Alice in Murderland

by Samantha Silver

  “Why don’t you want the town to expand?”

  “You’ll understand when you see Sapphire Village. It’s like a quaint little reminder that nice places in the world still exist. Edith’s plan involved building a six-story, five-star hotel in the middle of town, a water park that fed directly into the lake, a go-kart track and a small amusement park, as well as a mall to invite more businesses into town. It would completely ruin the vibe of the small alpine village which we’ve done so much to cultivate.”

  Before I had a chance to reply, a police car drove by with its lights on, but siren off. It pulled over to the side of the road and out climbed, hands down, the hottest guy I had ever laid eyes on. He had ruffled brown hair that made it look like he just got out of bed, two days’ worth of stubble and a confident, almost arrogant strut that came from a man who looked good and knew it. I was practically salivating just looking at him.

  “Ok, Cat, what’s going on?” the guy asked my cousin. “What is this about Edith Chalmers being dead?”

  “Yes,” Cat replied, motioning to the body. “I was just driving my cousin Alice back up to Sapphire Village when we saw her just lying there in the middle of the road and stopped.”

  Chief Hot Stuff leaned down and took Edith’s pulse, then nodded. “She is dead. You were right to call me. I wonder what happened.”

  “Heart attack?” I offered. The woman didn’t exactly look young. If I had to guess, I’d have put her in her early 70s.

  “Or maybe a stroke, those are more likely,” the man replied, nodding at me. “So, you’re Jennifer Calliope’s daughter. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Chase, the Chief of Police here in town. Which basically means I’m full-time, while the other guy works part-time.” He grinned, and the smile lit up his whole face. This was a gorgeous man right there.

  “I’m Alice,” I managed to stammer out without embarrassing myself. “This isn’t my sweatshirt, I borrowed it off Cat,” I added. “It’s a lot warmer in Florida right now.”

  “I kind of figured,” Chase replied. “It’s definitely Cat’s style. Anyway, I’ll let you ladies get on your way. I’m going to have to close off part of the road here. If you could come by the police station this afternoon I’ll take your statements. It was nice to meet you, Alice.”

  “You too,” I replied, flashing him a smile I hoped screamed ‘sexy’ and not ‘deranged lunatic’. I didn’t know why I bothered. My last relationship had ended badly, to say the least, and ever since that day two years ago, I’d sworn off men for good. Cat motioned for me to get back in the car and I did, and we kept going for another three miles or so until we reached Sapphire Village.

  “Everyone’s going to want to know about Edith’s death,” Cat told me. “This is the biggest thing to happen in this town since, well, since your aunt died three months ago. We don’t really do exciting here in Sapphire Village. So just don’t be surprised if you meet people and the first thing they ask you is about the death.”

  “But how will anyone even know I was there?” I asked, and Cat laughed.

  “Oh, you’ll see. Nothing ever stays secret for very long here. We like to joke that gossip is a year-round sport here. I guarantee you someone who drove past will have seen the two of us and told someone else, who will have told six someone elses, and so on and so forth.”

  “Great,” I replied. I didn’t know how to react to this. I’d grown up in the big city. People didn’t generally care what other people did with their lives. Sure, I gossiped with coworkers a bit, but that was it.

  “I’ll take you to the bookshop first,” Cat told me. “There’s an apartment above it that you can live in, which is nice for you because it’s rent-free.”

  “Sure,” I replied as we reached the welcome sign. I hadn’t even reached the town yet and already my life had been turned completely upside down. How much weirder could today get? It turned out the answer was ‘a lot’.

  Chapter Three

  I didn’t really know what to expect when we reached Sapphire Village. From the way Cat had described it, I supposed I was imagining something stuck in the 1800s–thatched roofs, horse-drawn carriages and elderly women carrying cans down to the local pump for water.

