21 Death Takes a Letter Read online

  That was all right. The rest of the group represented some of the oldest people in town. Darcy had long suspected that the book club gave them an excuse to still feel like they were involved in the community. She was hoping to take advantage of that by asking the right questions.

  Darcy made small talk with them as the others arrived, Preston Morgan and then Tommie Sullivan in his blue knitted sweater and lastly Rosie Weaver, using her walker to get around now that her knees had started to give out.

  Coffee and tea and donuts were passed around, and conversation picked up easily among these good friends. Darcy snuck away at one point to the mystery section of the bookstore and collected seven copies of a new mystery novel, The Clown Cried at Midnight. It had come highly recommended by the publisher and Darcy had two dozen of them to sell. Plenty to restock the shelf with later.

  “Well, here we are,” she said cheerfully as she passed the paperback books around. “I’ve heard great things about this one. I was hoping I could get your opinions on it. You can keep the books as a gift. It’s already a New York Times bestseller.”

  “I know this author,” Carson Fillmore said. He tapped the cover and then adjusted the round glasses on his face. “Love this guy. Ever read A Hard Time to Die?”

  Darcy had heard of the book, of course, but she hadn’t read it. “No, but I—” she started to say.

  “Amazing story,” Carson went on in a rush. “The rogue government agent is on vacation in Bora Bora when he witnesses a murder that is actually carried out by the French government. There’s this part where a French Secret Service agent has a pair of glasses fitted with ultraviolet spectrum lenses. He uses them to see secret messages printed in a book with invisible ink. Really creative. I wish I could think up stuff like that.”

  Around him, Darcy saw some of the others rolling their eyes. Carson was very, very into books. If he was a decade or two younger, he’d probably be thought of as a nerd.

  Evelyn scanned the back cover of her copy of the book. “I wondered why you just all of a sudden wanted a book club meeting. Is it just so we can review this for the store?”

  “Well,” Darcy hedged, “it’s been a while since we got together, too. I thought this made the perfect… excuse.”

  She hoped none of them caught her hesitation. This was an excuse all right. Just not for them to share coffee and donuts. She loved their group meetings and hearing everyone’s different opinions of the stories in the books they read. Right now, she just had other things on her mind.

  “Actually Darcy,” Cora Morton said, “I’m surprised by your choice. I would have surely thought you’d had enough of solving mysteries in real life.”

  Darcy sat down with them, hiding a smile behind her cup of tea. That was as good an opening as she was likely to get. “Actually, there are lots of mysteries still to be found in our little town. Can you believe it?”

  “Oh?” Preston asked, wiping the crumbs from a donut out of his mustache with a paper napkin. “What mystery have you stumbled upon this time, Darcy? Are we going to be reading about it in the papers?”

  She saw both Cora and Evelyn lean forward, the buns tied into their white hair bobbing with their enthusiasm. These were the two biggest gossips in town. Darcy had never much liked gossip, especially since she had been the target of so much of it over the years, but on the other hand it made Cora and Evelyn excellent sources of information.

  Which was exactly what Darcy was hoping for.

  “Well, it’s not so much a mystery,” Darcy lied, trying to downplay what she was after. “Linda Becht—you know, our town librarian—is trying to find out some information about her mother Erika. I just find family history so interesting, don’t you?”

  “I surely do,” Preston agreed. “Why, I have an ancestor on my father’s side who served under General Nathan Bedford Forrest during the Civil War. Proud, proud times, I’m sure.”

  Tommie Sullivan tugged at the neckline of his cable knit blue sweater. “Didn’t General Forrest fight for the South? And, um, start the KKK?”

  Preston’s face turned red and he stuttered something before clearing his throat to try again. “Yes, he was a founding member of the Klan, but he also abolished it later when it became the horrible thing it is today. He was a great man. Generals respected him on both sides of the war, and then to be able to stand up and say that a group he helped create was wrong and should be abolished? That took guts, don’t you think?”

