Chapter 2
“Is this what you’re thinking?” I held up my doodling pad to the ceiling (even though I know he’s not hovering above me. It’s a habit I can’t seem to break) to show Win my sketch of the tattoo he’d described in great detail over coffee this morning.
He gasped with exaggerated flair. “The likeness is so distinct, it’s almost uncanny. Who knew you were a regular twenty-first century Picasso? Right here in modern day, as we live and breathe. Surely, it’s as though you’re in my head, Stephania.”
Scrunching my nose, I sipped my coffee, tilting my head to the right. “Really?”
“Erm, no, Stephania. Not at all. I’m using sarcasm as a means to deflect from how truly horrible that sketch is.”
I frowned and toyed with my scarf, throwing down my colored pencil. “Not even close?”
“Not unless kindergartners have taken to drawing tattoos these days,” he teased in his dry British way.
Looking at my sketch, I kind of had to agree with him. It was pretty bad. My coiled snake looked akin to a big green blob of goo.
Okay. It was really bad.
In my defense, I stuck my tongue out at him. “I’m just trying to help, Fussy Pants.”
“And a splendid job of that you’re doing, Stephania. How will I ever repay your diligence?”
I batted a hand at him. “Just you hush. So I’m not going to win any art scholarships. I was only trying to get an image in my mind’s eye to work with, is all. Next time, I’ll keep my doodling to myself.” I took a long gulp of my coffee while he and Arkady laughed.
“The roads look pretty good, Boss. I think it’s safe enough to go out now that they’ve plowed. You guys about ready?” Belfry asked on a violent shiver as he flew into the kitchen.
We’d sent him to scout the condition of the roads after so much snowfall. We lived on the edge of a cliff a few minutes out of town, and we were always the last to see any clearing of the roads. I didn’t want to risk losing yet another car to an accident should they be dangerous.
I was 2 for 0 in the car department, in case you’re wondering. I’m still trying to put the last incident out of my mind.
I patted my shoulder, signaling Bel should settle there and cuddle up against my neck to warm himself. When he landed, I tucked my new scarf (a vintage, lavender Hermes, and heck of a find) around him and asked, “Would you rather stay here with Whiskey and Strike, pal? I know you hate this weather, and we won’t be gone long. Promise. We’re just going to ask a couple of questions, and I might grab a coffee before heading back here to spend the afternoon by the fireplace.”
Belfry’s breed—a cotton ball bat, for those wondering—are warm-weather lovers. To say his tiny body wasn’t used to this weather is to say the least.
“Not a chance, Petunia,” Bel chirped, tucking himself against my skin with a ripple of fur. “You don’t think I’d miss this, do you? We’re finally onto something about our man of mystery, right, old chap?”
“Indeed, this could very well be a lead to something bigger, old friend,” Win agreed, but again, he had that distracted hint to his tone. His voice held a forced cheerfulness I couldn’t miss.
If I knew Win, he was thinking ahead rather than staying in the moment—something he always told me was imperative to solving any good mystery. Yet, I couldn’t blame him. He’d waited a long time for even a small clue that could lead to some answers.
“Well, I’m ready if you guys are.” I rose, taking one last gulp of Enzo’s special brew of coffee before dropping my mug in the sink and heading toward the coatrack at our entryway to grab my coat and boots. “Are you ready, too, Arkady?”
“Dah, my crunchy granola bar. On with this, I say! I, too, am wondering about this tattoo and the mystery hand.”
I chuckled as I headed out our stained-glass front door and down the steps Enzo’s sons had so kindly shoveled and salted for me while I was in the shower. “Then buckle up, Buttercups. Let’s go meet the new people and do some digging.”
“Dare I say that lilt I hear in your tone is giddy joy, Stephania?” Win asked, laughter lacing his words.
Beeping my car, I popped the driver’s side door open with a shiver before sliding in. Dang, it was cold. “Joy? Explain.”
“Well, we haven’t had a mystery to solve since this past summer, when Inga brought baby Sebastian here and had you believing he was mine.”
