Prose & Poison, page 9
part #1 of Cafe Prose Mystery Series
I pulled the note from my purse and slid it across the table. “I found this on his desk?” I confessed. I pointed to the letters. “It’s an anagram.”
Peter clutched the paper in his hands. “Shakespeare’s Folio,” he muttered. “Just fascinating.”
I took a sip of wine. “I think we need to go to the police with it. That way we can prove the motive.”
Peter scratched at the back of his head like he weighed something. “Absolutely,” he finally said.
I tilted my chin. “What’s the hesitation?” I asked.
“Honestly,” he started. “I get the feeling that Detective Homestead doesn’t care much for me.”
I bit the side of my bottom lip. Kevin didn’t like Peter because he saw him with me at my apartment last night. “I assure you,” I chuckled. “It’s me Kevin has the problem with.”
“Would you rather I speak with him?” he asked.
“That’s not necessary.” A flurry of excitement fluttered in my stomach. Maybe I could help solve Harold’s murder. “Do you think we should try to find the Folio ourselves first?” I asked.
Peter tentatively placed a hand on mine, and I noticed his lip curl up in the corner as soon as our hands met. He shook his head fixedly. “Now that they’re saying it’s murder, this really is a matter for the police, Talbot. Your safety could be at stake with this knowledge, and I don’t want to see you hurt. Plus, if Grandfather was killed for the Folio, then there’s a good chance the book isn’t even at his estate.”
Fair enough. “Alright,” I said. “I’ll talk to Kevin after my shift at Cafe Prose tomorrow.”
Peter held his glass of wine in the air. “Now, I’d like to get to know Talbot Meadows a bit better,” he proclaimed. “To a beautiful woman and a beautiful evening.”
“Here, here.” I clinked my wine glass with his, sending a quick prayer to whomever would listen that there wouldn’t be any awkward pauses in conversation.
“Three likes and a dislike,” Peter suggested.
I scrunched my nose.
He took a sip of wine. “I’ll go first. Three likes. One. Football — or soccer as you call it here in the states. Two. Reading anything I can get my hands on, especially thrillers. And three. He smiled. Elmer — my eleven-year-old border collie.”
“So that’s why Romeo immediately took to you,” I said. “A fellow dog person.”
“I am,” he admitted happily. He scrunched his face to the side. “And now a dislike,” he paused until his face lit up. “People who like to advertise they’re marathon runners with those silly magnets on the back of their cars.”
I laughed out loud. “Yes! As if they need the world to know they’re in shape.”
“Precisely.” He grinned and raised his glass toward me. “Your turn.”
It didn’t take me long to catch on to this lightning round of getting to know you. “Romeo, of course. Books. Old or new, rare or contemporary. I do love a good Agatha Christie.” I looked out the window and noticed the leaves dancing across the sidewalk. “I love all-things fall. From the pumpkin flavored coffees to curling up in front of a roaring fire with a glass of red,” I said. “Makes me feel cozy.” We clinked our glasses together once again.
“And a dislike?” he asked, leaning in close enough I could smell the mix of vanilla and clove on his skin.
I cocked a sly smile, realizing flirting was like riding a bicycle after all. “Men with American accents.”
Chapter 9
“No way?! You, Talbot Meadows, said that to him?” Piper made her voice low and sultry and repeated my phrase from last night. “Men with American accents.” She threw a hand up for a high five, a high five that I ignored and said, “Nice, girl! I knew you’d come out of that timid, buttoned-up, librarian shell.”
“Ahh,” I huffed. “Shut up,” I snapped at her like a fourteen-year-old.
Piper shimmied her shoulders. “And did he kiss you?” She puckered her purple lipsticked lips.
I held my head up all prim and proper. “He was the consummate gentleman.” I grinned, the scene playing out again in my head. Although I’d walked the five or so blocks to dinner, Peter had driven me home and escorted me to my apartment. “Just a lingering peck on the cheek,” I swooned.
“How lingering was it?” Her eyes grew wide. “Five seconds lingering, or point five seconds, like you’d give a creepy uncle with bad breath?”
I rolled my eyes.
