Murders and Metaphors

by Amanda Flower

  “I promise.” What could I say when he was staring at me like that?

  He nodded and opened his car door, and I continued on my way half concerned that the police chief had been worrying about me and half thrilled.

  As I made the turn on River Road toward the shop. I saw a figure with a guitar case in his hand standing in front of the Charming Books gate. I couldn’t see the man’s face or hair because he had the hood of his parka all the way up, but the sight of him still made my heart skip a beat. Was it Fenimore? As far as I knew, the troubadour hadn’t been back to the village since giving me my mother’s letter. I wasn’t ready for him to come back. I hadn’t told Grandma Daisy about him yet.

  Part of me wanted to turn around and hide out in Le Crepe Jolie the rest of the day, eating Adrien’s quiche and pretending that I didn’t live in a world where murder happened or where long-lost fathers showed up on your doorstep.

  The man turned. “Are you Violet Waverly?”

  My knees went weak when I saw that it wasn’t Fenimore, but I felt oddly disappointed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I walked up to him. “I am. Can I help you?”

  He pushed his hood back, revealing a middle-aged man with a thin mustache and beard that was so blond it was visible only with the sunlight. He wore thick plastic-rimmed glasses. “I’d like to talk to you about Belinda Perkins.”

  “And who are you?”

  He handed me a business card. I took it from his hand. It read, JOEL REDDING, P.I. NIAGARA FALLS, NY.

  “You’re a private investigator.”

  He smiled. “That’s typically what the P.I. means.”

  I frowned and started to hand the card back to him. He shook his head. “No, you keep it.”

  “Who are you working for?” I shoved the card into the pocket of my coat. It might come in handy.

  “Her fiancé, Sebastian Knight.”

  A light snow began to fall, but even so I didn’t suggest that we go into Charming Books to discuss this further. “Sebastian must be nervous if he is willing to pay a private investigator to look into the murder.”

  Redding adjusted his glasses on his nose. “He wants to ensure that he’s not railroaded by the small-town police, but I don’t have to tell you what’s that’s like. You know all about that very well.”

  It seemed that Joel Redding, P.I., had done his homework on me, but I refused to rise to the bait. “What’s with the guitar? Is guitar playing part of the P.I. gig nowadays?”

  He looked down at his case. “It’s just the case, no guitar. I use it for a briefcase. I have found that people seem to be more open to an investigator who looks like he plays the guitar than one taking notes.”

  I arched my brow. It seemed to me that, as quirky as he was, Joel Redding would meld into Cascade Springs society well, maybe too well.

  “Now, tell me the details of when you found Belinda. Start to finish in your own words.”

  “If you have already spoken to the police, I don’t know what else I can tell you. I told them everything that I know.”

  “That I don’t believe. I have done my research on you, Miss Waverly, and you have a very colorful past with the police and have a history of withholding information when you think you’re in the right.”

  I tightened my grip on the handle of Adrien’s goody bag, and it cut into my palm. “If you are trying to ingratiate yourself with me, this is not the tactic to use.”

  He stroked his almost invisible beard. “I just want you to be aware of how seriously I take my investigations. I know all about you, Miss Waverly. Of how you were accused and arrested for murdering your best friend when you were seventeen. How you were cleared, charges were never filed, and it has been expunged from your record. How you returned to this village last summer after a long time away and solved a couple of murders. It’s quite impressive for an amateur. If it were not for the fact you are a witness to the crime, I would hire you as my girl Friday for this case. You have a startling success rate.”

  “How do you know all this? My records were expunged.”

  He laughed. “You can’t really hide anything anymore in the age of information. Your official record was cleared, but the village newspaper had a digital archive anyone can access, and Colleen Preston’s death was the biggest story to hit this village in decades. All of your more recent escapades are well documented too.”

  My heart thundered in my chest. “I suggest you talk to Police Chief David Rainwater. He has the information you want.” I slid past him and opened the gate in the white picket fence. I stepped through the gate and closed it behind me, hoping that Redding would get the message that he was not invited to follow me.

  “Oh, the police chief with whom you are romantically linked? Trust me, I know all about him too,” he said to my back.

  I froze in the middle of the snow-covered pavers that led to the steps of the old Victorian.

  “Or are you in love with the village mayor? You do set your romantic aspirations high.”

  I straightened my back, refusing to turn around. I walked straight into the shop and closed the door behind me. I leaned my back against the front door, still holding the bag of food from Le Crepe Jolie. After a moment, I went to the front window, pushed the curtain aside just an inch, and peeked out.

  Redding was just where I had left him on the sidewalk in front of the shop, holding his guitar briefcase. He wiggled his fingers at me.

  I jumped away from the window. This was bad, so very bad. I knew Sebastian was convinced that Lacey was the killer. Had he hired Joel Redding to prove it? It just made me more determined than ever to clear Lacey’s name, but with Redding looking like he had no plans of leaving, that was going to be a challenge.

  I glanced around the shop. Faulkner was in the tree, Emerson was MIA, and Grandma Daisy was at the sales counter helping an elderly customer. All was normal, but knowing that Redding was lying in wait for me just outside Charming Books’ gate did not make all feel normal.

