Prose and Cons Page 5

  “Now, go change,” she ordered, giving me a gentle shove in the direction of the back door of the shop.

  “Okay. Okay,” I said, but I smiled, taking the bite out of my words, before I went inside. Instead of walking back into the main part of the shop and going up the spiral staircase that wound around the birch tree, I climbed up the narrow back stairs to my second-floor apartment. The stairs had been used by my ancestors’ servants during an era in which it was common to have live-in help. The steps themselves were shallow, made in a time when people’s feet where smaller. The only light for the staircase came from the children’s book room on the second floor or the kitchen below. But I had been up and down the stairs so many times in my life that I didn’t need light to navigate them. I knew every dip and crease in the old wood.

  When I emerged in the children’s room, it was empty. I peeked over the banister and through the limbs of the birch tree and was happy to see Charming Books’ main floor full with customers. Jade, a college student who helped out at the shop when we needed an extra set of hands, stood at the register, checking out a long line of customers.

  I smiled. To any shopkeeper, the sound of a cash register drawer opening and closing was welcome. I removed my keys from my jeans pocket and let myself inside the door in the back of the children’s room, which led into my apartment. Emerson, who I hadn’t known was on my heels, slid around my feet into the narrow living room and jumped on the long royal blue sofa, which had been a housewarming gift from Grandma Daisy. In fact, the entire apartment had been a gift from my grandmother. She had been so confident that I would stay in Cascade Springs after I learned I was the next Caretaker that she’d had the apartment completely remodeled.

  As much as I wanted to pause in my living room and admire the space, I went straight for my bedroom.

  My dress for the Poe-try Reading hung on the back of my bedroom door. It was black, fitting for Poe’s work, and was made of satin. The sleeves puffed at the elbow and the dress was off the shoulder, which had been the fashion of the time. It looked terrifyingly itchy. When I touched the fabric, I was surprised that I found it to be as soft as cotton. The dress must have been an absolute nightmare to iron. I took care not to wrinkle it as I slipped it over my head.

  Buttoning the dress by myself was a bit of a challenge, but I was able to reach all the buttons coming up the back except for that last one. I’d find Grandma Daisy or Sadie when I got outside and discreetly ask one of them for help.

  I was pleased to see that Sadie had thought to include a black wrap with the dress. That was a welcome sight since the dress was off the shoulder and the reading was outside in October.

  There wasn’t much time to mess with my hair, so I twisted my wavy strawberry locks into a bun on the back of my head. That hairstyle seemed to be period appropriate to me.

  Emerson jumped from my bed and as he did, I saw there was a thin paperback volume of Poe’s works where he had been lying. It wasn’t any of the volumes I had brought up from the shop the night before. I could say that Emerson had brought it into my apartment, but I knew that wasn’t true.

  I stepped toward the bed, and to my amazement the pages began to flutter and the book fell open to “The Fall of the House of Usher.”

  I swallowed. For some reason, the shop wanted me to read this story.

  “Violet, are you ready?” My grandmother’s voice carried up the stairs. “The reading is about to start.”

  “I’m coming down,” I called back, and picked up the book. There was no time to read the story now, although I knew it well. Surely the blue Victorian that housed Charming Books wasn’t as gloomy and cursed as the House of Usher.

  There was nowhere in my dress to carry the book, but it would not seem odd for me to be carrying a volume of Poe’s work at the Poe-try Reading. I would fit right in.

  When I reached the bottom of the back stairs, I discovered Anastasia in the kitchen, holding a garment bag and still in her street clothes. “Anastasia, we’re about to start.”

  She glared at me. “I know that. I got held up. Where can I change? The public bathroom down here is so tiny that I might break something trying to put this on with no space to maneuver.” She held up the bag. As she moved, I caught a faint whiff of strawberries. The scent was odd. Anastasia never struck me as one who wore perfume and if she did, it most certainly wouldn’t smell like fruit.

