Chapter Twelve
Tris and Todd were busy fawning over Aunt Octavia’s collection of Meissen figures and Staffordshire teapots when Jane entered the room.
“Ah, here’s my lovely niece.” Aunt Octavia smiled at Jane. “I was just telling Mr. and Mrs. Petty how much I adore their books. Some people go starry-eyed over actors or musicians. Not me. Authors are the only celebrities I want to meet.”
Todd gave a small bow. “Most people don’t consider us celebrities. In fact, authors are pretty invisible. Our books go out into the world while we stay at home. I can’t tell you how many times Tris and I have sat at a book signing without talking to anyone. It’s hard on the ego, to be ignored like that.”
“It’s downright humiliating,” Tris said over the rim of her crystal tumbler. “The last time we did a signing at a chain bookstore, the only person to speak to us was looking for the restroom.”
“That’s awful,” Jane said, and meant it. As much as she disliked the Pettys, she’d never stopped to consider that an author’s life might be filled with isolation and insecurity.
Aunt Octavia clucked her tongue in sympathy and gestured for the Pettys to sit on the sofa across from her. She then glanced at Jane. “Pour a drink and join us, dear.”
Jane examined the contents of the cocktail cart. Uncle Aloysius had certainly opened the good stuff. Picking up the bottle of twenty-year-old bourbon, Jane inhaled subtle orange and peach aromas. She studied the fox on the label, thinking that it was the perfect symbol for this meeting. Aunt Octavia needed to have a fox’s cunning to deal with Todd and Tris Petty.
“May I top off your cocktails before I sit?” Jane asked her guests.
“Why not?” Todd held out his glass.
Tris gulped down the rest of her cocktail before saying, “Just a splash. I don’t like to drink on an empty stomach.”
Aunt Octavia told Jane to pour generously before turning a radiant smile on Tris. “There’ll be no empty stomachs, sweet lady. I took the liberty of calling down to the kitchens and ordering some nibbles for us. They should be arriving any minute now.”
Their drinks refreshed, the Pettys began to talk about what it was like to be a career writer. By the time the food trolley appeared, they were on their third round of cocktails. Their eyes were bright, their cheeks were flushed, and their speech had become loud and animated.
“Oh, I love these pig-in-a-blanket thingies,” Tris said, loading her plate with food.
“Reminds me of that local grocery store guy who pitched to Gunnar,” Todd said derisively. “As if anyone wants to read about pigs. Dirty, stupid animals. He should write a book about bacon instead.”
Jane bit back a retort. She wanted to defend Tobias Hogg and pigs everywhere, but she didn’t dare cross swords with the Pettys until she’d gotten what she needed from them.
Tris barked out a laugh. “Aspiring authors are such a sad bunch. They’re so desperate. They’d trade their firstborn children for the chance to be published. We were lucky. We never had to suffer through humiliating pitch sessions or write query letters. Gunnar contacted us after reading our stories in a national children’s magazine. We never had to grovel. We just did what we do best, and now, we’re on bookstore shelves all over the country.”
“It must be marvelous to work for someone who recognizes your talent,” said Aunt Octavia. “How long have you been with Peppermint Press?”
This question opened the floodgates, allowing Tris and Todd to share countless grievances about their employers. Listening to them complain about illustrators, publicists, cover artists, marketing reps, and other authors, one would assume that the Pettys had always hated working for Peppermint Press.
“Don’t get me wrong, we were happy in the beginning,” Tris said at one point. “Things were better when Gunnar steered the ship. He discovered us. He offered us a contract. Not her.”
“He treated us with the respect we were due,” Todd was quick to add. “But when that uppity Nia took over as publisher, things went downhill. She doesn’t know how valuable we are. Gives no-talent hacks like Birdie Bloom all the attention.”
“And a big marketing budget,” Tris said before emptying her glass for the fourth time.
