By the time a knock came on her door, she had made good headway. Matthew strolled in, chewing, a peanut butter spider cookie in his hand. Wait, why did he take the morning off to do this? she wondered. I can easily do the interviews on my own.
“Matt, you really didn’t need to take work off to do this,” she scolded, swivelling around in her chair.
“You’re doing me a favor, honestly. There’s some kind of health and safety presentation this morning. I’ve seen it one too many times. Plus, cookies that look like spiders! What could be better?”
Beatrice grinned. “Alright then. So, these little maniacs were begging to be fed when I woke up this morning,” she said, gesturing to the cats, who had woken up and were sleepily blinking their eyes.
“I bet. You want to head out on foot? The sun’s peeking through.”
“Sure thing. Let’s go to the law office first.”
Rebecca Sinclair, owner and sole lawyer at The Law Office of Rebecca Sinclair, was talking on her cell phone and speakerphone simultaneously behind a heavy oak desk when they arrived. She was a handsome woman in her mid-forties with dark hair and a quick smile wearing a sharp pencil skirt. She gestured for them to sit down. Lucky sat on a client chair while Hamish prowled around the bookshelf-lined office. Petunia jumped up on Rebecca’s desk and sat there pertly, waiting to be acknowledged.
Rebecca’s angry expression changed immediately. She hung up both calls and began cooing in a high-pitched voice, “Now who is this little muffin? This little sweetie-cutie pie? This little furry munchkin? I’m going to give you a huge kiss!”
And indeed, she planted a big smacker on Petunia’s head. The Himalayan blinked benevolently, like a queen having her ring kissed by peasants. Lucky crouched down in his chair, ears flattened, expression defeated. He’d been on top of the world and there he was again, playing second fiddle to Petunia’s good looks.
“I didn’t know you loved cats so much,” Beatrice said.
“Just Himalayans, they’re my favorite breed. They’re like little teddy bear cats. Anyway, so.” Rebecca pulled her chair forward and clasped her hands on the desk. “Hannah told me you’re interested in our local villain. I would love to catch this guy, let me tell you. New tires don’t come cheap. Just point me in the right direction to sue.”
Beatrice chuckled. “Well, we found out all the victims, and there are more, are business owners. So there must be a link between you all. Shared services, customers. I know you have a long list of, um, potential suspects based on your line of work but does anyone stand out?”
There was a knock at the door and a blonde head appeared.
“Beatrice! You’re here. Just wanted to say hi. Oh, and hand over the mail.”
Rebecca stretched out her arm to take it but as soon as her hand connected with the stack of envelopes, she froze. Her and Hannah’s eyes connected. “Harold the Mailman,” Rebecca whispered. “Of course.”
“Harold?” Beatrice broke in. “That old guy?”
“He’s younger than you,” said Matthew.
“He’s mentally older than me. He’s got to be the crankiest, stodgiest, most curmudgeonly guy in Ashbrook, maybe even New Hampshire.” She paused and her eyes went wide. “He hates everyone.”
“Right?” said Hannah. “Everyone.”
Rebecca started to laugh. “Okay, what proof do we have that Harold the Mailman is planting bombs and slashing tires? He’s cranky but he’s not evil.”
“I’ve heard stories that he’ll open your paycheque and then make snide comments about how much you make,” Matthew said.
“His co-worker at the post office told me he always dumps salt in her coffee,” Beatrice added. “And what about that time he humiliated Abigail by ‘accidentally’ delivering her husband’s lover’s letter to her –and then told everyone in town about it? I mean, I got a P.O. Box specifically so I’d never have to see him at my doorstep.”
“None of that sounds that bad. The paycheque thing is pretty inappropriate but…” Rebecca started.
“What about when a bunch of people signed a petition to have him fired?” Beatrice butted in. “And then every one of them got a dead rat in their mailbox?”
Rebecca wrinkled her nose. “Well…I forgot about that. That’s pretty bad.”
Petunia put one brown paw out with a pretty pink pad and batted at the stack of letters.
