Tall Tails Secret Book Club (The Secret Library Cozy Mysteries 1)

by CeeCee James

  “Come on, little dude.”

  “His name is Hank, and he doesn’t want to come to you.”

  The man rose to his feet. His cowboy boot heels dug into the soft earth on the side of the driveway. “Ain’t that the way with all the kitties.”

  I walked over and scooped up the cat. “And who are you again?”

  “Name’s Earl. I’m the handy man at the Eland estate. Stephen called me to see if I could come over and help out. Something about a plumbing issue?” A slow grin spread across his face, exposing a missing top tooth. “Listen, maybe later you’d want to hang out for a beer? I’m a nice guy, promise. Besides it would be a shame for Miss J to find out about the cat.”

  I gave him a dirty look and walked toward the pedestrian gate.

  Earl winked and pointed a trigger finger at me, jerking his thumb like he was dropping the hammer. He followed behind, whistling nonchalantly.

  “What a scumbag,” I whispered into the scruff of Hank’s neck. I was relieved to find him not too thin. “I missed you, buddy. You hungry?” Hank responded by stiffening his front legs. He’d allowed himself to be picked up, however now he wanted down.

  “Come on. I better get you back inside.” I glanced behind me to make sure Earl wasn’t following, and hurried through the side door.

  The spicy scent of herbs swirled among the dust motes in the air. I brought the cat over to Cook who clucked her tongue.

  “Where did you find that rascal?” She bustled past me into the pantry to find a dish and filled it with cat food.

  “By the front gate. With a guy named Earl.” I set Hank on the floor, and he sauntered over with a sassy tail swish and bent to eat.

  “Oh, Earl.” Cook rolled her eyes as she dragged out his name. “Confident as a rooster and just as annoying. What’s he doing here?”

  “Supposed to help with the plumbing.”

  “Takes a turd to know one,” Cook snorted. “Did he cut off your break? You’re back early. We don’t need you for another half hour.”

  “It’s almost time. I didn’t want to be late.” I glanced at the counter, now covered in a fragrant herb. “What are you doing?”

  “Chopping fresh mint. I heard Miss Janice ask for mojitos. She’s in a mood, I tell you.” Cook’s brown eyes grazed over mine. “You look flustered yourself. Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine.” I smiled. Truth be told, I didn’t like the idea of Earl rattling around the estate. Who was he, anyway? How good of friends were he and Stephen?

  “I see. And what have you had to eat today?”

  “Eat? Oh, I—”

  “Never mind. Why am I asking? Go sit down and I’ll bring you a sandwich. We have some good ham left over from dinner last night.”

  “I actually had a bite earlier.”

  “A bite? Psh. I can’t have you passing out bringing Miss Janice her nightly tonic. We’d never hear the end of it, I tell you.”

  Cook scurried about, bringing out various condiments and fixings. Soon she had a towering sandwich, much larger than I could ever eat. “Here. Dig in. It’ll put some meat on your bones.”

  I took a bite and hummed in appreciation. “Thank you. It’s delicious.”

  “You look like you could use a few home-cooked meals. How long has it been?”

  I grinned, despite the full mouth. Cook took the time I needed to finish chewing to check on Hank. She shut the pantry behind her when she returned.

  “That crazy cat. I leave him some scraps here and there. He does alright, I’m sure. My mother always said don’t feed the cats too well or the mice will get fat.”

  “Where does he go from the pantry?” I asked.

  “Oh, who knows? He’s got quite the labyrinth inside these old walls. Mr. Thornberry was a funny duck the way he added to this house.”

  “Like the hidden room upstairs. And is that why there are so many cupboards?”

  “This is an old house. There were no closets back in the day, just built-in wardrobes. Not to mention Mr. Thornberry’s horrid suspicions. He was convinced people were after his treasures. I’m sure there’s more than one secret room in this place. Though we’ve looked. Trust me.” She bustled over to the stove to check on a pot.

  “So, it’s possible he’s tucked away the crown in some hidden space, and we’ll never find it.”

  “Not until they pull down these walls, I suppose. Or they fall around our ears. Which they seem to be threatening to do.”

