Verse and Vengeance

by Amanda Flower

  I knew I didn’t need to be there, but I wanted to be there. I wanted to know what had Bobby so worried. I wanted to know what he knew.

  Clipton waited. When it was clear she wasn’t going to go any further with the interview while I was standing there, I shrugged as if I didn’t care. “I’ll see you later, Bobby.”

  He didn’t reply as I turned and walked to the street.

  Crossing the finish line at the end of a thirty-mile bike race was as hard as it sounded. As the riders came in, they were so tired and yet exhilarated to be done that many of them didn’t watch their steering. I almost got hit twice running across the street to meet Sadie and Simon.

  “Violet, OMG! You almost got hit by that bike,” Sadie cried.

  “By two bikes actually, but who’s counting?” I smiled at Simon. “Hey, Simon.”

  He gave me a small smile in return. Simon was as quiet as Sadie was bubbly.

  “I’m so glad I caught you. I have something for you.” She pulled up short and wrinkled her nose as she was about to hug me. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  I looked down at my biker shorts and brightly colored spandex shirt. It was good for the ride to keep cool, but it wasn’t really walking-around-town clothing. It showed everything. I folded my arms awkwardly about my waist, and my paper bib crinkled. “I was in the bike race.”

  “Still …” She trailed off. “I could have found you something better. This can’t have been your best option.”

  “You had something to show me?” I asked, changing the subject. My clothing choices were something Sadie and I would never agree upon.

  “Yes.” She thrust the book out to me. “It’s here, and I wanted you to have one of the very first copies. My author copies just came in the mail today, and I wanted you to have one right away.”

  I took the paperback book from her. On the cover, a woman’s feet were dangling off what looked like a dock with a sunset reflected in the lake, which I knew from the story was Lake Ontario, where Sadie’s debut romance novel was set. The cover read SUMMER MELODY / SADIE CUNNINGHAM.

  Sadie wrapped herself around Simon’s arm as if she needed something to hold on to. “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

  I smiled at her glowing face. “Never,” I said, meaning it. The book represented years of hard work on Sadie’s part and a lifelong dream fulfilled. She had owned and operated her vintage clothing shop, Midcentury Vintage, across the street from Charming Books for years, but being an author had been her true dream since she was a child.

  She beamed at me. “I’m going to show it to everyone at the Red Inkers meeting tomorrow night.”

  The Red Inkers was a writing critique group that met twice weekly at Charming Books. Sadie was the first member to have a novel published and the youngest of the group, too. You would have thought there would be jealousy among the writers, but everyone was honestly thrilled for Sadie and her success. She had worked hard for this moment, and I was so happy that no one appeared to want to take that away from her.

  “Of course, you and Simon have already seen it.” Sadie looked up at her boyfriend. “I wouldn’t have gotten published without Simon. If he hadn’t written that referral to his agent, this never would have happened for me.”

  Simon shook his head. “You would have gotten there, Sadie. Don’t be silly. You have the talent and drive. That’s what it takes.”

  “He’s right, Sadie,” I said. “And I know all of the Red Inkers are so proud of you. I will be at the meeting tonight, but I’m not sure Rainwater will be able to make it.” I quickly told her about Redding’s death.

  “Murdered? How terrible? Is David sure?” Sadie asked.

  “He didn’t say, but if the brake line really was cut, it is a malicious act, if not murder in the first degree,” I said.

  “Manslaughter, then?” Simon asked.

  “That would be my guess,” I said.

  Sadie hugged herself. “What has our little village come to that this is normal conversation in Cascade Springs? And did you hear a man died by going over Niagara Falls last night too?”

  I nodded. In all the upset from Redding’s death, I had forgotten.

  Tears came to her eyes. “It’s just all too horrible. I just can’t stop think about that man going over the Falls. What a terrible way to die. And now this!”

  Simon wrapped his arm around her. “Sweetheart, you are too tenderhearted for your own good sometimes.”

  She looked up at Simon as if hurt.

  “But that’s what makes you such a wonderful writer and person.”

  Her face broke into a beautiful smile.

  I rubbed her arm. Sadie was the sweetest and most compassionate person I knew. If anyone was going to cry over Redding’s death and the death of the nameless man at the Falls, it would be her.

  “I wonder,” Sadie mused with clear eyes, “if Redding isn’t done with Lacey yet and that’s why he came back. Is that why he came back?”

  I bit the inside of my lip, remembering Adrien’s comment that Redding had gotten what he deserved. I shivered. Had Adrien seen Redding around the village the last several days and come to the same conclusion Sadie just had? Did he think killing Redding would remove the problem? The café was right across the street from where Bobby’s Bike Shop was temporarily set up for the race. I shook the black thoughts away. Murder didn’t fit Adrien at all, but then again, did it fit anyone?

  I held up the book for Sadie to see. “I’ll display it in the front window of the bookshop with pride. It will be great to show this off, for your launch party at Charming Books in two weeks. Everything will be perfect. I promise.”

  Her cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. “Oh, I have another copy for the bookshop. I already dropped it off at Charming Books. Richard said he’d put it in the window.”

