Crime of Spelled Ink Read online

  It had been a long time and I’d missed it ever since we had to sell Orchard House and move onto the end of Main Street.

  Jules went outside to make his phone call while I sat and worried alone about Belle. I hated being stuck out here waiting, but at least Belle seemed to be mostly fine. It was probably the excitement of the wedding and then the death that just ended up being too much for her.

  Hopefully in another few days, she'd be better.

  Chapter Five

  Everyone else in the house was finally asleep after the longest day any of us had ever had, but I still couldn't shake the restlessness vibrating through me. I took my cup of tea out to the front porch and sank into the rocking chair facing the street.

  I liked seeing the town like this, sleepy and quiet and dark, only the festive lights Plum Fields kept up all year twinkling from the street lamps and trees and windows. As much as I enjoyed the fast pace of the city, I'd missed home.

  Even though this wasn't the house I grew up in, it still felt like it because my family was here. It was smaller and louder during the day, but somehow the memories followed us and imprinted themselves on the walls here. I could still hear our laughter and fights and tears like ghosts hovering just out of sight.

  All the plays I'd written and Mauve had insisted on starring in. All the music Belle played. The art April created. A house full of artists left their marks so strongly, I carried them with me everywhere.

  I set my tea aside and reached for the journal and inkwell and quill Jules and Belle had given me as a welcome home gift, planning to try and organize my thoughts and feelings after the whirlwind of a day, but my phone buzzed in my robe pocket.

  I pulled it out and frowned. Why was Rich calling me so late? "Hello?"

  "Harriet. I wasn't sure if you'd still be awake."

  My teeth ground together at his continued refusal to use my nickname. “Is everything all right?"

  We hadn’t talked much since I left New York, but I’d been busy and he was supposed to be in the middle of guest lecturing at one of the libraries.

  "Yes. I'd planned to leave you a voicemail."

  "What's going on?" I asked.

  I hoped he hadn’t already killed my plants.

  "I was telling a friend of mine in publishing about the book you're writing. The good one. And he was interested in seeing what you have so far." He sounded so excited.

  But I wanted to punch him.

  Why was he always pushing this? What did it matter to him what I wrote?

  I tried to keep my tone calm. “Rich, I'm just writing that in my spare time. I'm already swamped with deadlines as it is. And I have an agent already."

  And the stupid literary book I sometimes played around with was mainly because between him and my father, I decided to try just to shut them up.

  What I really wanted to write was massive, sprawling fantasy novels. Not that Rich or my father understood that.

  "Yeah. One who specializes in mysteries. Not someone who has any experience with literary masterpieces." He sounded so appalled by the idea of anything literary being tainted by something as lowbrow as mystery.

  Like Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes, Raymond Chandler, Baroness Orczy, and countless others weren’t still timeless and popular.

  I snorted. “It's a far cry from a masterpiece. It's no Walden. And my agent could handle it no problem if I ever finish it or even decide I want it published."

  I’d written maybe five chapters. It bored me, but I viewed it as a challenge. It helped excite me into getting back into my regular books.

  Rich huffed into the phone. “You really should consider putting your suspense novels aside and focus on it. You could win awards for what you have so far."

  "I'm not interested in awards."

  "Right. You're more interested in the paycheck than the art." His eye-roll was audible through the phone.

  "Not everyone can afford to be a snob about their work. Some of us want to be paid for it. Some of us need to be paid for it. I have responsibilities and people who rely on the money I make. And I enjoy writing and reading genre fiction. Not everything has to be highbrow to be life changing." I was so sick of this argument.

  Rich scoffed. “Most genre fiction isn't something I would consider that betters the world."

  I rose from my comfortable seat and paced back and forth along the porch, needing to expel some furious energy. “What about Lord of the Rings, or Narnia, or Harry Potter? They've all brought light to darkness, empathy and kindness over hate and cruelty. They're all genre fiction, but they became classics that will endure long after most of the literary books on the shelves right now have faded into obscurity."

  "Well, you can't account for taste."

  He was really lucky he wasn’t in front of me right now. After the day I’d had, it was possible I’d choke him.

  I clenched my jaw. “Right. Look. I'm not interested in whatever your publisher friend has to offer at the moment. Maybe once it's finished if my agent can't handle it, I'll consider that option. But listen. It's been a horrible day. There was a death at my sister's wedding and my other sister collapsed, so I can't even begin to think about that right now with my own deadlines staring me in the face."

  I had less than a month until my net book was due and I hadn’t gotten nearly as much work done as I should’ve.

  "Wow. I might be a little sorry I missed coming with you. I'm sorry, Harriet. That sounds rough. Can I do anything to help?" He certainly changed his tune fast.

  At least it shut him up.

  He had changed so much since he got a bunch of fancy reviews in fancy journals which had led to guest speaking and teaching around the city.

  I didn’t know why he cared so much about what I did with my career. He was just a friend I’d made in a writing group. We’d gotten close, but I rarely gave him input about his career. It was his business just like mine was mine.

  I sighed, suddenly completely exhausted. “Just keep taking care of my plants. And get off my back about that novel."