  In addition to the man at the counter, a second customer wandered through the book stacks with a perplexed expression on his face. I was surprised that Charming Books, which was the bookshop “where the perfect book picks you,” hadn’t revealed to him the book he was seeking yet. It wasn’t often that I found a confused customer browsing the shelves.

  The man, who looked to be in his thirties, was clean-shaven and wore a long wool coat and shiny black shoes. It was clear that he wasn’t from the village. I think it was the shiny shoes that triggered the memory, but I knew I had seen this man the night before at the book signing.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  He was peering at a cookbook on a low shelf and looked up at me. “Oh, hello there. Do you work here?”

  I nodded. “I’m Violet Waverly.”

  “Oh, very good.” His eyes flitted around the room. The man looked up into the tree. “Is that a real tree in the middle of your shop?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “It is, and that’s a real crow too.”

  He shuddered. “I don’t care for birds.”

  As if he understood, Faulkner hopped down to the next branch on the tree. The man shuddered. Faulkner, sensing the man’s discomfort, reveled in it by walking up and down the branch.

  “You don’t have to worry about Faulkner. He’s very well behaved.” I gave the large black bird a beady glare.

  Faulkner bobbed his head and unfurled his wings before settling them back against his sides.

  The man with the shiny shoes paled.

  “I know that we didn’t have a chance to meet, but I think I saw you at the book signing last night at Morton Vineyards. Am I correct?” I asked. “Charming Books was there as the official bookseller for the event.”

  He peeled his eyes away from the bird.

  “Jake Zule. I was at the event last night. Belinda invited me. She knew I was on my way up to Ontario. I’m working on a book about Canadian wine country. I’m sure my book won’t be as widely praised as
Belinda’s book was, but I plan to do my very best at it.”

  “Belinda was a friend of yours?”

  “In her way, yes,” he said.

  I stood there trying to decide what he meant by “in her way.” Was there a particular way to be a friend that I didn’t know about? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emerson eel out from around the tree. The cat moved low to the ground like he was stalking something. I prayed that he didn’t pounce on the nervous-looking man.

  “I actually stopped by because of another writing assignment that came up rather suddenly, so I find myself scrambling to gather the research I need in time. I want to do a thorough job. The article is for a very prestigious food-and-wine magazine, a great opportunity.”

  “I’m happy to help you find the materials you need. What’s the article about?”

  “It’s about Cascade Springs and ice wine. I was asked to review the wineries in the village, and I need a little bit more background on each of them before I can do that. I have searched online, of course, but I was hoping that you had some books on it as well.”

  “We do,” I said carefully. “Ice wine is a popular vintage in the Cascade Springs area, and other than the springs themselves, our wineries are the greatest tourist draw.” I paused for a moment. “I thought Belinda was writing an article on the same topic. Someone mentioned it to me at the signing last night before …” I trailed off.

  His cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. “Yes, well, Belinda was supposed to write this article, but the assignment was given to me after, well, you know.”

  After she was murdered, I thought. I did know.

  “As you can imagine, I’m not completely comfortable with the assignment, considering what happened, but the local wineries, including Morton Vineyards, are looking forward to the publicity the article will generate.”

  I was certain the Mortons wanted good publicity, especially after the disastrous party the night before. It couldn’t have possibly gone worse for them.

  “The local history and travel section is by the front window,” I said. “We keep it near the front of the shop so it’s easy for tourists to find.” I led him back to the front near Faulkner’s perch. Luckily, the crow remained in the tree. I didn’t think the uptight wine critic would respond well if the large black bird zoomed in for a landing just then.

  Emerson bounded onto the top of the low bookshelf. Jake gasped. “You have a cat!”

  “Emerson is his name.” I gave the tuxedo cat a beady look.

  Jake lifted a book from the shelf and stared at it. “I thought you said this is where you keep local-interest books.”

  “It is …” I trailed off as I noticed the book in his hand. It was another copy of Little Women. It was a different edition than the ones the shop’s essence had revealed to me before. I forced a laugh. “Now, how did that get there?” I took the book from his hand. “Why don’t I take a look at what we have?” I angled myself in front of the shelf, blocking his view of titles on the books’ spines. “I’m sure that the book was just misshelved,” I said in a singsong voice. “It happens now and again. When customers like to browse, they don’t always put the books back where they found them. We have found books in the oddest places in this shop.”

  I faced toward the shelf, and every last spine facing me was Little Women. Emerson walked back and forth the length of the bookcase like a lion in a cage. My palms began to sweat.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I set the copy of Little Women in my hand on top of the bookcase. Emerson pawed at the book. I reached for another book and came up with Alcott’s classic story again. I laughed to cover my dismay. “You know, I’ll have to ask my grandmother where she put those books. She must have moved them without telling me. Be right back.”

  Jake stared at me, and I fled to the sales counter. Thankfully, my grandmother’s customer had left. “Grandma Daisy,” I hissed.

