The Purloined Letter Opener

by Leah R. Cutter

  Lydia grimaced, glad that Alice couldn’t see her. Alice’s parents considered anyone single to be living only half a life. (With the exception of their daughter, of course, who had fortunately never shown signs of being interested in anyone.)

  Luckily, it was June. Tourist season was in full swing. Lydia didn’t have time to go to a dinner or any other event that Alice’s parents would arrange so that she and Mitch could spend an evening together.

  While Mitch was perfectly fine, he wasn’t her type. Though Lydia wasn’t exactly certain what her type was, she knew Mitch wasn’t it. He was tall and blond and overly intellectual. She wanted someone who wouldn’t mind getting their hands dirty.

  Plus, Mitch lived in Seattle and worked as a video game historian, whatever the heck that meant. Like Tracy, he was also a writer. Unlike Tracy, he’d never managed to finish even a single novel, while Tracy made her living from her writing.

  “We’re going to have a picnic on Tuesday!” Alice announced. “Mama showed me the basket and promised that I get to help pack it.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Lydia said. Hopefully they’d be going someplace shady—Eastern Washington in June was very warm. Scorching hot would arrive sometime after the fourth of July.

  “You could come with,” Alice slyly suggested.

  “I still have to work,” Lydia said. It was the truth, after all. It wasn’t that she didn’t take any time off—she just wouldn’t really have a full day to herself from now until October or November, when the tourist season finally drew to a close.

  “You could take the day off,” Alice said. “Papa says you work too hard.”

  “That’s probably true,” Lydia said. “But when was the last day your papa didn’t work on the farm?”

  “He always works!” Alice exclaimed. She popped her head out of the bathroom. “Mama too! That’s why we’re all going on a picnic together. So we don’t always work.”

  Lydia blinked, surprised. That didn’t sound like Alice’s parents at all. Like most of the folk around here, they didn’t know how to take a vacation. That was for tourists and such.

  “I’m really glad they’re doing that, then,” Lydia said. She would have to remember to check with Patrice later, see if she’d heard anything about Alice’s parents. Hopefully everything was okay and they were really just indulging their daughter.

  “You could also take the day off,” came a deep voice from behind Lydia.

  “You first,” Lydia said, turning and smiling at her dad. She walked over and kissed his cheek.

  Her dad still smelled of the bay leaf aftershave he’d used since he’d been a teenager himself, along with the warm smell of a fresh cotton shirt. He wore a light blue T-shirt today, along with jeans. Mom had a thing for laundry. She loved doing it—considered it her artform. Lydia sometimes wondered about her mom.

  Before her father had retired, Emerson Marsh had worked as an insurance broker, setting people up with the right policy for them, as opposed to working for a single company and having a limited number of plans to offer people. Lydia assumed that some of her sense of service came from him—that satisfaction he got from getting the very best for his clients.

  He’d worn suits all his life, along with an array of astonishingly bright ties, many of which Lydia had given him when she’d been a child. Now, he worked as a part-time handyman. He was always tinkering with something either at their house or at the B&B. He wore comfortable work jeans or Carhartts, and frequently commented that any day he didn’t have to put on a jacket or tie was a good day.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Marsh,” Alice said formally before returning to her work in the bathroom.

  “Was in town to pick up some paint,” Dad said. “Figured I’d come see if my best girl wanted to go have coffee or something.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. Her dad was always doing this sort of thing. It was how he’d related to his clients, by taking them out to lunch or coffee.

  “Sorry, I’ll have to take a raincheck,” Lydia said. It was already after two PM. The first of her guests would be arriving soon. Fortunately, the restaurant was only open for breakfast and lunch, and had closed for the day. She would put out a signup sheet tomorrow morning to see if there were any guests who wanted to do a wine tasting in the restaurant Saturday evening.

  “You go have coffee,” Alice said suddenly. She came out into the room and stood with her hands on her waist, glaring at Lydia. “I can finish this room. And do next door, right?”

