In Cold Chamomile

by Joy Avon

  “That’s understandable.” Callie leaned over to her in comfort.

  Iphy sniffed. “Is it? I told myself so a thousand times over the years when every now and then Sean Strong came back to mind. How he had smiled at me, how his eyes had lit up when I walked up to him, and how warm his arm was around my waist as we walked by the ocean. I had made the right decision, I reiterated—I had, because now I had beautiful memories, untainted by what might have been next: his feelings fading, fights, betrayal. It was better this way. But when I saw him again, Callie, I realized it wasn’t better this way. I should have taken chances. I should have tried. Maybe it would have ended in disappointment, but at least I would have tried.” She hung her head, and tears dripped down her cheeks.

  Callie bit her lip. She could understand her great-aunt’s rational decision at the time, but also her doubts now as she told herself that it could have been different. Her own head was full of questions about Ace and her, their chances for a relationship, her disappointment that he could be so cold, and at the same time the realization that she was a part of the problem, as she had gone against his express wishes, making him feel like she didn’t care for his opinion at all. But things were never that straightforward.

  “Anyway …” Iphy dabbed impatiently at her tear-stained cheeks. “I feel like I let Sean down in the past, and I won’t do that again. I realize he’s just a stranger now, as so much time has passed, but I can’t sit by and let him be accused of murder. Maybe he did trade places with Teak on purpose,” Iphy said, gesturing with her hands. “And the medical examiner found marks on the dead body suggesting a violent struggle took place just before King died, but that doesn’t mean it was Sean.” She gave Callie a pleading look.

  Callie sighed. “Sure, we all struggle with lots of people at innocent events we attend, right? Could have been anybody, really.”

  Iphy looked over the cake, a finger trailing over Sleeping Beauty’s flowing hair. Then she sank down on a chair and burst out, “Truth is, it looks bad for him, Callie. Also, because he doesn’t want to tell them what happened between him and the victim. I know him: once he’s dead set on something, he won’t change his mind again. He’ll just sit there and say nothing and get Falk even madder at him.”

  “Falk isn’t mad at him. He’s doing his job.” Callie noticed she was calling him Falk again, like she had in the beginning, as if they were strangers again and not … Maybe it would have been better if they had never gotten so close. If she had never expected he could care for her and feel how much she cared for him. It hurt to think about it, so Callie added hurriedly, “I’m sure Falk is very professional about handling this case, and especially Sean’s part in it. He just can’t help if a suspect won’t cooperate. And you just mentioned how dead set Sean Strong can be, which isn’t making it any easier.” She waited a moment. “And are you sure he couldn’t have been dead set on killing someone? If he felt he had a compelling reason?”

  Iphy shook her head. “Sean may have strong opinions about things, but he loves his freedom. Can you see him behind bars?”

  Callie considered this a moment. “Maybe he didn’t think about that when he grabbed those scissors and stabbed the man he was arguing with. In a rage, you don’t consider consequences—you just act.”

  “You think he’s guilty?”

  “I don’t know. And I think you can’t know either. You’re basing your assessment of his character on your interactions with him … how many years ago?”

  “Almost fifty,” Iphy admitted. “People do change, I suppose …” Her voice trailed off, and a faraway look came to her eyes, as if she was suddenly remembering something.

  “What?” Callie asked.

  “Nothing. I’m sorry I got so emotional.” Iphy forced a shaky laugh. She got to her feet, picked up the cake, and put it in the fridge. She waited a moment and then confided, “I do feel better now that you know, Callie. I just—I wasn’t myself this morning when we left the police station, and I realized what desperate trouble Sean was in. I shouldn’t have said that you’re Falk’s mouthpiece. I was so happy when you two got together, and I do wish you every happiness.”

  Callie’s chest tightened at the idea that all happiness seemed further out of reach than ever. Ace was mad at her for various reasons, and although she knew matters were more nuanced than he had presented them to her, she did understand how he felt. How was she ever going to untangle it all again?

  Did she even want to? Hadn’t she been hurt deeply by his accusations, the sudden anger flaring at her? How much did Ace really care for her if he could say such hurtful things? If he didn’t even find out whether he was in the right, but just said something?

  Maybe she should just lean back and wait to see if he came to her and wanted to talk. If he offered the opening, he might be willing to really listen to her instead of jumping to conclusions because of something Peggy said or he thought Quinn had done. He didn’t know half the facts!

  Maybe she should just bide her time and see if it got better?

  Chapter Fourteen

  After Callie had locked Book Tea’s door for the day and was putting a few chairs in place around the tables, there was a knock at that door, on the glass pane, an urgent knuckle rap. Callie spied Mrs. Forrester gesturing at her to let her in. She was looking about her as if she was being followed by someone she desperately wanted to escape.

  Callie quickly unlocked the door, opened it, and let the library volunteer slip inside. While she was closing the door, Mrs. Forrester retreated to the back of Book Tea, pulling her coat tighter around her. She wasn’t wearing the felt hat of the other day, with the diamond hatpin, but a close-fitting red model that vied with her flushed face for deepest color.