  Evelyn waved a hand at him. “Yes, yes, that’s all well and nice Preston, but Darcy was asking about Erika Becht, I believe.”

  “Did you know her?” Darcy asked as indifferently as she could manage. “She would have been about your age, right?”

  “Oh my, yes.” Evelyn smiled as she became the center of attention at the table. “She and I and Cora were in the same grade in school. We had us some wonderful times, I can tell you that.”

  “That is,” Cora said, a note of sadness in her voice. “Until she died so unexpectedly.”

  “So sad,” Damita added, selecting a donut for herself. “To die alone like that.”

  “Right.” Darcy spun her ceramic mug until the printed logo of her store was facing her. The Mysterious Is All Around Us, the cup said. Wasn’t that the truth? “Linda was telling me that her mother died in bed.”

  “It was just so sudden,” Evelyn said, before Cora could. “None of us expected that. And right when that boyfriend of hers had asked her to marry him.”

  Darcy was sure her eyebrows couldn’t crawl any higher if they tried. “She was engaged? Are you sure?”

  “Certainly,” Evelyn insisted, proud to pass on that juicy tidbit. “Her boyfriend… oh, what was his name, Cora?”

  “That would be Leighton, Evelyn,” Cora beamed. “Leighton Reeves. Such a handsome man. Older than we were, of course, but that was always the goal when you were a teenage girl. Find a man old enough to take you away from your boring life and love you the way a man should. I certainly would have dated him had he given me the time of day.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Evelyn readily agreed. “Me, too.”

  Rosie Weaver, who had taken to dying her gray hair something close to the chestnut color she had in her youth, giggled at that from across the table. “So true! Oh, my Stan was a good husband to me but he was so immature in so many ways. Leighton was all man and I admit that I wanted to be with him.” She quickly looked around the table at the others, pink color staining her cheeks as if she just realized what she’d said. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I loved my husband and would never have cheated on him,” she added quickly, furiously shaking her head from side to side.

  Carson snorted and looked to Preston and Tommie for support. “Women. Am I right?”

  “Careful now,” Darcy said with a smile. “The women outnumber the men here by quite a bit.”

  Carson furrowed his brow and looked all around the table. “True enough, I suppose.”

  Preston frowned his annoyance at Carson and cleared his throat. Getting things back on track he said, “I remember how all the girls threw themselves at Leighton. He was quite the player, as the kids say.”

  Darcy tucked that bit of information away with everything else. “So, Evelyn, what happened with the engagement of Erika and Leighton?”

  “That was the real tragedy.” Evelyn nodded as she said it, lowering her voice dramatically. “They never got the chance to be married. He left to make his fortune, or some such thing, and never came back. She died in her bed, waiting for him.”

  “Oh, so sad,” Cora lamented along with Evelyn.

  Rosie sniffed, her eyes wet with unshed tears. It was a sad story, Darcy had to admit, but that wasn’t the way Linda had told it. It didn’t quite match with the information in the letters, either. It was like there was two different versions of the events. In one, Erika and Leighton had a fight and he went off to Arizona the same day that Erika had died. In the other story, Leighton had asked Erika to marry him, she said yes, and he went off to Arizona wi
th every intention of returning to walk her down the aisle.

  Which version was true?

  Both could be. Neither could be.

  So what did that mean about Leighton?

  Some dark part of Darcy’s mind made her wonder if possibly, just possibly, Leighton had something to do with Erika’s death.

  “Evelyn,” she asked, “who told you that Leighton and Erika were engaged?”

  “Why, Erika did.” Evelyn seemed confused by the question. “She was always bragging about it. For days that was all we heard.”

  “Now, Evelyn,” Cora scolded. “You know you’re remembering things wrong again.”

  “I am?” Evelyn asked, her face scrunching up in confusion. “About which part?”

  Cora tsked. “Erika never told us she was engaged. She was always much too proper to go telling tales like that. She was a single mother, after all. She kept her romantic life to herself.”

