Prose and Cons Page 3

  Emerson jumped on the arm of one of the two couches that flanked the shop’s wide fireplace and cocked his head at the crow first in one direction and then the other. It was almost as if the cat was assessing how much energy it would take to make the leap from the couch to Faulkner’s perch.

  Faulkner puffed his feathers, making him appear as large as possible. There was a war going on in Charming Books as the crow and the cat positioned themselves against each other: a fight for shop mascot. Both Faulkner and Emerson thought they were deserving of the title. Faulkner, who had been a resident of the shop longer, had seniority on his side, but Emerson had him beat in crowd appeal. No one ever came in the shop and cried, “How darling, you have a crow!” However, Emerson received daily compliments from customers about his adorableness; he lapped up the praise like cream from a dish. Those customers who noticed the big black bird in the tree usually gave him a wide berth and covered their heads as if they were afraid of bird droppings falling into their hair.

  Grandma Daisy found one of the lemon madeleines and took a bite. “Oh!” she moaned. “It’s like a lemon party in my mouth.”

  I glanced around the shop. Grandma Daisy and I were the only ones there. “Where are the rest of the Red Inkers? I thought you said they would be here by the time I returned from La Crepe Jolie.”

  Before Grandma Daisy could reply, someone knocked on the front door. There was a small four-paned window at eye level in the door, but even with the porch light, I couldn’t make out the dark figure on the other side of the glass. Whoever it was looked like a massive blob. I mentally kicked myself for the comparison. Clearly, the nearness of Halloween was causing my mind to wander in a spooky direction.

  Faulkner cawed from his perch. “Begone!” It was a welcome change from “Nevermore,” but it certainly wasn’t the friendliest greeting Faulkner knew.

  “Shh!” I told the crow.

  Emerson, who was far less vocal, sashayed to the door as if he were the Pied Piper. If he was the Pied Piper, I was a rat. It wasn’t a comparison that I cared for. I went to answer the door.

  The pounding came again, and Emerson seemed unconcerned by it, so I felt myself relax too. In the last few months since I had adopted the small tuxedo cat, I had begun to trust his instincts about people. He always seemed to know who was friend and who was foe. It was nice to have a feline litmus test, especially after my rough return to the village, which included a murder and almost getting killed. Twice. Three times if you counted the near bike accident.

  I opened the door to see a pair of legs and then a huge pile of garment bags covering the rest of the carrier’s body. I knew immediately whom the legs belonged to. There was only one person in Cascade Springs who would wear skull-and-crossbones-printed tights.

  “Sadie?” I asked.

  “Yes, it’s me.” Her voice was muffled by the impossibly high stack of garment bags. “A little help?”

  I grabbed half the garment bags from her and carried them over to one of the shop’s couches. I dropped the bags there and went back for another load. Holding only one bag now, Sadie stumbled into the shop and ran the back of her right hand across her forehead. “Those were a lot heavier than I thought they would be, and I almost got hit by a carriage crossing the street. Those drivers really need to watch where they’re going.” She said all of this with a bright smile on her face as if death by trampling might have been fun.

  “Why didn’t you call?” I asked. “I would have helped you carry these across the street.”

  She patted her high black ponytail to make sure not a hair was out of place. There wasn’t. Even carrying half her weight in clothing the twenty or so yards from her vintage clothing shop, Midcentury Vintage, across River Road to Charming Books, Sadie looked adorable and perfectly put together in her own unique style. She wore a black skirt with a silver crow printed on it, an orange sweater, and silver Doc Marten boots to complement the skull and crossbones tights. Halloween was a little over a week away, but she was making the most of her Halloween wardrobe while she could.

  “I guess I could have done that.” She chuckled. “I was just too excited to think of it. You will not believe the pieces I found for the Poe-try Reading. Everyone is going to look incredible.” She sighed happily. “This event is going to be amazing.”

  Almost every event in Sadie’s life was “amazing.” On anyone else, I would have found that quality annoying, but Sadie was so sincerely cheerful that it was endearing.