  Callie asked her in a whisper what was wrong. Mrs. Forrester tried to catch her breath. “I knew you’d close up around this time. I hurried over here from the library.”

  “I thought the library closed an hour before we do,” Callie said, puzzled. Mrs. Forrester nodded. “We do, but I often stay behind to tidy a bit. Tonight I also wanted to use the computer to look into something. My old one at home isn’t that fast.” She looked about her as if she feared that even here, inside Book Tea, unwelcome ears would be listening in on her revelations.

  “What did you want to look into?” Callie asked. The woman’s secretive behavior piqued her curiosity. This had to be about more than just wanting to fact-check something. Mrs. Forrester gestured for her to come over, and when they stood side by side, she said, “Remember how at the event several local people came to have their books appraised?”

  “Yes, that was what it was for, right?” Callie didn’t really understand what Mrs. Forrester was driving at.

  “Well, I couldn’t help myself—books are my forte, you know—so I kept an eye on what they were handing in and what they got for it. I noticed that our expert”—she spoke the word with a certain disdain—“wasn’t exactly offering much. Of course people may believe their garage sale find is worth a fortune when in reality it’s a quite common book or has some damage devaluing it.”

  “Yes, yes,” Callie said, eager to get on with the story.

  “This afternoon in the library, I heard that one couple is trying to get their book back.”

  “That’s right. I saw someone at the police station asking for her book. It came from her mother’s inheritance, I think.”

  “Exactly. Now I asked her to describe the book to me in detail, and she did. Then, after closing hours, I put all that information into the computer to see what I could find. It wasn’t easy, as you have to know exactly what sites to look at and how to combine information.”

  Callie held the woman’s gaze. “And?”

  “Guess.” Mrs. Forrester crossed her arms over her chest with a triumphant expression on her face. Now that she was standing still, the high color in her cheeks had died down a bit, but she was obviously still very excited.

  Callie frowned. “I know the expert gave them twenty bucks. Should it
have been fifty?” Mrs. Forrester scoffed.

  “Eighty then?” Callie conjectured, thinking it would be rather rude of their expert to offer people less than one-fourth of what a book was really worth. But maybe he figured he would have to go to some trouble to sell it again and had to be recompensed for his time and effort?

  “More like one hundred and fifty,” Mrs. Forrester said. “Maybe more. That depends on the book’s exact condition. I can’t assess that without having held it in my hands, of course.”

  She leaned over. “But do you understand what this means? Our expert was cheating people!”

  Callie pulled a doubtful expression. “I’m not sure you can call it cheating.”

  Mrs. Forrester harrumphed. “After I checked this one book and found this discrepancy, I started calling other people whom I had seen there, and asked them about the books they had handed in to Mr. King and what they had gotten for them. I then tried to find more information about the possible value of their books online. In several cases, the price mentioned on antique book sites or for auctions is considerably higher than what this man offered. I do admit that prices can vary, and it also depends on the interest in a particular piece, but still … What if Mr. King was abusing our event to get his hands on precious volumes for cheap?”

  Callie still wasn’t convinced. “But he was a well-known expert on old books. He even made his TV debut recently. Why would he risk ruining his reputation by doing something so unethical?”

  “Because he obviously believed he could get away with it. He would only be here for an afternoon, then leave again. Even if people believed they might have been underpaid, where would they complain? You don’t go to the police for something like that. You’d only feel silly. And they wouldn’t do anything about it either.”

  Callie exhaled in a huff. Mrs. Forrester was probably right about that. If you figured you had been cheated, you would keep it to yourself, not wanting to look foolish in the community. Several people might have been cheated but probably wouldn’t discuss this with one another so that the extent of it would stay under wraps. She thought for a moment. “Have you contacted the police about this?”

  “I’m not contacting them about anything soon,” Mrs. Forrester said. “I’m happy they’re engaged with another suspect.”

  She looked around her again and then continued. “It’s a shame for this Mr. Strong really. Such an interesting gentleman. A good singer too.”

  Callie didn’t want to discuss Sean Strong and returned to the matter of the books at once. “If you think the dead expert was somehow dishonest in his appraisals at our event, you have to tell the police. It could provide a motive for murder.”

  “I don’t think someone came back to stab him in the chest over a book.” Mrs. Forrester readjusted the big brooch pinned on her coat’s lapel. “But now you know, you can do with it whatever you want. You know the police better than most of us do.”

  Callie flushed at this subtle stab. Mrs. Forrester said, “You can tell Deputy Falk if you think he needs to know. But I doubt he’ll do much about it. Mrs. Harris told me that when she went to the station to ask for her book back, she was almost turned out like a dog. Shameful.”

  “She didn’t explain that her book had been deliberately undervalued and that it might have been Mr. King’s common practice,” Callie said in defense of the deputy who had handled the query. He had merely concluded that the old lady was sorry for a hasty sale, and he had been right mentioning to Callie that there was very little to be done about it.

  Mrs. Forrester snorted. “She needn’t have told them everything—that was for them to find out! What are the police for? To look into things and ensure the truth is discovered. But they’re arresting people on a whim and then sitting there writing up reports or something.” She looked Callie over. “You should know. At least they talk to you.”