  “Oh, yes. You’re quite right, Cora. Er, but then who was it that told us she was engaged?”

  “Hmm. I can’t quite recall, Evelyn. I mean, it was just the rumor going around, I suppose. Then poor Erika was dead…”

  Her voice trailed away at the end, and Darcy could tell that even after all of these years, she was still upset to think that her friend was gone. Cora’s face was sad, too, and surprisingly so was everyone else at the table. With the exception of Carson Fillmore, perhaps, but then again he was younger than the rest, and hadn’t known Erika.

  Apparently those who did know her had been profoundly affected by both her life, and her death.

  Linda had asked for Darcy’s help to find out the truth of her mother’s death. Darcy had promised to do it for her because that was the sort of thing that friends do for each other. Now she saw that she would be doing it for more than just Linda. All of Erika’s friends from back in those days deserved closure too.

  The conversation went in a different direction after that and seeing how much it had upset the group, Darcy didn’t bring it up again. After a while, everyone had finished their tea or coffee and it was time to head on home. As Darcy said her goodbyes to the group, one question burned in her mind…

  Did someone murder Erika Becht?

  She thought about that for the rest of the day. Millie’s journals came home with Darcy after work. She would have to find time to read through them tonight. She was very confident that there wasn’t a single page in any of them that she hadn’t read four times over by now, but she’d never been looking for information about pregnant women before. She might have overlooked something.

  After the book club had broken up, with plans to read the first two chapters of the book and meet again next week, there had been a slow but steady stream of customers coming through the bookstore. It certainly wasn’t a banner sales day, but if every day was this good they wouldn’t ever have to worry about their bank accounts. Days like this were what kept the doors open.

  In the afternoons, the school bus always dropped Colby off at Izzy’s next door, where she could hang out with Lilly while their parents finished up work. The arrangement seemed to work for everyone. This way Darcy and Izzy got to stay at the bookstore until closing time, and Colby got to spend some time with her bestest older friend. She adored Lilly and wanted to be just like her when she grew up. This included wanting to color her hair in streaks just like Lilly’s. Darcy had said no to that one. The answer was going to continue being no, too, until Colby turned thirty.

  Well. Maybe eighteen. Darcy would have to think about it then.

  After picking Colby up and convincing her that yes, it was time to go home, Darcy walked them both across the short distance from Izzy’s house to theirs. They were the only two houses on the entire street, and they were the best of friends. She was glad it had worked out that way.

  “Colby,” she said when they were inside the house, “do you think you could hang out in your room for a little bit before supper? I’ve got some reading I need to do. The television might be a little distracting. Maybe you could draw me a Professor Puppy picture?”

  Colby nodded her head at the books held safely in the crook of her mother’s arm. “Are those Aunt Millie’s journals?”

  “Uh-huh. Your Great Aunt wrote down a lot of stuff about our family ability. I need to read through it.”

  “Um, she was your Great Aunt, wasn’t she?”

  Smart little girl, Darcy thought to herself. “Yes, sweetie. So I guess that makes her your Great, Great Aunt if you want to be specific.”

  “Either way,” Colby said with a bright smile, “she was great!”

  Spinning around like a top and laughing at her own joke, she went off through the living room and up the stairs to her bedroom, Tiptoe appearing from out of nowhere to follow her.

  Darcy watched them go. Such a pair, those two.

  When she turned back to the kitchen table, Smudge was waiting for her.

  Sitting up on one of the kitchen chairs, he regarded her with a steady cat gaze, and flicked one ear.

  “Hey there. Want to read with me?” Darcy asked him, easing herself down into the chair next to his. “Lots of old journals. I know how much you love old journals.”

  Smudge did not seem amused by that. The journal that he’d found for her in the basement years ago had gotten him kidnapped, and several lives put in danger as well, including Darcy’s. Smudge had scratched the kidnapper pretty good and then escaped to help them solve the case. Cats were smarter than people gave them credit for.

  And, Smudge was smarter than most cats. Darcy had learned to pay attention when he tried to tell her something.