  “I brought a metal clothing rack across the street earlier today and Daisy stashed it in the stockroom. I’ll just go grab it, so I can start hanging the garments. I can’t wait for everyone to see them.” She bounced off in the direction of the kitchen before I had a chance to warn her that Anastasia was back there.

  The front door opened again and the remaining members of the Red Inkers trooped in. It was a small group. Other than Sadie, there was Trudy Conner, who was an eightysomething retired elementary school teacher; Dr. Richard Bunting, who was my department chair at Springside; and David Rainwater, Cascade Springs’ chief of police.

  My gaze glossed over Trudy and Richard and locked with the amber-colored eyes of the village police chief. As a member of the Seneca tribe, Rainwater had coal black hair, which he kept short, honey-colored skin, pronounced cheekbones, and eyes that were like pools of warm maple syrup. It went without saying that he was a handsome man. The fact he was an aspiring writer of children’s books could topple a book-loving girl like me clean over.

  Heat rushed to my face, and I broke eye contact to greet the entire group. “You’re all just in time. Sadie brought over our garments for the Poe-try Reading.”

  Grandma Daisy locked the front door behind the Red Inkers. “That’s just wonderful. I, for one, am excited to see everyone in their Edgar-inspired best. Sadie always discovers the most interesting clothes.” Grandma Daisy hugged all three of the newcomers in turn. “Thank you for helping us out with this. Violet and I would never have been able to pull this off without the support of the Red Inkers.”

  Richard blushed slightly as he received the hug. As a stiff academic, he wasn’t completely comfortable with PDAs, not even in the form of a grandmotherly embrace.

  “It’s the least we can do, Daisy.” Trudy set her enormous leather pocketbook on the couch not covered by the garment bags. “You have let us meet in Charming Books for years at no charge and on most nights you even provide dessert.”

  “Hear, hear,” Richard agreed, adjusting his satchel on his shoulder. Richard was the consummate college professor, from his perfectly side-parted brown hair flecked with silver and his wire-rimmed glasses to his worn oxford shoes.

  Trudy settled on the couch next to her large purse. As she sat, her white pin curls bounced in place on the top of her head. The curls gave her a cherubic quality that most found disarming, but having had Mrs. Conner as my own first-grade teacher, I knew she didn’t put up with any shenanigans. “I’m looking forward to it. It’s high time that the Cascade Springs Food and Wine Festival added some cultural events to the week. The eating and drinking is all well and good, but there is a lot more to our little village than the vineyards and restaurants.”

  I glanced at the birch tree. Don’t I know that?

  Sadie and Anastasia entered the main room from the back kitchen. Anastasia carried a thick tome of Poe’s works. Sadie pushed the empty clothing rack around the low bookshelves in the back of the shop and then around the staircase that encircled the birch tree in the middle of the store.

  Sadie’s usually happy face was drawn as if someone had just snatched the last vintage Chanel gown right out of her hand. Anastasia, who had been so furious the last time I’d seen her, was perfectly composed as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe she’d received word that whomever she had been yelling at on the phone had done her bidding. If Anastasia had been yelling at me as fiercely as she had to whoever had b
een on the other end of the call, I would have snapped to it just to get her off my back.

  FOUR

  I wanted to ask Sadie what was wrong, but she refused to make eye contact with me. She simply rolled the rack next to the couch with the garment bags and began hanging the garment bags one by one.

  Rainwater seemed to notice Sadie’s dark mood too, and he went to help her with the heavy bags. My heart melted a little at his quiet compassion.

  “And,” Trudy said from her comfy spot on the sofa, “I think a Poe-try Reading is undeniably clever. Poe’s work is perfect material for an October event.”

  Grandma Daisy beamed at her as she removed her coat from the coat-tree and slung it over her arm. “Well, thank you, Trudy. That is high praise.”

  “You’re most welcome.” Trudy covered her mouth and coughed. “I’m so sorry. It’s these dreadful fall allergies. They seem to act up every year.”

