The Death of Perry Many Paws (18 page)

During the 1950s, mannequin children James and Melissa had joined Willoughby’s family, dutifully reading the current and classic children’s books, always in proper seasonal attire. Her grandfather
had never been particularly creative in his displays, content to merely change the calendar to the current month and put sweaters or short sleeves on the mannequins as the season dictated. When Grace had come to live with him after her parents died, she’d taken over dressing and posing the mannequins, and shopping for vintage clothing for real Victorian Christmas celebrations. Trenary’s window family began to drift from one era to another based on the holiday and the clothes available. She’d always changed the display at least once a month and Grace and Willoughby’s family had been featured in the
Birdsey Falls Gazette
on an annual basis. The mannequins were Perry Many Paw’s biggest fans and were the first to read the newest book while keeping the older ones on their bookshelf, prominently displayed. I loved gazing in the window and looking at all the interesting details Grace included in her tableaus. Willoughby and her family drew you in and, like the old friends they were, I always needed to visit with them a few minutes before I went into the store.

I’d actually walked into town, something I rarely did any longer. It was over a mile and I never seemed to want to take the time to walk it when I could drive. But today, buoyed by the negative pregnancy test and resolving, once again, to lose that fifteen pounds that refused to budge, I decided a good walk was just what I needed. It was chilly but not the biting chill that would come in another month or so. There was a refreshing nip in the air rather than that dagger of icy cold that rips through every layer of your clothes and numbs you before you even get down your driveway. It might be the last good walking day of autumn and I wanted to take advantage of it. Oddly enough, instead of getting warmer, the longer I walked, I began to get colder and colder and pulled gloves and a scarf out of my bag and put them on. Maybe this wasn’t the last good day of autumn but the preview of winter.

For this visit I did have an agenda. I was anxious to tell Grace about the break-in, the handkerchief and the significance of the October 2
date. I knew she would take the Sylvie story seriously, maybe even help me to do some research on voodoo. I also wanted to know what was going on with Ryan and how things were between her and Hugh. I’d copied down the poem I’d found in the desk in the attic, the desk I was pretty sure belonged to Franklin. I needed to know more about the Edgar Allan Poe short story it had come from and see if there was something in that story that might be a clue. Had Franklin just written down a random quote or had the entire Edgar Allan Poe story had some meaning for him? Was the bout of mono significant in Franklin’s life? Had he even had mono or had it been something else, another disease or perhaps an emotional breakdown with a physical label to cover it up? I had a million loose ends but nothing to tie them together. Grace had a lot on her plate but being distracted might be good for her. And maybe she could help me out.

Today the mannequin Trenarys were getting ready for Halloween. The chairs were draped with costumes and the table held several intriguing masks as well as theatrical makeup and a wig. I stared for a while at the scene trying to decide what the costumes would eventually be and who would be wearing what. The clues were all there. Every October Grace held a contest to see who could figure out what the costumes would be. If you were correct on all four you received a free Halloween book. On the 30
^th
Grace would dress the mannequins, using only the materials displayed in the window, and the suspense would end. I entered the store, relieved to be out of the cold.

The store was furnished in what Grace referred to as “substandard” antiques. These were things Hugh had found in people’s attics or barns, items that were old and had a good warm look and feel about them but that were not really valuable. They gave the shop a cozy, homey feel that was perfect for shelves and shelves of books. The bookcases were not uniform, so your first impression walking in the door was that you walked into the room of an undisciplined book
collector. The Victorian chairs placed throughout the store, the side tables with old lamps giving off a warm yellow glow, the faded rugs on the hardwood floor all added to the image of someone’s personal cozy reading nook, although the store was really quite large. In the children’s area there was an old library table with sawed off legs and small chairs around it. Colorful posters and an enormous stuffed giraffe added a sense of whimsical playfulness to the area. There was a brightly upholstered love seat where Grace sat when she gave book readings for pre-schoolers on Wednesday mornings. Abbey and I had sat in that love seat many times, looking at books and trying to make a decision on a birthday gift for a friend, usually coming home with both a gift for the friend and a new book for Abbey. Books are my weakness and for me, a child asking for a book is equivalent to a child asking for a plate of vegetables. It’s hard to say no.

