“Oh yes, he’s texted me that he’s very busy at the winery’s booth because of the festival. He just can’t get away right now. His parents rely on him so much, and this is just an important week for their business.”
It was an important week for all businesses in the village, even mine, but I was still doing my best to help my friend. Again, I said none of these thoughts.
She started to put the book she held back on the shelf that was in arm’s reach of her.
“Keep the book,” I said, stopping her. “It’s a gift.”
“I would like to keep it.” She held it on her lap. “But you have to let me pay for it.”
“Don’t be silly. The book is yours. It’s meant to be yours. I’m certain of that.”
She hugged the book a little more tightly. “All right. Thank you.”
After a couple of tries I climbed out of the beanbag chair and stood, without an ounce of grace, I might add. Sadie was far too polite to comment on this. “What are you going to do now?” I asked.
“I think you’re right. I can’t let what has happened ruin my business. I’ve done nothing wrong.” She easily rose to her feet as if it took no effort at all. “I’m going to go back to my shop and open for the day.”
I gave a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear it. I really am.” And it was true. I was relieved that Sadie wasn’t going to allow the suspicion that surrounded her to beat her. That was the last thing that she should do in this situation.
My mother and grandmother had ingrained in me the will to fight for what I wanted, to fight for what was right, and to fight for those I cared about. That’s what Sadie needed to do now. In my opinion, she needed to stand up to Grant about how he treated her, but I wasn’t going to press my luck by mentioning that too, at least not yet.
Sadie held her volume of Winnie-the-Pooh and walked down the stairs to the main floor of Charming Books with her head held high.
I reached the first floor a few seconds later. There were at least a dozen customers milling around the bookshelves. It did my heart good to see it.
My grandmother stood with a young couple looking for some parenting books. Grandma Daisy directed them to the right section. After the couple was engrossed in the books, I joined my grandmother. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to go to the Food and Wine Festival and check it out.”
Her blue eyes twinkled behind her cat’s-eye glasses. “And maybe do just a little bit of snooping while you’re at it.”
“A little. At the moment, I’m more concerned about finding Grant and telling him off over how he’s treating Sadie.” I balled my hands into fists at my sides. “After she stood by him this past summer, it’s horrible.”
She patted my arm. “I agree with you, but Sadie’s relationship with Grant is Sadie’s battle. She’s never going to earn his respect if she doesn’t stand up to him herself.”
“She is too upset by Anastasia’s murder to do that right now.”
She nodded and looked as if she wanted to say something more and stopped herself.
I scanned the room. Emerson was nowhere to be seen, but Faulkner was in the front window, quoting from “The Raven.” The crow had a small audience for his performance. “Are you sure you’ll be all right without me? The place is really busy.”
She smiled. “Violet, my dear, what do you think I did during the Food and Wine Festival when you were off finding yourself the last twelve years?”
Her comment, although true, caused a tiny pang of guilt in my chest.
She made a shooing motion. “Now, go. Sadie needs your help.”
I left the shop and gasped when I saw who was clomping up the sidewalk leaning heavily on his cane. Charles Hancock, the octogenarian who had an irrepressible crush on Grandma Daisy. As much as I would jump into the bushes to escape Nathan, Grandma Daisy would jump off a cliff to avoid Charles.
“Violet, my dear,” the elderly man said in his signature booming voice. “Is your grandmother at the shop? I’ve been out of town, and I just heard the news about Anastasia Faber’s untimely demise. Terrible, terrible shame. I’m so sorry to hear it happened in Charming Books. Daisy has had enough to contend with these last few months since that scoundrel Benedict died. I am here to offer her the comfort and support that she needs in this difficult time.” His gray bushy eyebrows knit together in concern.
I suppressed a grimace. I didn’t doubt that Charles was there to support Grandma Daisy in her supposed time of need, but I also knew that his support was the last thing that she needed or wanted.
I cleared my throat. “Charles, that is so thoughtful, but now isn’t the time to bother my grandmother. I have a better way that you can help her.”
“Oh?” he asked. The impressive set of eyebrows rose. “How is that?”
I thought a moment. I needed to think of something fast that would take Charles a good deal of time to do. Then, it hit me. “I suppose you heard about the reporters who were gathered outside Charming Books earlier this morning.”
“I did. Terrible,” he said.
“Well, one journalist in particular mentioned Charming Books as the place where Anastasia died in his article. Grandma Daisy would like to talk to him. His name is Daven York. We think he’s staying somewhere in the village,” I said, even though I had no idea where Daven was. He could be halfway to New York City by now. “Grandma Daisy would really like to find out where, so that she could talk to him about the article.”
“I cannot believe that he slandered my love so!” Charles’s voice shook with fury. “I will find him and I will run him through.” He brandished his cane as if it were a sword. “I will check every bed-and-breakfast and inn in the village. Do not worry. I will find the rogue if it takes the remainder of my days.”
I jumped out of the way of the cane. The rest of the week would be fine with me. Then, I would have to think of another excuse to keep Charles out of my grandmother’s hair.