“That’s a great idea, Petunia!” Beatrice cried. “We already have the culprit’s DNA. We just need to get a match. Matthew, you said he opens people’s mail. He has to reseal them. And there’s a chance he doesn’t use water, though of course anyone smart would use a glue stick.”
“Of course he opens my mail,” Rebecca said. “I have to pay up the wazoo in courier fees for anything confidential now. Got too many letters all jammed in wrong and the seal rippled.” She picked up the mail and sorted through it. “Now if I were a nosy busybody, which letter here would I want to open? Ah! My credit card statement. Of course.”
She handed over to Beatrice who carefully examined it. “The seal does seem damaged. I’ll take it straight to the sheriff and he’ll do a test.”
She thanked the two lawyers and left with Matthew and the cats. As they walked down the street, Beatrice admired all the jack- o’-lanterns sitting outside the shops and businesses. There were cat faces and scary faces and silly faces. She loved how creative everyone was in Ashbrook. Christmas was even more fun—everyone really got into the spirit and the town looked like Santa’s Village.
“I still don’t get why Harold the Mailman would target you, Bee,” Matthew said, breaking into her thoughts. “He doesn’t even deliver mail to you.”
“Unless, he’s targeting people who have P.O. Boxes. Maybe he’s afraid we’ll put him out of a job?” She grimaced. “Still doesn’t add up, you’re right.
The sun came out and a ray of light hit Beatrice square in the face. She fished around in her purse for her sunglasses and came upon another envelope, one that Harold had never touched, that she’d almost forgotten about.
“Oh! Matthew, can we make a quick detour before we see the sheriff? I finally finished reviewing that proposal I told you about, the one from the Business Association, about the Christmas market. Frank’s useless at email. I had to hand edit something he drafted on a typewriter, and then type it up again!”
“He’s a nice-enough guy,” Matthew said. “But he’s a bit useless as BA president, don’t you think?”
They started to cross the street. Matthew’s hand, as it always did, automatically went to her elbow.
“Completely!” she said. “He’s the master of inefficiency. I think no one dares vote him out because he’s been there the longest. Plus, everyone’s so sorry for him since his little gift shop hasn’t been doing well. He’s had it for something like forty years. Even longer than I’ve had the café.”
“Bee!” Matthew yelled. He grabbed hold of her and jerked her back from a speeding car that was zooming through the red light. She leaned back against him for a moment, trying to catch her breath as Matthew cursed at the rapidly retreating vehicle. He then marched her to the other side where the three cats were waiting.
“Are you okay?”
“This is just not my week, I guess.” She took a deep breath. “Alright, let’s go to Frank’s store before anyone else decides to run me over or blow me up.”
10
A bell jangled loudly as Beatrice pushed open the heavy wooden door of Frank’s Gift Shop. Immediately, the cloying scent of cheap candles hit her. The pokey little shop was right on the main street but it didn’t look like many people had been in recently. There was a rag-tag collection of tattered postcards sitting in a wire rack, clusters of pink and green rock candy sitting in dusty glass canisters, and a wall of mugs, key rings, bumper stickers and the like that said “I Love New Hampshire.”
Hamish sniffed around the store but from the look on his face he’d caught wind of something foul smelling—he sneezed repeatedly and his eyes narrowed.
> “C’mon Hammy, it’s not that bad,” Beatrice said.
“What’s not so bad?” said a short man with a ring of hair around his bald head, like a monk. Frank—the owner.
“The cold,” Beatrice stammered. “He’s sensitive to it. Uhm. Hi Frank. Listen, I finally typed up a final draft of that proposal you wanted.”
“Great, thanks Beatrice. Hi Matthew. Listen, I just boiled some water back here. Why don’t you have a cup of tea? I haven’t had anyone in here all day.”
Beatrice and Matthew exchanged desperate glances. Of course they didn’t want to stay, they had plenty of other things to do, but there was something so generally nice and specifically pathetic about Frank that it was hard to say “no” to him.
“Sure one cup and then I have to get back to the café,” Beatrice said.
They settled in Frank’s office in the back room. It was dim thanks to heavy curtains over the small windows and clutter from numerous unopened boxes of what looked like more merchandise. He put out some rickety chairs for them to sit on and handed them chipped mugs filled with black tea. They sipped at it politely as Lucky roamed around. Petunia didn’t want to come in; in fact, she stayed by the door, looking distressed. Hamish stayed with her.