“What?” she asked. “Now that I’m an almost-married woman, I need to live vicariously through my best friend.”
“Okay,” I relented. “A solid three seconds, and I think he closed his eyes for it.”
Piper scooted closer to me. “Do tell.” She rested her chin on the back of her hand.
I closed my eyes, remembering our farewell and said in a dramatic fashion. “I felt the butterfly touch of his eyelashes.”
Piper sighed. “But do you wish it were more?”
“Piper,” I squealed. I shrugged my shoulders, delivered a mug of black coffee to Madame Sarvey at the small bistro table in the window and then answered. “Maybe.”
“Talbot Juliet Meadows. You give me more details this very instant,” she commanded.
“I already did,” I said, “plus, there really aren’t many more details to give.” I stared dreamily at the mug of chai tea in front of me. “He is smart, sweet.” I gave a sly smile. “And handsome. There is a tangible spark. The conversation flowed naturally. That’s all there is to know.”
“And what would Patrick have to say about you dating his cousin?” she asked.
I pursed my lips. “That’s a non-issue because we aren’t dating. It was one dinner.” Although, he did ask me out for the night after next.
Piper swirled her empty tea mug in front of her and pushed her face toward the wide rim. “The leaves are telling me you’re leaving something out,” she accused, squinting into the mug.
“Well, we did talk a bit about his grandfather’s murder.”
“That’s not morbid at all,” she said sarcastically. “I mean, prime first date conversation.”
I leaned in closer. “I think I figured out that note Harold left.”
“Wait … what?” she asked loudly, then covered her mouth. Both Madame Sarvey and Amanda looked up, noticing Piper’s sudden outburst. They went back to their respective tasks of placing books in the loft and reading the latest issue of Danse Danse Danse.
Mr. Earl Prinkle, the owner of Earl’s Shop-N-Save interrupted us as he walked in the door and ordered a cup of decaf. “Here you go.” Piper quickly pushed the coffee across the counter and into his hands. He took a seat at the other end of the bar.
“Are you kidding me?” she said, as Lizzie Peartree waltzed into the shop next wearing a knee-length dress with riding boots. Even though she jostled my shoulder with her bony elbow, she neglected to acknowledge my presence. Lizzy scanned over the pastry case, her eye settling on the cherry thumbprint cookies. “Two of those cherry thingies,” she demanded pointing to the glass case to my right and to the largest cookies in the bunch. “From those rows there.”
Piper sat the cookies on a plate, nuked them for twenty-five seconds, and then slid them to Lizzie, who proceeded to sit at the table directly behind us. No doubt she sat that close to get on my nerves.
“Made those cookies fresh this morning!” Amanda called from the loft.
“Whatever,” Lizzy snapped and then bit into the gooey center, red cherry jam sticking to her cheek.
“Well, what did the note say?” Piper asked, her voice now a whisper. “Tell me before another customer appears.”
I leaned my elbows on the counter. “Shakespeare’s Folio.”
Piper scrunched up her face. “And that is?”
I chuckled at my best friend and her lack of rare book knowledge. “Well, there are only two hundred known Shakespeare First Folios in existence, and if Harold was in possession of an authentic one,” I paused and raised a finger. “Depending on the condition, it could be worth anywhere from two to thirty million dollars.”
Piper gasped loudly and a hiccup-like noise sounded from her throat. She received four head turns this time.
“That’s a crap-ton of money,” she whispered.
My eyes grew wide. “I know. So not only was Harold worth a fortune, but if he really did have that book, and if it is found, that fortune could quadruple.”
“And that entire fortune would go to his beneficiaries.”
I contemplated her implication. “Indeed, my dear Watson.”
Piper turned her mouth up when suddenly Lizzie Peartree’s voice sounded from directly behind me. “Can I have a bag for this, I just remembered something and I need to go,” she spat quickly and flicked two dollars and two quarters on the counter. “Now.”
“What’s the rush?” I grabbed a brown bag from behind the counter. Lizzie snatched it from my fingertips and shoved her cookie inside, completely ignoring my question. The only response was the sound of the cafe door’s bell jingling behind her as she darted outside.
