Vera decided that if she was going to research Octavia’s family heritage, she was going to do it properly. She settled herself onto the couch with the enormous book of mink history.
At first, she merely flipped through the book and looked at the pictures. Lots of formal portraits of mink dressed in fancy gowns and suits, often wearing crowns. They all looked aristocratic and boring. Then, Vera’s eye caught a few paragraphs that looked familiar. She remembered Ms. Grey relating a story during tea about how one of her many relatives came to power. He had married the queen of a small principality. Not long after, she died suddenly from ingesting some kind of poison—a common fate for many royals. Following the queen’s demise, the throne became his, establishing the legacy of the whole lineage.
So far, so deadly. But wait. As Vera flipped through the pages, she realized that this story was about a family named Sabel, not Grey. As a matter of fact, Vera had not seen anything about a family called Grey in this entire volume. She turned to the index to make sure, but there was no listing for Grey at all. She looked at the dynasties from the Carbonia Mountains, where Octavia claimed she came from. No Greys.
The fox sat back as she contemplated what this might mean. Who was Octavia Grey, really? And why was she claiming aristocratic descent from a family that apparently didn’t exist? She could be anyone!
Vera would have to say something to BW. She couldn’t write an article that she knew to be false. She would speak to him in the morning. Until then, she put the giant book on mink monarchs aside, and picked up her as-yet-unsigned copy of Honor Bright, the latest thriller by Bradley Marvel. Vera had bought it the other night at the bookstore, knowing that Lenore needed to pay for the expense of the evening’s “entertainment.” She had, however, skipped the book on shipwrecks by Wilbur Montague. If she suffered from insomnia, it would have been the first thing she purchased.
In fact, Vera slept so deeply that she didn’t even make it to her bedroom. The next morning found Vera Vixen, Shady Hollow’s intrepid reporter, sprawled out on her couch with a book spread out over her stomach. Apparently, not even Bradley Marvel’s exciting narrative could keep her awake last night. The fox awoke with a start, and then looked around guiltily. She was ashamed of herself for not going to bed properly after brushing her teeth. At least she lived alone, and there no witnesses to report her behavior.
After she freshened up and got ready for work, Vera decided that she would go immediately to the office and bypass Joe’s Mug for once. She wanted to get her boss’s opinion on what she may have learned about Octavia Grey’s dubious lineage.
The skunk was already behind his desk when Vera arrived at the newspaper office. His office door was open, so Vera felt relatively safe sticking her head in and clearing her throat.
“Vera,” her boss boomed. “Come in, come in.” In contrast to his usual practice, BW wasn’t surrounded by the blue-grey haze of cigar smoke. He reserved that for later in the day. Instead he held a mug of oil-black sludge in one paw. Vera assumed it was coffee, but she wouldn’t bet on how many days ago it had been brewed. A cigar was tucked carefully by one ear, ready in case BW should feel the overwhelming need to puff on some inspiration. “What’cha got for me?”
“I just had something to run by you,” Vera responded, pulling a sheaf of paper out of her bag and settling herself into the chair on the visitor’s side of Stone’s desk.
Vera related the story of the ancient mink monarchy in the old country. She moved along as quickly as she could, because she could see her employer’s eyes glazing over.
“And the point of this history lesson?” he asked.
“I’m getting to that, BW. Octavia told that story like it happened to her family, but the book lists the exact same story, but attributes it to a completely different family! I don’t think that Octavia Grey is who she says she is,” Vera finished. “I think she’s making it all up.”
To her surprise, the skunk just threw back his head and laughed cynically. “She embellished a little. So what? Or maybe she swiped a tale from someone else because it was too good to go to waste. What harm is it doing to anyone? Creatures like to read about the romance of royalty, and need I remind you that the newspaper doesn’t use footnotes?”
“You want me to pass on a falsehood in my article?”
“You can’t be sure it’s wrong—queens are always getting assassinated for political gain, Vera. Maybe it happened like that in two places and you misunderstood what Octavia told you about her origins.”
BW’s casual attitude didn’t jibe with the editor she knew. Normally, BW got excited whenever he smelled even a whiff of controversy. Questions about whether Octavia was legitimate could fuel weeks of paper sales. But since Octavia was buying so many ads right now, perhaps BW was choosing a more circumspect route.
