“I’m fine, Mr. Walker, I mean, Morgan.” Skye, clearly embarrassed, pulled free from him and said, “I’ve, uh, got to go.” Then she hurried out of the office.
“Nice meeting you, Skye,” he yelled out, but didn’t get a response. He turned to Tess. “I could come back later, if you’d like.”
“Oh no, Mr. Walker, you’re fine.” Tess pointed to the chair and said, “Go ahead and have a seat.” Not surprising, he didn’t insist on her calling him by his first name.
Guess that honor is reserved for the young and beautiful.
Before Mr. Walker could sit down, Goober trotted up to him and shoved his nose into the man’s crotch.
“Goober! No!” said Tess, embarrassed at her dog’s behavior. The dog jerked his head away at the reprimand but immediately started sniffing the man’s shoes. “Goober! Go lay down!” After the dog went to his bed, she offered the banker an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”
“Not a problem,” said Mr. Walker. “It’s a dog thing. I’m sure I have all kinds of interesting smells on me, as much walking as I do.” He set the manila envelope on the desk, reached into his inside suit pocket and pulled out a gold pen. “Did you bring your tax returns?”
“Yes, I’ve got them right here.” Tess reached down, grabbed her briefcase and set it on the desk. She clicked open the latches, lifted the lid but stopped suddenly and sucked in her breath, not prepared for what she saw.
“Oh, my . . .” she said in almost a whisper.
There, on top of her tax file, lay the old Christmas pop-up book.
Chapter Five
Tess snatched the tax file from the briefcase and held it tightly while Mr. Walker pulled the papers from the manila envelope and set them in front of her. He seemed to be talking to her, but she couldn’t make out the words. Her mind was stuck on the book.
How did it get in there?
“Sign here.” Mr. Walker pointed to the line at the bottom of the first page and then turned to the next page. “And here . . .” He looked up at her. “Mrs. Langley?”
Tess shook her head, bringing her back to the present, and gazed down at the papers. She closed the lid of her briefcase and said, “I’m sorry, what’d you say?”
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.” She looked down at the papers. “Which pages did you want me to sign?”
“The ones with a yellow tab sticking out,” he said. “Are those your tax returns?”
“Oh, yes. Here.” She handed them to the banker then scribbled her signature on all of the appropriate pages and slid the papers back to Mr. Walker. “How long until I get the money? I’m anxious to get started on the remodel.”
“Well, you have three days for right of rescission . . .”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to change my mind,” said Tess.
Mr. Walker slipped the papers back inside the envelope, along with the tax returns, and stood up. “Then you should have the funds in your account no later than this weekend.”
Tess stood up and came around to the front of the desk. “Thank you so much for doing this, Mr. Walker. I wouldn’t have been able to get my house and do the renovation on it if it weren’t for you.”
He smiled at her. “I’m happy I could help, Mrs. Ah . . .Ah . . . Ah . . . Choo!” He let out a big sneeze. “Excuse me.”
“Have you taken the Echinacea yet?”
“No,” he said and sniffed.
“Well, it’s not going to do you any good in your pocket. Have Skye get you a glass of water and take them now before that cold gets any worse.”
“I will,” he said and then walked out of her office.
Five minutes later, Skye stuck her head in through Tess’s door. She looked back over her shoulder, as if to make sure no one was listening, and said, “Why didn’t you tell me your banker friend was single and so dreamy?”
“Dreamy?” Tess rolled her eyes. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Well, he is.” Skye stepped into the office and closed the door behind her. A big smile spread across her face and she said, “Guess what?”
“What?”
“He asked me out.”
“Who? Mr. Walker?”
“Yes, Morgan,” said Skye. “He wanted to know if I would have dinner with him this weekend. So, I said ‘yes.’”
“Well, I’m not surprised,” said Tess, “the way you two were ogling each other.” She walked over to her bookcase, opened the lid of a cookie jar and pulled out a dog biscuit. She tossed it to Goober, and within seconds, the dog had devoured it. “Not to be a mother hen about it, but don’t you think he’s a little old for you?” She knew Skye was fresh out of college, away from her family for the first time, and impressionable.
“Love has no age limit,” said Skye, and then she sighed.
“You mean lust . . .”
“Tess, shhh,” she said, her voice coming out in a squeaky whisper. “You never know, he could be the one.”
“Mm-hmm, I’m sure,” she said with a sarcastic tone. “So, where’s Prince Charming taking you?”
Skye shrugged. “I don’t know, he didn’t say.” Her eyes widened with excitement. “Ooh, maybe he’ll take me to that cute little French restaurant, I can’t remember the name . . .”
“You mean Trois Poules?” said Tess, tossing Goober another biscuit.
“That’s the one.” Skye gave a little squeal. “I hear their fruit parfaits are to die for.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in her burgundy pencil skirt, the one that hugged every curve, and said, “I better get back to work before the boss fires me.”
No wonder the guy asked her out, thought Tess as the receptionist sashayed out of her office. “Oh, to be that young again,” she murmured.
