by B. T. Lord
“Tudor tells me it’s from Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale. I’m going to look up it up to see what it’s all about. Maybe that will tell me why she had it in her bag.”
“I can tell you what the play is about.” Both Rick and Cammie stared at Emmy in disbelief. Although sharply intelligent and amazingly mature for her young age, neither took her for a Shakespeare enthusiast. “I had to do a paper on it in high school,” she explained. “In a nutshell, King number 1 goes off the deep end and accuses his pregnant wife of fooling around with his best friend, King number 2. Because he thinks the baby his wife is carrying is not his, he orders it to be abandoned in a desolate area when she’s born. He then imprisons his wife who dies. While all this is going on, his eldest son dies. In the end, King number 1 has spent sixteen years mourning the death of his son, wife and infant daughter. Somehow the wife comes back to life, it’s discovered the baby girl was never abandoned and all’s well that ends well.”
“Holy crap, what a tragedy,” Rick said.
“Actually, it’s considered a comedy.”
“A comedy?” Rick echoed. “Shit. Those ruffles they wore around their necks must have been on pretty tight for anyone to consider that a comedy.”
“So the play is about forgiveness,” Cammie said as she looked back at the photo of the dead woman.
“Pretty much.”
“Well, if her daughter was left abandoned in the woods or on a mountain cliff, and she accused her husband of cheating on her, then keeping the quote in her Gucci bag makes sense,” Rick stated.
Cammie gave him a look. “That statement just gave me a headache.”
“Maybe you’re reading too much into that piece of paper. Maybe she heard the quote somewhere, liked it, wrote it down and shoved it in her purse. I do it all the time.”
“Really? What was the last quote you liked so much that you had to write it down?”
Rick met Cammie’s eye. “Luke, I am your father.”
Emmy burst out in giggles as Cammie rolled her eyes. “Save me,” she whispered her breath. “Let’s call it a night. We’ll pick this up first thing in the morning.”
Rick followed Emmy out of Cammie’s office. They’d just entered the foyer when Emmy turned around so abruptly that Rick almost crashed into her.
“My mother is spending the night with her sister in Houlton. I made some shredded beef. Why don’t you come over? I can whip us up some enchiladas. I even bought some jalapeno peppers.”
Emmy knew how much Rick adored enchiladas. And jalapeno peppers. How much longer was it going to be before he realized he adored her as well?
She’d loved Rick ever since they’d started working together three years before. She’d finally declared that love several months ago. She knew he had feelings for her – he’d saved her life when she’d almost become a victim of Twin Ponds first and only serial killer.
Unfortunately, he had yet to act upon those feelings. Rick went through women the way she went through her color coordinated hair ribbons she always wore in her long brown hair. Yet, she continued to hold out hope he would finally get past his fear of commitment and declare his love for her. To her frustration, she saw the nervousness creep into his eyes at the thought of going over to her house. To be with her. Alone. Just the two of them.
Rick gulped. He saw her dark brown eyes staring up at him. Glancing to his right, he saw Emmy’s little toy poodle Augustus staring up at him from his little bed beneath her desk. Shit, if he stood there much longer, he’d probably have Cammie staring at him too.
“I – um – I can’t tonight, Em. I promised Gran I’d have dinner with her.”
Emmy knew he was lying. She could feel his lie crawling against her skin. She had to hold herself back from giving him a good swift kick in the shins. No, she wouldn’t become that person – the type of woman who screamed and carried on if she didn’t get her own way. Instead, she forced herself to smile as she shrugged her shoulders. “Some other time then.”
It killed her to see the look of relief cross Rick’s face briefly before he blinked it away. She went to her desk, and turned away as she took her time pulling her bag out of her bottom drawer. She refused to let him see the tears welling up in her eyes.
