by Sarah Fox
Hearing a noise behind me, I glanced over my shoulder. A fair-haired woman in a gray dress and white apron rolled a housekeeping cart into the ballroom from the hallway. When she spotted me and Judson, she left her cart in the middle of the room and came out onto the patio. I recognized her as she stepped into the light.
I’d met Connie Archer two weeks earlier when she came by the Inkwell for lunch. Apparently, she was new to town. She was about forty years old and maybe a bit jaded, but she seemed nice enough.
“Hey, Connie,” Judson said as she joined us.
I added my own greeting and she cracked a brief smile.
“Gorgeous day,” she observed, her gaze going to the clear blue sky. “I’d much rather be out here than stuck inside.”
“You’re working here as a housekeeper?” I figured that was a safe guess, judging by her uniform and the cart she’d left inside.
“Yep. I’m supposed to get the walls washed in the ballroom before the interior decorator comes with her team to get the place ready for the masquerade.”
“That seems like a big task,” I said, not envying her.
She shrugged. “It’s not really so bad. I don’t need to clean every inch, just any smudges or dirt I find. How come you’re here?”
I repeated what I’d told Judson about meeting with Linnea. “This is my first time at the manor, so I thought I’d take a peek at the ballroom.”
Judson tugged on the hose and moved along the patio to water another set of flowerpots. “It’s something, isn’t it?”
“It really is.”
“You should see the rest of the place,” Connie said. “Fit for a queen, if you ask me. Must be nice.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. “Staying here, you mean?”
“That too, but I meant the Honeywells. It took a lot of dosh to get this place turned into a hotel. Word is they inherited millions and that’s how they were able to buy the place. The only thing I ever inherited was my glaucoma.” She said it with a wry grin, softening the complaint.
Judson shut off the water. “If the Honeywells find the hidden treasure, they’ll be even richer.” He pulled off his work gloves and ran the back of one hand across his forehead.
“Hidden treasure?” I echoed, my curiosity piqued.
Connie rolled her eyes. “Not that story again.”
“It’s a good one,” Judson said. “That’s why everyone likes to repeat it.”
“What treasure?” I asked, eager for more information.
“You know this place was originally owned by Edwin Vallencourt, right?” Connie said.
When I nodded, Judson picked up the thread. “Rumor has it that he loved his secrets and stashed away some of his valuables before he died.”
“But no one’s ever found them?” I guessed.
“That’s because there’s nothing to find.” Connie turned for the door. “I have to get back to work.”
“Don’t worry, Con,” Judson called after her with a grin. “When I find the treasure, I’ll give you a trinket or two.”
She muttered something under her breath, but I didn’t catch the words.
Judson laughed and pulled his gloves back on.
“Do you really think there’s hidden treasure?” I asked him.
“Probably not,” he admitted, “but it’s fun to speculate.” He grabbed the hose. “I’d better get back to work too. I’ll see you at the pub sometime soon, Sadie.”
“See you.”
As he headed off around the corner of the manor, pulling the hose with him, I returned to the ballroom. The housekeeping cart still sat in the middle of the room, but Connie was nowhere to be seen. Since it was time for me to get back to The Inkwell, I resisted the temptation to explore more of the manor and instead set off for my car.
* * * *
When I made my way onto the village green the next morning, my original plan was to cut across the northeast corner and make a direct line for the Village Bean, the local coffee shop. I’d had a cup of coffee with my bowl of oatmeal an hour earlier, but now I had a hankering for a mocha latte and the Village Bean had the best lattes around.
As eager as I was to get my first taste of mocha deliciousness, my steps slowed when I reached the grassy village green. Signs of spring were all around me and, not for the first time, I was almost taken aback by the incredible beauty of the town I now called home. The white bandstand in the middle of the green had recently received a fresh coat of paint, and hanging baskets bursting with colorful flowers hung from each of the old-fashioned lampposts lining the streets around the green. Many of the storefronts around the square also had hanging baskets or flowerpots flanking their doors, and all around me birds chirped and sang.