  I grabbed an unopened bottle of Cascade Springs water from behind the sales counter and handed it to her.

  She smiled at me as she accepted the bottle. “Thank you, dear.”

  Anastasia sniffed. “I think this Poe-try Reading is an excellent idea. He is a true literary master in the craft of writing, but the idea of costumes is simply ridiculous. There is no reason that we have to dress up like a group of schoolchildren delving into their dress-up box.”

  Sadie’s back stiffened. I wondered if Anastasia had insulted her costumes when they were in the kitchen. At the first chance to catch her alone, I would give Sadie a pep talk about the costumes. She took fashion very seriously, and she shouldn’t let Anastasia discourage her.

  Trudy’s lips curved into a smile. “Is the Poe-try Reading not highfalutin enough for you, Anastasia, my dear?”

  Anastasia glowered at the older woman. “I don’t believe we should make a mockery of the master of the macabre.”

  Richard cleared his throat. “We would never make a mockery of any author’s work. I’m sure the costumes are in good taste. I know Sadie has done extensive research into each and every costume. I’ve seen her countless times in Springside’s library the last few weeks consulting with the librarian there.”

  I suppressed a smile because I knew Richard had seen Sadie in the college library so often since he spent all his free time there. He had a terrible crush on Springside’s outspoken librarian, Renee Reid. As of yet, he hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask her on a date, but I was hoping he would soon or I would have to don my Cupid wings and do it for him.

  Grandma Daisy headed for the door. “Well, I’m looking forward to being surprised by all of your costumes tomorrow afternoon. I’m off to bake cupcakes for tomorrow’s reading.”

  “Cupcakes?” I asked. “Why do you need cupcakes? Lacey and Adrien gave us enough cookies to feed the entire village and the city of Niagara Falls to boot.” I gestured to the boxes of cookies from La Crepe Jolie still sitting on the end table.

  “Violet, we will have to have more than cookies—even Adrien’s scrumptious madeleines—to feed our guests at the reading. We need more options. Cupcakes are a must at any poetry reading. Sugar makes a person more appreciative of good literature.”

  “Hear, hear,” Trudy said, mimicking Richard’s serious tone from earlier.

  After Grandma Daisy left to start her baking, Sadie and Rainwater finished hanging the garment bags and removing the costumes from the bags. Appropriate to Poe’s material, there was a lot of black on the hanging rack.

  “I guess you guys are stuck with just me tonight,” I joked.

  The police chief turned around and smiled. “I wouldn’t say ‘stuck.’”

  I blushed, and with my fair skin, I knew I turned as red as the leaves falling from the maples on the street. The last thing I needed was another man in my life. Nathan Morton was enough. Not that he was in my life, only the entirety of the village seemed to believe that he was. A girl could take only so much.

  Anastasia settled on the other end of the couch from Trudy. “I say we get this show moving. I, for one, haven’t reached my word count for the day and have some serious writing to do. As you all know, my work takes so much longer to craft than the rest of you because of the thought I must put into it.”

  Trudy held her leather handbag in her lap and snorted. “Our writing takes just as much time and energy as yours does, Anastasia. You don’t have the monopoly on an author suffering for her art.”

  Anastasia gave her a withering glare.

  All the Red Inkers were writers, but Anastasia wrote strictly what she called “serious literary fiction.” Not for the first time, I wondered why she remained in the group when she so clearly thought what she wrote was a cut above what everyone else produced. I also wondered how the other Red Inkers had put up with her disparaging comments about their work for so long. I would have kicked her to the curb years ago.

  Sadie straightened her back and removed a dress from the rack. “I think we should start with Violet’s dress.”

  “My dress?” I squeaked.

  “What selection will you be reading?” Rainwater asked from my right.

  I jumped. I hadn’t realized he’d moved across the room to join me. The man was as stealthy as Emerson. “There will be so much to do during the day between keeping an eye on the shop and the reading. I hadn’t planned on reading anything at all.”

