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SEVENTEEN

As I walked toward the bookstore, I happened to see the mayor and Chef Patrick talking just outside one of my favorite establishments, Paisley’s Bakery. Named after the owner, who always had an array of delicate pastries, cakes, pies, and just about any other dessert one could imagine. I only allowed myself to visit once a week. It was that tasty.

The two men walked inside, and I followed. I planned to do some eavesdropping, but Paisley caught my eye as I entered. “Two times in one week? I feel honored, Mercy.”

There were several people in line, and they all turned to look at me, including the men I’d followed inside.

“I’m breaking my once-a-week rule for a writing emergency. My next chapter needs some of your chocolate croissants.”

Everyone laughed as if that made all the sense in the world.

She went back to helping the customers in line.

“I’m surprised to see you here, Chef Patrick.”

He gave me a charming smile. “Why is that?”

“Because I figured you could make pretty much anything you wanted.”

“True, but my pastry chef has a cold, and Paisley volunteered to help with the vol-au-vents for tonight’s event.”

“I know those have been on the Great British Bake Off , but I can’t remember what they are.” That was a lie. I only wanted him to relax and talk to me.

“It’s a puff pastry with a filling, right?” the mayor asked.

“It is,” the chef said. “These will be filled with creamy chicken. She made some early for me to try.”

“Do you have a favorite here?” I asked the mayor.

He patted his belly. “A few too many favorites, but I’m always partial to a custard tart. I saw you go into the library earlier today. Are you busy doing research?”

I nearly choked and had to clear my throat. Why would he take notice of where I was going?

“Uh, yes. I’m working on a new book.” That was the truth. “I heard a story I’m thinking about incorporating into one of my books. Actually, you two could help me out with that.”

“How is that?” the chef asked. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

I shrugged. “I heard something through the grapevine. You know how small towns are. It was a story about some missing manuscripts. I saw you two were thought to be involved back in high school. But I know you’d never have anything to do with that.”

Way to just lay it all on the table. If one of them was a killer, I’d probably put myself in their crosshairs.

The mayor bristled. “Of course not. I’m an upstanding citizen and always have been.”

The chef rolled his eyes, and it was all I could do not to laugh.

“Oh, I didn’t think you were,” I said. “I thought maybe you could give me some background on the theft since you were both living here back then. And why did the authorities single you out.”

“Well, that was James’s fault,” the mayor said. “And if anyone took those manuscripts, it was probably him. I’d heard they’d been returned so I don’t see how that is much of a mystery for you.”

“Well, the idea came to me when we found James that day. As terrible as it all was, I noticed a couple of manuscripts on the table of the cottage. From what I understand, the police haven’t been able to identify the writer of one of the manuscripts I saw that day.

“And I have a writer’s brain, so it’s been whirling with ideas ever since.”

“I hadn’t heard that,” Chef Patrick said. “Wouldn’t those have belonged to James?”

I shrugged. “Again, we were so caught up in finding him that I didn’t really look that closely. I’m sure the police are checking them out. My brain is always thinking of scenarios when I find any sort of mystery.”

A look passed between the mayor and chef, one that told me they had a secret they were not about to share.

“Sorry, we can’t help you.” The mayor’s attitude was brusque, as if he wasn’t happy with my digging.

Crud . What was it about that manuscript that made him so bristly? “Like I said, just my writer’s brain going in a million different directions. I’ve been making notes for a possible new book. This always happens when I’m about halfway through my current work in progress. My brain wants to work on something new. I hope I haven’t been too much of a bother. I just thought since you two knew James, you could give me some background.”

The two men looked at one another again, and then the line moved up.

“What exactly is it you want to know?” Patrick asked.

“Well, from what I heard, he was quite popular in high school, and you all were the cool kids’ group.”

They laughed, which was a step in the right direction in calming down the situation.

“I don’t know about that,” Patrick said. “We would probably be called bookish these days. We were all obsessed with the literary world.”