Todd’s use of the word “uppity” made Jane squirm. Unable to hide her disgust, she walked over to the cocktail cart and refilled her club soda. She carried the glass back to the sofa and cast a sidelong glance at Aunt Octavia. She responded with a brief nod. Now that the Pettys were sufficiently lubricated, it was time to find out what they knew of Gloria Ramirez.
“I was beginning to think this trip was a total waste,” Tris said before Aunt Octavia could get a word in. “Your invitation has been the first nice thing to happen to us since we left New York.”
“The honor is all mine,” Aunt Octavia gushed. “I’m sure you needed a distraction. I heard that everyone is focused on the missing woman. You’re both in the know when it comes to the publishing world. What can you tell me about her?”
“Gloria Ramirez?” Todd shrugged as if a missing woman was of no consequence. “She started out as an assistant editor. Did a decent enough job and got promoted. After a few years, she and Gunnar were thick as thieves. Rumor has it that she refused to stay in her lane, so Gunnar let her go. She wanted to make all kinds of changes—said the company would become more profitable by being forward-thinking—but it was his company. He wanted to keep things as they were. He was right too. Nothing wrong with sticking to tradition.”
Aunt Octavia looked genuinely puzzled. “Forgive me, but there are certain idioms I’m not familiar with. What does ‘stay in one’s lane’ mean?”
Tris put a hand on Todd’s arm, signaling that she’d answer the question. “Gloria was making decisions above her pay grade. She wasn’t the CEO of Peppermint Press. She had all these crazy ideas about which direction the company should take—”
“She wanted to control everything. Even us,” Todd interrupted, his cheeks flushed with outrage. “She told us to write more inclusive stories, whatever the hell that means. We ignored her. We know what kids like. They like fights between good guys and bad guys. Monsters and heroes. Buried treasure and magic. Our characters eat candy, not kale. Gloria didn’t get it.”
Tris nodded in agreement and continued her narrative. “Gloria kept pushing her ideas on everyone at Peppermint Press. Gunnar finally put her in charge of a new imprint—probably just to keep her busy—and she signed a bunch of new authors and had a huge launch party. But her grand scheme failed. Gunnar shut down the imprint soon after his daughter died.”
“That’s right,” added Todd. “He took a leave of absence. When he got back, he was a different man. He wanted Peppermint Press to go back to the way it had been before Gloria came along. He wasn’t interested in market trends or pumping out politically correct garbage. He kicked Gloria to the curb, and she went to work for Baxter Books.”
“She ruined things for us,” Tris said. “Between Gloria screwing up and his kid dying, Gunnar was mad at the whole world. There were no more dinners with our editors and agents. No more lunches celebrating a new contract. No one invited us to swing by the offices for coffee and a chat. Gunnar lowered the portcullis. He raised it later for Birdie and a new wave of authors; those of us who were at Peppermint Press during Gloria’s time got pushed into a dark corner. Thanks to her, we became the ugly stepsisters. A bunch of the older authors left—moved to other publishers. But we’re loyal. We stayed.”
I bet you didn’t get any other offers, Jane thought.
Aunt Octavia smiled sympathetically at Tris. “That must have been very difficult.” She gestured at the food trolley. “Won’t you have something else to eat? Our head cook will be very disappointed to find leftovers.”
As the Pettys filled their plates for the second time, Aunt Octavia resumed control of the conversation.
“It sounds like you survived a time of genuine turmoil at Peppermint Press. Changes in direction. Uncertainty about the future. Mr. Humphries taking a leave of absence. Exactly how did he lose his daughter?”
Todd was uncertain. He looked at his wife. “Car accident?”
“No, it wasn’t a car accident. It was a shock, though, because she was young and healthy. I think she was pregnant too. I remember our editor mentioning something about a baby.” She pointed at a platter of fried dumplings. “Anyone want these? Otherwise, I’ll gobble them up.”
Spoken like a witch in a fairy tale, Jane thought.
After telling Tris to help herself, Aunt Octavia fell silent. She and Jane waited for the Pettys to elaborate on the sudden death of Gunnar’s daughter.