I nodded my head, started the engine, and turned the heat in the car to high. “You have to admit, her note was pretty convincing, and truth be told, he could have passed for your son.”
“Fair enough,” Win acquiesced. “But still, you sound positively capricious despite the early hour and the frigid temps. You don’t even make appointments at the shop before ten a.m., Dove. Yet, here you are at nine sharp, showered, dressed—in a lovely frock, I might add—and ready to take on the world with only one cup of coffee and a store-bought cream puff to your name. Whatever am I to think other than you’re excited at the prospect of solving the mystery of the shadow and his tattoo?”
Win knew me well. Too well.
Yep. It was true. It had been exceptionally quiet here in Eb Falls for quite some time now. Maybe too quiet for someone like me who, when faced with too much idle time, filled up that time with broody thoughts and projections about Win.
Absolutely nothing of interest had gone down since the summer and my brush with death via Heinrich Von Krause, an arms dealer, and the man Win had spent a good deal of time in deep cover with before his untimely death.
My heart still stung just a little over baby Sebastian, but Inga, his mother and Heinrich’s rebel daughter, made a point of keeping in close contact with me, due to the nature of the attachment I’d formed with her son—who really didn’t turn out to be Win’s child, by the by.
Since then, there hadn’t been a murder or even a burglary in Eb Falls—a place we were beginning to think was the Hellmouth for murder central. Since I’d moved back here from Paris, Texas, we’d solved six mysteries and murders in as much as two years.
But lately? Nothing. Not unless you counted the heated argument between two soccer moms at a hot yoga class, and even that was nothing to write home about.
Preparing to back out, I took a moment to enjoy the beauty of our house wreathed in freshly fallen snow and reflect on Win’s statement. Was I one of those murder hounds? Like Aurora Teagarden on The Hallmark Channel?
Did I salivate at the mere suggestion of a mystery while rubbing my hands in glee?
“To answer the question I see behind your lovely green eyes, yes. You do enjoy a good mystery—be it murder or otherwise. Surely you recall Gladys Pepperton’s hunt for her brooch at bingo a month ago?”
As I backed out of the driveway, taking my time—even after a good salting, it was still slick—I thought back to bingo night at the VFW. I love bingo, and in a town this small, sometimes that’s all a girl has to look forward to—Tuesday night bingo.
Clearing my throat, I replied, “I remember finding her brooch for her…” It was easy to find, too. A little too easy. I needed more of a challenge.
Belfry snorted. “Do you remember yelling at the top of your lungs about finding her brooch in the middle of the VFW hall like you’d just found Jimmy Hoffa’s skeletal remains?”
Rolling my eyes, now I snorted, mostly in discomfort. “I did not. Don’t exaggerate.”
“Oh yes, my little sunflower seed. You did,” Arkady assured.
“And you drooled a bit, Dove. Right at the corner of your mouth for all to see. ’Tis just the truth.”
“Then you declared yourself the winner of this made-up game in your mind right to Officer Nelson’s face, like he even knew he was playing,” Belfry added with a chuckle at the memory.
Dana Nelson is one of the police officers I frequently deal with when one of these murders occurs. We’ve become friends of sorts—sharing a cup of coffee from time to time, and sometimes even a burger. There’s no physical attraction between us. In fact, he’s so far my polar opposite, I’m surprised we’re even friends. At first, when I returned to Eb Falls, we weren’t. But we’d come a long way. Which is why I knew it was okay to tease him about finding the brooch before he did.
And listen, January is always a sad month for me. Christmas and the New Year were over, my mother and father had gone home, all the fun parties had ended, everyone had gone back to their lives, we’d taken down the decorations I love so much, and my endless cookie/eggnog binge came to a screeching halt because Win makes me exercise. Finding Mrs. Pepperton’s brooch made me feel better, okay?
Taking off along the road to town, I shrugged. “Officer By The Book should have stepped up his game is all I’m saying. There was a lost brooch on the loose. It needed to be found. I found it. He’s an officer of the law. Finding a brooch should have been easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. My coup deserved some crowing.”
“Did it?” Win teased.