  “Well. You can just sit there and look intelligent,” she offered. “I’ll do the reading. You’ve got food and water in your dish if you get hungry. There might be a treat for you after supper but right now, let’s get to work.”

  She set the three journals out, side by side, on the table. Linda’s letters were there as well, tucked back into their envelopes and waiting to reveal their secrets. Three letters. Three journals. Three was a lucky number, wasn’t it? Darcy had no idea. She paid about as much mind to numerology as she did to astrology.

  Each one of the journals was different. They were different colors, and had different designs on them, and they were even different sizes. Her aunt had made other journals, of course. The one that had been Aunt Millie’s very last writing on this Earth, the one with the beehive picture on its front, wasn’t here. Darcy kept that one locked away. Hopefully she would never have to take it out again. Ever.

  These journals, however, had always proven very useful to her. Staring at them for just a moment, she tried to decide if one or the other would be better to start with. She knew what order they’d been written in—first, second, and third—and she decided that starting from the beginning was always the best idea.

  In the meantime, supper had to be made, just like she’d told Colby. A mother’s work was never done. Leaving the journals where they were for the moment she went and got a pan out of the cabinet. Filling it half full with water she set it on the stove to boil. Macaroni and cheese sounded good tonight. With hotdogs, of course.

  When she turned back to the journals, Smudge was up on the table, laying down across all three of them.

  “Hey!” Darcy blurted out. “You know better than that! No cats on the table. House rules!”

  With a scrambling of feet Smudge raced away and back down to his chair. He kept his claws in, because he really did know better, and Darcy could not imagine what had gotten into him.

  She sat down, frowning at him as sternly as she could manage, and then reached for the journal on the left. It was the one closest to Smudge. She should be able to scan through a lot of it before the water boiled…

  Smudge braced his front paws up on the edge of the table, and then reached over further and held a paw down on the cover of the journal. He gave Darcy a steady, unwavering look.

  Don’t do it.

  Darcy took her hand away. Smudge took hi
s paw away.

  Darcy reached for the journal again. Smudge put his paw back on the cover.

  “If I didn’t know any better,” she said to him, “I’d think you didn’t want me to find what I’m looking for.”

  He lowered his ears, and sighed through his nose. You know me better than that.

  “Ah. I see. What I’m looking for isn’t in here, is it?”

  He twitched an ear at her.

  Bingo.

  “Ah, I get it now.” Darcy didn’t know if Smudge would actually use the word bingo, but that was the gist of it. She settled back in the chair, her hands resting on her belly. “Millie didn’t put anything in here about a woman performing a spirit communication while pregnant, did she?”

  Flick went the ear.

  “I see. You were worried that if I didn’t find anything that said not to do it, then I’d assume it was safe.”

  Flick.

  “And, you don’t think it’s safe.”

  Flick, flick, flick.

  “Even if you watch over me?”

  He turned his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. Darcy…

  “Okay, okay, I get it. I won’t do the communication with baby on board. For now.”

  He regarded her with a steady gaze.

  “Smudge, if Linda’s mother was murdered she has a right to know. If the only way I can make that happen is by contacting her mother’s spirit, then that’s what I may have to do. I mean, sure she died forty years ago so there’s no rush. I suppose I can wait until after I give birth.” She sighed. “Fine. Unless I find out something really important that makes it necessary, I promise not to perform a spirit communication until after I give birth. I’ll just have to find some other way to solve this mystery. Satisfied?”

  After a moment, he flicked his ear again and wrapped his tail around his feet. That was good enough for him, apparently.

  The water was boiling. She could hear it bubbling behind her. Petting Smudge between his ears before she got up, she went over to the pantry and took out two boxes of premium mac and cheese. The kind with the cheese sauce in a pouch. Simple dinners were nice once in a while, to be sure. There were still leftovers in the refrigerator from last night’s soiree and a lot of ziti from Linda, but tonight her body was craving mac and cheese. Or maybe that was the baby’s preference.