Instead, they focused on themselves, repeating many of the same complaints they’d mentioned while still on their first cocktails.
Jane observed them as they spoke. Tris or Todd hadn’t liked Gloria. But would they punish her for something that happened so long ago? Did they blame Gunnar for their declining success and lack of job satisfaction? Or did they blame Gloria?
Todd tossed back the contents of his glass and set it down on the antique cherry side table. Jane hurriedly retrieved the glass before a moisture ring could stain the polished wood.
When Tris thrust out her empty tumbler, Jane took it without offering a refill. She’d had enough of the truculent couple.
In that, she wasn’t alone. Aunt Octavia made a show of looking at the mantel clock. “How quickly time passes. I should freshen up before dinner. Thank you for entertaining an old woman. If any new details come to mind regarding Ms. Ramirez, please let Jane know. We’re all very concerned about her.”
Todd got to his feet and tugged his sweater down over his belly. “I wouldn’t worry about Gloria. She’s probably slumming it with one of the local yokels.”
Aunt Octavia’s eyes turned hard. “I may not recognize certain idioms, Mr. Petty, but I don’t need an urban dictionary to deduce the meaning of that phrase. I would like to remind you that I am a local yokel. Should any of Storyton Hall’s guests choose to slum it with me, I’d be most pleased. Good evening.”
Too late, Todd realized his mistake.
“I, ah, what I meant is—”
Todd’s stammered backpedaling was interrupted by the appearance of Muffet Cat. Though the portly tuxedo had probably been snoozing under the sofa, he seemed to have materialized from thin air. He now sat on his wide haunches, glaring at Aunt Octavia’s guests with the silent hostility only a feline can muster.
“It’s a cat,” said Tris with a mixture of trepidation and revulsion.
Muffet Cat’s glower intensified.
“Don’t mind him.” Aunt Octavia beamed at the pudgy feline. “He doesn’t scratch. He has been known to bite, but not out of malice. If he smells food on a person’s hand, he can get confused and . . .” She made a chomping sound with her teeth.
Tris hopped up and edged toward the door, murmuring something about dinner plans.
Aunt Octavia waved imperially. “Don’t let me keep you.” She then patted one of the many pockets of her leopard-print housedress. “Would you like a treat, my handsome boy?”
Muffet Cat growled in the Pettys’ direction before jumping onto Aunt Octavia’s lap.
Todd and Tris practically ran out of the apartment. Jane took no small measure of satisfaction in slamming the door behind them.
“Vermin.” Aunt Octavia shook her head in distaste. “Their surname suits them perfectly. They keep score of everything and are envious of everyone. They’re quick to insult and to judge others harshly. The fact that Muffet Cat felt compelled to abandon his evening nap to defend us speaks volumes.”
“They’re awful people. But are they murderers?”
“Mrs. Petty said that Ms. Ramirez ruined everything for them. If ever two people could hold a grudge, it’s that couple.” Aunt Octavia sighed. “To think they write books for children. It’s hard to imagine. Children are like cats. They know when people dislike them.”
“In this case, kids like the stories, not the authors. The Pettys write books for beginning readers. The books are straightforward and repetitive, with lots of rhyming words—good elements for a child learning to read. I can see why Gunnar is asking them to be more imaginative, though. Compared to many books at the same level, theirs are a bit flat.”
Aunt Octavia stroked Muffet Cat’s head. He turned on his back and wriggled until his belly and throat were exposed. Aunt Octavia scratched under his chin, and he purred loudly.
“They don’t like children.” Aunt Octavia put her hands over Muffet Cat’s ears. “They don’t like cats. They don’t like their boss or their coworkers. The success of other authors sickens them. They’re the type of people who can never be satisfied. Which begs the question. What makes these people happy? What motivates them?”
Jane thought carefully before answering. “Money. Status. Recognition.”
“Does Ms. Ramirez’s death help them achieve those things?”