  "Fine. I just wish you would consider it instead of wasting your talent on trash. Art shouldn't be mercenary. It should be for the betterment of the world."

  He just couldn’t help himself.

  "I've gotten enough letters from my readers to convince me I've made a lot of their lives better. My books have comforted them when they're going through a hard time, giving them a break from real life, an escape. Not everyone wants or needs an eight hundred page moral tomb that takes them two years to slog through. Look, I have to go. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

  "Fine. I hope your sisters are all right."

  "They will be."

  Irritation raged through me as I stabbed the face of my phone to end the call. He was so frustrating sometimes. He was brilliant and kind for the most part, but he had some ridiculous and incredibly snobby ideas when it came to art. Especially writing and philosophy.

  He actually reminded me a lot of Father, who didn't approve at first of me writing "trash" either. It was romantic suspense. It wasn't like I was writing something explicit. Too many people got on their high horses over genre fiction.

  And other writers were usually the worst.

  It was the same thing as artists who looked down on their peers for just making something beautiful instead of making something into a political statement. Both were important and wonderful and had their places in the world.

  Rich was a good friend, but I was getting tired of the same argument.

  Getting away from him and some of my other snobbish literary friends might be good for me. I didn't want to have to keep justifying myself for the choices I’d made.

  Choices I didn't regret in the slightest.

  Chapter Six

  Belle and I stared at the house two doors down from Jules, our arms linked, matching smiles on our faces.

  "Well? What do you two think?" Jules was all but bouncing around us, like a kid in a candy shop.

  "It's perfect." Belle breathed the words, her eyes shining.

  I was glad we both liked it so much since I'd already signed the papers after only seeing a couple photos. Jules knew my taste, he knew me. Once Belle agreed, I’d gone ahead.

  There were fruit trees in the backyard and a screened in porch overlooking them. The landscaping was amazing, June roses and a large herb garden and flowering bushes tempting butterflies and bumblebees to their branches. I could smell the honeysuckle and imagine the fireflies joining us every night while we sat on the porch with our coffee or tea.

  That screen porch was going to be my favorite writing spot, I could already tell.

  "There's already a piano inside, so you won't have to bring yours over. Or come borrow mine, though you're always welcome." Jules couldn’t stop pushing the place even though it was already a done deal.

  Belle kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Jules."

  Jules grinned and nudged us towards the front porch steps. “Everything you guys should need is already inside other than clothes and personal items. Oh, and groceries."

  I shrugged. “Once we get all our stuff inside, we'll head out for a grocery run. Too bad the Farmer's Market isn't for another couple days."

  "I'm really excited you two are going to be my neighbors. You're planning to have me over for dinner every night, right?" He batted his eyes at us.

  I shook my head. “No. You're having us over for dinner every night."

  “Take turns?" Belle offered, ever the peacemaker.

  I pulled the keys from my pocket and unlocked the door, pushing it open and gesturing for Belle to head inside, following closely on her heels, excited to see what the inside looked like.

  Jules nodded. “Deal. And to be clear, it's Belle and I taking turns cooking, right? None of us want to be poisoned."

  The house was lovely inside. Bright with white walls and light gray furniture and a few pops of color from throw pillows, blankets, and rugs.

  I turned to scowl at my best friend when his words registered. “I can cook."

  He cocked a brow. “What can you cook?"

  I propped my hands on my hips and fought a smile. “I make really delicious sandwiches."

  "Peanut butter and jelly?" He’d eaten hundreds, maybe thousands of my pb&js.

  "Yes. I get the ratio of jelly and peanut butter perfect every single time."

  He smile was slow and wide. “Then you can handle the occasional lunch."

  I shrugged and turned back around to keep exploring the house. “Fine by me. I hate cooking."

  Belle had disappeared somewhere in the house on her own exploration.

  The kitchen was lovely and I’d definitely be able to brew a nice pot of coffee or tea in here.

  "No wonder you moved to New York. Twenty-four hour delivery."

  He wasn’t wrong.

  "You know it. If it wasn't for Mother, Mauve, and Belle feeding me, I'd miss that when I visit here."

  Growing up, Mauve and Belle were both so interested in learning, I didn’t fight for my turn because I didn’t care enough.

  Sometimes, I regretted that decision, but I wouldn’t with Belle as a housemate.

  "Did you pack anything other than books?" He was lugging my bag around and I hadn’t even noticed him get it out of the car.

  Whoops.

  And it was pretty much just books in that one. I had a tote bag with more clothes in it.

  "Nope. Well, a few pairs of jeans and flannel cutoffs I think I found room for in there.”

  He laughed. “I meant to ask, what happened to the stained dress?"

  "Mother rescued it from the garbage I tried to throw it in. Have you heard anything about Sally's death?"

  Mauve was still incredibly upset and Mother had headed over to keep her company when Belle and I left this morning. None of us had gotten a call from the Sheriff yet. Though Mauve had heard a little from Kate. Not enough to give us any answers other than it was definitely murder.

