“No, she was here. I remember because I was busy with a particular client who has a big appetite for antiques on a very small budget.” Thrubwell chuckled at the recollection and then his expression sobered. “Poor Violet. She was a silly, self-important girl, but there was no real harm in her. She was ambitious; always trying to learn as much as she could about antiques. I asked her what she intended to do with her knowledge, and she told me she was going to be a rich, bored society wife and she wanted to know exactly what she was getting.”
I finished my tea and glanced around the office. “Did you save the receipt from the dagger sale?”
“Of course!” Mr. Thrubwell sounded indignant. He stood up and walked over to a file cabinet, pulling out a manila envelope marked ‘Weaponry Sales.’
“It’s right here; not much on it though.”
I read through the page. Item No. 5127; dagger, 15th century. T to VA. Five hundred dollars. Check No. 405.
“Do you have a copy of the check?”
“It’s stapled to the receipt.”
I flipped it over. I felt my excitement rise as I looked at the copy of the check.
There was a memo in the subject line: For CW.
I handed back the papers and Mr. Thrubwell returned them to the file and picked up his teacup. “Now, for business,” his features sharpened and he eyed me expectantly. “Will you be paying for your new desk by check or credit?”
* * * * *
After I’d finally extricated myself from the Thrubwell writing desk debacle, I felt like I needed to clear my head. so I followed the crowd and drifted along English Street. The boardwalk was busy with late season tourists trolling for deals at Calico Corner and Black Sheep Knits, and as I pushed my way through the crowd I saw a new signboard, marked E. Archer, Antiques. The front windows were covered in brown paper, but I found a tear and peeked inside.
The interior was filled with packing boxes and knick-knacks, and I was about to turn away when an eye suddenly appeared on the other side of the glass and a man was regarding me from a distance of about three inches.
I yelped and jumped back. I was about to run when the door suddenly opened.
“Hi,” he held out his hand. “I’m Edgar Archer. I’m not officially open yet, but you’re welcome to come inside and browse.”
I looked up at him and smiled. He was tall, around six feet, with dark auburn hair and eyes like chocolate kisses. I made a mental note to make the hero of Cupcake Chronicles taller and give him crinkly hair as I followed Edgar into the building. Man, he smelled good: aftershave and deodorant and just a tiny bit of dog shampoo. I sniffed the air a few times and he turned around to look at me.
“Please forgive my mess,” he said apologetically. “I haven’t finished unpacking yet.”
I assured him that I wasn’t going to hold it against him, and we watched as a massive black lab trotted up and proffered me a paw.
“This is Ingrid,” he said. “She’s my partner.”
I held out my hand for the dog to sniff. “It’s nice to meet both of you.”
I was already picturing nights of the three of us snuggled in front of a roaring fire when I remembered Blue. I suspected he wouldn’t want to join our snuggle session.
“I’m Elspeth Gray,” I said. “I live on Point Savage. But you probably don’t know where that is since you’re new here. You just take Main Street over to….”
Horrified, I heard myself give him detailed directions to my house. I sounded like a demented GPS.
“Oh, okay,” he smiled again and his eyes crinkled at the corners.
I looked down at his hands, no ring! So far, so good. Now for the next hurdle. “Will your kids be going to All Hallows Grade School?” I asked.
“Kids?” he looked alarmed and then shook his head. A commendable reaction. “Oh no, I’m not married and I don’t have any kids.”
“Great.”
We stood smiling at each other until he remembered I was ostensibly there to shop. “Go ahead and look around, Elspeth. I was just going to make a cup of coffee. Would you like some?”
I nodded and watched as he went to the back of the store and got out two mugs. What luck! I was one of the first people to meet him. Julia was going to be so jealous; he was much better looking than Sergeant Jack.
“Where are you from, Edgar?” I called out.
“Albany,” his voice was muffled as he bent over the counter to get the sugar bowl. “So I’m almost local. How about you?”
“I grew up here and moved back after my divorce.”
He finished filling the cups and handed one to me. “And how is your work as a detective going?”
“Detective?” I was puzzled for a minute and then I remembered. He was the man at the library! No wonder he looked familiar. I laughed and hoped it sounded like the tinkling silver bells I wrote about in my books.
“It’s going quite well, actually.”
He made a gesture towards a set of bookshelves. “I love mysteries. I grew up reading the Hardy Boys and then I discovered Dorothy Sayers in college.”
“Yeah, she’s great.” I made a mental note to get a crash course in mysteries from Julia as he continued.
“My name is actually Edgar Allen Archer.” He laughed. “You know? Edgar Allen Poe? My mom has a thing for mysteries, too.”
“Are your parents from New York?”
“Yes, originally, but now they’re in Omaha.”
I gave myself a mental high-five. That was a very comfortable distance for potential in-laws. My own parents in Baltimore were sometimes a bit too close for comfort.
“What brings you to All Hallows?” I asked.