“No. Not even when the media gets wind of what’s happened here. The killer is anonymous.”
Aunt Octavia looked worried. “For now. When I think of the fairy-tale books and the tableaus created by the killer, I get the sense that these murders might be acts of vengeance.”
“I’ll have to speak with Gunnar again tomorrow. I need to know what kinds of changes Gloria made and whose toes may have been stepped on in the process. She obviously made an enemy. She did something serious enough to enrage her killer.”
“You should also find out what happened to his daughter. Losing a child changes a person. Forever. If Mr. Humphries took his grief out on the Pettys, they won’t have forgiven him for it. He could be in danger.”
Recalling Gunnar’s pallor and weakness, Jane’s heartbeat quickened. What if he wasn’t coming down with a common cold? What if someone had deliberately made him ill?
Jane thanked Aunt Octavia and raced down the staff stairs. After locating Butterworth, she pulled him into a quiet corner and asked if he’d delivered chicken soup to Gunnar Humphries yet.
“Less than an hour ago,” said Butterworth. “After meeting you in the library, Mr. Humphries rested in his room. I called to make sure he was awake before delivering the soup. He ate it all, along with a buttered roll. When I returned to collect the tray, he’d rallied a bit. There was more color to his cheeks. I asked if he required any medicine. He demurred, stating that the soup had done him a world of good. He planned to read in bed before retiring for the night. I offered to stop back in an hour or so with a pot of sleep-inducing tea, and he accepted my offer.”
“I’m glad he’s feeling better. However, we need to monitor everything he eats and drinks from now on.” Jane shared her concern that Gunnar could be the next victim. “Kristen was poisoned. Lachlan thinks Gloria was too. So now I’m wondering if Gunnar’s cold is just a cold.”
Butterworth put a hand on Jane’s shoulder. “I believe Mr. Humphries is under the weather and that he’ll be better tomorrow. However, I’ll keep a close eye on him. After the dinner service, I’ll return to his room with tea. I will also deliver a breakfast tray in the morning. Speaking of meals, isn’t it time for you to head home? Mr. Humphries isn’t the only one who can pay a price for overdoing it.”
“I’ll go as soon as I catch you up on the evening’s events.” Jane quickly summarized the meeting with the Pettys. When she was done, Butterworth promised to share the information with the other Fins.
“Ask Sinclair to find out what happened to Gunnar’s daughter,” Jane said as she turned to go. “I don’t know if it’s relevant, but tragedy can change a person.”
Looking solemn, Butterworth helped Jane into her coat. “Try to let this go until morning. Sheriff Evans may have news for us by then.”
Jane pulled her hat over her ears. “It’s hard to leave knowing a killer might be wandering these halls tonight.”
Butterworth’s expression turned steely. “If so, I’ll be waiting.”
* * *
Jane hurried through Milton’s Gardens and across the Great Lawn, pulling her coat collar closed as the night air tried to wriggle under her scarf. Temperatures had dropped since sunset, causing the melted snow to freeze. Frost kissed the grass, and a skein of ice covered the walkways. The night sky was a cloudless, deep plum. A slim moon gave off very little light.
Opening her front door, Jane stepped into a bubble of warmth and laughter.
“Mom? Is that you?” Fitz shouted from the kitchen.
“Yes!” she called back.
Hem darted into the hallway. As Jane unbuttoned her coat, Hem wagged a finger at her. “Don’t come into the kitchen. We’re working on a surprise.”
“I hope it has to do with food. I’m starved.”
Hem’s face glowed with pleasure. “You have to wait and see. Can you stay in the living room?”
“Sure. Unless you want me to set the table.”
“No!” Fitz bellowed from the kitchen.
Jane laughed. “Edwin, are things under control in there?”
“You’d better listen to my assistant chefs or you’ll be having gruel for supper.”
“Don’t go all Mr. Bumble on me,” Jane said. “I’ll do as I’m told.”
