Rainwater texted that he had to work late again. He said he needed to finish up some paperwork before we left for our honeymoon. It was becoming more and more obvious to me that I might set out for Vermont and never find out what had happened to that mint edition of Walden.
The thought of not knowing ate me up inside. It was a valuable book, but it meant more to me to know the truth about what happened to it and to Roma Winterbourne. I had to find it for Imogene and return it for her. Yes, she was a little batty about the book, and her theory about being Thoreau’s great-great-great-great-granddaughter was far-fetched at best, but she truly believed it. My conversation with her earlier that day proved that to me. I was afraid of what she might do to herself if she could not get her book back.
A quote from Walden came to my mind. This one was unheeded by the shop’s essence, and one that I knew from my years of study. Thoreau wrote:
A man is rich in proportion to the number of things which he can afford to let alone.
Thoreau would not be impressed by me if this was what he believed. I knew that. There was very little I could “let alone,” and Imogene’s book was not one of the things I could ignore—not by a long shot.
When they’d found Roma’s body, I remembered overhearing Rainwater and one of his officers saying that there was a matchbook for the Starlight B&B in her coat pocket. It was a detail I had soon forgotten in all the uproar around me, but it came back now.
It may be a waste of time. In fact, I knew that it would be, but I decided to go check out the B&B. Maybe seeing it in person would help me brainstorm. When the shop closed at seven, I said goodbye to the last customers and locked the front door.
Faulkner flapped his wings high in the birch tree. “Let alone. Let alone!” he crowed.
I squinted at him. “You are contradicting the shop. I can’t let the case alone when the shop’s essence is telling me to find out what’s going on. I thought you and the shop were on the same team.”
“Let alone! Let alone!” he repeated.
I shook my head and got my heavy winter coat from the coat tree. It made me look like Violet Beauregarde, the blueberry girl from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but it was cold out and keeping warm was my number one priority on a Western New York December evening. I added a white hat with a pom-pom on top and a matching scarf.
Emerson appeared out of nowhere, looked up at me, and yowled. He would give anything to get his claws on the pom-pom on the top of my head.
“My hat is not a cat toy.”
Emerson laid his ears back in disgust. Faulkner cackled in the branches of the birch tree. I didn’t know if the crow was laughing at the fact that Emerson had been thwarted or at how ridiculous I looked. If it was both, I would not blame him.
I had to dress warm. The temperatures were in the teens and dropping fast. After the relatively mild weather around my wedding day, Cascade Springs was now gearing up for a very cold Christmas.
Driving a car didn’t seem practical. In the time it took my Mini to warm up, I could walk to the B&B. And walking would give me time to plan a strategy. I didn’t think I could walk up to the B&B owner and just ask him to tell me what he knew about Roma. It was a small town, yes, but they had to—or should—respect their guests’ privacy.
When my snow boots were on, Emerson ran to the front door and waited. “No, not tonight. I’m not going into the woods. I have to run an errand.” Maybe it was silly not to tell the cat exactly where I was headed. But by not telling him, I was implying that I believed he could understand English. And the truth was that he might. The shop’s essence has taught me that anything was possible.
Emerson sat in front of the door with his thin black tail flicking back in forth, clearly annoyed.
“Emerson, move away from the door.”
He didn’t even blink.
“Fine! I’ll go out the back door then.” I spun around and ran to the back of the shop. Emerson took off and ran ahead of me. I made a sharp turn back around and flew out the front door, closing and locking it behind me before he had the chance to turn around again.
I skipped down the porch steps of Charming Books with a spring in my step. I’d outfoxed the cat this time. But it would likely be the last. I glanced over my shoulder and spied Emerson in the front window yowling. I frowned. Maybe I shouldn’t be so cheery about tricking the tuxie. He’d find a way to get even. He always did.
A walk through Cascade Springs the evening before Christmas Eve was like a stroll through an old New England Christmas card. The homes were lit up and cozy. Swirls of smoke billowed out of chimneys all over the village, and evergreens were tethered in place with bright red velvet bows to every fence and pole.
A dusting of fresh snow covered every surface. It seemed like someone from above had sprinkled powdered sugar on the world to make it just a little sweeter.
Instead of walking toward the river, I walked away from it and into the village neighborhoods. Cascade Springs had a very rigid building code for any new home built in the historic district or any changes made to existing homes or buildings in that district. Although there were many styles and periods represented from Colonial to Victorian, each house had its own character.
Charming Books used to be one of those old homes until it was transformed into a bookshop. My great-grandmother had been the one who’d made the sprawling Victorian house into a bookshop nearly one hundred years ago. I don’t think that the village committee on historic buildings would have let that happen today.
I walked out of my neighborhood into the bird neighborhood, which was called that because every street had been given a bird name. A new snow began to fall.