The mystery nook featured a Victorian parlor that resembled the study of Sherlock Holmes. There was a violin on the table as well as a deerstalker cap, a cape and a pipe. I’ve often sat in here reading bits of books from new authors, trying to decide which author to collect next. I’m a lover of the mystery series and will not read one book until I have bought all the books in the series. Then, as the years go by I add to my collection as the new books come out, re-reading the entire series every four or five years. Claudia has often questioned why I would read the same series of books over and over again when there are so many books written that I’ll never have time to get to. I’ve tried to explain that a good writer makes her characters so real you become friends with them when you read book after book of their exploits. I can’t imagine leaving these friends and never returning. When I finish a series I love, I’m comforted by the fact that I can and will return to visit with them in a few years. I’m always looking for new authors but I never get rid of my favorites. Like a real friend, I forgive the characters their density at the beginning of the book when the clues, on the fourth reading, are now so obvious.

I stopped to say hi to Jenny, who was working the cash register. Jenny is an incredibly upbeat, personable young lady who knows very little about books. Grace’s other employee is a man in his late fifties, Hiram, who had been the librarian in the rare book collection of a local university library and had had to retire early because of the unrelenting pressure of his job. He didn’t care for people and could only do one thing at a time, but he knew everything there was to know about books and authors. You could tap into his vast resources of information faster than you could the Internet. He was also a skilled accountant and kept Grace’s finances and book orders up to date. He worked in the back of the store and rarely ventured out of his little cubicle until everyone had gone home. Combining Jenny and Hiram, Grace had one excellent employee, and they had both worked there for several years.

Grace motioned me back to her office with two cans of diet soda, a lure she knew I could never resist. I also knew Grace kept a stash of candy bars back there. Right now I was more in need of a hot bowl of chili but chocolate was a passable substitute. While I unwrapped myself from all my layers of clothes, Grace sat down, popped open her drink and tossed several different candy bars on her desk. I reached for one, then remembered my plan to lose those fifteen pounds. I didn’t want to negate everything that I had accomplished by my frosty walk, so I held off on the candy and just took the diet soda.

I wanted to immediately plunge into my list of troublesome thoughts and get Grace’s take on everything. However, I realize that sometimes we get so involved in our own troubles and family issues we forget that other people are dealing with worries as well. Instead of launching into my own intriguing stories, I reached across the desk and squeezed Grace’s arm. “How’s everything going?” I asked.

“Oh, Tamsen, I’m such a horrible friend. You let me stay at your house and took care of me and then I left and you never heard from
me again. It’s just that I have so many problems that I can’t think of anything else right now. I’m so sorry you had to drive way over here.

I decided not to tell her I had walked because it would only make her feel worse. “You’re a wonderful friend and you know it. Besides, I’ve been as immersed in my life as you have in yours so let’s call it even and catch up. First of all, what is the latest with Ryan?”

Grace broke her candy bar into little pieces and nibbled on them like a mouse. “He’s a person of interest. He’s not supposed to leave town and Hugh is responsible for making sure he’s available for questioning again whenever the police want to talk to him. I thought maybe they were going to put one of those GPS things on his ankle to keep track of him, but as long as he doesn’t do anything stupid, like disappear, they’re trusting Hugh to keep him in line.”

“What does he say about what happened?” I asked.

“Same old story: Franklin was dead when he found him, he knocked him over accidentally, tried to sit him back up and that’s how he got blood on his shirt. He comes home from school and hides out in his room. I hardly ever see him. Hugh is convinced Ryan is telling the truth and we just have to wait it out until they find the real killer.”