  I desperately wanted to ask her what had held her up, but I refrained. “There’s no time to waste. I can hear that they’ve already started. You can use my apartment.” I handed her the key. “It’s at the top of the stairs. Just return the key to me when you’re done.”

  “Fine.” She grabbed the key from my hand and stomped up the stairs.

  I watched her go before joining the others outside. I wasn’t too enthused about leaving Anastasia alone in my apartment, but I didn’t see any way around it. Richard was already giving opening remarks for the reading and I was the first one to read.

  Sadie came up behind me and fastened the last button on my dress without being asked.

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  She smiled. “You’re welcome, and you are as beautiful as Poe’s Ligeia. Told you you would be.”

  I would have made a smart remark in return if I hadn’t caught Rainwater in his Dupin outfit staring at me from across the lawn. Sadie gave me a little shove toward the podium, spurring me into action.

  After I had finished reading my piece, Sadie was at the mic, reading “The Raven.” Faulkner chimed in when his line was needed, and the crowd chortled in appreciation. Richard joined me on the sidelines. “Where’s Anastasia? She’s up next.”

  I pulled my wrap more tightly around my bare shoulders. “She hasn’t come out yet? I gave her the keys to my apartment over a half hour ago so she could change into the costume for the reading.”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her at all. I didn’t even know she was here.”

  My palms began to sweat, making me even more acutely aware of the thin paperback volume of Poe’s works that I held in my hands. “I’ll go look for her,” I whispered. “She might need assistance with her dress and is too embarrassed to come down and ask for help.”

  He nodded. “I’ll read next to stall for time.” He returned his attention to Sadie at the podium.

  “Nevermore,” Faulkner cawed.

  I slipped back into the kitchen and headed to the servants’ stairs. At the foot of the staircase, I covered my mouth with my hand to stifle a scream. Anastasia Faber, wearing a black governess’s dress that looked like it was straight from a production of Jane Eyre, lay in a crumpled heap at my feet, and she was most certainly dead.

  SIX

  I blinked as if to make sure I wasn’t imagining the dead woman at my feet. Anastasia’s neck was bent at a weird angle. I knew she couldn’t possibly be alive, but I squatted beside her and checked her wrist for a pulse. As I did, I caught a strong scent of strawberry. It was much more powerful than it had been when Anastasia stopped me in the kitchen before the reading began.

  I scrambled to my feet to escape the scent, which was sickly sweet. I knew it would be the smell that I would always associate with the moment of finding Anastasia’s body for the rest of my life. I had left my cell phone in my apartment, since I had nowhere to carry it in my dress. There was a portable phone in the main shop, but I felt if the shoppers there saw my face, they would know something was very wrong.

  “Meow,” Emerson said at my feet.

  I picked up the cat and set him on the kitchen counter. “Stay there,” I said, and I slipped out the back door into the garden.

  Sadie was no longer at the podium. Richard was at the mic reading a piece in his rich baritone. I immediately recognized it as from “The Fall of the House of Usher,” the last story the books had wanted me to read before Anastasia died, the story I hadn’t taken the time to read. If I
had, would the writer still be alive?

  “‘My brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder,’” Richard read.

  To my relief, Chief Rainwater was off by himself. Instead of a glass of wine in his hand, he held a mug I recognized from the Charming Books kitchen. I walked up to him and, without a word, took him by the hand, leading him back toward the house.

  He stared down at our intertwined hands. “Violet?” He set his mug on a garden table.

  I put a finger to my lips. “I have to show you something.” I urged him inside the kitchen. I didn’t stop pulling on his hand until I reached the bottom of the servants’ stairs. He stared at Anastasia’s body, and I released his hand, which fell limply at his side.

  “I didn’t want to make a scene with all those people out there,” I squeaked. “Richard told me she hadn’t come out of the shop, so I went to see if she needed any help with her dress, and—and I just found her there.”

  “Did you touch the body?” he asked.