Tess sat back down and began going through the mail again, but her eyes kept migrating over to the briefcase. After the fourth time, she dropped the stack of mail and clicked open the case. She stared at the book, her brows knitted. “How did you get in there?” she murmured just as Goober padded up, nudged her arm with his nose and sat down. She looked down at him. “Did you do this, boy?”
Goober gave a quiet, “Woof.”
She started to close the briefcase lid when Goober nudged her arm again and stared up at her, his tail sweeping the floor.
“What? You want to see it?” He gave a subtle whine. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you look at it, but no touching. Got it?”
He let out another “Woof.”
Tess pulled the book from the briefcase and carefully opened it to the first pop-up. Studying it this time, she noticed the details, the variation in color on the branches giving it a wood-like appearance, the veins in the leaves, the individual feathers on the bird. Whoever the artist was, they clearly knew their craft. Her mind flashed on the missing artist, and she felt a pang of sadness, hoping that the woman would be found soon.
She carefully turned the page to reveal a second pop-up. It was of two grey speckled birds nesting in a straw-colored field and facing each other. With their heads dipped, the tips of their yellow beaks and their puffed-out chests touched creating the shape of a heart.
Underneath the cardboard pop-up was another poem:
On the second day of Christmas,
A pair of turtle doves.
In fields of wheat, the two did meet.
Betrothed to the one he loves.
Tess read it again and mused at this anonymous author’s rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas. Clearly, the writer had taken liberties. What she couldn’t figure out, though, was why.
She looked down at Goober. “Now what do you suppose that means?”
Goober looked up at her and whined.
“I don’t know either,” she said, and turned the page to the next pop-up. It was of three chickens—one brown, one yellow and one rust colored—standing in an English garden of brightly colored flowers. Two of them had their heads down, seemingly pecking at invisible seeds hid
den in the grass.
Beneath it was another poem:
On the third day of Christmas,
Three chickens en francais.
A place for fare, beyond compare.
And the ambiance, c’est parfait!
She was about to turn the page to the next pop-up when her desk computer pinged, indicating she had a new email. It was from her boss, and the subject line read, “Trail Map.” She clicked on it.
-How’s the Chamber of Commerce project coming? Are we still on track to have it finished and ready for print before the weekend?
Tess rolled her chair over to the drafting table and glanced at the nearly completed map laying on it. As a cartographer, her job was to collect and analyze geographic data compiled from geodetic surveys along with aerial and satellite photographs. From that information, she would then create a publishable map for the company’s various clientele.
She enjoyed her work because while it was technical, it still allowed her to use a bit of her creative side, especially on her current project for the city. It involved updating all of the hiking trails on a nearby area of public land called the Wild Wood Forest and Nature Preserve. Once she finished hand-detailing the map, it would then be turned into a printable pocket-sized trail map.
She rolled her chair back to her desk and glanced at the pop-up book still open to the chickens. She wanted to look through the rest of it, now curious as to how the author would interpret the rest of the Christmas song. Instead, she closed the book, slipped it back into her briefcase and typed in her response.
-Yes. I should have it finished before I leave today.
For the rest of the morning, Tess worked on the trail map at the drafting table. She was just finishing up detailing the streams when her cell phone rang.
She rolled her chair back over to her desk, fished the phone out of her purse, and when she saw the caller ID, she smiled and pushed the green button.
“Hey Char, what’s up?”
“I’m hungry,” said Char.
“So what else is new,” laughed Tess.
“You want to buy me lunch at Wheaton’s Deli before I help you tackle your boxes?”
“Sure,” said Tess.
“Good,” said Char, “because I’m already here.”
Tess laughed again. “All right. Grab one of the tables outside, and I’ll be there in ten.”
“Outside?” said Char. “It’s a little cold to be sitting outside, don’t you think?”
“I’ve got Goober with me.”
“Okay,” said Char. “See you in a bit.”
After they hung up, Tess stuffed the phone back in her purse and organized the unopened mail on her desk, putting them in a neat pile, with today’s paper on top. She stared at it for a moment, her eyes glued to the photograph of the missing woman and her painting. She snatched it off of the pile, opened up her briefcase that was still on the desk, tossed the paper on top of the book and closed the lid.
Grabbing the map off of the drafting table, she rolled it up and slipped a rubber band around the middle. “C’mon, boy. Let’s go,” she said to her dog as she picked up her briefcase from off the desk.
Goober followed her out of the office and down the hall to the lobby, stopping briefly at the reception desk to let Skye give him a scratch behind the ears.
Tess handed the map to her and said, “Will you please give this to Mr. Husker for me?”
“Sure thing.”
“Thanks,” said Tess. “See you tomorrow.”
As Tess headed out the door, Skye said, “Hey, if you happen to see your banker friend, maybe you can suggest that restaurant . . .” She scrunched her brow. “What’s the name of it again?”
“Trois Poules,” said Tess.
“Twa what?”
“Trois Poules,” said Tess. “It means three chickens.”
Skye laughed. “Three chickens. Now that I can remember!”