Cascade Springs had a thriving arts district that was established in the late 1800s. Even before Columbus landed in the Americas, people came to the hot springs in Cascade Springs for the healing waters. By the time my ancestress Rosalee arrived during the War of 1812—after her husband died in the Battle of Lake Erie—the springs had become a bona fide tourist attraction and a common side trip for travelers to Niagara Falls just a few miles away.
Rosalee had recognized that the specialness of the water went beyond the healing powers of a drink and a good soak. She began to water the birch tree and noticed the effects it had. Seeing that the water gave the tree powers, she literally built her house around the birch tree. Rosalee used her gift from the tree’s essence to heal people of their aliments. It wasn’t until my great-grandmother turned the house into a bookshop that messages from the essence became conveyed through books, and it wasn’t until I’d become the Caretaker that those messages were used to solve crimes. With every generation, the water bestowed the Caretaker with a unique gift. None were exactly the same.
The snowflakes caught the light as they fell, and I could almost make out the unique patterns of the ones falling closest to me.
Mesmerized by the falling snow, the lights, and the glitter of the season, I didn’t realize I was being followed until I heard a meow.
I spun around on the snowy sidewalk to see Emerson strolling behind me like I was the Pied Piper and he was a mouse. Not that I thought Emerson would like being compared to a mouse. He was a proud cat and certainly would find that analogy offensive.
“Emerson Waverly, what on earth do you think you’re doing? I thought I told you to stay home.”
He cocked his head as if he didn’t understand what I was saying. Oh, sure, now my words didn’t make sense to the cat. It was a clear case of selective understanding.
I pointed in the direction of Charming Books. “Go home.”
He started walking toward me.
I shook my head, hoping I could hold my ground, but I knew it was a lost battle. I said, “Go home.”
He kept walking.
I put my hands on my hips. “If you’re going to insist on coming with me everywhere, I need to get you a leash and walk you properly.”
He arched his back at the idea.
“Fine. It’s too cold for you to be walking on the frozen sidewalk.” I unzipped my enormous coat. “Jump in.”
He ran toward me, jumped inside my coat, and settled in. I thought he might fall out the bottom, but he fit in quite snugly. It wasn’t a good look for me. Between the puffy blueberry coat and the cat snuggled down right above my bellybutton, I looked about six months pregnant. Seeing as how I hadn’t even been married for a week, the tongues would start wagging if people saw me now. For extra security, I held my right arm around my waist to hold the cat in place.
The sooner I finished this errand, the sooner I could remove the cat and the coat from my person.
I picked up the pace for the rest of the walk to the Starlight B&B.
It was a narrow, plain brick home reminiscent of Edgar Allan Poe’s house in Baltimore. I stepped through the door, and a bell rang on the inner doorknob.
“Hello?” the elderly man behind the desk said. He wore a suit jacket over a stiffly pressed white shirt and ascot. To my recollection, I had never seen a person wear an ascot as normal everyday clothing before. Not even Richard.
“May I grant you some assistance?” His tone and manner of speech was as formal as his clothing. It made me wonder if the ascot brought it on or vice versa.
“Hi, I’m Violet Waverly from Charming Books.” I had no idea why I thought this introduction would give me an in with the ascot-wearing man, but Cascade Springs was too small of a town to hide your identity anyway, especially if you were local.
“I’m Jameson Horner, the owner of the Starlight B&B, the most dignified B&B in Cascade Springs.” He said this as if he were reading it off of a brochure. “Violet Waverly. Then that makes you the mayor’s granddaughter.” He shook his head. “I never thought I would see the day that a Waverly became the mayor of this town. Your people weren’t that well-respected for a long time, you know.”
From inside my coat, I heard Emerson hiss softly. He’d found the B&B owner’s comment offensive too.
“Well, I for one am happy to see it,” he continued. “I have always been fond of strong women, and the Waverly ladies certainly are. My great-grandmother was friends with your family, and the stories I could tell you about your great-great-grandmother being harassed by the other villagers would chill your bones. Not everyone is appreciative of other ways of life, and not everyone is open to let people live how they choose. I do, of course. It’s not my place to judge.”
I relaxed slightly. “That’s a good policy.”
“You’re married, aren’t you?” His eyes shone. “I thought I remember getting a wedding invitation from Mayor Daisy herself. I couldn’t go, unfortunately. I’m not one for crowds or the cold, and that event had both.”
“I understand,” I said.
“You’re not a Waverly any longer, then?” he asked.
“I am. I’m not changing my name. My husband doesn’t mind. He knows my family legacy is important to me.”