“And for James, women,” the mayor interjected. “It was a game to him, and I’m afraid he broke a few hearts.”

I smiled. “I’m sure you did as well. I saw the pictures from back then; you were, and are, all quite handsome.”

The mayor’s cheeks went pink. “Thank you for that.” He seemed to settle down. “We were just kids, though. I’m guessing you are trying to lead us into what happened with Keeley?”

I blinked. “Oh, right. The woman from your group everyone thought was missing. Yeah, what happened exactly?”

The bakery had gone quiet, and it was as if everyone wanted to hear that answer.

“She was just trying to get out of a bad situation with her family,” Patrick said. “We helped a friend, end of story.”

Then he and the mayor turned around as if to say, that was enough of my prying.

“Right, but from all accounts, her parents were worried sick. And they didn’t seem like awful people.”

The mayor sighed and turned back. “They weren’t. But they didn’t approve of her beau at the time and were forcing her to move back home from the university. And someone in the department where she worked in the university planted evidence to make it look like she’d committed a crime. She hadn’t. But the police didn’t seem to care.

“We were all young and loved her dearly. We gave money, mind you it wasn’t much back then.”

“And we bought her a plane ticket,” Patrick added.

“Then we stalled the authorities, so she had time to make her escape,” the mayor finished.

“That was kind of you. Were the police able to prove her innocence?”

“Aye,” the mayor said. “When she disappeared, they took a harder look at some of her co-workers and found the person skimming the accounts. She was no longer under suspicion.”

“And you’ve all stayed friends through the years?”

Once again, there was a glance between them.

“We haven’t seen her in years, and she’s never come back to Ireland,” Patrick said.

“But the four guys, you all stayed friends?” I asked as if I hadn’t a clue.

The mayor frowned. “As people grow older, they often grow apart,” he said. “As I’ve mentioned before, I kept up with James’s career. But once he left town, he never looked back. No one was more surprised than we were that Lolly and her committee convinced him to return.”

He would have been better off if he’d ignored their invitation, but I didn’t state the obvious.

They were next in line, and the conversation dropped. I hadn’t learned much, but from their faces I judged that they absolutely had helped James steal those manuscripts. Both had cut their eyes to the left and down. I hadn’t missed that tell, which might have indicated guilt, anger, disapproval, or all three. They didn’t like that I’d called them out.

By the time I’d bought the croissants I didn’t need, but would totally end up eating, the two men were nowhere to be found.

I only hoped they didn’t figure out they’d moved to the top of my suspect list, along with Dr. Hughes. The good doctor was doing a book signing that evening at the store, and I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to chat him up again.

At the store, Mr. Poe was behind the counter staring up at Lizzie with adoration. She was busy packaging books, but she gave me a quick wave. “Mr. Poe needs a walk. I left his leash in the office,” she said.

I headed to the back of the store. I couldn’t help but stare at the cabinet that held the secret doorway to the storage area. It was hard to believe it had only been a few days since we’d found Sebrena’s body in there.

I still didn’t know if we were dealing with one killer or two. Nor did I have any solid evidence as to who might have done the dastardly deeds. Though my gut, which I trusted, had narrowed down the list to the group of friends who had a falling out in the past.

A few minutes later, Mr. Poe and I were on our way to my favorite walking path. The wind blew bitterly off the sea, and it was bracing. But it cleared the cobwebs of tangled thoughts clouding my brain. We were several feet from the cliff’s edge when I noticed a strange plant.

“Do you think that’s it?” I asked Mr. Poe.

He cocked his head as if he were thinking about it.

I was no botanist, but the plant looked like the picture I’d found of cuckoo-pint, which was what had been found in James and Sebrena’s systems.

“I can’t believe it just grows out here where anyone might touch it.”

Mr. Poe moved a little closer to sniff the plant, but I pulled him back gently. “We need to stay away from that one, boy. The berries at the bottom of the plant are extremely poisonous.”

As if he understood every word, he backed away.