  I nodded. “But only her wrist. I wanted to make sure she was dead. I mean there is no way she’s alive with her neck bent like that, but . . .” I rambled.

  He squeezed my hand. “You did the right thing.” Then he removed gloves from his jacket pocket. I was surprised he’d thought to put them there. I wondered what else he had inside that jacket. My money was on his badge and a gun. He checked for a pulse like I had and shook his head. “She’s gone.” He wrinkled his nose.

  I knew that he must have smelled the overpowering scent of strawberries that I had.

  His brow furrowed as he examined her neck. I finally had to look away.

  After a beat, Rainwater stood and removed one of the gloves and took a cell phone from his pocket. “How did you find her?” His voice was all business.

  “Just like that.” I wrapped my arms more tightly around myself and, in my dress, felt like a shocked member of the cast of Downton Abbey when the script took an unbelievable turn. The discovery of Anastasia’s body was starting to sink in. She was dead, and she was dead in Charming Books. “I need to tell Grandma Daisy what’s going on.”

  He held up one finger. “Not just yet. I need to call this in. Can you wait in the kitchen?”

  Dumbly, I nodded and shuffled into the other room. To my relief, Emerson was still sitting on the counter where I’d put him. I picked up the tuxie and held him under my chin, wrapping the black shawl from my costume around us both.

  The kitchen window looked out onto the garden, and I could see what a wonderful time all the tourists were having. They ate cookies, drank wine, and listened with rapt attention to Richard’s reading while Anastasia lay in a broken heap just feet away from them.

  Despite my protests to Lacey that we would never be able to go through the number of cookies that Adrien baked for the Poe-try Reading, almost all the cookies were gone from the table. Grandma Daisy wove through the audience refilling wineglasses. The Poe-try Reading was a definite success, except for the dead writer at the bottom of the stairs, that is.

  The police would have to investigate Anastasia’s death. It would shut down the Poe-try Reading. But who was I kidding? The accident might shut Charming Books completely. The shop had insurance for accidents—at least I thought it did—but would it have enough to cover someone dying by tripping down the stairs? I didn’t know, and I doubted Grandma Daisy knew either. Anastasia’s accident had the potential to ruin us. What would that mean for the tree and the shop itself?

  I gave my head a shake. What was I doing worrying about the shop when a woman was dead? At best, Anastasia had been standoffish, and at worst, she had been condescending and rude. But she didn’t deserve to die.

  Grandma Daisy looked up from the wineglass she was filling and saw me keeping vigil at the window. My face must have revealed something, because she came straight toward the shop.

  Grandma Daisy stepped into the kitchen and set the bottle of wine on the counter. “Violet, what’s going on? You’re as white as a sheet.” Before I could answer, she went on, “Where’s Anastasia? Richard said that you went inside to fetch her. We need more readers. Sadie and Richard are getting hoarse from all the readings they’re doing.”

  “Grandma, there’s been an accident.” As I said this, I could hear the sound of approaching sirens.

  Chief Rainwater stepped out of the stairway. “No one goes back there until I say. The coroner is on his way.”

  “The coroner? Why is the coroner coming?” I asked. “Does the coroner usually come for an accident?”

  Grandma Daisy’s mouth fell open. She looked from Rainwater to me and back again. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

  “It’s Anastasia,” I said. “It looks like she fell down the back stairs, and she’s—she’s dead.”

  Through the window, I could see that the sound of approaching sirens had distracted the audience from the poem that Sadie was reading. Rainwater went to the door. “I hate to do this, Daisy, but I’m going to have to make an announcement to the crowd. My officers will be here any second.”

  “What do you have to say to them?” Grandma Daisy asked.

  “That there has been an accident, and I will ask them to stay where they are until my officers question them to learn if they witnessed anything.”

  “But I don’t understand,” I said. “If Anastasia tripped and fell down the stairs, why would you be concerned about anyone witnessing anything?” Clearly I was missing something and by Rainwater’s grim expression it was something important.