  I chewed for a second. “I have to ask you something. You mentioned Barbara didn’t leave of her own accord. I heard something horrible about an affair between her and—”

  Cook cut me off. “Malarky. A rumor started by Mark, may he rest in peace. He had a nasty side to him, that’s for certain.”

  Mary entered the kitchen then, cutting off my chance to ask why Mark would say such a thing. “Hey, lady! You’re back. Want to help me change the sheets?”

  Nodding, I popped the last bite of sandwich in my mouth and carried the plate to the sink.

  Mary turned indignant eyes on Cook. “What? No sandwich for me?”

  “You start doing dishes as well as she does and then we’ll see.” Cook chuckled. “Now get out of my kitchen, the two of you, and leave me in peace.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mary and I entered the linen room with its starchy sprays and ironing boards and a long table set with a bowl of sweet smelling lavender sachets. I grabbed a silk mesh bag and held it to my nose. Something about it felt similar to me, but I couldn’t think of what.

  She plugged in the iron and tested it with a quick lick of her finger. “Welcome to my least favorite chore.”

  I dropped the sachet in the bowl and plugged in my own iron. “Can you tell me just how Miss Janice will know if the sheets in the guest room are freshly ironed?”

  Mary rolled her eyes and smirked. “She knows. She always knows.” She sprayed the sheet with the anti-wrinkle spray and then passed the bottle over to me.

  I lightly spritzed. “Do you do all this for your own sheets?”

  “Heck no! I haven’t washed them in a month.”

  I must have given her a horrified face because she laughed and continued enthusiastically, “Yours too! Nobody has changed them since the last gal left.”

  “What?!” I staggered back, thinking of how I’d cuddled into them.

  “I kid. I kid. Geez, Laura Lee. You’re way too easy.”

  I rolled my eyes and slid the iron along the fabric. The scent of heated cotton warmed the air. “Whatever. Who had my room before me, anyway?”

  “A gal named Georgia. She was the in-house nutritionist Miss Janice hired but later her job sort of morphed into an assistant for Mr. Thornberry.”

  “What happened to her? Where is she, now?”

  “Well, when Mr. Thornberry passed….” Mary shrugged her thin shoulders and let the sentence end itself.

  We folded the finished sheets and carried them down to the spare room. This one had an enormous painting of a country hillside hanging over a brick fireplace. There was a tiny study desk, painted a fresh green, and an equally tiny stool pulled under it upholstered in floral tapestry. Along side it were more empty bookshelves.

  I shook my head. “I’ll never get used to that. Why is Miss Janice so against books, anyway? You started to mention something at the book club.”

  Mary glanced to be sure we were alone and flipped the sheet over the bare mattress. I took the far corner and pulled.

  “Marguerite and Cook say it’s because she became furious when Mr. Thornberry bought the crown. The rumors about that night are epic. Supposedly, she sent many of his relics crashing to the floor before rushing into the library to scream that the books had stolen his mind. But that’s not the story I heard. Butler told me it was because Mr. Thornberry wrote a new will. He’d told Miss Janice that it could be found in the books.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “A new will?”

  Mary’s face became cagey. Her shoulders lifted a smid
ge. “There was another rumor about him and another woman. Mark was the root. I never knew what to believe with him.”

  “I heard about that. Her name was Barbara.” I wiggled the fat pillow into a tiny silk case and brushed it flat. “She worked here for years and was force to leave, right?”

  “She actually left twice, you know.” Mary folded over the edge of the top sheet.

  “What do you mean?”

  Now we tugged up the counterpane. Mary impatiently brushed back a curly strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes. “Barbara disappeared for a few months years ago. Who knows, maybe she tried to break away then and start her life over. Anyway, it must not have worked, because she eventually showed up on the front porch again with satchel in hand.”

  “What did Barbara do here?”

  “She used to be the housekeeper but later ran Mr. Thornberry’s business details.”

  “She was his secretary?” I placed the plumped pillows against the headboard.

  “More like his business manager. Actually, his right-hand man. He relied her for everything.”