  Richard Bunting was my English department chair. With the spring term concluded, he’d wanted to make a little extra money and had asked if he could fill in some hours in the shop. Now that Grandma Daisy was the mayor of our little village and not at the shop nearly as often, I’d jumped at the chance. However, it felt a little strange telling my austere department head what to do.

  Thankfully, not much instruction was required. Richard had been coming to Charming Books between browsing and Red Inkers for years, and he was almost a daily fixture in the shop. In some ways, he knew the store as well as Grandma Daisy and I did, and he certainly could answer any questions about literature that came up. But he knew nothing about the tree, the water, or the shop’s essence. At first, I’d been nervous about leaving him in the shop alone, but Grandma Daisy insisted that the essence revealed itself only to the Caretaker or past Caretakers. That’s how it’d been for the last two hundred years and that is how it would remain, or so she told me.

  “How’s Richard coping with Emerson and Faulkner?” I asked.

  A little smile played on Sadie’s lips. She was far too sweet to laugh outright at the English professor’s troubles. “Faulkner seemed to be behaving himself. He was on his perch the whole time I was there. Richard said he and Faulkner were giving each other some distance.”

  I pressed my lips together, wondering what that meant.

  “I didn’t see Emerson, though,” Sadie added.

  I wasn’t surprised. My cat hated being penned up, and he would think staying behind while Grandma Daisy and I were at the bike race was sheer torture. He was also known to stow away in my bicycle basket. I had checked it at least half a dozen times before I started the race to make sure he wasn’t there. He was an expert hider as well as an escape artist.

  “I just hope he’s staying out of trouble,” I said.

  “Not likely,” Simon said.

  He was probably right.

  “I can’t believe what’s happened at the race. I’m so glad you’re okay. Rainwater is okay too? Daisy?” Sadie’s face creased with concern.

  I nodded. “We’re all fine.”

  “It could have been an accident. That hi
ll is steep,” she argued.

  “Maybe,” I said, but doubt was obvious in my voice.

  “I just don’t want another murder to hang a black cloud over our little village,” she said sadly.

  “Neither do I, and I know Rainwater doesn’t want that either.”

  “I need to get back to my shop.” Sadie pulled on Simon’s hand. “It’s a busy day with so many people in town, and sales have been strong. I think people wish for some other kinds of clothes when seeing so many people in spandex.” She shivered.

  I laughed. “It does make you pine for another look.”

  She smiled. “See you tonight!”

  “I’ll be there,” I said.

  Sadie hopped in place. “Perfect.” She grabbed Simon’s hand. “Now, we really must get back to my shop. Bye!” She spun on her heel and pulled Simon after her down the Riverwalk. The tall man stumbled for a moment but was able to right himself before falling to the ground.

  Simon put his arm around her as they made their way through the crowd that was finally starting to thin out as riders and spectators began to leave. The concession booths were packing up too, and the band that had been playing throughout the race was finishing their last set. I found myself smiling at them, but the smile faded when my gaze locked with that of another man’s.

  He was tall, with long gray hair tied back into a ponytail with a piece of leather. He had a guitar strapped around his body, and his guitar case sat open at his feet, ready to collect tips and donations. I recognized the song he played as an old folk tune, but I couldn’t name it. Every time someone dropped a bill or coin into his case, he nodded his thanks and kept on playing and singing.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. It was the first time I had seen my father in six months.

  Chapter Nine

  My father, Fenimore James, had come back to the village last Halloween with the purpose of finding me. I’d never gone looking for him. I hadn’t known his name. My mother had never told Grandma Daisy and me and the father line on my birth certificate had been left blank. My mother had had her reasons for this. She’d believed, as the next Caretaker of Charming Books, that she was destined to be alone, just like all the women before her.

  For a large portion of my life, my father hadn’t even known I existed. He didn’t find out until my mother sent him a letter telling him about me while she was dying from cancer. Of course, I’d had no idea she’d done this. Fenimore had told me and given me the letter, which now was hidden at the bottom of my sock drawer.

  He’d known for over seventeen years who I was to him but had never come looking for me even though he knew where to find me, or at least knew where to find Charming Books. After he’d left last Halloween, I hadn’t heard from him again. Perhaps it was my turn to go looking for him. But life got busy, and I made excuses. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  “Move out of the way!” an angry voice shouted at me.

  I jumped and stumbled off the sidewalk into the grass. I hadn’t realized I had stopped in the middle of the street. I had been caught completely off guard by seeing my father.

  “I can’t believe you brought me here, Edith, on such a wretched weekend,” the red-faced man said as he brushed past me. “You know I have no interest in athletics, and this entire village is overrun by cyclists.”

  The woman didn’t seem the least bit put off by her husband’s outburst. “You know, dear, this is our thirtieth wedding anniversary this weekend. I wanted to come back to the place where you proposed all those years ago. It may be crowded today, but one of the vendors assured me that it’s only for today and we will have all of Sunday to bask in our love.”