  “It’s only a precaution,” Rainwater said. “And so is the coroner.”

  “This is terrible. Poor Anastasia. Yes, you’re right, David—the reading can’t go on as if nothing happened. Anastasia, for all her faults, was one of us.” She placed a hand on her cheek. “That wouldn’t be right to ignore this tragedy, but is it necessary to question them? Why, that makes it sound like you think there is something more to it than a tragic accident. Do you think it was more than just an accident?” Grandma Daisy said. “Someone could easily fall down the servants’ stairs. They are narrow.” Grandma Daisy twisted the end of the silk scarf around her index finger so tightly, I was afraid she might cut off the circulation.

  “It’s only a precaution,” he repeated. “In any case, I have to say something. The audience will wonder why the police and EMTs are here.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Let me do it. It will sound much more serious coming from the chief of police. Not,” I added quickly, “that it isn’t a serious matter, but I don’t want to scare anyone.”

  The sirens were on top of us now and were suddenly cut off. Rainwater’s cavalry was here. We couldn’t delay any longer. Most of the Poe-try Reading audience were already out of their seats and leaning over the fence to see what the commotion was in the front of the house. We had no time to waste.

  He nodded. “Fine. Just say that there’s been an accident inside, and we need everyone to remain where they are and stay out of the EMTs’ way.”

  “Should we cancel the reading?” Grandma Daisy asked. “What should we do?”

  He glanced back at the narrow doorway that led to the stairs and beyond which Anastasia lay dead. “I think it would be best if you wrapped it up.”

  Grandma Daisy nodded with a determined set to her jaw. “You’re right.” She rubbed my arm. “You’ve had a terrible shock, Violet. Let me do the announcement, and I’ll have Richard jump to the closing.”

  As terrible as I felt to let Grandma Daisy be the one to give the tourists the bad news, I was more than relieved I wouldn’t have to do it. I fell onto a stool in the corner of the kitchen with Emerson still nestled against my chest. The cat didn’t seem to mind in the least being confined by my shawl.

  It was on that stool I had sat at the pinnacle of so many turning points in my life: when my mother died, when Colleen died, when I returned to Cascade Springs t
hat summer my grandmother told me about being the Caretaker. Some Caretaker I had turned out to be. The books tried to warn me that Anastasia was in danger, but I wouldn’t or couldn’t understand what they were trying to reveal to me.

  “Violet?” Rainwater asked softly. “Are you all right? Maybe we should have an EMT take a look at you when they arrive. You could be in shock. That’s nothing to mess around with.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, holding Emerson a little more closely. I was glad the thick wrap hid my trembling hands. “But I can’t help but think this is my fault,” I whispered. “I should have tried harder to warn her.”

  His amber eyes flashed. Their unusual color had a fiery quality to them that I hadn’t noticed before. “Warn her? Warn her of what?”

  I could have kicked myself that I’d let the comment slip. Maybe I was in shock to have said something so stupid. “Last night when she cut her finger, I had a bad feeling like something was going to happen to her.” I met his amber-colored gaze. I broke eye contact and focused on the conversation. “I know that must sound silly to you.”

  Rainwater touched my arm and squeezed it. “It doesn’t sound silly to me. I had the same feeling.”

  SEVEN

  I met his eyes again and saw sincerity there. Before I could ask him what he meant, three police officers entered the kitchen through the shop. One of them was John Wheaton, an officer just a few years younger than me, and Wheaton and I had never been friendly. He had taken an instant dislike to me the moment we met. The police officer wore his hair buzz-cut. I suspected that he chose the haircut because it was reminiscent of the military and made him appear more intimidating. For all I knew, Wheaton might have been in the armed services.

  Wheaton scowled at Rainwater’s hand on my arm. “What do you have, Chief?” He said “Chief” with just enough edge to let it be known that he was certain Rainwater wasn’t deserving of the title.