  Lydia bit her lip. Alice could, probably, finish up everything. Lydia would still have to double-check to make sure everything was set up right. But Alice could clean without any oversight.

  “All right,” Lydia said.

  Alice beamed at her. “See? You don’t have to work all the time either.”

  Lydia smiled and shook her head, not commenting on how that really wasn’t true.

  Fortunately, she enjoyed her work.

  Lydia was surprised when after they reached the first floor that her dad didn’t go to her own kitchen but actually headed for the door.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Dad asked when she stopped in the dead center of the now closed restaurant. “I’m buying,” he assured her with a teasing grin.

  “Uhmmm,” Lydia said. She hadn’t left the premises in a day. Maybe two. Okay, perhaps she’d been there for most of the week. Or more.

  “You need to get out more,” Dad gently chided. “Or are you going to turn into ashes and blow away if you actually step out into the sunlight?”

  “Very funny,” Lydia said as she followed her dad out of the building. The B&B was located on Main Street, just two blocks from the central intersection that made up what was called downtown by the town of Lake Hope, though it was just a few blocks of occupied buildings, not a proper downtown like a city might have.

  Lydia paused for a moment, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, feeling the sunlight hit her face. It was warm out here, warmer than she’d expected. She ran the AC in the B&B so it was comfortable, not cold, so she could wear lightweight pants and shoes and not feel sticky or shivery.

  Okay. So maybe she could do with some time off and away. She did live in the B&B on the first floor. She had groceries and pastries and everything else delivered. If they needed supplies, Misty generally was the one who went and got them.

  While Lydia had spent a little bit of time in the garden behind the building, obviously it wasn’t enough.

  She opened her eyes and smiled at her dad, who was looking at her with a worried expression.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Just—I guess needed a break more than I realized.”

  He gave her a big smile. “Then I have just the ticket.” He turned and strolled up the street.

  Lydia following, uncertain if she should be worried or pleased.

  3

  Lydia always loved how Patrice’s bakery smelled—of butter and sugar, almonds and cinnamon—with the scent of rich coffee underneath. Like Lydia, Patrice served sandwiches for lunch, but was open a little bit later in the afternoons, until four PM.

  The shop had a long glass counter at the front, stuffed full of cookies, donuts, muffins, and slices of sweet quick-bread cakes. Only four tables were inside the shop, with a half dozen outside under colorful patio umbrellas. The AC ran on high here, due to the ovens in the back. Soft music played—a service that Patrice paid for and was forever trying to talk Lydia into as well. However, Lydia wanted her space quiet. She couldn’t stand to have noise like that in the background all the time.

  Patrice had inherited the bakery from her parents. She’d worked there all her life, running it on her own for the last six years after her father had retired. She’d renamed it to The Palace Bakery at that time, as she was certainly the queen of her domain.

  Gracie came out of the back, hearing the door chime when Lydia and her dad came in. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave them a huge grin when she saw them. Gracie had worked in the bakery for the last eig
ht years, starting while she’d been in high school. She had talked more than once of opening up her own sideline of pot pies one day. She endured jokes about volleyball and the weather, as she was over six feet tall, though she wasn’t athletic at all. She wore her dark frizzy hair pulled back into a tight bun. Her apron showed stains of flour, as well as what looked like streaks of strawberry jam.

  “Just me right now,” Gracie said when she saw Lydia. “Patrice will be back later this afternoon. Had to make a cake delivery.”

  Local wineries hired Patrice to make wedding cakes for them. She didn’t do them often, but they were beautiful, fanciful creations that looked amazing, with stained glass sugar effects or more restrained pure white affairs. They just tasted like cake to Lydia, something that she’d never tell her friend, though everyone else raved about them.

  “That’s all right,” Lydia said. “I brought a date.”

  “What’ll you have then, Mr. Marsh?” Gracie asked with a smile.

  “Coffee and a molasses cookie for me,” he said. “And for you?” he asked, turning to Lydia.