“See you tomorrow Em,” he said as he literally ran out of HQ. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
If there was any consolation in this whole mess, it was that, as far as she knew, he hadn’t dated another woman since he’d saved her life. For a man who had a new woman every week, that had to stand for something. If he didn’t care for her, he would have been through at least a dozen women by now.
Bolstered by that thought, she threw her bag over her shoulder and was just leaving when her cell phone rang. Not in the mood to talk to anyone, she thought to ignore it. But her conscientiousness wouldn’t let her. What if it was her mom? Better yet, what if it was Rick telling her he’d changed his mind? She quickly fished through the bag and whipped out the phone.
“Hello?” she answered, holding her breath.
The voice on the other end was unexpected. In fact, it was a shock. But as she listened to the warm tones, she smiled. And felt a little tickle in the pit of her stomach.
Cammie waited until she heard the front door close before she began to systematically shut off the lights. She’d inadvertently heard the brief conversation between Emmy and Rick and felt the young woman’s pain when she was so summarily rejected.
She loved both Emmy and Rick – they were like family to her. Right now all she wanted to do was track down Rick and give him a kick in the ass. But she couldn’t interfere. As much as it distressed her to see these two dancing around each other, wasting time as far as she was concerned, she had to stay out of it.
“The course of true love never did run smooth,” she whispered under her breath before she suddenly realized what she’d said. “Crap, I’m now unconsciously reciting Shakespeare.” She shook her head as she let herself out the back door, locking up behind her.
Meredith lay in her bed at the Shakespeare in the Woods Inn, staring up at the ceiling. The room was dark, the only light coming from the bright lamps in the parking lot outside her window. Thankfully, she could no longer see the fairies caught in mid-flight painted above her. They looked so carefree, unburdened by worries, mocking her with their lighthearted smiles.
It was never supposed to be like this.
Damn Poppie. Damn Aubrey. Damn both of them to hell.
She rolled over and stared into the darkness, knowing in her heart that she deserved a spot in hell as much as they did. It was her fault for this living nightmare.
“Oh Poppie, why did you make me do it?” she whispered aloud to the quiet, still air.
Aubrey sat in his study. He was supposed to be working. The deadline for the next installment of the Magic Calico series was looming. Instead, he was staring at his computer. He’d typed ‘Chapter Ten’, centered it on the screen, then hit enter several times to get him to the point where he’d begin the first paragraph.
That had been an hour ago.
The truth was, he had nothing to write. The well of creativity was completely dried up. He had no clue where else to go with the plot. With the character. In fact, if he was being honest with himself, he’d come to hate the damned cat.
He remembered when he was in college, he’d read an article about Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stating that the celebrated writer had come to loathe his greatest creation – Sherlock Holmes. At the time, Aubrey couldn’t understand it. It was Holmes who had given Doyle his fame, his fortune, his knighthood. In fact, almost ninety years after his death, he was still famous, still remembered. Why? Because of Sherlock Holmes. Aubrey had dreamed of that kind of fame. That kind of legendary recognition.
Now he knew exactly how Doyle felt.
However, unlike Doyle, he couldn’t kill off his bread and butter. Not now. Not ever.
He could kid himself – make himself believe that because of his fame, he could write crap and the publi
c would eat it up. He’d seen best-selling authors get away with that. He could also kid himself into believing that if he were to start an entirely new series, it would be carried onto the best sellers lists solely on his name. He could tell himself a thousand things. He just wasn’t stupid enough to believe them.
He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Who would have thought that the man who’d thought he’d win the Pulitzer prize for literature would end up writing books about a magic cat? Especially since he was allergic to cats. And didn’t believe in magic. And didn’t even like kids.
Aubrey opened his eyes and turned his attention back to the blank screen.
He couldn’t write because he couldn’t think. And he couldn’t think because of Poppie Beresford. And of the last thing she’d said to him just before she’d stomped out of his house the night of the dinner party.
“You deserved to die, you bitch,” he muttered under his breath.