  My grandmother looked up from the book that she was reading. “What is it, Violet? Why are you sweating?”

  “I have a problem.”

  She closed her book and gave me her full attention.

  “Don’t look over there now, but there is a man by Faulkner’s perch by the front window. He says his name is Jake Zule.”

  Grandma Daisy ignored my directions and stared openly at Jake. “The man with the shiny shoes?”

  I groaned. “He is the only man in the shop right now, so yes, that’s him. Will you please stop staring at him? He’s going to think we’re talking about him.”

  My grandmother folded her hands over the cover of her book and said, “But we are talking about him, my dear.”

  “Right.” I stepped in front of her to block her view of Jake. “He’s a writer and has just been given Belinda’s writing assignment to review the wineries in Cascade Springs.”

  “Oh!” Grandma Daisy cranked her neck so that she could see around me. “He will know what she was working on. Maybe he can lead us to the killer!”

  “Grandma …” I whined.

  “Dear, haven’t you told me in the past when solving a murder, the more suspects the better? He might know more suspects. He might even be one! I’m just following your direction in crime investigation.”

  I was really going to have to rethink my life, since my own grandmother took it for granted that ‘crime investigation’ was a part of it. It wasn’t like I went out looking for murders to solve. They fell in my lap, or more accurately, I tripped over them.

  I winced, praying that Jake hadn’t heard my grandmother’s comments. She had done nothing to try to modulate her voice. “Well yes, and we have to find out what he knows before he leaves, but I can’t do that because the shop is fighting me. If the shop keeps this up much more, he’s going to write me off as a complete nut. Then he won’t tell me anything.”

  “Violet, no one could think you are a nut. You’re passionate sometimes, maybe a little foolhardy by running into situations where you don’t belong, but you’re a Waverly, and that’s just the way we’re wired. You should have seen me as a young woman.”

  Why didn’t I find this comforting?

  “How is the shop fighting you? Did you upset it?” she asked.

  “Every book that I try to give him, the shop turns into Little Women.” I glanced over my shoulder and saw Emerson sizing Jake up as if he was deciding whether or not to jump on the wine critic’s head.

  “The essence isn’t being very subtle in telling you to read the book. Have you discovered what it wants you to know from the novel yet?”

  “No,” I said. “I will try again just as soon as I can learn all I can from the writer, but you have to help him choose a book. I’m afraid if he’s given one more copy written by Alcott, he’ll bolt.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Local history of the village and books on wine making in the area.”

  “I’m on it.” She floated around the counter. “Hello, Jake, is it?” she asked in a bright, cheerful voice. “I heard that you were looking for local-interest books. I happened to move them, and it completely slipped my mind to tell Violet. How silly of me!” Grandma Daisy walked over to him, took hold of his arm, and turned him toward the street. “As you can see, even in the depths of winter, Cascade Springs is a lovely place. Look at the gas lampposts. Those are the real thing, too, and wait for it! That’s a horse and carriage trotting down our original brick street. Utterly charming. I’m sure you can get the idea of how we decided to name our shop Charming Books.”

  While Grandma Daisy had Jake’s back turned to the inside of the shop, dozens of books flew across the room to other shelves. One narrowly missed the back of Jake’s head. Faulkner swooped down from his perch in the tree and hovered over the flying books. Emerson batted at them as the books flew into the shelf, and I stood gape-mouthed in the middle of the room.

  Jake started to turn. “Did you hear something?”

  Grandma Daisy turned Jake back toward the window. “It must be the old radiator trying to keep th
is big Victorian warm. It’s a very old house, as you can see. Now, have you been down to the Riverwalk yet? If not, you really should go before you leave the village. It’s a lovely piece of green space right in the heart of the village and runs along the Niagara River. Even in the winter it is a beautiful sight, I can assure you of that.”

  From where I stood, I could see that the books were about to fly in front of Jake. I grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Mr. Zule, I wondered if you noticed the number of books we have on wine in general in our shop. We have a whole section by the sales counter. As you can imagine, it’s a popular topic in the area.”

  The books settled on their shelves just as Jake shook my hand from his arm. “Thank you, but I have more than enough books on wine in general. I’m here to learn about this community. If that’s not too much trouble.”

  “Well, that’s no trouble at all,” Grandma Daisy said. “Why didn’t you just say that in the first place? I thought you wanted to hear about our little village first. Violet misled me. This way to the books.” She waved him on. As my grandmother walked by me, she winked.

  I stopped just short of rolling my eyes.

  Grandma Daisy led Jake over to the other side of the shop and showed him the new place where local-interest books could be found. “We also have several copies left of Belinda Perkins’s previous books on wine, if you have any interest. Her new book sold out this morning. This is the place where we keep books by our local authors, Belinda being one of our stars. We are heartbroken to lose her. What a terrible thing to happen in our little village.”

  “I got one at the signing last night,” he said. He selected a few books from the shelf, and I gave a great sigh of relief when not one of them was Little Women.

  “Oh!” Grandma Daisy feigned surprise. “You were there too? Was it for the article that you are working on now?”