I smiled. “You really are the smartest fellow I’ve ever met.” I scratched him under his chin, and he licked my fingers. But then his body went rigid.

He yapped softly.

I glanced ahead to see someone coming toward us on the cliff’s path. We were close to the edge, and I backed away to put a few feet between us and the boiling sea below.

“Thanks for the warning, little guy,” I said.

When the figure came closer, I recognized him.

Dr. Finneas Hughes wore another tweed jacket with jeans and wellies. He carried a worn leather journal in his hand. He was staring down at the ground, and I didn’t think he saw us.

“Hi, Doctor Hughes,” I said.

His head snapped up in surprise.

He pointed his pen at me. “You’re that writer.”

“Guilty,” I said. “I wondered if I could ask you a quick question.”

He nodded but didn’t look happy about my interruption.

“Is that cuckoo-pint?” I pointed to the plant at the cliff’s edge.

He frowned but his gaze moved to where I’d been pointing. Then he walked over to it. “You didn’t touch it, did you?”

“No. I remembered that you said it was very poisonous.”

“’Tis,” he said. He took his glasses out of his jacket pocket and then he bent down for a better view. “Harmless to birds, mind you. But all parts are harmful to animals and humans.”

“Right. So, if someone were to use it as a murder weapon, how would they go about it?”

He stood and turned toward me. “One would have to know what they were doing to avoid poisoning themselves. It needs a delicate touch. Locals grow up knowing never to touch it. Getting rid of it is nigh impossible. If the whole plant isn’t dug up, even small parts will propagate. Why do you ask?”

“I heard a rumor that the plant was used to killed author James Brandt. He was a friend of yours, right?”

He blanched as if I’d slapped him. “What?”

“You were friends?”

“No. What you said before—he was poisoned with arum maculatum?”

“If that’s the same as cuckoo-pint, yes.”

He shook his head. “Impossible. You must have it wrong. I heard a bookcase fell on him.”

“I found him, and it did. But someone had also poisoned him. They aren’t certain yet how the poison was ingested.” I knew it was in the tea, but I didn’t want to share that much.

Kieran would be angry that I’d mentioned the poison, but I did so to gauge his reaction. He’d seemed completely surprised.

His eyes were wide, and his jaw hung open in disbelief. “How do you know this?” he asked suspiciously.

I couldn’t tell him I was helping Kieran with the investigation. The only reason the detective allowed me to assist was because I’d promised to keep things mum.

“I was at the station and just happened to see the postmortem file. Please don’t tell the detective I peeked. He’ll kill me. But I’m a writer and I can’t help but be curious. Besides, I’d been thinking the bookcase was an odd way to die and I wondered if there was more to that story.” That was the truth.

“I don’t understand. There are much easier and safer poisons to kill someone.” He didn’t seem to realize what he’d said. “A person would have to be willing to take a great risk to use it. Strange. Strange.” He looked down at the plant again. “No. It does not make sense at all.”

He shook his head and then took off walking down the path toward town.

“Bye,” I said.

But he ignored me.

“Well, he certainly seemed surprised by the news,” I told Mr. Poe. “Maybe we move him down on the suspect list.”

Mr. Poe gave a small yap.

On the way back to town, my mind whirled with ideas.

It wasn’t until Mr. Poe growled, which he only did when he sensed danger, that I stopped to pay attention to my surroundings.

I glanced around us.

“What is it, boy?”

A chill shivered down my spine. We were at the fork in the path at the edge of the cliff. One way led to town, the other down to the sea.

But no one was there.

I gently tugged on Mr. Poe’s leash. “Come on, boy, let’s get back to civilization.”

My stomach churned with nerves, and I’d learned to trust that feeling when I’d lived in NYC. Had my stalker followed me here? Or had I just given too much information to a murderer?

I wasn’t waiting to find out.

The botanist had seemed worried and thoughtful when he left. Did he know who the killer might be? If so, would he be next on the killer’s list?