With righteous anger fueling his words, he leaned forward and began to type a description of one of the characters in the new book. A character that, despite outward appearances of gentility and grace, was rotten and evil and who Magic Calico would have no choice but to kill in order to save himself.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was 10:30 in the morning when Cammie entered Zee’s Bar and Grille.
Just as she’d hoped, the place was empty. Zee was in his usual spot behind the bar that ran along the back wall of the restaurant. Although the temperatures were already dipping into the upper 40s during the day, he had yet to light the large stone fireplace that lent a homey, peaceful ambiance to the eatery. Cammie sat down on one of the stools and ordered an asparagus omelet with toasted sourdough bread and a mug of Zee’s best pumpkin spice coffee.
“Treating yourself to brunch today?” the large burly man observed as he poured the coffee and placed it on the bar in front of her.
“I actually came by to ask you some questions about a customer. I figured this was the best time to swing in here in order to have your undivided attention. And since I was here, might as well enjoy one of your hearty breakfasts.”
He worked his magic in the kitchen and Cammie was soon enjoying the light, fluffy omelet. While she ate, he leaned his elbows on the counter. “What do you want to know about Poppie Beresford?”
Cammie smiled. As usual, Zee was on top of every iota of information that existed in Twin Ponds.
“She came in here for lunch the other day with her friend?”
“That’s right. They both ordered my avocado and lobster Caesar salad.”
“Meredith Quigley said she went to the ladies room. When she came back, Poppie was visibly upset. So much so that she didn’t wait for the check, nor did she finish her salad. She insisted on leaving right away. Now, she hadn’t been that way when they arrived, so obviously something happened here that upset her. I’m hoping you know what that something is.”
“Meredith couldn’t tell you that?”
Cammie shook her head. “She tried to get Poppie to tell her, but the woman refused. From what Meredith and Aubrey Gardiner have said, our victim was a very private woman.”
“So private that she wouldn’t tell her companion why she was dragging her away from one of my fantastic salads? Hmmmm.”
Cammie took a sip of coffee and inwardly groaned in pleasure. “Does this mean you don’t know either?”
“Well, you know how it gets in here at lunch time. I’m barely able to keep my head above water. In fact, if I remember correctly, we were pretty packed as usual. I recall them coming in and what they ordered, but it wasn’t until after they’d left that I realized they were gone.” Cammie’s face fell. She’d been hoping Zee could provide the answer to the little mystery. “However, maybe Harry saw something. He was working that day.”
Zee came out from behind the bar and walked into the small backroom where he had a pool table set up for customers. A few moments later, he reappeared with Harry, who shambled behind him, dragging his broom. He was dressed in jeans that were two sizes too big for him, an oversized sweatshirt and his gray hair sticking up haphazardly. His slackened expression brightened when he saw Cammie.
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever!” he exclaimed as he hurried to her. Cammie jumped off the stool and gave him a hug.
“How are you, Harry?” she asked.
“Now that you are here, I am sublime.”
“I was hoping you could help me out on something.”
“I am your servant, Madam.” He took a deep bow.
She repeated what she’d told Zee. “Do you remember seeing her the other day?”
Harry tilted his head and thought for a long moment. “Yes, I believe I do recall her. She was beautiful and tiny. Like a china doll.”
“Did you see or hear anything that might have upset her?”
Once again he tilted his head and tapped his lower lip with his fingertip. “She liked birds, didn’t she? I recall she and her friend talking about birds.”
Cammie nodded. “Yes, she did.”
“Well, mayhap I’m wrong, but there were a pair of gentlemen at the next table who were talking about bird hunting. In fact, one of them made quite a fuss in bragging about how many ducks he’d killed in one sitting. It was quite shameful, really. Poor birds deserve to live as much as we humans do. The more he spoke, the more upset she seemed to become. I went to the backroom to retrieve a sponge to clean up one of the tables and when I returned, she and her friend were gone.”
“Is that all?”