“I really can’t stand that girl,” Piper said, reading the thought from my head.
“What does Patrick even see in her?” I muttered, but Piper heard.
Piper pushed a few strands of black hair under her jacquard headband and then lifted an eyebrow. “Oh … I think you know.”
“Blah.” I sighed and moved to the other side of the bar where Piper gestured me to pick up some caramel syrup.
“Today we’ll work on a macchiato,” she said. I frowned and looked up to the loft and at Amanda rummaging through boxes of books, suddenly wishing I had her position at Cafe Prose. Maybe on my break later this morning I’d take a look through the inventory.
I turned my attention back to Piper. “Do I get to taste-test today?” I asked hopefully.
Piper grinned. “You know it.”
* * *
After work, I hightailed it over to the police department around the corner just as I’d promised Peter. The old gray stone building, with its curved entryway and looming gargoyles watching down on all who entered, didn’t seem as foreboding in the day as it did when Kevin brought me in for my statement.
I walked up the stone step entrance and into the worn-floored entryway. As a child, I spent a lot of time here, but only once had I been in trouble, and that was when Patrick and I decided to egg our Spanish teacher Señor Ender’s front yard as a senior prank. It was quite the scandal and talk of our quiet town during the spring of 2003. The office hadn’t changed an ounce since then. Well, maybe there were a few more shoe scuffs on the floor and dents in the walls from disgruntled payers of parking fees.
I pulled the note from Harold Ellerton from my cross-body bag and walked through the entryway and into the main hub of the office. “Hi Mom,” I called, seeing my mom positioned at her post behind the front desk.
“Yes, Mrs. Huxton.” Mom said into the phone. “I can guarantee you, electric fences aren’t allowed in the village limits.” Mom covered a hand over the phone’s receiver. “She’s afraid of being murdered next,” Mom whispered to me and then spoke into the phone. “If you’d like me to give you the borough office’s number, Martha, I’m sure they’d be happy to assist you further.”
I let Mom take care of that situation and moved past the kitchenette, suddenly recognizing a familiar shrill voice laced in anger coming from the other side of the room.
I marched toward the voice and moved to the opposite hallway which housed smaller offices and the interrogation room where Mayor Samuel Moore sat on a bench, his head hanging to his chest. A little farther down the hallway, Aunt Tilly stood close to Kevin, her arms flailing about in the air as she spoke.
“And if I knew you were going to accuse him of something as terrible as,” her voice grew as quiet as my aunt could make it, “murder, then I’ll be the one hurting you!” she emphasized.
Kevin’s jaw tensed.
I stepped in. “What’s going on here?” I interrupted before he exploded on my overly-theatric aunt.
Aunt Tilly glared at Kevin. “This … this … buffoon,” she said, placing two hands on Kevin’s muscular chest.
“Matilda,” he said sternly.
Aunt Tilly dropped her hands to her side and continued. “Chief Homestead questioned Samuel for over two hours this afternoon and accused him of killing Harold Ellerton.” Aunt Tilly flipped the loose end of her scarf around her neck and smacked Kevin in the process.
Kevin put his hands up in protest. “Now I never accused Samuel of—,”
“And not only that, Talbot,” Aunt Tilly huffed, her gaze never wavering from Kevin. “Because of him, we missed the Willow Creek Young Player’s production of Cinderella.”
Kevin’s eyes darted to me and then back to Aunt Tilly. “And as I said, I will happily reimburse you for those tickets.”
Kevin had a heart after all.
“Ha!” Aunt Tilly huffed. “The matinee today was the final production. Those poor kiddos can only go on so long.” She placed a dramatic hand to her forehead. “They’re just children, after all.”
I stepped forward and grabbed Aunt Tilly’s elbow. “Aunt Tilly,” I spoke calmly. “Why don’t you go home and take a nice bath? Put some of those lavender bath bombs in there you like so much. Take some time to decompress.”
“Mmm,” she groaned and rubbed thumb and pointer fingers over her brow. “A bath would help me settle, maybe put on some show tunes too.”
“Whatever calms you down,” I muttered.