“Oh, all right. I like a good mystery, and it’s been months since we’ve been able to sink our teeth into something worthy. Not that I’d wish murder on anyone. I’d be just as happy to find buried treasure as I would a murderer, BTW. Maybe even happier.”
Win cleared his throat. “As I said—”
“So, about this tattoo,” I deflected away from my alleged fixation on solving mysteries. “Anything specific you want me to ask?”
“I’m simply curious about its origins. Maybe it’s a common design.”
“I know next to nothing about tattoos, but the only common design I see usually has to do with cartoon characters. The one you’re describing seems pretty specific, Win.”
“Thus, we must ask. Who knows if it’s a universal tattoo with the artist’s personal flair thrown in for good measure? Also, tattoo artists sometimes know one another’s work merely by sight. ’Twould be helpful if they knew the tattoo artist, would it not? Not to mention, we haven’t properly welcomed them to the neighborhood. They’re just four doors down from you and they’ve been lodged there for almost three weeks. It will do you good to get to know your neighbors and fellow friends in commerce.”
Nodding, I took my time around the sharp bend in the road leading to town, slowing to take into account possible icy patches. “You’re right, Spy Guy. It’s not like we’ve been busy with much else but inventory anyway. Maybe I should stop and grab some pastries for them? I feel so rude for not extending a hand sooner, but I guess I’ve just been preoccupied.”
Which is the truth. I just couldn’t tell Win what kept me so preoccupied.
“Is okay, malutka. Yesterday when we were in town at Madam Z’s, Arkady see they are still moving into their shop. Boxes and more boxes. They looked too busy for pleasantries.”
“Pastries would be a brilliant welcome gift, Stephania.”
“Pastries it is then,” I agreed, parallel parking without much fuss two stores down from the bakery.
I sat in the car for a moment and enjoyed the stillness of Ebenezer Falls after an unexpected snowfall. It was nestled in a suburb of Seattle, and I loved my quaint town—the town I’d grown up in and left for a job as a 9-1-1 operator in Paris, Texas, so many years ago. It was bright and cheerful with colorful awnings on each shop, and it sat in the arms of Puget Sound with the mountains for its backdrop.
Blanketed in snow, it was idyllic.
The enormous pine trees were covered in heavy tufts of white on green and icicles hung from the big maples’ winter-bare branches like icy fingers.
It was abnormally quiet today due to the unexpected snow—which was what made parking such a breeze. Clearly, everyone had hunkered down for the snowstorm and decided to sleep in. Pushing my car door open, I took a deep breath of the tangy air, raw and damp from the heavy precipitation. I loved the scent of Puget Sound—I loved the seagulls flying above on this overcast day.
I even loved the gray sky with its swollen clouds, and for the first time since the holidays had ended, I felt a little better. Scooping Bel from my neck, I dropped him into my latest vintage purse find, where a microwaved hand warmer awaited him.
I heard his low moan of gratitude and smiled as I scooted into the bakery to grab some welcome-to-the-neighborhood pastries, so I could well and truly extend my hand to the people who owned Inkerbelle’s.
* * * *
The bright neon sign with the words Inkerbelle’s Tattoos, with a picture of a skull’s head—made even brighter by the gloomy skies—blinked cheerfully at me. As I peeked inside, I saw movement.
Gorgeous movement, as a by the by. A beautiful dusky redhead, long and lean in a bulky off-white sweater and leather pants, moved boxes, her hair cascading down her back to her waist in rippling waves. As she bent and picked things up, I noted her sculpted features were near perfect in every way.
Arkady wolf-whistled his appreciation at that movement, seconds before Win chastised him.
“Good man, behave yourself! Have you no impulse control? Especially in this day and age, where women have finally risen up against such blatant philandering. For shame, Spy!”
Arkady let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I slip. Old habits die hard. My apologies, my malutka.”
I flapped a hand at him as I balanced the box of yummy pastries in the crook of my elbow. “No worries. Just don’t let it happen again. And I admit, she’s certainly not hard to look at. If I were a misogynistic cad, I’d whistle, too.”
