He leans down and his voice comes out as a scotch-tainted growl. “No one makes a fool of Finnegan Wells.”
I raise a forkful of pie as though it is a glass of champagne. “Duly noted.” I shove the whole bite in my mouth and let the ice cream dribble down my lips.
He glowers.
I wipe the drip with my thumb and suck the ice cream off. “See ya ’round, Finnegan.” I flutter my remaining fingers in a “toodles” kind of wave.
He storms out.
I exhale, thank every foster care bully that toughened my hide, and fight to gain control of my racing heart.
Tally gasps.
Odell utters a low whistle. “It was like watching Myrtle come back to life.”
I can’t wait to get back to the bookshop and tell Grams all the good news. Including the bit about Odell’s lovely compliment.
Chapter 17
When I get back to the bookshop the front door is locked, so I fish out my key and let myself into the store.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the eerie silence, but the booktopian smell gives me an unexpected dose of comfort. When I close the door and twist the locks, I actually feel “home.” I haven’t felt that sensation since my mom passed. Venturing north to explore the “great lakes” has turned out pretty okay.
I cautiously make my way through the darkness into the stacks and close my eyes. Today was a rollercoaster, but having this place to come back to gives me a solid feeling I’ve never known. Tomorrow, before anyone can show up and arrest me, I’m going to walk along that narrow balcony edging the second floor and climb to the top of that teetering ladder. It’s time for me to know more about this bookshop than anyone else. I’m going to start with the first book on the top shelf in the north corner and work my way through every precious tome in MY store.
Opening my eyes, I stretch out an arm to either side. The spines of books that could take me to other realms tickle the tips of my fingers and I sigh with satisfaction. No matter how tough things got, and whether the ends met or not, my mother always made sure I had a book to read.
A small flicker of light swirls toward me and expands. “How was that, dear?” She fades in and smiles.
“I didn’t even pee a little, Grams. I think that’s the one. That’s the entrance I prefer.”
Her melodious laughter sweeps over me and drifts into the stacks. She politely leaves my previous private thoughts untouched.
I pull out my phone and use the blue glow to guide my feet up to the apartment. “You aren’t going to believe what happened at the cleaners.”
She floats over to the bed, and the way she hovers it almost looks like we’re having a sleepover. She appears to lie on her tummy, ankles crossed, with her chin resting in her hand. “Tell me everything,” she gushes. A vision enveloped in Marchesa.
Inhaling sharply, I cover my mouth, and tears flood from my eyes.
Grams instantly whirls to my side. “What is it? Did someone hurt you?”
I imagine I can almost feel her ethereal hand rubbing my back. “It’s nothing bad, Grams. I don’t know what came over me. I looked at you on the bed with that attentive smile and—”
“Oh, honey.” She wipes her cheeks. “I hate that I can’t hold you, but I’m so glad I’m trapped in this bookstore.”
We both laugh through our tears.
“I never had family like this—not since Mom, well, you know.”
She nods.
“I didn’t realize how lonely I was until I came to Pin Cherry Harbor. Aside from the arrest for murder, this has been the best few days of my life.”
“That murder charge will never stick, dear.” She flicks away the idea and claps her hands together. “All right, enough touchy-feely sharing. What happened at the cleaners?”
I tell her about Finnegan Wells’ bloodstained shirt.
“Make a note.” She points to my phone.
Next, I mention Tanya’s comment about diamond-studded wrath.
“Kitty?”
“It has to be, right?”
“I told you there was a boyfriend.” Grams is positively glowing. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“You did.” I finish with the pie-related events at Myrtle’s Diner.
“Odell always was quick on the uptake. Smart as a whip, that man.” She smiles and her energy grows calm, as she seems to drift through her memories. “I’ll never forget the day we opened that diner.”
I must ask the burning question. “Why did you switch from Myrtle to Isadora?”