His eyes narrowed as he thought the situation over. Clearly, his inner muckraker was warring with his inner banker. Then he sighed. “For your article, keep it vague. Just focus on the part about the etiquette school. Not so much about her past. Maybe you can address it later on.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Even though she didn’t entirely like the compromise, she did have a deadline. She gathered her papers and went back to her own desk. She would finish up the article and send it to the proofers. She had wasted enough time on this already. She really needed to concentrate on what had happened to poor Julia Elkin.
As Vera was setting up her desk to crank out the final draft of the article, one of the mailroom’s rabbits dashed up and deposited a vase of flowers in front of Vera.
“Hey!” the fox yelped. “I’m trying to work here!”
“So am I,” the rabbit retorted. “That’s a delivery for Miss Vera Vixen, and lo, I have delivered it! You should say thank you, Remy!”
“Thank you, Remy!” Vera repeated dutifully. “Who are they from?”
“How should I know?” asked Remy. “I deliver folks’ mail. I don’t read it.” And with that, the rabbit leapt away, on to the next stop of his itinerary.
The bouquet of flowers was quite pretty, featuring a mix of chrysanthemums and daisies in autumnal shades. Who currently thought her worthy of a bouquet, though? Vera found a little note tucked into the greenery and pulled it out. She unfolded it to read: “Thinking of you” with a smudge of a signature below it. She could just make out an “O.”
“Gah!” Vera muttered. Of course it would be smudged! Who could have sent this? Orville? Not if he was dancing with Octavia. Could it have been Octavia herself, in some sort of lesson on decor delivered via bouquet? “Oh, no. Don’t tell me I’m supposed to send thank-you flowers after a tea party,” Vera said to herself. She didn’t remember that rule, and if it was a rule, she was never going to attend another tea party, no matter how many cranberry tarts there were!
Vera sighed. The flowers were simply going to have to remain a mystery for the moment. She had a deadline!
She put her nose to the metaphorical grindstone and got to work, typing frantically to get all the words written. The din of the newsroom settled into a comfortable background noise. Vera barely heard the click-clack of keys, the dozen conversations, or the constant shuffling of papers. She was wholly absorbed in her work.
Vera was still at her desk when Barry Greenfield stopped and rapped lightly on the wooden surface. “Hard at work, Vera?” he asked. “You know there’s a little memorial service for Julia Elkin down at the church in a half hour.”
Vera vaguely remembered hearing that news, but she’d put it aside and forgotten it. “Oh, that’s right. You know, Barry, I’m going to skip it. I never met Julia, after all, and the service should be for friends and family.”
“It’d be a small service in that case—she never got too chummy with us locals. But anyway, funerals aren’t for the dead. They’re for the living, and it’s time to put a period on this passage. You should come along. A bunch of us are going—BW is making noises, but there’s nothing he can really do to stop us.”
Indeed, Barry was such an old-timer at the paper that not even BW’s temper could make him blink. Vera considered joining him, but then said, “I really do have some more research to do. You go and report back if anything of interest happens.”
The old rabbit snorted. “If anything interesting happens, you can read all about it in my article that I write for tomorrow’s paper.”
“Spoken like a true reporter.” Vera chuckled. “See you later.”
After she had finally finished her feature piece on the new business leader of Shady Hollow, Vera tidied her desk and gathered her things. Her mind turned back to the question of Julia’s murder, and the reappearance of the Von Beaverpelt’s silver teapot. She planned to spend the afternoon on her investigation. That meant a quick trip to Elm Grove to see if she could get a lead on the stolen silver.
There was a small ferry boat that conducted trips several times a day between Shady Hollow and Elm Grove. It was run by an affable otter who went by the name of Jonesy. Vera figured that she had just enough time to get to the dock and pay her fare before the boat left on its noontime run.
As she rushed toward the dock, she heard someone call her name from a distance, but she couldn’t stop.
“Later!” she called back in the direction of the voice. Then she doubled her speed and skidded to a stop just before she would have tumbled into the river.
“One fare for Elm Grove, roundtrip,” Vera gasped out.
“Yes, indeed, ma’am,” Jonesy replied, taking her payment. He shoved off from the bank a scant moment later, so Vera’s mad dash hadn’t been for naught.
It was a beautiful fall afternoon, and Vera felt sorry for creatures who were stuck at their desks. She was thrilled to be under the lovely blue sky, breathing the crisp air, and thanking the powers that be that she was done with her article on Grey’s School of Etiquette, at least for now. An assignment was an assignment, but she did not want to have to endure any more intimate tea parties with the mink, particularly not when she was also offering one-on-one dance lessons to Orville! She had better keep her silver paws off of Orville if she knew what was good for her!