My admission made Arkady laugh. “Then I am forgiven for being dirty, lowdown pig?”
I nodded, catching a glimpse of myself in the store’s glass door and feeling very inadequate when up against this ethereal creature. “You’re forgiven. Now let’s go make friends.”
I tried to push the door open, but it was locked. So I wiped the condensation collecting on the glass and knocked, catching the stunning tall woman’s gaze.
Or should I say glare.
Yes. Glare was the right adjective when aligned with this beautiful woman. She was sleek and supple, like oil on water, as her face turned to a mask of clear suspicion when she slinked toward the door.
But I smiled reassuringly and waved, holding up the box of pastries, hoping to abolish that “you owe me money” look from her face.
And then another woman appeared—a curvier woman than the one who looked like she belonged on a billboard in Times Square in a pair of Victoria’s Secret angel wings. She was shorter than the glamazon, and wore a holey red sweatshirt with fashionably ripped jeans, and a black knit beanie covering her straight reddish-brown hair.
She, too, was pretty in an understated way, as though she didn’t want anyone to know she was attractive—or rather, she didn’t know how attractive her clear porcelain skin and bright eyes were.
I pointed to the box of pastries again and smiled, and she paused for only a moment before she put a hand to the other woman’s shoulder and squeezed, then nodded with a smile of her own, coming toward the door.
She flipped the lock and opened it, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Hi there! How can I help you?”
Her voice struck me in the strangest way. A right-in-the-gut way. It was so warm and comforting, sort of one part Mary Poppins-ish without the accent and two parts Disney princess. Instantly, I felt soothed and comfortable with her. How odd.
I stuck my hand out, the smile still on my face even as my teeth chattered. “I’m Stevie Cartwright—your neighbor in commerce. I own Madam Zoltar’s just down the block. I’m sorry it took me so long to drop by, but I wanted to personally welcome you to Eb Falls. We’re thrilled you’re here.”
“Are you?” the sleek woman asked, hovering behind the lady who’d opened the door. Her nostrils flared momentarily, like a cat smelling a stranger who wasn’t supposed to be in her kitty condo.
But the curvier woman nudged her in the ribs and said, “Coop, this is our neighbor, Miss Cartwright. She owns Madam Zoltar’s—you know, the psychic reading place just down the block? I’m Sist—Er, Trixie Lavender, by the way. And this is Coop.”
I waved a hand at her as she took a step back, her body language inviting me into their shop. “Just call me Stevie, please, and I’m not a psychic. I’m more of a medium. We just never changed the sign out of respect for the old Madam Zoltar. Pleasure to meet you both.”
Coop swung her lustrous hair over her shoulder and looked me up and down with critical green eyes, her finely boned hands on her slender hips. “You’re a medium?”
I fought a sigh. I was used to this kind of skepticism, but sometimes it rankled me. Tucking my purse under my arm, I handed the pastries over and forced a smile. “I talk to dead people.”
Coop’s jaw, sharp and well defined, pulsed before she sniffed the air again and finally stuck out her hand—or more like jammed it under my nose, but whatever. The move was aggressive, which I found odd, but who am I to judge? I talk to ghosts and have a pet turkey.
As though she hadn’t heard my answer, Coop waved her fingers under my nose again to indicate I’d better shake it or die. At least that’s what it felt like—the threat of death. And I took her slender fingers in mine because I didn’t want to die. No, sir.
She gave my hand a good, hard pump and sort of wince-smiled. “Nice to meet you, Stevie Cartwright.”
“Just Stevie is fine, Coop. Remember what I told you?” Trixie whispered to her friend with a pat on her arm then plastered another smile on her pretty face before looking me directly in the eyes. “How lovely you’ve brought us pastries. Are they from the local bakery?” She motioned for me to follow her, and I did, stepping over boxes and such to walk to the back of the store with Coop hot on my heels.
“They are! Are you familiar?”
Trixie threw her head back and laughed as she led me to a small table and chairs in their makeshift kitchen by a small white Formica countertop with a coffeepot. “I’m convinced I’ve gained at least ten pounds in a week from her bear claws. Oh, and those honey-almond muffins they mix with her angel’s wings and the tears of the goddess of baked goods? I’ll never be the same! I think we’ve had breakfast there at least every other day since we moved here.”
