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“What have you done in the past?” I ask.
“I was a paralegal for a while, which was good money at least. Then there was the law school debacle. Some retail jobs. I was very good at selling cutlery.”
“What did you love doing when you were a child?” Amity asks. “That’s what I asked myself when my boys grew up and I wanted to get back to work. I loved writing stories when I was a little girl. It was pure joy. So that’s what I returned to.”
I’m glad Amity didn’t ask me what I loved doing as a child. I don’t remember wanting much other than to have everyone home all the time. I wanted to know my father, tohavea father, and to bounce on my grandfather’s knee like my grandmother said I used to do. I wanted my mother there too. To have all of them around the table for dinner every day, like families in books.
“When I was a kid?” Wyatt says. “That’s easy. I loved performing. I’d put on shows for my family all the time. We had a drama program in middle school, but by eighth grade I was six foot three, had a staggering case of acne, and hair the color of Orangina. I wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence. I gathered all my courage and triedout forThe Music Manand got cast as the understudy for Harold Hill. I never expected to go on, but there was a vicious stomach bug going around, and I had to step in on opening night. And boy, did we have trouble in River City.”
“What happened?” I say.
“Early in act one, I hurled.”
“You mean you—” Amity stops in her tracks.
“Yup.” Wyatt turns to face us. “Projectile vomited all over Marian the Librarian.”
“The school librarian?” I say.
“No, Micaela Finkelstein, who played the leading lady.”
“Oh my god,” I say.
“I was mortified. I rushed offstage to clean up, and while I was back there, Amaryllis and Unnamed Townsman Number Three threw up too. It was a nasty virus, and the show was canceled. After that, I pulled the plug on my acting career.”
“Why?” Amity says. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Too traumatic. I joined the stage crew. Much safer. I like helping other people shine. Besides, the small stage of retail has its charms.”
Wyatt picks up his pace and then says, “Shit!” and lifts one foot. “I’ve stepped in horse crap.” It’s a huge pile, right in the middle of the path. I don’t know how he didn’t see it.
“Oh dear,” Amity says. “A hazard of country life.” She takes a wet wipe out of her purse and hands it to Wyatt, who’s scraping the bottom of his shoe against a rock. “Here you go, friend.”
When Wyatt’s shoe is clean enough, we continue walking, following the path until we’re behind Tracy’s building, where we turn down the narrow lane that brings us back to the village green. The stationer’s is on the next block. On the way, we pass a fishmonger’s with a pile of golden smoked fish, splayed out flat, in the window.
“Those are kippers,” I say. “My mother used to love kippers and scrambled eggs.”
“I’ve only encountered them in British literature,” Amity says. “InThe Remains of the Day, the butler serves them to Lord Darlington. For breakfast.” She shudders.
“That’s four things now.” Wyatt’s voice rises with excitement. “Swans, bluebells, a crooked spire, and kippers.”
“Which were not in my mother’s story,” I say.
“But they’re British, so still significant,” Wyatt says. “That settles it. We’re getting two bulletin boards. One to solve the fake murder of Tracy Penny—”
“And one to figure out why Cath’s mother wanted to bring her to Willowthrop,” Amity says.
“Guys, come on, my mother is not why you’re here. I promise you, whatever brought her here is not worth the trouble. Let’s just focus on the fake murder.”
“And leave your story unsolved?” Wyatt says. “Not a chance.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Selina and Bix are in the back of the stationer’s shop with Bert Lott, who has the build of a former college athlete who’s gone soft around the middle. Bix sees us coming down the aisle and, in a loud and stilted voice, says, “That’s extremely interesting,” like he’s trying to make us think we’ve arrived on the heels of a big reveal.
“What’s interesting about plumbing problems at the salon?” Selina says.
“Why would you say that?” Bix says to his wife through clenched teeth. “Are you trying to lose this thing?”