  Jules shook his head. “Nothing new about the death, but I heard Markle and his deputies were making the rounds, talking to the people who left early to get statements from them."

  "Right." I sat on the couch, bouncing a little to get a feel for it and fell in love.

  It was so soft, just comforting to my body.

  "You trying to figure out what happened?" Jules asked.

  Why did everyone think I was planning to stick my nose in her murder? Just because as a kid, I liked to pretend I was Nancy Drew and put on murder mystery parties didn’t mean I was going to get involved.

  "It's just surprising. I know Sally wasn't the easiest to get along with, but to kill her?"

  Jules sat in one of the chairs across from the couch. “Well, your characters have all sorts of motives for murder in your books."

  I sighed. “Yeah. One's that usually boil down to love or revenge or money."

  “If love was the motive, I guess her ex Lee could be the suspect. They didn't part on good terms."

  I had some vague memories of Lee, but he was a lot older than me. He graduated before I was finished with middle school.

  "What about money?" I asked.

  "She doesn't have any of her own money, so I don't see who would benefit from her death."

  "Revenge?"

  Jules snorted. “That's where the suspect list starts growing. She's been making enemies since she was in middle school. And both of us are probably on that list."

  My eyes widened as the Sheriff filled the doorway of my new home. "It's interesting to hear you say that, Julian. Especially since I was here to ask you to come down to the police station with me and answer a few more questions for me. Since you were the one who found the body and all."

  Chapter Seven

  I stood with a frown. "What's going on, Sheriff? You don't think Jules had anything to do with her death?"

  How did he get in here? How did he even know we were here?

  Markle stepped deeper into the house. ”I can't say right now, Ms. Stride. But Mr. Lance does need to come with me."

  So, today we weren’t Harri and Julian. He was last naming us. Which meant things were serious. Which meant this was bad.

  Jules stood with a sigh. “No problem, Sheriff." He turned to me. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished. Don’t worry.”

  Easier said than done.

  I watched in helpless fury as Markle walked Jules outside to his patrol car. At least he didn't put Jules in handcuffs, so he clearly wasn't under arrest, but it looked like he was a person of interest.

  Why? Because he found the body?

  That was just lazy investigating.

  "You might need to get involved even though you don't really want to." Belle’s voice behind me made me leap into the air like a startled cat.

  I clutched my hand to my heart for a few seconds, waiting for my pulse to calm back down. Where did she come from? Where had she been?

  It didn’t matter right now. The stupid Sheriff just took my best friend away like he was investigating him for the murder and that was not going to work for me.

  "I was just thinking the same thing." I sighed and shook my head. "But for now, let's get moved in and settled. There's nothing we can do about it until he gets back and lets us know what on earth is going on."

  "You don't think they'll arrest him, do you?" Belle curled up in the chair Jules had just been in.

  I yanked at my hair. “I don't know, love. I hope not. There's no way he did anything to Sally."

  "Of course not. Are they even sure it was murder?" Belle asked.

  "The coroner slash funeral home director seems certain according to Mauve. Kate called to let her know. It would have taken a freak of nature to cause the contusion at the base of her skull."

  "It's still hard to believe she's gone." Belle hugged herself.

  "I know. What a mess."

  "Have you heard any news about a funeral?"

  "Nothing. I don't think they've released the body yet."

  Belle shuddered. "It's all so awful."

  I held out my hand to her. “It is. Come on. Let's stash all our stuff and then go on a walk down that path behind our new summer home."

  She took my hand and let me pull her to her feet. “You don't think we should set up?"

  "It'll be here waiting for us when we return. I think we could both use a walk to clear our heads." I needed to walk off some of the frustration still pulsing through me.

  We hurried outside to get the rest of our bags and get them into the house, just leaving them in the living room for now to deal with later.

  Jules was not going to go down for this crime. There was no way he was guilty and if the Sheriff was going to grab the easiest answer that occurred to him, I was going to have to figure out a way to prove Jules' innocence and dust off my old Nancy Drew supplies.

  And the best way to do that would be to find the real killer.

  I just had no idea how to go about that in real life.

  In my books, they were already professional investigators, so they had access to information and people I didn't have. And the Sheriff had already made his desire for me to stay out of it clear, so he wouldn't exactly be handing over the information I needed.

  Maybe I could befriend one of the deputies. Kate Vaughn and I had always gotten along. She, Jules, and I used to hang out a lot during our school years. We'd lost touch, but I liked her a lot. I wouldn't mind getting back in touch and catching up. And if she happened to drop a few hints about the investigation, all the better.

  Too bad she wasn't the Sheriff.

  She'd make an excellent one.

  "Ready?" I asked.

  "I am. It looks a little magical, doesn't it?" She followed me out onto the screen porch.

  "It does. Maybe we should get some solar lights and strings them up around the entrance to the path."

  Belle smiled dreamily. ”I love that idea."

  "It'll look gorgeous from that back porch of ours."

  "The garden needs a little work." She ran her hands through the out of control plants like some kind of garden fae.

  "That's all you. Unless you want dead plants." I stuck to succulents.