“But as far as I know, Ryan’s bloody shirt is the only thing they have to go on,” I said. “Oh, sorry. There may be more clues we just don’t know about.”

“No, you’re right. Awful as it is, I don’t think they have any other leads to follow up on other than Ryan. I wish there were an escaped lunatic or something who we could blame it on.”

“Yeah, all the Birdsey Falls lunatics are out and functioning in society.”

Grace smiled. “Have the police said anything else about the case to Cam?”

The police had originally been keeping both Claudia and Cam informed of their progress, but Claudia told them to communicate only with Cam. The whole thing was way too unsavory for a lady. He talked to them several times a week so that’s why I knew they had nothing else to go on other than Ryan. I didn’t want to keep rubbing that in though. “I know they haven’t stopped looking. Other than that, I don’t know what they are looking at.”

“Other than Ryan, you mean.”

“Besides Ryan. I’m sure they’re still looking. Cam didn’t get the feeling that they felt the case was solved because they found Ryan. After all, it’s a good sign that they didn’t arrest him. They must have some doubts. Someone must believe him.”

We sat lost in our thoughts for several minutes. Sometimes, when your mind is so weighed down, the mere act of making conversation can be too much, like trying to pull a heavy wagon up a hill. With friends and loved ones, these aren’t awkward silences that leave you mentally scrambling for something to say to fill the void. We each drew comfort from the other’s presence and that was enough. Grace finally spoke.

“You know, I still have all those newspapers from Franklin’s cottage. I’d planned to look through them but I haven’t had a chance. Do you want them?”

“Are they here, at the store?” I tried to picture myself toting seventy newspapers on my walk back home. I wasn’t even sure I could tote myself back and had been thinking of ways to get a ride.

“No, they’re at the house. I’d like to look at them some day, just for historical interest. Maybe there would be some articles about the bookstore and my grandparents. Those would be great to have. And I’d love to put some of them in the window. Having an authentic copy of the
Birdsey Falls Gazette
lying on the couch or being read by one of
the mannequins would be a nice touch. But right now I don’t feel like I’ll ever get around to looking at them.”

“Sure, I can pick them up at the house or ask Cam to,” I said. “You’re welcome to use any of them you want. Right now I’d rather poke around in those old papers than work on my Perry book.”

“Are you making any headway on that? Is your editor still being stubborn about not allowing the series to get edgier?”

“No headway. Cam has almost convinced me to keep on going with the series and then, if it’s not fulfilling me creatively, to write something on the side. Changing the subject, you’ll never guess what happened the other night.”

I told her about the break-in and about Sylvie as well. Grace has a very expressive face, so telling her a story, even if it’s only mildly interesting, is a treat. This story really got her facial muscles working and I could see why the children so loved her Wednesday morning book readings. When I finished the Sylvie story, I launched into the attic excursion story as well. Grace pulled a legal pad out of her desk drawer and began writing furiously. I leaned across the desk to see what she was doing. I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. I tried to turn the legal pad in my direction so I could read what she was writing. She yanked it back and started making columns and arrows all over the paper.

“What are you doing? What are all those arrows?”

She turned the pad around toward me and said breathlessly, “That break-in, the stuff in Franklin’s old desk— and we have to go back to your attic and look for more—and even the Sylvie story, all add enough information not related to Ryan to make the case against him seem less plausible. We need to make a list of all the extraneous clues or whatever and then throw them at the police to show that the Ryan inquiry is only one of many possible ways they could go with this.
We can swear it wasn’t Ryan who broke into your house because he is practically under house arrest when he gets home from school. Hugh is watching him every minute.”

“But we don’t know that the break-in had anything to do with Franklin’s murder.” I protested.

“You’ve never had a break-in before. Then suddenly you have one, three weeks after a murder. It stands to reason they’re related.”

“I suppose.”

“What we need to do, Tamsen, is to gather all this information and put it in some kind of order, make a timeline. The police aren’t going to take the time to do this so we have to do it for them. Maybe we can solve this.”