Vera trailed her own paw in the water and watched the trees go by above her head. Maples burned red, elms went yellowy-green, and a few mighty oaks had begun to turn bronze. Leaves fell into the water and got caught in the wake of the ferry boat, following along like a fleet of miniature ships sailing after the larger vessel. She squinted at her wavering reflection, then closed her eyes, listening to the sound of rushing water and Jonesy’s pull at the keel of the boat.
Before she realized it, the small ferry was docking down the river at Elm Grove. Vera thanked Jonesy as he helped her off of the gangplank and back onto firm ground. Vera did not get seasick, but she always felt slightly nervous when her paws were over water instead of earth.
As far as Vera knew, there was only one resale shop in Elm Grove. It was called Gleaming Gleanings, and it was run by a magpie. She and Lenore had been there a few times, just to look around. Lenore was a big fan. On their last visit, she’d purchased an oversize magnifying glass with an ebony handle. Vera had laughed to see the raven’s enlarged eye peering from the other side of the glass.
Vera trotted down High Street, where all of the town’s main businesses were located. Elm Grove was approximately the same size as Shady Hollow, but this town lacked a sawmill or similarly sized industry, and therefore felt much sleepier.
Vera was pleased that she remembered the location of the shop, a charming little cottage with a blue-and-white-striped awning. As she entered, a tiny bell over the door tinkled, and a loud voice welcomed her. The proprietor was behind the counter, greeting customers and ringing up sales.
Vera nodded hello and then decided to browse the aisles before she asked any questions. Who knew if the busy magpie would remember a specific item from years ago? She must get old teapots all the time.
After the fox had studied almost all of the items in the small store, she figured that she would cut to the chase. If she spent too much time here, she would miss the last ferry back to Shady Hollow, and would have to spend the night. She stepped up to the counter where the bird waited patiently.
“Good afternoon! Stephanie Pippen at your service! Looking for something special?”
“Yes,” Vera said brightly, “I’m interested in a silver tea set. A very specific style—engraved with roses and butterflies. Have you seen anything like that recently?”
The magpie made a show of thinking it over, drawing one feather of her wing along her beak. “Hmmm. Maybe. Can you remember anything else about it?”
“Carved wooden handle on the teapot, and the creamer looked like one big rose blossom.” Vera remembered the sugar pot being different, but she left that part out.
“Oh, yes. I know exactly what you’re talking about,” said Stephanie. “That’s a gorgeous design from the silversmiths Reed & Bearton. The pattern is called Queen’s Garden. Very high end. Not many in circulation because folk who are lucky enough to get any pieces tend to keep them forever.”
“Have any ever come through the shop? Have you sold any used?”
“Oh, a time or two I’ve had a piece, but never a whole set at once. As I said, it’s rather rare. Why do you ask?”
“In fact, I’m a reporter with the Shady Hollow Herald. Vera Vixen. I’m working on a story, and part of it involves a stolen tea set. I’m trying to trace its whereabouts.”
Stephanie gasped loudly. “Oh, no! I never deal with stolen merchandise!”
“I didn’t mean to imply that!” Vera said quickly, not wishing to alarm the owner. “I simply wondered if someone might have tried to sell you anything of a matching description, and if you remembered what they looked like.”
“Well, my goodness, I just don’t know. Most of my customers are known to me, both buyers and sellers. If I think something isn’t right, I won’t buy it. I’d send that creature packing!”
“So you’ve never had a complete or nearly complete set for sale in the store. For sure? Not over the past few months?” Octavia said she purchased the set in Elm Grove, but perhaps she didn’t buy it from Stephanie’s business.
“I’d certainly remember a sale like that! Why, it’d be good for a month’s expenses all on its own, a set like that.”
“If there’s no creature who might have purchased such a set from you, is there anyone else in town who deals with secondhand silver?”
The magpie puffed out her chest. “Not any business, that’s certain! I’ve cornered that market. I suppose there could be a private seller…but I’d bet my inventory that no one in Elm Grove is rich enough to own such a set. And if they did own one and wanted to sell it, I’d have heard about it!”