She went upstairs, kicked off her shoes, and shrugged out of her suit coat. After changing into jeans and a sapphire-blue wool sweater, she unwound her hair from its bun and ran a brush through it. She then slid her feet into well-worn slippers and headed back downstairs.
Her current read, Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere, sat in the middle of the coffee table, along with a martini glass.
“Did the Cocktail Fairy pay me a visit?” she called out.
“Yep!” Fitz shouted back. “That’s your pom granite martini.”
Jane heard Edwin’s chuckle, followed by a flurry of whispering, before Fitz added, “Pomegranate.”
Grinning, Jane raised the glass to her lips. In addition to the pomegranate, the cocktail had lime and orange notes. It was bright and crisp with a hint of citrus, and it instantly eased some of the tension from Jane’s shoulders.
She managed to enjoy several sips and an equal number of pages before Hem entered the room with a white dishtowel draped over his forearm. Without a trace of self-consciousness, he bowed and said, “May I show you to your table?”
“I didn’t realize I’d be dining at a fancy restaurant,” Jane said as she looped her arm through her son’s. “I should have kept my work clothes on.”
“You always look pretty, Mom,” said Hem.
Jane smiled and thanked him. He pulled out her chair, and Fitz zipped forward to place a napkin on her lap.
Edwin appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. With an inscrutable expression that would have done Butterworth proud, he intoned, “Dinner is served.”
The boys scooted back into the kitchen to fetch the food.
“These are fried mozzarella hearts,” explained Hem as he put his platter on the table. “Don’t take one yet. They’re hot, and I have to get the marinara dip. It’s like a mini pizza, and it won’t taste as good without the sauce.”
“This is our vegetable,” Fitz said, setting his platter down with a flourish. “Roasted rainbow carrots. Mr. Alcott said that rainbow carrots taste better than regular carrots.”
Jane glanced at Edwin. “I can’t wait to try them. And the mozzarella hearts too. This food is beautiful, gentlemen.”
“Beautiful food for a beautiful woman,” said Edwin.
The twins exchanged eye rolls, which made Jane and Edwin laugh.
Dishes were passed around. Edwin filled glasses with water and added lemon slices to each glass. While they ate, the twins talked about their class Valentine’s party.
“Ms. Miller liked our cards the most,” Fitz said, reaching for another mozzarella heart. “She didn’t say it, but we could tell.”
“We were the only ones who made something. Everyone else got their stuff at a store.”
Jane gestured at the food on the table. “I love that my three favorite guys had the talent to create this wonderful dinner. But even if you’d ordered pizza from over the mountain, I’d still be happy. The best part about it is that you wanted to do something special for me. Ms. Miller was happy because her students wanted to make her feel special. It doesn’t matter how they did it.”
Hem shrugged. He was too busy submerging his mozzarella heart in marinara to respond to his mother’s short lecture.
Fitz speared a carrot on his fork but didn’t eat it. “She got a huge box of chocolate too. The biggest one in the Pickled Pig! It looks like a giant pink flower.”
“Mr. Hogg said that he orders one every year just to see if someone will buy it,” Jane explained to Edwin. “If no one does, he buys it for his girlfriend.”
“She’s lucky,” Hem murmured. “There’s like, a thousand pieces of chocolate in there.”
Jane remembered seeing the giant, rose-shaped box on the highest shelf in the market’s candy section. Its unusual shape and hot-pink hue made it impossible to miss.
“You should have seen the card that came with it,” Fitz went on.
“It was a pop-up, like we made,” Hem added. “But way better.”
Fitz turned to him. “It was just some flowers and a question mark. That’s not better.”
Edwin rubbed his chin. “I wonder what this mystery person wanted to ask Ms. Miller.”
“He’s not a mystery person. It’s the man who taught us how to make the pop-up books. And he probably wants to kiss her,” Hem said.
Fitz locked eyes with his brother. “I hope they don’t do it at school.”
The boys sniggered before attacking their food with fresh gusto.