  “So what happened to his business when she left?”

  “Well, he was kind of a mess, but he tried to hide it. It was only a short time later before the nutritionist moved in. Georgia tried to lend a hand to help him out, but then he became sick. I had to admire her commitment to helping him, though. She acted like a squirrel the way she dug through all of his books and files so she could learn everything. But in the end, I think it was too much for anyone to just jump into. She always seemed to be frustrated, and Mr. Thornberry was no better.”

  I smoothed the forget-me-knot embroidered coverlet across the end of the bed. “Did you like the nutritionist?”

  “She was kind,” Mary said, but her eyes said differently. They narrowed and glanced away. I knew if I were to draw them they would not look friendly.

  I decided to change the subject. “I heard something weird yesterday.”

  Mary’s eyes grew round. “What’s that?”

  “I swear I heard a child’s laughter. Out in the garden.”

  “I was afraid that’s what you were going to say!” Her voice came out in a weird whispery shriek, and she hugged herself.

  “Really? How come?”

  Mary gripped my arm. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to speak a word of this to anyone, ever.”

  “Of course, I won’t. Never,” I promised, alarmed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

  “Oh, dear.” She glanced about the room as if trying to gather strength. Then she leaned close to whisper, “When I first started to work here, Marguerite warned me of a ghost. Specifically of a little girl. She told me something dreadful happened to the poor thing right here on this estate.”

  “No!” I shivered, thinking of the giggle. “Who’s child was it?”

  She licked her bottom lip. “I always assumed it was Mr. and Mrs. Thornberry’s. Something awful must have occurred for Miss Janice to dislike children as much as she does.”

  “She doesn’t like them?”

  She shrugged and played with the corner of the coverlet. I watched her fold the corner and smooth it flat again. “It doesn’t seem like she takes too kindly to them. I once saw Marguerite try to share a picture of her newest grandchild. Miss Janice shot her down fast. She called babies drooling drains on society.”

  My mouth dropped. “Wow, that’s harsh.”

  Mary arched an eyebrow in agreement. “Exactly. That woman lives by her own conduct code, that’s for sure. Anyway. You must never tell. Marguerite made me promise as well.”

  “All right. I won’t.” I crossed my chest.

  “If you hear the noise again, just tell it to go away.”

  I nodded. Mary gathered the dirty linen and scurried out of the room.

  I found the vacuum and dragged it upstairs. As I pushed it across the guest room floor, I thought about how spooked Mary had been earlier when Cook had teased that Mr. Thornberry had died playing chess with a ghost. Maybe it wasn’t such a joke after all.

  Suddenly, I felt that prickly feeling of someone staring. I jerked to look over my shoulder.

  Lucy stood there.

  I squeaked in surprise, making her laugh. Quickly, I shut off the machine.

  “Butterflies in your head?” she asked.

  “What?” I asked, wondering if somehow Mrs. Fitzwater’s porch was being referred to.

  “You must have been daydreaming, you didn’t hear me knocking.”

  “Oh, I guess so.” I chuckled.

  “Well, Cook asked me to find you. She said she could use a hand since it’s baking day.”

  “Of course. I’ll be right down.”

  She left me to wind up the vacuum cord. When I finally entered the kitchen, Mary was already there, smiling as if our spooky conversation earlier had never taken place. The air held a dusty quality of flour and the scent of sugar, while the heat from the stove was stifling.

  Judith handed me a cookie press, and I happily knocked out sheets of cookies while Cook rolled a piecrust. Mary peeled apples for pie, while Judith and the other girls washed berries.

  It appeared to be an excessive amount of sweets. “Surely this is not all for us?” I asked.

  “A pie and bread loaf is for the gardener. Three more pies and the cookies are for the church’s potluck. And the rest will feed our household,” Cook huffed.

  As she said this, I realized I’d never seen Stephen so much as step foot in the great house. “Does the gardener ever eat in the kitchen?”

  “Never. He takes his meals at his place. It’s always been that way.” Cook patted the dough into a greased pan, her fingers pinching ruffles in the top.