“We used to vacation here when I was a kid and I fell in love with the place. I always wanted to come back, so when I sold my interest in my law firm last year I decided to open an antique store. I’m renting the apartment upstairs until I find a place to buy.”
“So, you’re a lawyer?”
Strike one. Ever since Grant I was wary of the law.
“I was a lawyer,” he corrected gently. “And what do you do, Elspeth? When you aren’t sleuthing.”
“I’m a writer.”
He looked surprised and then gratified. “Really? Anything I might be familiar with?”
I mentally passed over my catalogue of romance books and shook my head. “No, they’re rather specialized; just a small academic audience.”
“So, you’re a mystery?” he grinned and put down his mug. “I suppose that means I’ll have to get to know you better.”
We smiled at each other as the door opened and a pair of tourists peeked inside.
“Are you open?” The man called out.
Edgar stood up. “I guess it’s as good a time as any to open my doors. It’s been a pleasure not doing business with you, Elspeth. I hope I see you again…soon. I’d love to hear more about your detective work.”
I turned to leave the shop and as I glanced back he was eyeing me speculatively. I felt a warm glow as I hurried down the street. I wasn’t about to say Edgar Allen Archer was better than lemon meringue pie, but he was already running a close second.
I was almost to my car when I noticed Julia hurrying towards me from the direction of the All Hallows Police Department. She stopped two feet away and eyed me suspiciously.
“Why do you look like that?” she demanded.
“Like what?”
“Like you just caught Moby Dick.”
I elected not to tell her about Edgar Archer just yet, she’d have us married with kids before Christmas.
“Can’t I just be in a good mood for no reason?”
“I guess, but it’s weird.”
“What were you doing at the police station?”
“Recon… gathering Intel.”
“In English, please?”
&nbs
p; “There’s been a break in our case!”
I noticed some amused looks from people passing by and lowered my voice. “What kind of break?”
“The police took down the tape at Inkwell. We can go investigate the scene of the crime.”
Chapter 14
I cautiously stepped through the front door at Inkwell, half-expecting to find another dead body lying on the floor. But there was nothing except the sun shining on rows of shelves and the intoxicating aroma of musty books and fresh coffee.
Charlotte Whipple was unpacking boxes behind the counter and smiled at us as we walked in. “Hello, ladies. It’s nice to see you under better circumstances.”
“We’re glad you’re back in business.”
She nodded. “From your lips to God’s ears. You have no idea what even a few days of closure can do to an independent owner. On the bright side, I’ve already had a bunch of ghouls come to look for bloodstains, and they all bought copies of Haunted All Hallows. I’m thinking about setting up a haunted display; maybe even get a few of those kooky ghost groups through here to get some free publicity.”
Julia’s voice was hot with indignation. “We’re not kooks! I’m a founding member of the Hudson Valley Paranormal Society and I’ll have you know we’re serious scientists…”
I interrupted Julia before she got started on EVPs and EMFs and ESPNs.
“I’m sure Charlotte didn’t mean it the way it sounded, Julia,” I said soothingly and then turned back to Charlotte. “That’s a great idea. You could decorate with old antiques for a spooky effect, you know, candlesticks, stuffed ravens, antique books…I’m pretty sure Thrubwell Antiques has some stuff you could use.”
Charlotte’s expression underwent a subtle change, switching from open to guarded. “Maybe,” she said cautiously, “but it’s a bit pricey for me.”
“Have you bought anything from there lately?”
She shook her head. “No, why?”
“Well, Mr. Thrubwell was telling me someone bought something from there and commissioned Violet Ambler to get it for them. I was wondering if it might’ve been you.”
She looked relieved. “No, I do all my own shopping. Speaking of antiques, have you met Edgar Archer yet? He just opened a shop on English Street.”
“Yes, I met him.” My tone was noncommittal but she smirked knowingly.
“He’s very attractive, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he’s a good-looking man.” If Charlotte was waiting for me to declare my intentions she’d have a long wait. “Julia and I were just going be ghouls and take a look around the store, if you don’t mind.”
Charlotte waved a hand. “Look all you want. I’m running a deal on all my used hardbacks, buy one get one half off, so keep that in mind while you’re sleuthing.”
Julia almost ran up the stairs and I followed at a slower pace, remembering the last time I made that walk. By the time I got to the top Julia was already on her hands and knees in International Classics. The space smelled like disinfectant and there were some discolored splotches on the floor I preferred not to think about.
“Don’t you think the police already did that?”
Julia stood up and dusted off her pants. “They always miss something; just ask Ms. Weebles.”
It didn’t seem worth pointing out that: 1) Ms. Weebles was a cat; and 2) she was a fictional cat. I walked over towards the window, where the strong afternoon light was warming the ancient oak planks.
“The police are very thorough. It’s not as though they would’ve missed something right underfoot…”
The words were hardly out of my mouth when I felt something under my foot. I looked down and noticed a small object wedged in the floorboards.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s something here.”
Julia bounded over and grabbed my shoulder. “I told you!”