“When things ended with Odell, I truly felt like a part of my life and my heart were gone forever. Myrtle was the wide-eyed girl who fell head over heels for a young hero. When the drinking drove the wedge between us—”
“Odell’s an alcoholic?” He seems so clear-eyed and steady.
Grams turns away and a long silence hangs between us. “Not Odell, dear. Not Odell.”
“Oh.”
She looks into my eyes and nods. “Oh, indeed. My second marriage was a non-stop party. When the car accident took Max from me and left me with a limp and one kidney, the light finally came on. I dropped ‘Myrtle’ and all her mistakes. Isadora got sober, went to meetings, and formed a stable relationship with a responsible man—Cal.”
“I had no idea.”
“Of course you didn’t. Water under the bridge, dear.” Grams gives me that Midwestern stiff-upper-lip look.
“Now I understand why you left Odell the diner in your will.”
“He never remarried, you know.” Grams touches a tiny silver band on her left hand.
Never one to get too comfortable with raw emotion, I launch into the coup de grâce of my meeting with Finnegan. “Anyway, he mentioned that same Halloween ball and how much money they raise for charity. But, get this, when I asked him the name of the charity he got all bajiggity with me.”
“I have no idea what that means, honey.”
“Oh, right. He became defensive, and said, ‘No one makes a fool of Finnegan Wells.’ Then he gave me a threatening glare and stormed out.”
Grams fans herself and breathes a sigh of relief. “What did you do?”
“I ate the pie. I’m not an idiot.”
She laughs so hard ghost snot comes out her nose.
My chest swells with pride.
I’m too exhausted to go through my dad’s case files, so I treat myself to another ridiculously perfect hot shower and collapse into bed.
Chapter 18
Pyewacket’s rough tongue attempts to lick my eye open. I toy with the idea of ignoring him, but the recent memory of his pointy teeth on my earlobe causes me to roll out of bed.
I stumble to the bathroom and Pye rubs against my legs, nearly knocking me off my unsteady feet. “Let me wake up, son.”
Shockingly, Pye immediately ceases his assault. His tufted ears twitch and he leaps to the top of an antique armoire near the secret door. His head tilts and a dangerous look sharpens his gaze.
Wood scrapes against wood as the bookcase slides open.
I step back into the bathroom and peek around the beveled molding.
The door is completely open, but no one enters.
A disembodied voice utters a stern warning. “Robin Pyewacket Goodfellow, if you deign to lay one claw upon my head I’ll turn you into a mouse.”
Pye hisses.
Silas enters. “Pardon the unannounced early morning call, Mitzy. I have much to discuss.”
I stare. Clearly I need coffee, but did I just witness Silas and Pye having an actual conversation? I mean, Pye seemed to know who was coming, and Silas expected the attack. I rub my eyes and yawn loudly.
“Lovely,” murmurs Silas. “May I escort you to breakfast at the diner?”
“Gimme two minutes.”
“Please, take five.” Silas gently lowers himself onto the scalloped-back chair and Pye appears directly under the ready fingers of the attorney. The tufted ears relax and the gnarled fingers scratch. They have the comfortable air of old frie
nds.
I shake my head and close the bathroom door. A splash of water, a rinse of mouthwash, and skinny jeans swapped for my leggings. I’m ready to eat.
I cross the room and Silas leans back and squints. “What’s this now?” He gestures to my tee.
I look down and shrug. “It claims that abstinence is only 99.99% effective.” I point to the graphic. “It’s the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus. Get it?”
Silas cocks his head to one side, and a flash of amusement touches his milky-blue eyes. “I do. That is quite humorous.”
He could’ve simply laughed, but I suppose stating the fact of something’s hilarity is another way to go. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Indeed.” He rises from the chair.
“Hi-ssss.” Pyewacket launches through the open bookcase and down the stairs.
“I better give him his Fruity Puffs. I’d hate to see what those claws could do if he gets impatient.”
“Lifetimes of indulgence. He’ll never learn.” Silas shakes his head.
I hurry after the wildcat.