  Even for that large amount of baking, the dishes seemed insurmountable. We washed for what felt like hours, as Cook moved pans and sheets in and out of the oven. Every available space held cooling baked goods that were eventually assembled on covered platters.

  Just in time, too. The reverend showed up for dinner, and now Cook rushed to assemble two plates. Marguerite sliced cucumbers for the salad, while Cook scooped clam chowder into crispy biscuit bowls. And then Marguerite was off, arms full, with Mary tottering behind her with another stacked tray.

  Supper for the rest of us was a sandwich from a stack of grilled cheeses and a mug of creamy tomato soup. I declined, still full from Cook’s earlier meal.

  With everyone busy, I decided to once again visit Mr. Thornberry’s study. Now that I’d learned so much more about his secrets, I wanted to poke around inside.

  I passed the family dining room where I heard Miss Janice’s polite laughter and a booming voice rattling on what sounded like a long-winded tale. I walked quickly through the twisting, turning hallway. Seeing the several hanging paintings caused me to pause. I wanted to see if I could read the artist’s name. I stared hard at the portraits, but came away disappointed to find that none of them were done by Louise Driscoll.

  I continued on toward the study. This hallway struck me with its strangeness. Not just the pictures of the disapproving ancestors, but also a musty scent hung in the air down here. It spoke of having never been touched by the sunlight, and instead, saturated in murky shadows.

  I turned the door handle and hurried in quickly, knowing the slower I went the louder the door would squeal. The last thing I needed to do was to advertise my presence.

  I was greeted by a surprised meow.

  “Hi, Hank. You weren’t expecting me here, were you? What are you doing, buddy? You miss me?” I stooped to pet him.

  Mr. Thornberry frowned at me from the wall. It suddenly made sense that Louise Driscoll could be the artist of this particular painting. I scooped up the heavy cat, his body limp like a giant beanbag, and moved over to see.

  Again, I was disappointed. The portrait had been done by a Samuel Wolf. However, this time I noticed there was another small frame to the right of the painting. I leaned down to see what could be so important that it deserve
d such a place of honor.

  It was a newspaper article, dated five years ago. The column was titled Christie’s London Modern and Contemporary Art Evening Sale.

  Quickly, I scanned the article as I tickled the fur behind Hank’s ear. “What’s this about, hmm? More treasure hunting?”

  I noticed something. Not in the main article, underneath that, in an ad. Someone had circled a tiny tidbit, and it said, Nursery Sale for July! Larkspur and Water Lilies.

  I leaned back, thoughtful. Now that was intriguing. And even more interesting since it was almost July again. Dare I say, almost serendipitous?

  Chapter Twenty

  That night, I sat on my bed in my nightgown with the map spread out before me. It drove me crazy to think there was something worth millions possibly abandoned on the estate that could save everything— repair the house, and protect the jobs that Mary had whispered about. We just had to find it. This had to be a clue.

  An evening storm had blown in and the rain lashed against the window pane. I pulled the coverlet up around my shoulders to ward off a shiver and smoothed the little paper. Where was this place? I’d walked the entire perimeter of the house and hadn’t seen anything even closely resembling it. There had been a gate, but it led to a gardener shed. Not an apple tree or swing.

  Lightning flashed, followed by a huge boom. The power flickered and browned. I stared anxiously at the light and it went out.

  Darkness descended like a heavy blanket, bringing along its terrifying friend, claustrophobia. I recalled the childlike giggle I’d heard earlier and Mary’s scared eyes. Perfect time to remember that, Laura Lee.

  I felt around for a lighter and soon had a flame flickering in the candle. It continued to flicker instead of growing stronger. I glanced over at the cupboard and saw it ajar. A moment later, Hank’s whiskery orange face poked above the foot of the bed. He eyed the map and the rumpled blankets and then jumped up.

  “Hey, buddy, I missed you.”

  Closing his eyes, the cat’s mouth dropped into a lion’s silent roar of a yawn.

  “Oh! So sleepy, huh?” I kissed his head. Still no purring. “You’re never going to give me that, are you?” I began to scratch his neck, my finger tucking under the metal collar.