Vera believed her. The magpie had no reason to lie and every reason to be aware of the goings-on in her own neck of the woods. So if Stephanie was telling the truth, it meant that Octavia wasn’t. The mink told Vera that she’d bought the set recently, in Elm Grove. But perhaps she got it much, much earlier—eleven years ago, right around the time that Julia was preparing to leave Shady Hollow. But how? The silver-coated mink definitely hadn’t got it in Shady Hollow, because she’d never been there. Someone would have remembered a creature as distinctive as her!
Did the robber sell it to her, and Octavia didn’t want to own up to purchasing goods she knew to be stolen? Possible. Even the most aristocratic of creatures might have conducted some business with a shifty individual in order to save some money.
In any case, Vera had to return to the docks to catch the last ferry home. While the ferry cruised back upstream, Vera studied the sunset and pondered the situation. She had a collection of clues that all hinted at a connection, but she didn’t have any proof of anything.
“Just a lot of stories,” she muttered. That was the problem. All she had were anecdotes—tales of Julia’s unhappiness, stories of Octavia’s family history, Lefty’s account of fake jewels, and more. She needed evidence, something to prove if those stories were true or false.
When Jonesy pulled up to the Shady Hollow dock, Vera practically leapt off the boat and onto dry land. She was eager to get all her notes organized so she could see what sort of evidence she needed to find. As a reporter, she was used to tracking down sources for articles. This wasn’t really that different.
Perhaps she ought to speak to Orville, after all. She was a professional, he was a professional. They ought to be able to work together for a good cause, like finding a murderer! Vera nodded to herself, pleased that she was being so mature about the whole thing. And if he was the one who sent the flowers, it must mean he wanted to patching things up too.
She rounded the corner of Main Street, heading for the police station. She had just reached the front of the red brick building when an all-too-familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. None other than Octavia Grey was just at the doors of the station. Vera ducked behind the side of the building, listening.
“You can count on me, my dear Orville,” the mink was saying in her silkiest voice. “True love is not to be trifled with!” She laughed a tinkling silver laugh and walked away. Orville called out a good night from inside.
Vera remained where she was until long after Octavia went past. She tried to get her emotions under control. Count on me? True love? The very idea of a couple pledging true love to each other after a week was enough to make the fox snarl.
She wanted nothing more than to bolt home and cry. Or possibly find Lenore and vent. Or run away from Shady Hollow forever, just like Julia Elkin tried to do.
The thought of Julia made Vera catch her breath. She had a job to do, and a bruised heart wasn’t going to stop her from doing it. She resolved to march into the police station and speak with Orville just as if nothing had ever happened between them. After all, he’d moved on. Why shouldn’t she?
Vera took a deep breath and left her hiding spot. She took the last few steps to the door of the station and then went in, nonchalantly calling out, “Orville? Still at work?”
The bear was sitting at his desk, a pile of papers in front of him. He looked up in surprise. “Vera! Where’ve you been? Didn’t you hear me call you earlier today?”
“Oh, that was you?” Vera asked. “I had to run, or I was going to miss the ferry to Elm Grove.”
His eyes narrowed. “What’s in Elm Grove?”
“A lead for a story…or not. Not sure it panned out.”
He relaxed. “Oh, you were researching a story? That’s good to hear. I kind of thought…well, never mind.”
“Never mind what?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t know what you were up to, since I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Well, we’ve both been quite busy,” Vera said. “I’ve been working, and you’ve been…” Dancing! she wanted to say.
“Working,” Orville agreed, with a heavy sigh. He patted the stack of papers. “Seems like every time I turn around, there’s more work. Sure could use a break.” Then he smiled at her. “Maybe we could grab a bite of dinner?”
Vera almost snapped out a no, but then changed her mind. She smiled back. “Sure, why not? We can get something delivered from The Bamboo Patch and eat while we work.”
“More work?” he asked plaintively.
“Yes, I want to compare notes about Julia’s murder. You have been working on it, I trust?”
“I thought I told you to avoid that line of inquiry.” Orville stood up, and the chair behind his desk squeaked as if alarmed to be so close to such a large creature.
“And did you really think I’d listen?” Vera asked. “I do what I think is best.”
“You sure do.” Orville looked down at his desk, shaking his head. “All right, tell me what you want for dinner and we’ll get to work.”
Vera was a little surprised he acquiesced, but didn’t have the time to consider what it meant. She pulled out her notebook, ready to ask him some questions.