  Instead, it was like stepping into a quaint European alpine village, with a distinctly modern touch. Since the main part of Sapphire Village was pedestrian-only, Cat parked her car in a free parking lot near the entrance to Main Street, and we made the rest of the journey on foot. The buildings that lined the main street were obviously built in the last 30 years or so, but were decorated with quaint wooden shutters. Wrought-iron lamps lined the road that ran through the main street. On the edge of the street were flowerbeds in full bloom, with rock walls offering both a pleasing sight to the eyes and a place for weary wanderers to sit at will.

  Most of the buildings were three stories tall: with retail offerings on the bottom and apartments and hotel rooms on top, it left plenty of space for visitors to Sapphire Village to spend the night. The shops were all quaint and privately-owned; there was no hint of anything remotely resembling the golden arches of McDonalds here.

  Instead we walked past a café from which the smell of roasting coffee wafted temptingly, a souvenir shop with a postcard stand out in front showing Sapphire Lake–the main attraction around here I supposed, a shop making handmade chocolates with a fountain of smooth milk chocolate in the window, and finally, a dark bookshop with some old volumes in the window. A painted wooden sign above the door read ‘Magical Books’ in flowing gold script. It was charming, in an old-fashioned kind of way. Cat stopped in front of it and took out a key, unlocking the front door.

  “If you’re a witch, can’t you just use a spell or whatever to make the door open?” I asked.

  “Yes, but we don’t use magic in public. Can you imagine the freak-out if someone saw?” She moved to the back of the store and turned on the lights, and I gasped.

  This wasn’t your typical Barnes and Noble type bookshop, with a Starbucks in one corner, and glossy paperbacks everywhere. No, this bookshop–which I supposed was now my bookshop, was way cooler than that.

  The majority of the books were on the shelves that lined the two side walls, floor to ceiling–and the ceiling was at least fifteen feet high—with one of those old-fashioned ladders on rungs to reach the books on the higher shelves. The back wall consisted of a large counter, with an old-style till and a few extras for sale like bookmarks. The books were all leather-bound volumes of classics. Instead of The Girl on the Train I saw Don Quixote, Homer’s Iliad, Gulliver’s Travels, The Canterbury Tales, Dante’s Inferno and more.

  Making my way toward the shelf on my right-hand side, I let my hand glide carefully over the leather -bound books. “This place is amazing,” I told Cat, who was smiling next to the counter.

  “Amazing does not even begin to describe the sheer genius contained in the pages here, my dear,” a male voice with a strong English accent suddenly said. I let out a squeal and turned around to see who it was, but there was no one there.

  “Stop it, Archie,” Cat scolded. “Alice only just found out about magic, so show yourself before you scare her even more.”

  “Do not desecrate my Christian name with that horrid nickname,” the voice said again. I pressed myself against the bookcase. Who on earth was Cat talking to? Suddenly, a man appeared in front of me out of nowhere. He had black hair and an incredibly pale face, wearing a black coat under which was a white shirt with a humongous, over-sized collar.

  “What the…?” I asked, my eyes widening.

  “Do not scare yourself, my child. I am simply a ghost. I cannot do anything to you even if I wanted to. Not physically, anyway. I am perfectly capable of haunting. But as you seem to appreciate the books, however crude and uncreative your language, you are fine with me. God knows the people of this day and age cannot appreciate the works of old.”

  “A ghost. Of course. Of course there are ghosts. Oh my God,” I said, and Cat laughed.

  “Sorry
to kind of spring that on you, but yeah, ghosts exist. Archie here… sorry, Archibald,” Cat said when she saw his grimace, “was born in the sixteen hundreds or something.”

  “I entered the mortal world on the fifteenth day of January, in the year seventeen hundred and ninety-two, and departed it thirty-nine years later, on the tenth of July,” Archibald corrected.

  “Whatever, details,” Cat said. “He was alive a long time ago, and now he hangs out here and acts like a princess whenever customers come in who don’t have what he feels is good taste in books.”

  “My tastes are impeccable,” Archibald replied. “I was a peer of Percy Shelly, George Byron and John Keats.”

  “Yes, and you and Byron hated each other, I know,” Cat said, rolling her eyes.