Jane waited until they were distracted before looking at Edwin. He grinned at her before blowing her a kiss. She caught the air kiss and pressed her closed fist against her heart.
“Save some room, Mom,” Fitz warned when Jane resumed eating.
Hem glanced down at his empty plate. “We have another course.”
Dessert was an array of exotic fruits. They were so exotic that Jane couldn’t identify any of them.
“Remember when you came to the restaurant the other night, and I asked the boys if they wanted to be adventurous eaters?” Edwin asked Jane. “I told them that being adventurous means trying new things, even if those new things look or smell strange. I thought we’d start our culinary adventure with fruit because it’s usually sweet. For this evening’s dessert, Fitz and Hem learned to peel and slice three new-to-them fruits. They are now ready to taste kumquat, lychee, and jackfruit.”
Jane had never heard of jackfruit, let alone tried one. After sampling a slice of each fruit, the diners ranked them from favorite to least favorite. When every piece had been eaten, Edwin offered to clean up the kitchen while Jane and the twins set up a board game.
“Can we play backgammon?” Fitz asked.
Hem’s eyes were shining. “Please? We’ve been practicing.”
Edwin had taught the twins to play months ago, and they’d been using the backgammon set he’d bought them in Turkey almost nightly. Jane did chores in the kitchen to the rattle of dice hitting wood and the sound of her sons reacting to each other’s moves.
“Great idea,” said Edwin. “You two play first. I’ll take on the winner when I’m done helping your mom.”
Fitz wiped off the table while Hem retrieved the backgammon set from the cupboard where the board games and jigsaw puzzles were kept.
Hem opened the folding case and said, “I want to be black this time. If I win, you have to call me Lord Vader.”
“And if I win, you have to call me Moon Knight. He’s the only cool superhero with a white costume.”
“What about Storm?” Edwin asked.
Fitz was affronted by the suggestion. “I don’t want Hem to call me a girl.”
Jane tried to think of another hero who wore white. Stepping in the room she said, “What about Gandalf? He was Gandalf the Grey until his battle against the Balrog. After that, he became Gandalf the White.”
Fitz shot Hem a look that said, What’s wrong with these people?
Turning to Jane, he said, “He’s a wizard, which is awesome, but he’s old.”
Edwin raised a finger in objection. “Moon Knight is even older than Gandalf. He’s the Egyptian moon god’s avatar on earth, which means he’s really, really old.”
Fitz’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “You read comic books?”
“I used to. And I’ve kept most of them,” Edwin said. “One of these days, I’ll show you my favorites.”
Later, when Jane poked her head in the boys’ room to say good night, Fitz whispered, “Can Mr. Alcott come over more?”
“Yeah. He’s the coolest grown-up we know,” added Hem.
Jane smiled. “He’s the coolest grown-up I know too. Thanks for my wonderful dinner. See you in the morning.”
Downstairs, Edwin stoked the fire while Jane opened a bottle of wine. Once she and Edwin were snuggled under a blanket on the sofa, she toasted his successful dinner. They sipped their wine and spoke in hushed whispers about tomorrow’s play, the popularity of the Storybook Village, and the special Valentine’s events Jane had planned for the visiting families. Finally, they talked about the murders.
Jane told Edwin everything. She shared snippets of conversation, known facts, and wild theories. When she was done, she lamented the presence of the shadow of worry and fear that had fallen over Storyton Hall.
“I want to believe that the killer will be apprehended tomorrow. I want to believe that the weekend I planned for our guests won’t be completely ruined by the horror of two deaths. But right now, it’s hard for me to feel positive. I’d give anything to forget about the things I can’t control for a little while.”
Edwin stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. He then slid his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Jane pressed her palm against Edwin’s chest and felt the drumming of his heart. To her, it was the most beautiful music in the world. It was a love song.
Edwin put a finger under her chin, tilting her mouth upward. He then leaned down to kiss her. Just before his lips met hers, he whispered, “I might be able to help with that.”