  What the hell. “Decaf and a slice of the lemon-lavender olive-oil cake.”

  “Ooooh,” Dad said.

  “You get a bite. That’s all,” Lydia warned.

  “Of course!” Dad said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

  He paid for their treats, gathered them up, then led Lydia to a table outside. She slid her chair so she was out of the sunshine. While it might feel nice after all the AC, she knew she would overheat quickly.

  “What are you painting?” Lydia asked after she’d taken a bite of her cake. It was divine, with a lovely sharp lemon taste that paired well with the richness of the olive oil and the lightness of the lavender. They both faced the quiet street. Not many cars would go by at this time of the afternoon. Not much foot traffic either, just a few tourists ambling by and window shopping. More would show up after four, when everyone returned from visiting the nearby wineries.

  “Painting?” Dad asked, seemingly confused.

  “You’d said that you were coming into town to get some paint,” Lydia reminded him.

  “Oh! Right. Painting,” Dad said. “Uhmmm, I’m not sure.” He paused, then shrugged. “I’d actually just come in to talk with you.”

  A stab of fear went through Lydia.

  “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

  There was something wrong with her mother. She just knew it. Mom had been moping around the last time Lydia had seen her, two weeks ago? Three?

  “No, nothing’s wrong,” Dad assured her. “We just have some things we wanted to tell you.”

  “About?” Lydia asked. She took a quick sip of her coffee and scalded her mouth. Great.

  Dad sighed as he broke apart a piece of his cookie. The smell of molasses and ginger wafted over to Lydia.

  “After your mother retired last year, well, it hasn’t gone as she’d expected.”

  Lydia nodded. Mom had worked as a legal secretary for the one honest law firm in Lake Hope, though there were only two. Though she was older than Dad, she’d waited until she was sixty to retire.

  Not just Lydia had been worried about what Helen Marsh would do with herself in retirement. She didn’t have many hobbies, and she couldn’t garden all day and all night. She had spent a lot of time sleeping and reading the first month. Then she’d started complaining. As well as moping.

  “We’ve decided to go vacationing for the summer,” Dad said. “RVing.”

  “Are you buying an RV?” Lydia asked, stunned. That seemed so out of character for her stay-at-home parents.

  “Nope. Renting. For three months,” Dad said. “I wouldn’t buy one until after we’d spent a lot of time driving one around, you know?”

  “Okay,” Lydia said slowly. She felt her heart start to return to normal. Maybe nothing was seriously wrong with her mother. She could work with this.

  “So, do you want me to take care of the house while you’re gone?” Was this what he’d meant by finding her something that would get her out of the B&B more? That seemed kind of mean, however.

  Lydia would miss both of them, though honestly, she’d probably miss her dad more.

  “Nope! No need to pile one more thing on your plate,” Dad said. He sounded weirdly pleased with himself. “Though I do think it might be good for you to get out of your place more often, I didn’t want to burden you. You already work too much.”

  Lydia rolled her eyes. Seemed that was the theme of the day.

  “Your brother is going to stay there for the summer,” Dad went on.

  “Theo?” Lydia said, incredulous. “But—why? He hates it here. And what about Quentin?”

  Her younger brother, Theodore Marsh, had gone to Spokane, WA for college and never looked back. He’d gotten a job as a middle-grade teacher, then gotten married and had a young boy named Quentin.

  Then he’d gotten divorced. Lydia didn’t know the details, and didn’t want to know. However, as far as Lydia was concerned, the first signs she’d ever seen of her younger brother becoming an adult was how he’d handled his life after the divorce. He’d stayed in Spokane, even stayed friendly with his spouse, for the sake of their child.

  “Jasmine and Quentin are going to be spending the summer in Mexico, visiting her family,” Dad said. “And Theo wanted to come home for a while.”

  “Really?” Lydia asked, still confused. “Why would he want to do that?”

  Dad shrugged. “He just said he needed to get out of Spokane. He was the one who had asked about coming home for a couple of weeks, before we’d finalized the plans with the RV.”