  “I’m not basking in anything in this terrible place. I think I threw my back out when that biker cut me off,” he grumbled. “I’ve never understood why anyone wanted to ride a bike anywhere anymore. That’s why cars were invented. If you wanted to come here for our anniversary, we should have come another weekend, a weekend when no one was here.”

  “It wasn’t like I could move the date of our anniversary, dear,” she said, nonplussed by his harsh tone.

  She was a stronger woman than me. I would give her that.

  They moved down the sidewalk and finally were far enough away that I couldn’t hear the man complain any longer. His grumbles were swallowed up by the chatter of the crowd.

  When I turned back to Fenimore, I saw that he had stopped playing the guitar and singing. Instead he was staring at me. He made a move like he was going to approach me, but he looked back like he thought better of leaving his guitar case full of money unattended. Which was a good call in such a large crowd, but it also gave me just enough time to get away.

  I weaved through the bikes and riders who had just crossed the finish line. Tired squealed, but I didn’t care.

  “Violet! Where are you going?” Lacey called after me. “What about your bike?”

  I ignored her. I knew my bike was in safe hands with Lacey and Adrien, and I doubted anyone would want to steal my painted violet helmet.

  The street, just like the grumpy man had said, was choked with riders and tourists who were now trying to make their way out of the Riverwalk area.

  Was I being a coward for running away from my father? Yes, I was. Was I proud of it? Not really, but I had to process the fact that he was back in the village before talking to him. In a way, I hadn’t expected him to return to Cascade Springs. Before he revealed his identity to me, he had been in the village often doing his traveling troubadour thing, but since then he hadn’t shown his face. Which had been fine by me; I had been far too busy to deal with the baggage of learning I had a father after thirty years of having none.

  I told myself I just needed a moment to compose myself and I could deal with it. I had just seen a dead body not that long ago, too, so didn’t that give me a pass to some extent to deal with my daddy issues?

  It would be far too difficult with the riders coming down River Road to make it back to the shop in any short order. Instead of going home to my shop, where Fenimore could easily find me, I ran up the twenty-some stone stairs to the front door of the village hall. I stepped into the hall and took a breath. The large wooden door closed with a thud behind me and the sound reverberated throughout the cavernous space.

  I knew the building well because I grew up here, and because more recently I had seen every nook and cranny of it while my grandmother was deciding the best location for the museum.

  The main entrance featured a grand rotunda with an antique wooden staircase that led up to the second floor, where the village offices were located. I knew that my grandmother was in one of those rooms now, meeting with the village council. The main floor of the hall was rarely used for anything other than a special event. My grandmother’s idea was to use this great room for the museum, and construction had already begun before the money ran out.

  At my feet, a large section of the marble had been ripped up out of the floor. Orange cones and hazard tape circled it. The hole was deep and went under the building into the man-made hill. The construction crew was in the process of bracing up the foundation. I stared down into the hole. It looked like an endless pit and smelled faintly of wet earth and old paper, and it was what had stopped construction on the museum. The foundation issue had been discovered when trenching began in the marble for electrical and Internet.

  When the village hall was built in the 1850s, it was built over an aquifer, the same groundwater that fed the river and natural springs. All the water in this village is interconnected. When the hall was built, the aquifer was better contained and deeper under the surface, but as time passed and erosion occurred, it became much closer to the surface and made the ground unstable beneath the building.

  The village had enough money to cover the foundation repair, but not enough to finish the museum or even repair the hole in the marble floor.

  Where the museum would stand was to my left. A section of the rotunda had been portioned off and framed out. The wo
od framing was up, but that’s where construction stopped.

  I started through the doorway.

  “What are you doing here?” A sharp, high-pitched voice echoed off the rounded walls, so I didn’t know where it was coming from.

  “Look up!”

  I did, and I saw Bertie Rhodes, my grandmother’s secretary, a woman who’d been in the position for the last forty years through five different mayors. Not one of them, my grandmother included, had had the nerve to get rid of this particular irritable public employee.

  She ran the mayor’s office with an iron fist. In the past, she had been able to boss the other mayors around. She hadn’t had much luck in that regard with Grandma Daisy. It seemed that Bertie had finally met her match. My grandmother and Bertie didn’t agree on anything when it came to managing the city or even what brand of paper clips to buy for the office. Every decision put the two strong women at odds. For one, Bertie thought the Underground Railroad Museum was a complete waste of money even though the museum was being paid for through private donations and fund-raisers, not by the taxpayers.

  I suspected Bertie didn’t like the idea of the general public entering her sanctuary. She was the only person who had been a constant fixture in the village hall for the last forty years, and she felt more than a little ownership over it.

  My grandmother said she kept Bertie around because the secretary was just six months shy of retirement. It seemed cruel to oust her this close to the end of her career. However, Grandma Daisy was counting the hours until Bertie’s last day.

  Bertie came down the stairs. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Did my grandmother call you in to take minutes for the impromptu council meeting?” I retorted.

  “I don’t need anyone to call me in,” she said bitterly. “Some of us have to work even if the village has completely lost its mind over this cycle race. It’s a good thing that I happened to be here when everything happened.”

  “Is my grandmother still in the meeting? Can I see her?”