“Ahh, that’s something else I like to see—these more modern marriages. It does my heart good to hear that.” He pressed his right hand to his chest as if he were about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. A large emerald ring sparkled on his ring finger. “Now, how can I help you? You aren’t in need of a room at the B&B, are you? You have Charming Books. Or maybe you are? You need to find a nice place to get away with that handsome police chief husband of yours. He is the nicest looking man, and so strong and dignified too.” He sighed. “A man like that isn’t easy to find. You were wise to snap him when you did.”
I smiled. “Chief Rainwater is a fine man. I’ll make sure to tell him he has an admirer.”
“Oh, please do.” He blushed.
“I’m actually here about a guest you recently had staying with you.” I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
He peered at me over his glasses. “And who would that be? I always have a rotating door of guests. As you should know, Cascade Springs is a very popular tourist destination any season of the year, but Christmas is especially so. I’ve even had some celebrities from New York City stay here. Broadway stars, in fact!” He ended that statement by rattling off a list of names I didn’t recognize. I did my best to appear impressed because I didn’t want to offend him. They could have all been very famous stage actors, but I spent most of my leisure time on research for my next project, not on theater. It was clear that Jameson was not as concerned about his guests’ privacy as I thought he would be. That might work in my favor.
“I’m looking for information about Roma Winterbourne,” I said.
“Oh.” He pressed a hand to his chest again. “The dead woman. My, what a shock when that very unfriendly police officer came in on Sunday morning, insisting that he see where Roma had been staying. He woke me up. I make it very clear to my guests that Sunday is my sleep-in day and breakfast will be a brunch served at noon. I think they really like that. Who wants to get up early on Sunday?” He wrinkled his nose. “I suppose if you have to go to church, but now I watch church online in my pajamas. My church has gone high tech. It’s lovely. I watch the whole service, but don’t have to make small talk or shake hands. I think that’s how God intended religion to be, don’t you?”
Not from my understanding of Christianity, it wasn’t, but I wasn’t one to judge. My religious education was loose at best since my grandmother was running a magical bookshop and all. She certainly saw things a little differently than other grandmothers.
“What was the officer’s name?” I asked, even though I had a very good guess.
Jameson waved his hand. “Don’t you worry. It wasn’t your husband. He’s nothing but a gentleman. It was Officer Wheaton.”
I figured as much.
“Did Officer Wheaton find anything?”
I felt Emerson shift under my coat. I moved my arm to hold him tight. I didn’t think Jameson wanted my cat running loose in his B&B.
“If he did, he didn’t tell me. I showed him to her room, but he wouldn’t look through her things until after I’d left. The nerve, you know? It wasn’t like I was going to spy on him, and this is my business. I need to keep an eye on things.” He sniffed. “I assume that he searched her possessions after I left. He didn’t take anything that belongs to the B&B, which was what I was afraid of. Trust me, I went up there to check myself after he left. He looked questionable in character, if you ask me.”
I’d thought that about Officer Wheaton a time or two myself.
“Would you mind if I went up to see the room?” I asked. “You can come with me if that makes you more comfortable. I don’t mind.”
“I suppose you could, but there is nothing there. I packed up all her things after the police were through. It’s not rented out yet, but I hope someone makes a reservation soon. Sometimes people like to travel after the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season. I can’t think of a better place to be after the holidays than Cascade Springs, can you?”
I shook my head.
“It’s the perfect winter getaway,” he said. “As for Roma’s things, they are still here. I couldn’t find anyone to take them. The police said she didn’t have any relatives or close friends who they could find to take her things. And they didn’t want them either. What were they going to do with a bunch of women’s clothes? It didn’t feel right to throw her things away, though, so I tucked them away up in the attic. It was a tight squeeze. There is a lot up there. Whenever I don’t know what to do with something, it goes into the attic. When I die, my nieces and nephews will have a treasure hunt up there. There could be valuable items—or not. I just don’t know.” He pressed a hand to his back. “I’d go up and get it for you, but I hurt my back yesterday. My housekeeper mopped the kitchen, and I didn’t know that when I walked in there. Next thing I knew, my legs were in the air and my back was on the floor.”
My eyes widened. “Oh no, did you get hurt?”
“I went to the doctor.” He reached behind and rubbed his back. “It’s just a bruised spine, but I have to take it easy, so no trips to the attic for me.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t more serious. I don’t mind climbing up to the attic if you give me a general idea of where her things are,” I said.
“Well, I don’t think you’d run off with anything like Officer Wheaton might have. You are the mayor’s granddaughter after all. But…” He pulled on his collar. “You don’t think that’s a good idea, do you? In your,” he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “Your condition.”
“My condition?” I wrinkled my brow in confusion.
His face flushed. “I would never ask a woman so noticeably with child to climb into that old attic. It would be cruel.”
I looked down at my coat and the bulge. “I’m not pregnant.” I unzipped the coat, and Emerson’s head popped out like a jack-in-the-box.
Jameson fainted dead away.