  “But you have to. I found you the perfect outfit,” Sadie said, sounding so disappointed it nearly broke my heart.

  I felt Rainwater watching me.

  I smiled. “Since you have a dress for me, I suppose I must.”

  Sadie’s face broke into her familiar smile. “You’ll love the dress, Violet.” She turned toward the rack and began sifting through the garments.

  “That was a very nice thing you did,” Rainwater said out of the side of his mouth.

  I found myself smiling, but before I could respond, Anastasia cried out, “Ouch!” She popped her finger into her mouth.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine. It’s only a stupid paper cut.” She waved her hand in the air as if that would dispel the pain.

  A single drop of blood fell from Anastasia’s finger and onto the open book on her lap just below “The Tell-Tale Heart.”

  A shiver shook my body from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.

  “Are you cold?” Rainwater asked me after my shiver finally stopped.

  “There must be a draft. This is an old house.” What I said was true, but the cool October air creeping through the cracks and crevices of the bookshop wasn’t what caused me to shiver. It was the drop of blood on Anastasia’s book.

  I had lived in Charming Books and known about my destiny as the next Caretaker long enough to recognize that a drop of blood on a book page was a bad omen of things to come, but denial was a powerful tool. My brain immediately kicked it into gear, creating a counterargument against my subconscious. “It’s just a paper cut,” I whispered to myself.

  The police chief’s gaze darted in my direction. He heard me. He must have supersonic hearing in addition to cat stealth skills. Great.

  I forced a smile, but I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. I had never been very good at hiding my emotions, which was yet another reason I found being the Caretaker such a challenge. It was a secret I had to keep hidden for the rest of my life until I had a daughter of my own someday . . . if that ever happened.

  “You should wash that out before it gets infected,” Sadie said to Anastasia. “I had a great-great-great-uncle who died from an infected paper cut.” She paused. “Or maybe it was four ‘greats’? In any case, he got a staph infection and died. It was horrible.”

  “The poor man,” Richard said, looking a little green. I noticed that he took care not to look at Anastasia’s wound. It came as no surprise to me that the English professor was squeamish. However, at some point in his
dual career as college professor and would-be author, he must have experienced a nasty paper cut or two of his own. It was unavoidable in his line of work.

  Trudy scrunched her white eyebrows together. “We have to believe your great-uncle would have survived with today’s modern medicine. Hardly anyone dies of paper cuts nowadays.”

  “Violet, do you have a first-aid kit?” the police chief asked, shaking me out of my daze.

  I snapped to attention. “Yes, of course.” I hurried across the room and retrieved the first-aid kit from under the sales counter and brought it to Anastasia.

  Another drop of blood fell from her finger. “I’m sure it’s not life threatening, but I will run it under cold water to stop the bleeding.” She stood, took the first-aid kit from my hand, and hurried to the kitchen.

  As she did, she dropped her copy of Poe’s works on her empty seat, and the book remained open to the first page of “The Tell-Tale Heart.” The second drop of Anastasia’s blood had fallen on the line: “TRUE!—nervous—very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses—not destroyed—not dulled them.”

  Instinctively, I glanced up at the birch tree. Faulkner sat on his favorite branch, preening himself. He caught me looking and cawed, “Nevermore!”

  Emerson walked over to me, and I scooped him up, cradling the cat in my arms.

  “Violet, you’re shaking like a leaf,” Trudy said. “Are you sure you’re not coming down with something? Do you want to borrow my wrap?” The older woman was wrapped up cocoon-style in a giant shawl that went around her small frame at least three times.

  “No, I’m fine. Maybe someone was walking over my grave,” I said with a forced laugh.

  Anastasia rejoined the group. “As good as new.” She waved her hand that now had a Band-Aid wrapped tightly around her injured finger.

  “You really are all right?” I asked.

  Everyone in the room stared at me as though I had just asked Anastasia if she planned to visit Mars any time soon.