“Pretty much.” He fixed her with his rheumy eyes. “Was that helpful?”
“Very much so. Thank you, Harry.”
He bowed to her again, turned on his heel and dragged his broom back to the pool room.
“That should answer your question,” Zee said.
“I guess it does,” she replied as she looked down regretfully at the last remaining piece of omelet on her plate.
After leaving Zee’s, Cammie had one more stop to make before she headed back to HQ. Taking the road out of town, she was soon driving through the dense forests that surrounded Twin Ponds. The reds and golds of fall foliage were at their peak, leaving her breathless at their beauty. No matter how many autumns she lived through, she never tired of the artistry of nature, especially at this time of year.
After twenty minutes, she pulled down a dirt driveway that opened up to a strangely contemporary home that didn’t quite fit into the architecture of the Victorian and white clapboard homes that lined the road on either side. Then again, much like the glass and chrome house itself, its owner seemed out of place as well.
She’d hesitated coming here. The proprietor of the weirdly angled house was not a fan of hers. Unfortunately, she only had herself to blame for his extreme dislike of her.
Professor Orville Bodmin was an ornithologist who’d retired to Twin Ponds several years earlier. The first time Cammie met him was at one of the town hall meetings. She’d heard his heavy, clumsy step in the foyer before he’d entered the large hall. When she turned to see who it was that sounded like Frankenstein, she’d done a double take. So did most of the people in the hall. The man standing before them in a tweed suit and a red bow tie bore an uncanny resemblance to the Nutty Professor – the character made famous by the late comedian Jerry Lewis. He wore the same half-moon glasses, and his greying hair was slicked down over his forehead. When he opened his mouth to speak, she was floored. He even had the same annoyingly nasal voice as the Lewis character. Before she could stop herself, she approached him, introduced herself and told him how much he looked like Professor Julius Kelp, aka Jerry Lewis. She’d meant it as a sincere compliment. When she was a kid, she’d loved the old Martin and Lewis movies. She and her mother would curl up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and laugh over the antics of the two comedians. It was one of her fondest memories.
Unfortunately, Bodmin wasn’t amused. Or flattered. His withering look told her she’d just insulted him. Despite her apologies, he r
efused to speak to her, and made a point of pointedly ignoring her whenever they passed on the street.
If she didn’t need his help, she would have continued to put up with his disdain for her. But this was important. Praying he’d be civil enough to answer her question, she parked in front of the house, went up the steps and rang the doorbell.
It took a few moments for the door to open. When it did, Bodmin stood there and stared at her. He had on a dark blue cardigan sweater over a pale green shirt and black trousers. As usual, he wore his requisite bow tie.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Professor, but I have some questions regarding birds that I hope you could help me with, you being such an expert on them and all.”
God, she sounded so pitiful. And so obsequious she was ready to throw up. However, it seemed to do the trick. Rather than slam the door in her face, he stepped aside.
“Come in and I’ll try my best to answer your questions.”
Jeez, if I close my eyes, I could swear I’m talking to Professor Julius Kelp!
Cammie walked into the foyer and stopped short when she saw birds everywhere. If they’d been alive, she would have been aghast at the number. There were sparrows, chickadees, titmouses, crows and several other species of birds she couldn’t identify perched motionless on display stands. They were all stuffed, which made the scene even more macabre. She had to force herself not to stare, or to allow the revulsion on her face to show as she followed him through the menagerie of taxidermied birds to a room to the right that turned out to be his study. Even here she wasn’t spared the sight of so many birds staring blankly at her through glass eyes. She was going to need counseling after this.
“How may I help you?” he asked in his nasal whine as he sat behind his desk and folded his hands.
She tore her eyes away from a particularly fearsome looking vulture and looked at him. “What can you tell me about white crows?”
“Well, there is the corvus albicollis of Africa that has a white collar. Then there are some in the corvus genus that have white in their plumage.”