  Callie felt like her face was on fire now. “Thank you for dropping by to tell me this. Have you got any proof of it? I mean—”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Forrester nodded and clicked open her purse. She extracted some sheets of letter-size paper that were folded into halves. “I printed off the most essential information. It gives the websites it comes from in a neat printed line on the bottom. So convenient. Then they can look for more if they want to.” It sounded like she doubted they would want to.

  Callie hesitated to accept the folded sheets. “If you have this printed off and it’s clear-cut material, you could simply put it in the police station’s letter box. Or scan the documents and email them.”

  “You do it.” Mrs. Forrester shoved the papers into her hand. “They listen to you. It’s sad that citizens get so little credit from official channels, but as long as they listen to someone, I suppose …” She looked Callie up and down as if to assess her and then said, “You’ve solved murders before. This is in good hands with you.”

  Maybe Callie should feel flattered, but she only had a sensation of panic that she was getting deeper and deeper into the case Falk had told her to leave alone. They had fought over it, even … broken up over it?

  Had their relationship ended?

  She wasn’t even sure!

  Mrs. Forrester marched to the door. “High time I get home and fix myself some dinner. I’ve been up and about all day long. You have a closer look at that, and see what you can do with it. Perhaps the police can get it as a last resort? If your own inquiries don’t work out?” She winked at her, unbolted the door, and left.

  Callie stood there, perplexed and annoyed that she had let the persuasive woman talk her into this. But she couldn’t deny a certain interest in what the dead expert had been up to and how big his scheme had actually been. It did seem odd that Mrs. Forrester had unearthed such discrepancies between money offered and what those books were really worth.

  She went to check on the door and bolt it again, and then sat down at a table to smooth the sheets and study their contents. Mrs. Forrester had printed off the estimated value from several sites where books and other antiques were appraised and auctioned off. She had also written down the information provided by the sellers. Comparing the two, it was easy to see that the prices asked for online were always far higher than what the expert had given the sellers.

  But was this a common practice? Did it maybe feel like cheating but was in fact normal in the antiques business? People had to make a profit, right?

  Callie leaned back and rubbed her forehead. Iphy had already said she wanted to talk to Seth Delacorte again, and holding this information, Callie felt a conversation with the assistant could indeed be very enlightening.

  But if she went to the Cliff Hotel and spoke with him, she would be doing the exact thing Ace hated. Interfering, sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

  She folded the sheets again, undecided. Normally, she would drive out to Ace’s cabin and give him the sheets, pressing upon him how important it was to look into this. She would trust that he would do it because he was a conscientious man who loved his job.

  But right now her relationship with Ace wasn’t exactly friendly, and she wondered if he would simply ignore this information if she brought it to his attention. After all, he believed she had made Peggy unhappy and was somehow responsible for the whole thing with Quinn.

  Callie grimaced. It wouldn’t be easy to ever explain all of that. Especially after Ace had openly told Quinn he never wanted him around his sister and the boys, feelings were on edge. One more wrong move and …

  She walked into the kitchen, where Iphy was putting the last load of dirty dishes and cups into the dishwasher. She looked up, and Callie saw her eyes were red-rimmed.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked at once, reaching out to put an arm around her great-aunt’s narrow shoulders.

  “I just heard from Sean’s attorney,” Iphy said in a shivering voice. “Because he’s not cooperating, making a statement about the argument he had with the dead man, they’re holding him. He is now officially being charged with the murder.”


  Iphy grabbed Callie’s hand. “Do you understand what this means? They’re no longer just suspecting him, interrogating him, with a chance he’ll be released again once they discover it wasn’t him. No—they have enough to charge him and hold him. That means they won’t be looking for other suspects anymore. Falk believes he’s closed the case.”

  Callie looked at her great-aunt’s panicky expression. They had never had quite this situation before. People under suspicion, yes; taken to the station for questioning, yes; even held for a few hours, yes. But officially charged?

  And Iphy was right that Ace would not be looking for other suspects if he believed he had his killer locked up.

  Iphy said softly, “What’s that?” She looked at the sheets Callie was holding.

  Callie wanted to say “nothing special” and whisk them away, but her great-aunt’s despair at her old flame’s predicament forced her to speak up. “Mrs. Forrester just came by. She stayed at the library after closing to look into something she found suspicious.” Callie quickly explained what the observant library volunteer had suspected and discovered, showing her the information on the sheets Mrs. Forrester had provided her with.

  Iphy clapped her hands together. “But that’s great! It proves the victim was a fraud. He might have been confronted by someone who was defrauded, and that person killed him. We must find out right away if Delacorte recognized people from earlier events being there as well. Someone who decided to—yes! Remember, Delacorte had that note, saying that if King came to Heart’s Harbor it would bring him bad luck? It must all be related!”

  Callie barely listened to the rest of what Iphy explained to her as she suddenly remembered the women in the parking lot. Saying something about just desserts.

  Had they been involved somehow? But she had only seen them in passing and didn’t know their names or where they had come from. It seemed like a loose end they couldn’t pursue.

  Iphy pinched her arm, bringing her back to the present. “Don’t you think?”