  “He was jealous of my work. And of John’s. He had the fame because of his title, but we had the talent. She Walks in Beauty was a complete rip-off of a similar poem I had written, but not yet published.” Archibald sniffed, and I couldn’t help but smile at the centuries-old rivalry which he apparently hadn’t let go. There was something a little bit endearing about the weird old ghost.

  “So now you’ve met the resident of the bookshop. Or one of them, at least,” Cat said, looking around.

  “Please don’t tell me there’s a second ghost,” I told Cat, who laughed.

  “No, don’t worry, nothing like that. The bookshop’s other resident is a grey tabby named Muffin, but he’s shy. You might not see him for a few days; he comes and goes as he pleases from a kitty door out the back. Just don’t panic if you suddenly see a cat in here, that’s normal.”

  “You know, since I’ve landed in Oregon, what, two hours ago now, I’m pretty sure the most normal thing that has happened is the discovery that a cat lives in this shop. Unless you’re about to tell me the cat is a tiger, and that he eats people.”

  Cat laughed. “No, none of that. Just an ordinary grey cat. He’s a little bit fat, and he likes my cupcakes. I always make some extra mini cupcakes for Muffin; I make them with a bit less sugar so I feel less complicit when I see him struggling to fit through the little cat door.”

  I laughed at the visual. “So, all this is the store?” I asked. Apart from the two shelves lining the wall there were four other smaller shelves in the middle of the store; all still carrying the same old leather-bound volumes. The shelves made the inside of the store feel a little bit cramped, and I couldn’t help but feel maybe a chair or two would be more inviting.

  “Yeah,” Cassie said. “Our Aunt Francine loved old books. This place was never going to make a million bucks or anything, but visitors love the quaintness of it, and they like to buy books as gifts. We get a lot of the super-rich who come here in the winter for their skiing holidays, so everything sells eventually, even the $500 first editions Francine would get from time to time.”

  “Wow,” I said. “And this is all mine now?”

  “Of course,” Cat said. “You’re family, after all. Even if you don’t really know anything about us. As I said, we discussed it, and everyone agreed. Besides, no one else from the family spends much time in Sapphire Village. They all prefer Brixton Road.”

  “Where’s Brixton Road?” I asked, confused.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that for now,” Cat said, waving a hand. “You’ve had enough crazy for a little while. Come on upstairs, I’ll show you your apartment, and then we’ll go over to my cupcake shop and eat something.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. I definitely liked the idea of cupcakes. Behind the counter was a wooden door, which opened onto an old, rickety staircase.

  “It only sounds like you’re going to fall through every time you take a step,” Cat called out as she bounded nimbly up the wooden slats. “Aunt Francine weighed like, at least two hundred pounds and they never broke.”

  I was a lot more cautious than Cat as I made my way up the steps, but sure enough I made it to the top without the stairs collapsing underneath me. Thank goodness for small mercies. Cassie unlocked the plain wooden door at the top of the steps–this time she did it by pointing at the door–and walked in, with me following closely behind her.

  I was pleased to say Aunt Francine had good taste. The two-bedroom apartment was modern enough, and pleasantly decorated. The walls had a few framed paintings of mountains, the brown leather couch was adorned with a couple pillows with moose silhouettes and the large windows let the light in, giving the place an airy feel. The eight foot ceilings helped, too.

  “If you have your own furniture you want to bring in that’s fine, I’m sure we can find somewhere to send her old stuff,” Cat told me.

  “No, no, I don’t have anything. This is fine, I really like it.”

  “Yeah, Aunt Francine really liked living among the humans. I like this place. It’s a lot like her. Organized, efficient, but warm.”

  “I’m starting to wish I’d known her,” I said as I made my way into the master bedroom, where a queen-sized bed with bear-print fleece sheets and a brown duvet sat, invitingly.

  “Well, never say never,” Cat said. “Her ghost might still be around. I don’t know. Sometimes it takes a few weeks, even months for the ghosts to show.”

  “So, does everyone who dies become a ghost?” I asked. I had to admit, I was curious about the particulars. Cat shook her head.

  “No. Most people go to the other side—whatever happens there. But if someone dies and they still have unfinished business left on earth, they tend to become ghosts.”

