here, Talbot.” He played with the cupcake wrapper in his hands.

  I smiled. “I’m sorry about this morning,” I said, remembering how I’d stood him up for our coffee date, or whatever it was, without any sort of explanation.

  He laughed. “It’s no problem at all. News in this town travels fast, so I heard about losing your job almost immediately.” Romeo jumped to his side and it was like Peter read his mind. He rubbed Romeo’s sweet spot behind his ears.

  I sighed inside. Handsome, amazing accent, and good with animals.

  “I am sorry to hear about that,” he said, bringing me back to reality.

  “Uh … about what?” I muttered, embarrassed I’d zoned off in point five seconds.

  Peter rubbed Romeo’s belly now, and he flicked his leg in happiness. “Your former job at the Library.”

  “Oh, yes.” I fiddled with my hands. “Thank you, Peter.”

  “Have you considered my proposition from the other evening?” He cut to the chase as our small talk ended. And here I thought there was a bit of flirting going on. Maybe we’d have some more cake, a bit of coffee, and perhaps even a nightcap to end the evening. Staring at his full lips made that possibility even more appealing.

  However, this wasn’t a social call. I shook those thoughts from my head and gave him a response. “I have, Peter,” I answered, mimicking his formal tone. “And I am sorry, but I just don’t think there’s much more to your grandfather’s death.” I nodded my head adamantly. “I mean, sure. There were a number of people who would benefit from your grandfather being gone.” I could think of three just off the top of my head. “But to link his death to an unnamed book we don’t even know exists just seems a bit far-fetched.” I raised a hand. “Plus, even the authorities say his death was from natural causes.”

  Peter stood and ran two hands down the legs of his jogging pants, undoing any wrinkling. “I understand,” he said. “But if you change your mind, I’ll be in town for at least another week or two.” He smiled.

  I walked him to the door and just as he reached for the knob, he turned. “On another note.” He paused. “Would you care to join me for dinner at Posh’s tomorrow evening?”

  I held in giddiness, feeling certain my flaming cheeks gave my eagerness away. “That would be lovely,” I answered.

  “Tomorrow then.” Peter leaned down and gently kissed me on the cheek. He pulled his head away and then moved back in, even closer, the palm of his hand now cupping my face. What is happening? I flushed further as his thumb rubbed across my cheek. “It seems you have a bit of lipstick …” He rubbed his thumb on my cheek once more where aunt Tilly had given me a peck with her pink-stained lips just a few moments ago. “Got it.”

  Just as he went to pull his hand away, three knocks sounded on the door causing me to jump.

  “It’s Kevin,” Chief Kevin Homestead announced.

  Peter removed his hand from my face and opened the door. Kevin’s eyes zoomed in on the man standing next to me, narrowing in the corners. He stood up straighter and puffed out his chest. “Talbot Meadows,” he spoke with formality. Finally Kevin’s gaze settled on me.

  “Kevin Homestead,” I mocked in the same tone.

  “I need you to come down to the station for questioning.”

  I looked to Peter and then back to Kevin, his hands resting on his thick belt.

  I crossed my hands over my chest. “Why’s that?”

  “There’s been a development with.” His eyes darted briefly to Peter. “Harold Ellerton’s death.”

  Peter impatiently stepped forward, his knuckles whitening on the edge of the door. “And what would that be? As Harold’s grandson and attorney, I have a right to hear this.”

  Kevin stood higher on his toes, eye to eye with Peter. “And I didn’t come here to address you, Mr. Ellerton.”

  Peter’s jaw clenched then unclenched. “Go on with him,” Peter said, gesturing toward a grimacing Kevin. “I’ll tell Busy.”

  Kevin huffed. “If your mother would actually answer my phone calls, she could have brought you in herself.”

  Mom was too busy making my cupcakes this evening, so I was stuck with the pleasant police escort in front of me. I straightened my back and stood higher in my shoes. “I told you everything on Friday, Kevin. Plus, he died naturally anyway.”

  Kevin scratched at the back of his head. “That’s just the thing, Talbot. Recent developments have pointed to…” He looked again to Peter and then back to me. “Homicide.”

  Peter’s eyes grew wide as Kevin slammed the door … my door … in his face.

  * * *

  The ride to the station was short, and once we arrived, Kevin escorted me to a small room with fluorescent lighting above, just like interrogation rooms I’d seen on television. I could not believe this was happening to me.

  “Sorry to be so formal about all this, Talbot.” He gestured toward the room surrounding us with its plain white walls, scuffed floor, and bright lights. “This is the only room with a recording device.”

  I looked to the blinking camera in the righthand corner, just above the two-way mirror and then to a microphone connected to a cassette-tape device.

  “I see your department is with the twenty-first century,” I teased, tapping the round ball at the end of the microphone.