I ignored her and picked up the object. It was a large black hairpin; the old-fashioned type that no one used anymore. Or, almost no one.
“It’s just a hairpin.” Julia sounded disappointed. “Anyone could’ve dropped it.”
“I don’t think so, Julia. Hardly anyone uses pins like this anymore unless they’re going to prom. The only person I’ve ever seen wear them is Sabrina Elliott.”
“Sabrina! Well, I guess she might’ve been up here. She buys a lot of books.”
I shook my head. “That might explain the pin. But it doesn’t explain the other clue.”
“What other clue?”
“There’s blood on it.”
Julia regarded me with admiration. “Meowser, as Ms. Weebles would say.”
We both started at the sound of a cough and turned to observe Charlotte Whipple standing at the top of the stairs. I shoved the hairpin into my jacket pocket and turned to face her.
“I forgot to mention I’m also running a special on my biographies and memoirs,” she said.
“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind.”
She stood there a moment, hovering uncertainly. “Do you need help with anything?”
I shook my head. “No thanks, we’re almost done.”
“Okay, don’t forget to check my new releases on your way out.” She turned and walked
back downstairs and Julia and I looked at each other.
“How long was she there?” she whispered.
“I have no idea, but probably long enough for her to hear us mention Sabrina Elliott.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
I carefully replaced the hairpin in the floorboards and we went back downstairs.
“Thanks, Charlotte,” I said brightly.
“You didn’t find anything you wanted?” Her tone was vaguely reproachful and Julia grabbed a book from a stack near the register.
“I’ll take this one.”
I looked at the title and raised a brow. “Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for None and All. I didn’t even know you liked Nietzsche.”
“No one really likes Nietzsche. He’s just something you have to endure.”
Charlotte smiled. “I wish more people shared your opinion, Julia. That one’s been on the shelf for quite a long time.”
“Nietzsche and I are glad to help.”
“C’mon, Julia.”
We stepped back outside and Julia put her new book in her bag. “What’s next on our agenda, Sherlock?”
I thought for a minute. “Let’s go to Captain Swift’s Inn.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Hopefully business. It’s the hotel Jasper visited the afternoon he died.”
“Sounds sordid.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
Chapter 15
Captain Swift’s Inn might’ve been habitable at its grand opening in 1974, but the seafaring gentleman had obviously undergone a reversal of fortune since then. The brown paint on the doors and windowsills was cracked and faded and the dull green of the balustrades discolored with age. Three floors of rooms overlooked the parking lot and at one end a dingy white sign shamefully proclaimed itself Office.
Julia looked around and shuddered. “This reminds me of the hotel in Grand Rapids when we went to the Gerald Ford Museum in ‘87. Worst. Vacation. Ever. Presidential animatronics should be outlawed.”
“C’mon, let’s go.”
We walked in the office and glanced around apprehensively. A small, ferret-like man sat behind the desk, smoking and reading a dog-racing guide. A television set blared at us in Spanish and a moldering sandwich on the counter was animated with the happy buzz of flies. Julia grabbed my arm and moved to stand slightly behind me. I thought for someone who earned a living in PR she was remarkably sheltered.
“Can I help you?” The man behind the counter smoothed back his hair with one hand while keeping a tight grip on his smoke with the other. He looked us ov
er and then looked at Julia again.
“Have you seen this man?” I held up the picture of Jasper Ware I had clipped from the Gazette, and he glanced at it and then at us.
“You two cops?”
“No, just interested parties.”
He laughed, revealing a sinister collection of yellowed teeth. “I might’ve seen him. What’s in it for me if I did?”
I wasn’t sure what the going rate was for information at Captain Swift’s, so I opened up my purse and took out a twenty. Shady Dirtstash, as I’d decided to call him, took my money and reluctantly removed the cigarette from his mouth.
“Yeah, I seen him. Like I told the cops, he used to come here pretty regular; checked in at twelve and out by four, my kind of customer.”
“How often would he come?”
Shady shook his head. “Dunno, maybe once a month, maybe more.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Last Monday.”
“Was he alone?”
Shady laughed. “They never are. He had a woman with him.”
“What did she look like?”
“Tall, blonde, pretty. Kinda like your friend there.”
I was baffled, and not just because he thought Julia was prettier than me. I’d been expecting a description of Sabrina Elliott. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, she was real classy looking, we don’t get too many like that around here.”
I could believe it. “Did you ever hear him use her name?”
“Yeah, Sugar.”
“He only called her Sugar? He never called her by a real name?”
He glared at me angrily. “What makes you think that’s not a real name? My first wife’s name was Sugar.”
“Sorry, it’s a lovely name, very sweet. Did you ever hear him use a last name?”
“Nope, just Sugar.” Shady put out his cigarette and leaned across the counter. “Now that I answered your questions, I got one of my own.” He leered at us suggestively and Julia drew in her breath. “Do you girls want a room? It’s free if I get to watch.”
Julia made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper and I shook my head. “No, thanks. We have everything we need.”
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