“When I do, I will deal with him myself for her honor!”
“Bad idea! You know Grandma Daisy. She doesn’t want a fuss made with this man. She would like to talk to him herself. She wouldn’t want you to run him through or do anything that might get you into trouble.”
He nodded. “You’re right. Daisy is so kind she would always think of me first before herself. I will find this scoundrel and report back to her as soon as I learn his whereabouts. Rest assured, young Violet.”
“No,” I said. “No, report back to me about it. It’s just too upsetting for Grandma Daisy.”
“Yes, of course. Our goal is to make this as painless as possible for Daisy.”
“That’s right,” I said, nodding.
“I shall go on my mission at once.” He spun on his heels and headed down the sidewalk at a pace much faster than I would have thought possible for a man on a cane. I watched Charles turn the corner and hoped that I wouldn’t come to regret the assignment that I’d given him.
With Charles no longer in sight, I continued on my way to the Food and Wine Festival. River Road was close to empty when I walked toward the Riverwalk. When I left Charming Books, I had half expected to find Emerson following me to the festival. He wasn’t there. If anything, the cat was unpredictable. I suspected that he got that from me.
Before heading straight to the festival, I swung by La Crepe Jolie and collected my bike from where I’d left it the night before. I was grateful it was still there, and again I expected to find Emerson sitting in my bicycle basket waiting for me. Again he was MIA.
I knew from my visit to the Riverwalk the night before that Morton Vineyards had the first booth inside the Food and Wine Festival. Last night, Mrs. Morton had been in the booth. When I climbed off my bike and chained it to a rack a few feet away at the edge of the park, I was, if not happy, at least pleased to see Grant Morton in the booth, not his mother.
Grant was just a
s handsome as his older brother. But where Nathan was blond, tall, and lean, Grant was broad shouldered, somewhat squat, and brunet. He was at least five inches shorter than Nathan, which caused him to live in his older brother’s shadow both figuratively and literally his entire life, and he made no secret of his resentment for Nathan. The brothers had been at odds since they were in grade school. I believed that the beginning of Grant and Nathan’s problems stemmed from their parents. The elder Mortons had always pitted their sons in competition against each other. The brothers were only thirteen months apart in age, and I wouldn’t have been the least surprised if that practice hadn’t gone all the way back to when they were toddlers.
Grant wiped fingerprints off a bottle of ice wine with a clean white rag and raised his dark brow. “Vi, to what do I owe this regal visit? My, I haven’t seen you in person in weeks.”
An elderly man took one of the plastic wineglasses with its sample of ice wine from the Mortons’ table. Grant nodded to him to acknowledge that he saw him.
The man backed away with his glass, not buying anything.
I decided to cut right to the chase. “I assume you heard about the murder and that Sadie is a murder suspect.”
“I have, and I feel absolutely horrible for Sadie. She’s a sweet girl.”
My frown deepened. A sweet girl? He sounded like he was talking about a virtual stranger, not the person who was supposed to be the love of his life. “Where have you been? Sadie needs you right now.”
“I’m sure you’re doing just fine comforting her, since you are such a pro at meddling in other people’s business.” He set down the bottle, picked up another, and resumed polishing.
I ground my teeth. “I’m not her fiancé.”
“Neither am I,” he said.
I took a step back. “What do you mean?”
He set the bottle down and something between annoyance and amusement played across his face. “I’m not her fiancé either. Sadie and I broke up a week ago. In fact, I believe it was a week ago today.”
“But why?” I asked. And why didn’t she tell me? I wondered to myself.
“I realized I’m not in a good place in my life to be in a serious relationship, much less thinking about marriage. Right now, I need to begin thinking about my career and advancing my family’s business.” He folded the cloth in his hand and set it on the worktable behind him. “My parents have put a lot of trust in me to let me back into the business. I can’t have any distractions right now.”
I doubted he would ever be in a good place to get married, but I was so sorry Sadie had been hurt in the process of his coming to that obvious conclusion. If Grant and Sadie broke up a week ago, that meant that it wasn’t long before Anastasia’s death. “I understand why you haven’t been around since you and Sadie broke up, but have you reached out to her at all? She could really use a friend right now. I know she would love to hear from you.”
“I think you are doing more than enough in the friend department for the both of us. Am I right? There is a rumor going around the village that you broke into Anastasia’s house last night. Gutsy move. I suppose you believe that you can get away with anything, since my brother, the mayor, is still in love with you. Why he is remains a mystery to me and I suspect to most of the village.”
I grew very still. How did Grant know about last night? I tried to remember everyone that I’d told. Grandma Daisy and Sadie, but I doubted either of them would say anything to Grant about it. Chief Rainwater and his officer knew of course. Rainwater would never tell, but I wouldn’t put it past Wheaton. Then I remembered that I’d told Lacey and Adrien too. Could my well-meaning friends have half accidentally let the news slip? I hadn’t specifically asked them not to tell anyone.