I giggled. No one knew those heavenly creations better than I did. “Where did you guys come from, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Trixie grabbed a worn chair with a spindle back and motioned for me to sit against the backdrop of some posters with famous celebrities and their tattoos. “Oregon. Deep in the backwoods of Oregon. Coffee?” she asked before she was at the small counter, reaching for a mug from a worn cardboard box.
Nodding with gratitude, I pulled my scarf off and set my purse on the tiny table, all while Coop’s eyes followed my every move. “I’d love some, please. So what made you choose Eb Falls?”
She shrugged, her hair swishing across the tops of her shoulders in a silk curtain. “We needed a change of scenery, didn’t we, Coop?”
A change of scenery—in Eb Falls? Sure, the tourist season was great, but it might not pay the rent come winter.
Maybe tattoos were a better financial bet than mediums. Surely the business was brisker. Still, I was curious at her short, almost dismissive explanation—I couldn’t help but get the feeling she was skirting the subject.
Or maybe I’m just itching to create a mystery where there is none. I’m mystery-starved, people—seeing shadows in dark corners that don’t exist. Don’t judge.
Coop pulled up a box and plopped down on top of it, her long legs sprawling out before her when, out of nowhere, she agreed with Trixie. “Yep. New scenery.”
I couldn’t tell if it was just me, but I felt as though Coop were vetting me. And I don’t mean what I look like or my hair or even what I was wearing—I mean, digging around in my soul. Her gaze was frightfully intense until Trixie put her hand on Coop’s shoulder and patted, almost like one would do when they were attempting to soothe an anxious pet.
“My, this Coop’s quite edgy, eh, Dove?” Win asked, something he usually doesn’t do when I’m interacting with other people so as not to distract me. For him to have noticed it as well meant I was right in my assessment. And then he added, “I vote we tread lightly.”
And I hummed my agreement before I spoke. “Well, either way, whatever the reason, welcome to the neighborhood. If you need anything, anything at all, here’s my card. Call me anytime. I’m happy to help.” I dug in my purse, nudging a sleepy Belfry around before finding the ivory vellum business cards I’d recently had made for the store.
Coop snatched it from me with such force, the air whizzed with the snap of the printed card, making me blink, until Trixie once more put her hand on Coop’s shoulder and squeezed without saying a single word.
Coop seemed to respond best to that, as though it were a secret signal between the two of them. She leaned back, looking at my card before tucking it into the back pocket of her leather pants, her almond-shaped green eyes never leaving my face.
I licked my suddenly dry lips. The vibe between us had gone all wonky and I wasn’t sure where to take the conversation without this strange, beautiful creature named Coop chewing my face off. So I tied knots in my scarf and floundered awkwardly. Very unusual for me…I can make conversation with almost anyone.
“The tattoo, Stephania. Lest you forget why we’re really here,” Win prompted with a whisper.
And as he spoke again, Coop cocked her head, scanning the store’s orange and yellow walls like she’d heard Win speak. But that was impossible, right?
She’d thrown me off my game is all. Everything appeared suspicious now.
It was time for a diversion. I wanted to get this conversation back on track to Pleasantville. We were to be neighbors. I wanted to keep it neighborly. “Anyway, would you mind if I asked you a quick question?”
Coop pushed off the cardboard box, using her hands for leverage on her thighs as she rose. “Yes. I would mind. I have work to do. I can’t get work done if you’re asking questions.”
I blinked again. Er… I was at a loss for words, but Trixie passed a stern look to Coop before she said, “Why don’t you go empty the boxes in the storeroom, Coop, and I’ll help Stevie. Okay?”
Coop appeared to think about that for a moment before she turned on a booted heel and headed toward the back of the store, her hair swaying about her trim waist.