When I come out the front door of the bookshop, Silas is working levers and sliding the gearshift in the Model T, but there are no sounds of its sputtering engine. I lean in and suggest, “How ’bout we walk the two blocks?”
Silas mumbles something, ostensibly to the car, and exits his vehicle. “Very well.”
There’s only one booth left in the bustling diner and Odell doesn’t notice us when we enter. My goodness, this must be the weekend rush—but it’s Friday.
Silas leads the way to the booth and Tally arrives before I can slide in.
“You best get your orders in right quick. Those three tables just sat down, but I can slide yours in ahead of them if you know what you want.” Her bright red bun bobs anxiously.
“Bring us two specials and some black coffee.” Silas nods his dismissal.
“I might not want the special, Silas. And I take cream.”
“We’ll need to address your trust issues,” he mumbles.
I take offense, but keep it to myself. “Why is this place so busy on a Friday?”
“It’s opening day of the Pin Cherry Festival. I hope you’ve asked Twiggy to assist you at the bookshop.”
What makes him think I would’ve asked Twiggy to assist me during a festival whose existence I only just uncovered? I let it lie and move on to neutral territory. “You said we had a lot to discuss. Did you get a copy of the medical examiner’s report?”
He nods. “The amended report.”
“New time of death?”
“Originally, based on decomposition and insect activity, they claimed Wednesday morning between 10:00 and 11:00. However, after the forensic pathologist reviewed the tissue samples sent to the county crime lab—”
I lean forward.
“—the corrected time of death is Monday night between 8:00 and 9:00 p.m.”
I lean back and slap a hand on the table. “Kitty said she hadn’t seen him since Monday.”
Silas places two fingers on my hand. “Decorum, Mitzy.”
“Is our local ME a hack?”
“Not in the least. However, at county they discovered a strange striation in the cells that indicated the body had been frozen immediately after the murder. The extreme temperature slowed decomposition and gave a false time of death.”
I glance around and catch several people as they look away. I lean in and lower my voice. “There’s no way I’m a suspect now, right?”
“Unfortunately, no one on the bus remembers you, and the ticket alone isn’t an airtight alibi. However, I do think Sheriff Harper is finally pursuing other avenues.”
“Like the avenue of how the skanky widow and her boyfriend knocked off my grandfather for his money?” I tap my pointer finger on the table—lightly.
“Evidence points toward Kitty. What’s this about a boyfriend?”
I whisper, “I think there’s something going on between her and Finnegan Wells.” I suddenly recognize the symbol from Finnegan’s ostentatious signet ring. “Plus, he was wearing a ring with the Duncan family crest on it.”
Silas steeples his fingers and his eyes travel to a place I can’t follow. “Interesting. Quite interesting.”
“What? Did I solve the murder?”
Tally gasps at the word and clatters our plates onto the table. “I’ll—um—coffee.” She scurries off.
I look at the plate in front of Silas and see an egg-white omelette with green peppers and cheese. No toast. No potatoes. My heart sinks as I shift my gaze to my own plate. I have a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs with chorizo and jalapeños, two slices of sourdough toast, and a golden-brown mound of home fries. “How did we both get the special?” I point to our two completely different breakfasts.
“That is what is special. Odell always knows what you want.”
I grin like a fool and look toward the kitchen. Odell gives me an amused nod before he jumps back into filling orders.
Tally places two steaming mugs of java on the table and slides a little melamine bowl filled with individual creamers toward me. “Thank you.” I pour a good deal of thick, rich cream into my coffee and slide the bowl toward Silas. He waves it off and continues with his report.
“The business I had to attend to involved a conclave with Cal’s lawyer. There were some matters between his estate and Isadora’s that needed settling. She mentioned that Cal had come to see her Monday morning and requested some drastic changes to his will. The alterations would have left Kitty with a mere fraction of what she’d been promised.”
“Whom was he leaving everything to? I mean, Grams died before him so—”
“He was moving Jacob into the primary position and you as the contingent.”