In front of me, Grant poured ice wine into the line of plastic wineglasses. He picked up one and held it out to me. “Would you like to try it? It’s our best vintage.”
I was just about to tell him exactly where he could put that wineglass when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned to see a man in a suit making his way back to the tent area with a cell phone attached to his ear. I blinked when I realized it was the same man I’d seen outside Charming Books during the sidewalk sale the day Anastasia died, the one who claimed to be her friend. He was heading toward the back of the festival in the direction of the La Crepe Jolie booth and the large dining tent.
“Keep the wine,” I said, and backed away from him.
“Suit yourself,” Grant said, tossing back the glassful as if taking down a shot of tequila.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I followed the man in the suit. It was midafternoon and business in the festival area was picking up. Not only were the tourists there, but there were also the local residents of Cascade Springs who were coming to the festival on their lunch breaks. I wove between and around laughing couples, moms with their hands grasping their small children’s, and serious shoppers with cloth bags that were full to bursting with cheese, fruits, veggies, wine, and baked goods from the many vendors across the Riverwalk. For a moment, I lost sight of the man with the phone. I stepped around an elderly woman who seemed intent on squeezing every last one of the melons in the produce booth, and spotted him again at a table in the dining tent.
“I understand, I understand. I know this doesn’t look good.” He was silent for a moment. “Yes. The police are looking into it. Think of the postmortem sales. Her backlist is going to fly off the shelf. . . . Yes, sir, I understand that comment was inappropriate. But—” Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the voice on the other end of the line. After a full minute, he said, “Yes, yes, I will find out. You will be the first to know.”
Could it even be possible that Anastasia was killed for publicity reasons? Could her publisher or someone else be that demented to kill her to increase overall sales of her books? It didn’t make sense. They would have to know any increase the notoriety of her death garnered was only temporary.
The man slid his phone inside his jacket.
“I’ll take a white wine please,” the man said, sounding exhausted. “Whatever you have.”
I frowned. “I’m not a waitress.”
He looked up from the white linen tablecloth. “You!”
“Me?”
“Yes, you, you are the one from the bookshop, aren’t you? You’re the one who told me that Anastasia was dead.” He buried his face in his hands. “I can’t . . .”
Behind me there was the faintest clicking sound. I turned around to see a middle-aged man holding a selfie stick in front of his face as he took a photograph of himself with the New York man and me in the background.
Anastasia’s friend jumped out of his seat as if he had been struck by lightning. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The man with the selfie stick stepped back. “I heard you speaking on the phone about Evanna Blue—I mean Anastasia Faber. I could tell you really knew her, so I took a photograph with you.” The man trembled slightly.
“Without my permission,” the other man said through gritted teeth.
“I’m a huge fan of Evanna Blue, and I came to the village to see the places she visited in her last days and the people in her life. It’s my tribute to my favorite author.”
He turned to face the selfie stick, sucked in his gut, and took yet another photo with the other man and me in the background.
Anastasia’s friend yanked the selfie stick out of the man’s hand and broke it over his knee. He handed the two halves back to the man.
The tourist stared at his broken selfie stick. His bottom lip quivered. “You broke it. How could you do that?”
“Easily,” Anastasia’s friend said. His face must have appeared menacing enough because the tourist backed away without another word.
The man in the suit’s cell phone rang again and he answered the phone. “Eaton speaking.”
Eaton? Wher
e had I heard that name before? Then it hit me: the printed e-mail that I had found in Anastasia’s secret office. The last name of the person who wrote the e-mail was Eaton. I pulled my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and scrolled through my e-mail until I found the one with the photograph of Anastasia’s e-mail attached. I was so glad I’d had the foresight to send myself a copy before I showed it to Chief Rainwater, who erased the original photo from my phone.
The man barked an order to someone on the other end of his call, and then Edmund Eaton slumped back into the chair. “Wow, it felt good to break that stick. I hate those things. They are a menace.”
I wasn’t a huge fan of the selfie stick either. Nowadays they were a common accessory at Niagara Falls while tourists were overlooking the falls. They were especially popular with the foreign visitors, and it wasn’t uncommon to get smacked in the head with one while trying to enjoy the majestic scenery of the falls.
“How long have you been Anastasia’s agent?” I asked.
His mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“I saw an e-mail between the two of you.” I didn’t mention where I had seen the e-mail and hoped he wouldn’t ask.
He scowled. “What does it matter now?” He removed a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and patted his sweaty brow with it. It was a cool day with a chilly breeze coming from Canada across the river, which was just on the other side of the thin tent wall.
“Do you know how the news got out that Anastasia was Evanna?” I asked.
He pointed to the seat across from him at the round table. “If you are going to interrogate me, you might as well sit down. I do not appreciate being loomed over.”
I sat on the folding chair, crossed my arms on the tablecloth, and waited.
“I have no idea how the news leaked about Evanna’s identity. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I assumed you were eavesdropping on my conversation earlier. The conversation was with her publisher, who was less than pleased by Anastasia’s death and by the revelation of the pen name.”
Prose and Cons Page 18