~~~~~~~~
Wheaton’s Deli, a family run business known for its homemade breads, was on the other end of town. Being that it took less than five minutes to go from one end of town to the other—including stopping at every red light—it wasn’t that much out of Tess’s way.
By the time she pulled up in front of the deli, Char was seated at one of the outdoor tables clutching a mug of something that must have been warm based on the trail of steam snaking up from it.
“I was cold, so I ordered a skinny caramel latte,” said Char as soon as Tess walked up with Goober right at her side.
“That sounds yummy.”
“I’m glad,” said Char, “because I ordered one for you, too, along with a couple of Wheaton Clubs. They should be ready by now.”
Tess looked at Goober and said, “You stay here with Aunt Char. I’ll be right back.”
She walked into the deli, a quaint shop with exposed brick walls. Half a dozen bistro tables with chairs had been placed about the room, along with a couple of picnic tables to accommodate larger groups.
She walked up to the counter, and as she waited for the barista to finish with the customer in front of her, she glanced around the café, admiring the decor.
Framed vintage photographs of Whispering River’s main street and some of the older buildings—including her office—hung in clusters on the walls. Her eyes stopped on the large landscape oil painting that covered most of the far left wall. It was of an old red barn situated in the background, a cloudless blue sky overhead and wispy golden fields in the foreground.
As she stared at it, her eyes migrated down to the young man with brown hair seated at the table beneath it with his head lowered. He appeared to be staring at the empty table in front of him. A moment later, he lifted his head, glanced at her and then stared out the window with a faraway look in his eyes. He seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t place where she might have met him.
“Welcome to Wheaton’s,” the young woman standing behind the counter said and smiled at Tess. “May I take your order?”
“My friend already placed an order for a skinny caramel latte and a couple of Wheaton Clubs.”
“You must be Tess,” she said and handed her a tray with two towering club sandwiches and a steaming mug of coffee. Tess dug in her purse for some money, but the barista waved her off. “Your friend already paid for it.” She smiled again and began filling the next order.
“Thank you,” said Tess.
She turned, ready to head to the door when she heard the barista yell out, “Dovelin, your order’s ready.”
The young man seated underneath the large painting stood up and walked over to the counter, stopping right next to Tess.
“Here you go, Max,” the barista said, handing him a tray with a deli sandwich and a cup of coffee.
“Thanks, Talia,” he murmured without smiling.
Tess watched the young man walk back over to the table with his tray and sit down.
“It’s so sad,” said the barista, quietly just as Tess was about to walk away.
“Excuse me?” said Tess. She looked over the counter at her.
“The missing woman . . .” The barista nodded in the young man’s direction. “That was his girlfriend.”
Tess looked at the young man, his shoulders drooping as he ate his sandwich in silence. Now she remembered where she had seen him; he was on the news this morning.
“That’s Max Dovelin?” said Tess. The barista nodded. “Did you know the missing woman?”
“Rachael Warren? Oh sure,” she said. “She and Max were regulars here. In fact, they met a couple of years ago right under that painting.”
Tess glanced at the painting again and then back at the barista. “Have there been any breaks in the case?”
The barista slowly shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She let out a breath. “I wanted to ask Max about it, but I didn’t want to seem rude.”
Tess stared at the young man eating his deli sandwich. Her eyes migrated up to the large painting again. “You said the two met here?”
>
“Yep. Right there underneath that painting of the wheat fields.” She nodded her head toward the young man. “They hit it off right away, started coming in every morning together. He’d order them a couple of café mochas and whatever muffin of the day we had.” She gestured again with her head. “Then they’d sit there under that painting and hold hands, laugh, and stare into each other’s eyes while they ate their breakfast.” She sighed. “That table became known around here as the lovebirds’ nest.”
“So, things were good between them?”
“Oh yes,” said the barista, “very good. In fact, he had planned on asking her to marry him, had a ring and everything.”
“Was he going to propose to her here?” said Tess quietly, staring at the young man.
“Oddly, no,” said the barista. “Guess he didn’t want to propose to her over a coffee and a muffin.”
“So where had he planned on asking her to marry him?”
“At that little French restaurant . . .” the barista’s brow creased. “I can never remember the name of that place.”
Still staring at the young man, Tess said, “Trois Poules. It means three chickens in French.”
“Three chickens . . .” said the barista. “What a strange name for a restaurant.”
The pop-up book flashed in Tess’s mind, with its beautiful renderings of the three chickens among the flowers, the two turtle doves nesting in a field of wheat, and the partridge in the tree.
“Hmm, interesting . . .” Tess murmured.
“Pardon?”
Tess set the tray back on the counter and looked at the barista. “Can I get these to go? I just realized I have something very important I need to do.”
Chapter Six
Tess hurried out of the café with a ‘to go’ cup in one hand and a plastic bag with the sandwiches in the other.
“C’mon,” said Tess to Char. “Let’s go.”
“What’s going on?” said Char, still sipping her latte. “Don’t you want to eat here?”
“Can’t,” said Tess. “We need to get to my house.”
Candy Canes & Corpses Page 56