“Me? Why me? I thought he and my dad were estranged. I don’t understand.”
“Nor do I, Mitzy, but this information regarding Finnegan Wells intrigues.” Silas scrunches up his large nose.
“Did I mention the Halloween Masquerade?” I ask. “He said that they, he and Kitty, raised a small fortune for charity every year, but when I asked the name of the charity he got all bajig—I mean, irritated and left.” Silas tilts his head and I add, “Plus, Tilly said the loan on the iron ore refinery had been paid off.”
A slow smile pushes up Silas’s sagging cheeks. “You are far more than a barista, Miss Moon. Far more.”
Chapter 19
I walk back to the bookshop alone. I may be slipping down the suspect list for Cal’s murder, but that fails to lift my spirits. Silas promised to set up a meeting with my father and that prospect has me on edge.
I stop and stare at the line forming in front of Bell, Book & Candle. I definitely need Twiggy. Crap! I don’t even have her number—or a phone with service. I’m rich now. I should definitely handle my cell-phone inadequacy.
I cross the street slowly, tossing around various delay tactics, when a familiar cackle reaches my ears.
“Right on top of the poor sheriff. I’m telling you—”
“You certainly are.” I interrupt Twiggy’s recounting of my crash landing on Erick at the diner and shove my special key in the lock.
Murmurs and snickers close in around me. This is not the day I had planned. I pull open the large door and Twiggy and her acolytes stream through without so much as a glance at their benefactor—or a thank you. I give a little harrumph and march to the back room.
Twiggy holds up a bank pouch and nods. “I took the liberty of grabbing the drawer money. I knew you’d be swamped with the Pinners.”
I want to wallow for a few more minutes, but she’s actually pretty thoughtful. “What are Pinners, dare I ask?”
“Out-of-towners that come up once a year for the Pin Cherry Festival.” She shakes her head.
“This is the first I’m hearing of the Pin Cherry Festival,” I say with more bite than I intend.
“Easy, doll. I’m sure there’s still time to put your name in the hat for Princess of the Pin Cherry Festival, if that’s wha
t’s got you so wound up.”
“You know what?” I don’t bother to finish the thought. I grab Pye’s box of Fruity Puffs and march up to the apartment without another word.
Once inside my hideout, I sputter all kinds of snappy retorts.
“Since your lips are moving, I’m gonna jump in.”
I shove a handful of cereal into my mouth and crunch loudly.
“Didn’t you just come from breakfast?”
“I stress eat when I’m not stress drinking. Don’t judge.”
Grams puts her hands up in surrender. “Two things, dear: Pyewacket’s wrath will be merciless if there are no Fruity Puffs for tomorrow’s breakfast.”
I remove my hand from the box and search the high places for furry retribution.
“And Twiggy will bend over backward for you if you show her a little respect.”
“She was entertaining a crowd with stories of my misfortune.”
“Are you saying landing on top of Erick Harper was unfortunate?” Grams winks.
I giggle and blush. “Hardly.”
We both laugh.
“I was hoping to spend the day going over Dad’s case files. I didn’t know there was a princess pageant and a cherry jubilee!”
“You’re too funny, Mitzy.” Grams floats toward the settee and repeats, “Cherry jubilee. Delightful.” She settles into a reclining hover. “Just run down and let Twiggy know how much you need her help and that you have to review the case. Piece of cake, dear.”
“Is there a bakery in town?”
Grams looks at me as though I’ve lost it.
“You said cake, and I thought ‘yes’ and now I want cake.”
“Take the Fruity Puffs downstairs and clear your schedule. We need to—”
“Cal was changing his will,” I blurt.
Grams shoots up toward the ceiling. “Cereal. Schedule. Case.” She ticks off the list on her bejeweled fingers and hurtles toward me. “No time to lose, Mitzy. No time to lose.”
The sight of Ghost-ma barreling directly at me lights a fire beneath my feet. I hustle back downstairs.
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