  “You’re hilarious, Talbot,” he snarked. “I just need you to make an official statement.” Kevin shifted in his seat, an indication he was just as uncomfortable about this situation as I was. “Can you please tell me again what occurred in the late afternoon of October 22?”

  I started from the beginning, explaining to Kevin how Harold Ellerton had invited me over to appraise some new material, and how I found him when I arrived.

  “And did Harold Ellerton call you to set up the appraisal, or did he make the request in person?” he asked.

  I swallowed. “He called me late Friday morning.”

  Kevin tapped his fingers on a file setting in front of him. “That’s odd.” Kevin studied me, from my green eyes, to my tiny nose, to the full bottom lip I anxiously bit. “There was no record of Harold calling you, Talbot. So is there another way he reached out, perhaps?” he asked calmly. “Maybe you’ve forgotten.”

  I put my hands up. “I swear on my life, Kevin, he called me. But …” I hesitated. I bit the side of my cheek, weighing whether or not I should bring up the Mom’s phone and the note thing. Kevin stared at me like I was his number one suspect, so I decided on the truth. “He called me from my mother’s phone.” I sighed, actually relieved to get that off my chest.

  Kevin scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Your mother’s phone?” he asked, surely confused.

  “I know!” I said exasperated. “I have no idea when or how Harold got it, but he texted me early Friday morning pretending to be my mother.”

  I proceeded to run through the happenings of Friday. The misleading text in the morning, my finding out Aunt Tilly was just fine and Mom had actually lost her phone, the new apartment, call from Harold, visit to Cafe Prose, finding Harold’s body, and then in a tizzy of excitement, how I snatched Mom’s phone from Harold’s desk and tucked it into my back pocket.

  Kevin squinted. “Didn’t you ever think you were tampering with a crime scene?” he asked.

  It was my turn to narrow my eyes. “And didn’t you say he died of natural causes?”

  Kevin ignored my retort. “So where is the phone now?”

  I smiled and sat up straight in the uncomfortable chair. “I returned it to its proper owner.”

  I could tell by the way Kevin’s eyes shifted that he was processing this all. Even thought I was being recorded, he jotted a few notes down in his notebook. “Why would Harold Ellerton take Busy’s phone?”

  I shrugged. “I assumed she left it there while gardening and he saw the opportunity to reach out to me.”

  “But why wouldn’t he have given it back to her?”

  “Maybe he forgot about it,” I offered. “He was an old man after all.”

  “Well, we’ll check into the call history from your mother’s phone to confirm.” Kevin gestured to the window. “Ask Busy to bring her phone by the station so we can verify,” he called to Officer Pinker, a rookie detective who looked no older than twenty-three who was paying his dues by putting in late hours like tonight.

  “Anything else I ought to know?” Kevin asked.

  I drummed my fingers on the edge of the table so a hollow ticking echoed in the sterile room. Peter’s words from the other night and his mentioning of the book came to mind. It was worth a shot. “What if his death …” I fidgeted in my seat. “Murder … is connected to the rare material he called me about appraising?”

  Kevin raised an eyebrow. “You mean the book you can’t even name?”

  “Yes,” I snipped.

  “Talbot, that man had so many old books in that collection of his, he could have called you in to appraise any one of them.”

  “But,” I protested by holding up a finger. “Harold told me, and alluded to Peter, that he had one of the rarest materials in the entire world. Maybe somebody killed him for it,” I heard myself repeating Peter’s interesting, yet far-fetched theory.

  “Killed him for some mystery book there is no record of?” Kevin gave me a patronizing look. “I know your obsession with old books, Talbot, and how literary it would seem for a book, of all things, to be in the center of a murder investigation, but that isn’t a big enough motive to po--.” he stopped. “To murder someone.”

  “If the book were rare enough, it would,” I spoke through clenched teeth, upset at two things — how he dismissed the value of the written word, and how he dismissed my authority on the subject. And it shouldn’t surprise me. Kevin’s C-minus grades in English class in high school were a direct result of flirting during class rather than actually working.

  “Anyone you know of who would want Harold dead?” he asked, effectively changing the subject.

  I rolled my eyes, frustrated he wouldn’t at least hear me out. “Seriously? I just got back to Willow Creek four days ago. Remember?”

  “True.” He sighed and stood. “I’ll see you home.”

  Kevin ushered me out of the interrogation room. We moved silently through the office, but a question gnawed at me. “Kevin? What makes you think Harold was murdered?”

  “That’s information I can’t disclose.” As he pushed opened the door to outside, however, he leaned down. A fresh, musky cologne scent infused the air around me and I couldn’t help but inhale. “But if your mother accidentally lets the information slip, then so be it.” Kevin cocked an eyebrow and moved past me like he’d said nothing at all. “Get in,” he demanded, opening a door.

 

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