“So I hear you’re investigating our legendary Halloween Prankster,” Frank said with a twist of a smile. “How’s that working out for you?”
“He’s more like a terrorist than a prankster,” Beatrice said, shifting in her seat. “I think I have a lead actually. Not one hundred percent sure yet but it’s something.”
Frank lowered his mug to his knee. “Well, that’s interesting. You might have heard that my mailbox got vandalized last year. So I’d very much like to know who it is.”
The tea was far too bitter for Beatrice’s taste. She put it on Frank’s messy desk. “You haven’t happened to have any dealings with Harold the Mailman, have you?”
Frank smiled weakly. “Oh Harold, of course. Hasn’t everyone? I heard he reads people’s mail—not mine, mind you. Nothing interesting there. But I’ve sometimes wondered if he has a grudge against me. See, I dated his wife in high school. I think he’s always been a bit jealous. I always wondered if he was responsible for the mailbox incident.”
Lucky sneezed from the dust. Beatrice cast a look over at him and then stared longer after he gave her a deer-in-the-headlights look. She realized that he had one paw on a piece of paper. She quickly looked away. What was he up to?
Still, trusting his instincts, she turned away and said to Frank, “Well, that could very well be it.” She gave Matthew a meaningful look that said ‘distract him’.
“Frank, I don’t ever remember you dating Elsie in high school,” Matthew said. “I was a few years ahead of you, but still.”
“Oh, it was just for a moment…” Frank said, and he began recounting the tale of his supposed short-lived but passionate eleventh grade romance with Elsie. Beatrice watched out of the corner of her eye as Lucky grabbed the paper in his teeth and dragged it along the floor, keeping to the edges of the room as he did so.
As soon as he was at the door, she started up and exclaimed, “Oh my goodness! I must check on the cats.” She dashed out, scooped up the piece of paper just outside the office, and shoved it in her purse before returning. “Look at the time! Matthew, you really ought to be getting back to work. And I need to get back to the café.”
Frank looked crushed. “Well now, if you really have to go…”
Beatrice had Matthew by the arm and they were out in a flash. She practically dragged him down the street before turning a corner and standing flat against it. The cats gathered at her feet.
“Bee, what’s got into you? You’re acting like a spy from a bad seventies movie.”
Beatrice fished in her purse and pulled out the piece of paper. “Lucky dragged this out of Frank’s office. When he does that, you know it’s important.” She smoothed it out.
“It’s a list of Ashbrook Business Association members,” Matthew said, looking over her shoulder. “Well, that’s disappointing.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened and then she began jabbing at the piece of paper with excitement. “But look, Matt! These ones are highlighted. And some of these highlighted ones have checkmarks by them—the very people who have been targeted! Ryan, Rebecca, me…”
Matthew squinted. “Geez. You’re right. This can’t be a coincidence…”
“Nothing’s a coincidence,” Beatrice said. They locked eyes.
“Frank is the bad guy??” they said at the same time.
The two of them burst into the sheriff’s office minutes later, eyes wild, cats loping ahead of them like a pack of wolves.
“Oh boy, who died now?” the sheriff said, fingers poised over his computer. There were three different mugs on his desk with varying amount of coffee in them and his eyes were bloodshot. It had obviously been a long day for him too. The cats settled in their designated beds—Hamish and Petunia in one, Lucky in another.
“Nobody died. I think we may have cracked open the case!” Beatrice said. “At first we thought it was Harold the Postman.” She handed over Rebecca’s credit card statement. “In case we’re wrong you can test the DNA against the cigarette butt—we’re thinking he probably opened this and licked it shut.”
The sheriff held the letter like it was made of stinky blue cheese. “You think Harold the Postman’s behind all of this? The man’s older than God.”
“He just looks old,” Beatrice snipped. “I’m older than him!”
“Anyway, we have a new prime suspect,” Matthew cut in, arms crossed. “Frank Harpswell.”