  “What about Archibald?”

  “I’m pretty sure at this point he’s staying out of spite. When he died he was angry with Byron, since Byron used his powers as a Lord and had him sent on an expedition to the New World, where he caught tuberculosis and died. But then Byron died, and I don’t know what’s been keeping Archibald going, but he seems happy here. He enjoys yelling at the customers who can’t hear him.”

  “That doesn’t seem like a very happy existence to me,” I replied.

  “You’re not a bitter artist born in the seventeenth century who doesn’t understand why Byron’s works are studied in literature classes and yours aren’t.”

  “That’s true,” I laughed. “Wait, can he hear us up here?”

  “He can technically go where he wants, but Archibald never comes up here. In fact, he rarely ever leaves the bookshop at all, as far as I know. He’s been there since the day it opened. Francine thinks his ghost had just been roaming the woods around here before then.”

  “Wow. So, you think Francine might come back as a ghost?”

  “If she has unfinished business, yes. I don’t know if she did or not. She didn’t have any kids; a lot of ghosts simply want to see if their child becomes the superstar they’d dreamed of their whole lives, that sort of thing. But you never know, she might make an appearance one day. If she does, you’ll recognize her. She looked like an older version of you, if you were a hundred pounds heavier.”

  My heart tightened a bit at Cat’s words. I’d never heard anyone say that to me before. Having been adopted, I didn’t know I had any living relatives. There was no one to tell me I looked like my mom, or my aunt. My straight red hair had clashed against my mom and dad’s black curls. Hearing it now for the first time made me feel butterflies in my stomach.

  “So, this is the place. Here are the keys,” Cat said, handing me a ring with four keys on it. “One for the business downstairs, one for the apartment up here, one for the mailbox at the post office and one for the parking garage under here. You’ll probably eventually want to buy a car; there are only three buses a day that go to the city in each direction. Now,” Cat said with a smile. “That’s enough time spent here. Let’s go get some cupcakes.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I replied with a grin as we headed back down the stairs.

  Chapter Four

  “Did that woman who died on the road have any family?” I asked Cat as we walked toward her cupcake shop, further down the street.

  Cat nodded. “Yeah, she did.
Her husband died a few years back, but she has a daughter. It’s too bad; Olivia is the nicest woman you’d ever meet. She’s a photographer with a gallery here in town. But Edith was seventy-four, and given how bitter and angry she was all the time, I’m surprised it took that long for her heart to give out.”

  “How do you know it was a heart attack?” I asked Cat, who turned at me and grinned.

  “I guess you think it was a murder, right? You’re such a city slicker. This is Sapphire Village, things like that don’t happen here. A tourist got stabbed back in the eighties during a drug-fuelled party once, and that’s the only time there has ever been a suspicious death here. It just doesn’t happen.”

  “Still, you never know,” I shrugged. “Hold on,” I said as we passed a winter clothing store. The windows in the front advertised an end of season sale, up to 60 percent off. “I need to get a jacket, right?”

  “The sweatshirt isn’t that bad,” Cat said, sticking her tongue out at me, but she followed me into the store.

  “I’m just saying,” I told Cat as I browsed a whole bunch of colorful light jackets that looked like they would be good for the cooler weather, “I’m not sure we should just assume it was a heart attack. You say she was the head of a group in favor of a controversial project; you never know what extent people will go to make their side win on things like that, especially when money’s involved.”

  “We’ll see, I guess. But I’m almost certain it’s going to end up being a heart attack, or something similar. Things like murder just don’t happen in our sleepy town. How about this one?” Cat asked, holding up a gorgeous baby blue jacket.

  “Yes!” I declared, trying it on. I pulled off the sweatshirt and handed it back to Cat. “Thanks for letting me borrow this,” I told her.

  “Anytime,” Cat replied as we made our way to the counter to pay for the jacket, and as we went back out into the street I finally didn’t feel like everyone was staring at me. Now, at least, they were all staring at my cousin. The crazy cat sweatshirt combined with her pastel purple hair certainly made her stand out.