Pulling my phone from my purse, I turned my back on the green and snapped a photo of my beloved pub, which also doubled as my home. Housed in a renovated grist mill, the pub and the apartment above it practically oozed charm and character. The stone building had red-trimmed windows and a bright red water wheel. With the lush green forest and the bold blue sky as a backdrop, the pub made for an eye-catching sight. I planned to post the photo on The Inkwell’s Instagram account, but that would have to wait for the moment.
I resumed my progress over to the corner of Sycamore Street, where the Village Bean was located. I lingered for a minute or two as I chatted with the coffee shop’s owner, Nettie Jo, but then I took a seat by one of the windows and pulled out my phone again. Once I had the picture of The Inkwell posted on social media, I checked my email and text messages. Marcie hadn’t contacted me to cancel the event last-minute, much to my relief. Not that I’d expected her to, but I’d had an unsettling dream that Linnea had suddenly decided to leave Shady Creek and set sail for Tahiti.
When I set down my phone, I sat back and tried to relax. For the first time since my arrival, I studied the other customers in the coffee shop. I smiled at a woman who walked past me with a coffee and muffin in hand, heading for a free table at the back of the shop. I recognized a couple of faces, but the other customers were strangers. Some of them might have been tourists, but the man and woman sitting three tables away from me didn’t look like they were on a relaxing vacation.
The woman appeared to be a little older than my age of thirty and had her straight black hair cut in an asymmetrical bob. Her high-heeled boots, skinny jeans, and leather jacket probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Her companion was probably a few years younger than her and his curly hair was a shade lighter.
“You don’t get it, Alex,” the woman said to him, her face intense. “This is a test. Everything has to go perfectly or they’ll think I’m not cut out for the job.”
“Everything will be fine, Liv.” He sounded unconcerned, but the tension in his jaw suggested that he wasn’t as relaxed as he was trying to appear.
“Fine?” She practically spat the word out. “Our windshield got smashed!”
“And it’s getting fixed,” Alex said, his voice even. “Besides, this town is so small we can probably walk everywhere we need to go.”
“In these heels?” With a frustrated sigh, the woman whipped out her phone and started tapping away at it, her thumbs little more than two blurs.
I finished off my latte and got up to leave. Listening to those two made it impossible for me to relax. It was time to get back to The Inkwell, anyway.
When I got to the pub, I swept my gaze around the main room, making sure everything looked perfect. I hoped Linnea would appreciate the rustic charm of the place, with its exposed wide plank floors and stone walls lined with my sizable book collection. Earlier that morning I’d set up an easel to hold a large sign advertising the event. I nudged the sign half an inch to the left before standing back to make sure it was perfectly centered.
“Please tell me you aren’t going to start dusting again.” Mel Costas, one of my employees, watched me from behind the
bar, where she was setting out clean mugs and glasses. She wore her blue and blond hair in tousled spikes. The short style showed off her latest tattoo: a line of small birds in flight, curving around from the back of her neck to up behind her right ear.
“Of course not,” I said, although I’d been thinking about grabbing my feather duster. I’d already dusted and cleaned everything three times over since we’d closed the Inkwell the night before, but my restless energy was making it hard to stay still. “But I’ll have one last look at the Christie room.”
“Everything’s perfect,” Mel called after me as I headed for one of the pub’s two overflow rooms. “Just like it was an hour ago.”
I could hear the smile in her voice and knew she was teasing. She was right, though. The room I’d named for Agatha Christie was spotless and all set up for the event, with rows of chairs facing one end of the room. I’d decided to have Linnea’s talk in the Christie room to give it a cozier, more intimate feel. Plus, any customers who weren’t taking part in the event wouldn’t disrupt the talk or feel like they were intruding.
When I returned to the main part of the pub, I glanced at the clock. Linnea and Marcie would be arriving at any moment. A knock on the front door made me jump and my heart skipped a beat. I recovered quickly and hurried to greet my guests.
It was finally time for the Inkwell’s first author visit.