Aunt Tilly turned her attention toward her boyfriend. “And why aren’t you more upset over this, Samuel?” she asked.
Mayor Samuel Moore stood from the bench, gently tucked a hand under Aunt Tilly’s elbow, and pecked her cheek. “Because I didn’t kill him,” he said matter-of-factly. “Have nothing to hide.” An odd look crossed his face and as soon as it came, it vanished. “Now I think you should take Talbot’s advice.” Samuel gently squeezed Aunt Tilly’s hand, and her cheeks flushed pink. “I’ll see you home.”
“I’ll deal with Kevin, Aunt Tilly.” I embraced her in a hug. “You try to relax.”
I turned sharply and my sneakers squeaked on the sticky floor. I marched down the hallway with my sights set on Chief Kevin Homestead. I wagged a finger in desperate need of a manicure in his face. “You better have had a good reason to interrogate my aunt’s boyfriend? Not to mention the mayor of this town.”
“Let’s talk in here.” Kevin led me to an office at the end of a fluorescent-lit hallway. The brass nameplate with the words Chief of Police Homestead hung from the door and I hesitated briefly, half expecting to see my father’s name. Memories of coming to this very office flashed back. Building forts under Dad’s desk while he filed paperwork. My box of Barbies and doll clothing hidden in the coat closet in the corner.
“Take a seat.” Kevin gestured to a stained brown chair with wooden arms that looked like someone’s nails had dug scratches into the side. Gross. He sauntered to his leather chair across the desk from me.
I sniffed. “I’d rather stand,” I spoke, holding ground across from him, glancing again at the mysterious green stain in the center. “Don’t you think you’re grasping at straws?” I glared at Kevin just like my aunt had done a few moments ago. “The mayor? Really?” I asked. “He was a shoe-in to win anyway, Kevin.” I threw my hands up. “What? Do you think he wanted to secure a re-election?”
Kevin huffed — his favorite thing to do around me. “Not that I need to explain this to you, but I need to follow every lead, Talbot. And Samuel had the motive and could have had it out for Harold.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Doesn’t … didn’t the entire town have it out for Harold?” I retorted.
Kevin stood and placed two hands firmly on the desk. “I’ll have you know, Miss Meadows, that in your fifteen-year absence from this town, Harold Ellerton the Third stopped ruffling the feathers you think he did. He caught a lot of slack for what he did to —.” Kevin stopped there.
I swallowed. “To Me?” I uttered.
“If you must know, Talbot.” His face softened. “Yes. Sure, you broke the town golden boy’s heart.” He put air quotes around golden boy and continued. “But what Harold did to you in retaliation.” He straightened up. “To your ambitions. That was terrible. And everyone in Willow Creek let him know it too.” Suddenly his voice grew low and almost pained. “While you ran away from this town, Talbot, it was this town that stood up for you.”
I bit the side of my lip and felt heat spread through my chest. The whole village let him know it? I didn’t know what to say. I looked to my running shoes. “I … I had no idea.”
“Well,” Kevin said, his voice suddenly raising. “Had you returned more often —.”
“Oh, don’t even go there,” I spat, my breath coming out in short, hot bursts. “I have a busy l—.”
“I know.” He interrupted. “A busy life,” he said with bite.
I sighed. “I do … did.”
“Anyway, had you been more aware of anyone but yourself, maybe you would have had an idea.”
I winced from his words. Thought of anyone but myself? I thought of plenty of other people. Aunt Tilly. My Mom. Romeo. I swallowed down the lies I told myself.
The truth of his statement felt like a punch to the gut. I’d made my fifteen-year absence all about me, concocting the notion that I needed to leave Willow Creek, that everyone hated me after what I’d done to Patrick, when if I’d actually taken the time to look, to listen, maybe that wasn’t the truth at all. Maybe I’d run away and kept on running, throwing myself into work to avoid something. What, I didn’t know. My dad’s death? A relationship? A life in Willow Creek?
I cleared my throat and pushed Kevin’s words from my head for the time being. “I didn’t come here to discuss my life, Kevin.” I unfolded the note from Harold. “I need to show you something.”