  “Huh,” Lydia said. Her younger brother was coming back to town. That had to be better than Mom being sick. Right?

  “So I expect you to spend some time with him,” Dad said, giving Lydia a look.

  Lydia didn’t whine and immediately ask, “Do I have to?” though a part of her wanted to. She recognized that was just an old habit from when she’d been much younger and had been told that it was her responsibility to look after her stupid little brother.

  But honestly, she’d never gotten along with him, even after they’d become adults. His life was so radically different than hers. He’d grown more conservative, less open, as he’d gotten older. They had practically nothing in common anymore.

  Still, Lydia would do anything for her parents. “Of course I’ll spend time with him,” she assured Dad.

  “I want you to put reminders into your calendar to go and talk with him,” Dad instructed. “Otherwise, you’ll never even leave that building of yours.”

  Lydia sighed and pulled out her phone. Dad was right. She wouldn’t necessarily even remember that Theo was in town until the end of the summer.

  It was just one more thing to do.

  Dad told her the dates. Theo would be arriving that afternoon. Her parents were taking off that Monday.

  Of course they were. That was how her family worked. You arranged everything ahead of time and then just did it. It had driven Neil, her ex-husband, crazy. He’d wanted to be more involved with the planning stages, but he’d never been able to make a decision, not like Lydia. Which was why it had been such a shock to her when he’d presented her with the divorce papers, everything already set into place.

  “I’ll miss you,” Lydia told her dad after they finished their treats and coffee.

  “No, you won’t,” Dad said with a smile. “You’ll be working all summer and won’t even notice.”

  Lydia sighed. He might be right. Then again, he might not be. She drew a lot of strength and comfort from knowing her parents were nearby.

  “You’ll be fine,” he added, squeezing her shoulder and kissing her cheek. “And besides, you’ll still have family in town. Your brother will be here!”

  Lydia didn’t think that would make it any better. Still, she agreed to go have coffee with Theo Monday afternoon, and possibly dinner as well.

  Maybe they could make a habit of meeting every M
onday night. That would at least give her an excuse to leave the B&B once a week.

  She told herself that it was all going to be fine with her brother here for the summer. Really, what could go wrong?

  4

  “So, it seems our poltergeist is back,” Misty announced as she came into the kitchen Saturday morning.

  Lydia looked up from the cantaloupe she was carefully slicing. The kitchen smelled of sweet melon and grapes, part of the fruit salad she was serving with breakfast. Lydia had already eaten, having learned early that if she didn’t eat before she made food she’d be miserable.

  The cost of a night’s stay at the B&B included pastries from Patrice’s shop, juice or fruit salad, and coffee or tea for breakfast. For a little bit more, the guests could have eggs, bacon, and pancakes as well. Most people splurged on the extras. They were on vacation, after all.

  The grill behind Lydia was still warming up as she sliced fruit, layering the air with the familiar scent of cooking oil. She’d start cooking bacon once it had heated all the way.

  “So what did the poltergeist do this time?” Lydia asked as she continued slicing. Of course the B&B was haunted, or at least that was what she told guests. It was good for business, gave them more stories to tell. More than one tourist had sworn they’d seen a ghost on the second floor. Lydia always listened to their stories with interest, though she didn’t believe a single one of them.

  Ghosts just didn’t fit into her practical world view.

  “Moved one of the pens into the holder with the letter openers,” Misty said. She leaned one hip against the doorway, making herself comfortable. “And also switched around some of the glasses, putting them on the shelves with the mugs, and vice versa.”

  They didn’t really have a poltergeist. What they did have was a local who went into the shop and moved things around. It had taken Misty a while to realize that the moved items served as a distraction, so that no one would notice anything missing.

  “Did they take anything this time?” Lydia asked. She finished with the melon she was working on and reached for the next cantaloupe, carefully slicing it in two, the guts of it spilling out over her cutting board.