Instantly, Trixie’s pretty face and sparkling brown eyes went apologetic. “I’m sorry. Coop spent a lot of her time isolated. She still does with the exception of the time she spends with me. Nuances to a conversation, even polite responses, elude her sometimes. She means no harm. She’s just very direct and honest to a fault. Creative geniuses, you know?” was the explanation she gave for Coop’s short demeanor. “I hope she didn’t offend you.”
I wondered how that was going to work out with a customer-oriented business. I also wondered why Trixie’s explanation sounded so down pat. As though she’d rehearsed it in a mirror. Or again, maybe I was digging around for something that wasn’t there.
Although, maybe Coop was autistic. That certainly could explain her odd behavior and her stilted social skills. And if that were the case, I’d make an extra effort to pay closer attention to her needs from this point forward. In fact, that I hadn’t considered the notion beforehand left me disappointed in myself.
But I truly didn’t think that was the case. I think she’s just surly.
Still, I shrugged off Trixie’s explanation and sipped at my coffee with a vague smile, still processing Coop in all her Coopness. “That’s totally fine. Not a worry in the world.”
Trixie tilted her head, her sweetly soft voice easing my agitated state. “So that question?”
“Oh, yes! Forgive me if I go about this the wrong way. I know nothing about tattoos. Anyway, I have a…friend who has a memory of a tattoo he once saw. I can only describe it, but I was wondering if you maybe had a book of designs I could look through—for reference. I’ve had no luck on the Internet so far. Or maybe if I describe it, it’ll ring a bell? I wondered if it could be a universal tattoo. You know, like a beloved cartoon character that’s popular? One you can personalize with an initial.”
Trixie was up and moving toward a particularly large box labeled with Coop’s name. She pulled out a big black binder and hauled it over to the small table while I glanced at my surroundings.
I’d been so caught up in figuring out Coop, I hadn’t really given the place a good once over.
It needed work, no doubt. The walls were a bit off-putting in their orange and yellow, and the real wood floors, a light oak in color, needed a pass with a sander and a coat of gloss, but when the sun shone through the enormous picture window once summer came, it would be fantastic.
The space was large, with plenty of room for tattoo stations or whatever you called them.
Trixie dropped the binder on the table and told me to take a peek while she dug up more design books. “Some of those are Coop’s personal designs, and some of the sketches are mine. Some are tattoos every artist in any shop from here to Hoboken can ink. They’re called flash art—the ones that are, as you called them, universal.”
Good to know…
As I flipped through the hundreds of pages in the book, I mused, “Ever seen a tattoo of a snake with a collar around his neck and a diamond in the center of it? I might be able to eliminate some of this hunt if you’ve seen something similar—”
Coop’s guttural howl from the back room cut into my words, stopping all sound and motion from either of us. I was up on my feet in an instant, my heart thrashing in my chest, but Trixie put a hand to my arm and called out, “Coop? You okay back there?”
Yes, I prayed. Please be okay back there. Please don’t let that agonizing howl be the one you let out after a fresh kill.
Stephania Cartwright! You take that back. Coop’s shown no signs of violence.
But no sooner had I chastised myself for being an awful person than Coop was calling out to Trixie.
“You better come back here right now, Sister Trixie Lavender!” she bellowed.
Sister?
Yet, I had no time to ruminate over that strange title before I was following Trixie, who was power walking to the back room.
Stopping short of the room’s door, I heard Trixie gasp on a sharp, wheezing breath.
“Coop?” Trixie whispered in what definitely sounded like horror, her hand over her mouth.
When I peered over her shoulder, I gasped, too.
“That’s Abe Levigne’s stepson, Hank Morrison!” I blurted out, taking in the scene before me. My mouth fell open as I attempted to parse what to do next. And then I sprang into action, setting Trixie aside and kneeling down amongst the boxes and clutter to see if I could help him in some way.
But Coop grabbed my wrist before I could check for his pulse, her glittering eyes pinning me to the point of discomfort.
I pulled up my big girl britches and took control, because control needed taking. I looked up at her flawless face and managed to squeak, “Is he…?”
“Dead,” Coop answered without so much as a bat of her luscious eyelashes. “He’s definitely dead.”
And just like that, this mystery lover finally had another puzzle to solve.