The sheriff threw his hands up and leaned way back in his chair. “Where do you guys come up with these crazy ideas? Frank wouldn’t hurt a fly. I mean he can be kind of pathetic and annoying but he’s harmless.”
“Well, why did he have this in his office?” Beatrice handed over the marked-up list of business owners.
The sheriff scanned the list and then began to tug at his moustache, a sign that he was in distress.
“Oh boy, oh boy,” he started saying. He threw the paper on his desk. “I don’t get it. Why would Frank want to scare people? What’s his motive?”
Beatrice shrugged. She looked over at the cats. Petunia had her paw on Hamish’s nose and strangely, he was trying to lick it. Lucky watched these proceedings while hunched down and blinking. Beatrice was suddenly struck by what it was like to be an outsider. Maybe Frank felt the same way. Maybe, like Lucky, that was making him feel increasingly desperate.
“Being the president of the BA has to be a pretty thankless job,” she said. “It’s a huge responsibility with no pay and it’s not like he really has any friends. And his gift shop is sinking fast, as we well know. Think about it. How well do any of us really know Frank?”
She paused. “I’ve got it! I’ll invite the other BA members over to the café tonight. See what kind of dirt I can dig up on him. Meanwhile, we should start thinking about how we can get a DNA sample from him.”
The sheriff groaned. “Can’t I trust anyone in this town to be responsible for a change? First the mayor and now this?”
“I doubt this town is different than any other,” Beatrice said. “We’re just better at catching the bad guys.”
11
Beatrice closed the café early that night. She decided to invite all the Business Association members she could think of and anyone else who might have regular dealings with Frank. It was a busy afternoon sending texts and making calls. Somehow, amid the hullabaloo, she managed to pull a couple of hours of work at the café, most of which was consumed placing orders for groceries and supplies and finishing payroll. Thank goodness that she was so practiced in the ins and outs of running a café that most tasks took her no time at all.
She’d mentioned the meeting to Zoe but she was still surprised when she emerged from the office and saw the café already locked up and carafes of coffee and tea set out on the tables, plus trays of assorted Hal
loween goodies. Zoe was setting out plates and napkins that very moment.
“Zoe, you’re a lifesaver!” Beatrice crowed.
The young woman wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She’d changed out of her chef’s whites and hairnet and her dark bangs clung stickily to her head. “Well, I want your meeting to go well so that nobody ends up killing you.”
“Thanks Zoe, I think. How was business today?”
“Steady. I think you gotta talk to that new girl, Miranda, on cash. She doesn’t have the best customer service skills.”
Beatrice started distributing napkins. “What do you mean?”
“Well, she never really greets the customers, first off. She just kind of stares at them until they place an order,” Zoe said as she stuffed a wad of paper napkins into another holder.
Beatrice shook her head. “It’s a royal pain in the butt to get good staff here. It’s not as if the hiring pool is very big. Alright, I’ll chat with her. Thanks for letting me know.”
They finished setting up everything and soon after the guests began to arrive. Rebecca Sinclair came striding in in very high heels, chatting on her cell phone as she opened the door. Abigail Freedman and her ex-husband George tromped in wearing matching black plastic glasses and sour expressions. Ryan Jackson, manager of the Ashbrook Old-Fashioned Grocery followed, wearing a shirt that was three sizes too big for him stuffed into suit pants.
Finally Gerard Pine came in, looking dapper in grey pants and a burnt orange sweater. As soon as he spotted Beatrice, he strode right over to her.
“Don’t you look lovely, Beatrice,” he said, flashing her that knee-melting toothy smile. He kissed her on the cheek. She caught a whiff of what smelled like expensive aftershave.
“You’re joking,” Beatrice said, trying not to blush.
Lucky came running pell-mell out of the office and put his paw up on Gerald’s leg. He laughed and patted the eager cat.
“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” Beatrice said.
Gerald smiled, stood up, took out his cell phone and shook it meaningfully. “Now that I’ve got you in person, let’s actually find a time to have that chat I mentioned,” he said.
The Purrfect Halloween Prank: A Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mystery (Beatrice Young Cozy Cat Mysteries Book 4) Page 5