Twice Told Tail Read online

  “Bless you!” Darla said as she glanced around for Hamlet. The oversized black cat was nowhere to be seen; still, that didn’t mean there wasn’t sufficient cat dander floating about to set off Connie’s allergies.

  Echoing her thoughts, James said, “You might be interested to know, Ms. Capello, that there are seven documented cat allergens—specifically, proteins—the major one being secreted primarily via the subject cat’s saliva. It is that protein you are allergic to, and not the dander, per se. And as the protein is microscopic, it clings to everything. We are considering installing a HEPA filtering system for our customers who—”

  “Protein, smotein,” Connie interrupted him . . . or, at least, that’s what Darla assumed she said, since the woman’s speech was even stuffier now than a moment earlier. “All I know id dat I godda ged oudda here.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Darla told her. “Go get some fresh air. We’ll see you and Reese—er, Fi—another time.”

  Reese had already given them all an apologetic nod and was hurriedly escorting his fiancée to the door. At Darla’s words, however, Connie halted and turned.

  “Oh, yeah,” she replied. “I forgod do dell you. I wad do comb bag domorrow ad look aroud de andique shob negd door. I need sombding old for de weddig. Cad you comb wid me?”

  Which Darla interpreted as, Connie planned to check out Bygone Days tomorrow for the “something old” for the bride—meaning Connie—to carry at the wedding, and she wanted Darla to accompany her to find it. And while the last thing she wanted to do was run more wedding errands with the woman, guilt over the whole cat-allergy thing tilted the balance in Connie’s favor.

  “Sure, why not?” Darla agreed, managing to sound upbeat. “I’m off in the morning tomorrow. Maybe you can stop by around eleven or so, and we’ll find you something cute there. I know Mary Ann will have some good ideas, and I’ll do a little checking online for suggestions, too.”

  “Eleben,” the woman confirmed with a sniffle.

  Reese nodded. “Thanks, Red—er, Darla.”

  Once the door had closed behind the pair in a blast of cold air, Jake chuckled. “Better watch it, kid. Next thing you know, you’re gonna end up a bridesmaid at that wedding after all.”

  “Not a chance.”

  With a rueful smile, Darla carried her coat over to the vintage wooden rack that stood near the small door leading out from the bookstore to her private hall. Hooking her outerwear onto the coat rack—which she’d just happened to find at Bygone Days—she explained, “This is my last ‘girly thing’ with Connie until the wedding. The place is right next door, so I’d look kind of like a jerk if I told her I couldn’t do it. It’ll take, what, thirty minutes and then I’m done.”

  “You are finished,” James corrected her. “Your pot roast is done.”

  “Finished . . . done. Whatever it is, I am,” Darla agreed. “And now, I’m going to thaw out with a cup of coffee before I get back to work. Jake, do you want to join me up in the lounge?”

  The PI shook her head as she started for the door.

  “Thanks, but I’d better head downstairs and catch up on my paperwork. I’ve got a couple of clients in the a.m. and I need to finish my reports for them. But text me tomorrow after you go shopping with Connie and let me know if she stumbles across another dead body,” she finished, grinning a little as she gave those last two words finger quotes.

  Once the door had closed after her, James turned and gave Darla a quizzical look. “Dead body?”

  “No dead bodies, just an honest mistake,” she replied as she took her place behind the register.

  Briefly, she explained about the fainting bride-to-be, and the aftermath that resulted in a substantial discount for Connie. She left off the part where she’d accidentally found out that Jake had been married once before—presumably right out of high school, given the prom dress reference. Though, knowing James, he might already have the scoop on that particular bit of gossip. But she’d promised Jake she’d keep her mouth shut about it, and so she would.

  James, meanwhile, was nodding his head.

  “Hmm,” was his thoughtful response to the Connie anecdote. “I will have to keep that trick in mind the next time I make a major purchase. I was considering replacing my old refrigerator with one of those glass-door models.”

  “Let me know when you go shopping, and I’ll be glad to play the not-a-corpse,” Darla cheerfully answered.

  What was left of the afternoon moved by fairly swiftly. Robert was upstairs cleaning up the coffee bar for the evening—their current schedule left it open until closing only on Fridays and Saturdays—while James worked on his collectible book online auctions and Darla handled the customers. It was almost closing time when the front door jangled open again, revealing a coatless and breathless Mary Ann.

  “Oh, Darla, thank goodness you’re here,” she burst out, rushing in with hands aflutter. “Hamlet must have gotten out somehow, because I just saw him running from building to building! I’ve spent the past fifteen minutes trying to catch him, but he’s too fast for me. Quick, you need to call him back before he freezes out there . . . or worse!”

  FOUR

  “Mary Ann, calm down,” Darla exclaimed, hurrying from around the counter to meet the old woman. “I promise you, Hamlet’s safe and snug inside. Look, here he is.”

  She pointed toward the children’s section, where Hamlet snoozed atop the green beanbag chair that was one of his favorite napping spots. Hearing his name mentioned, he slit open one emerald green eye to see what the fuss was all about; then, obviously deciding he had nothing to add to the discussion, he gave a snoring little snuffle and closed his eye again.

  “Oh, dear me,” Mary Ann replied with a shake of her gray head. “I feel so foolish. And here I was so certain it was Hamlet. I suppose it was just another black cat.”

  “You’re not foolish at all,” Darla reassured her. “Black cats all look alike when they’re bouncing about. I’m sure whatever cat you saw has probably already made its way safely home.”

  James nodded his agreement. “But you are correct, Mary Ann. This can be a dangerous time of the year for lost pets, as well as ferals. If you do see this cat again, let me or Robert know so we can contact our friends in animal rescue. They have the means to trap and hold cats like that somewhere safe until they can locate their proper owners.”

  Darla smiled and gave James a mental thumbs-up for that. She knew that the bookstore manager was a primary sponsor of a small local rescue group . . . the same group that had helped connect Robert with his Italian greyhound, Roma. Maybe for the upcoming holidays, the bookstore could spearhead a donation campaign for the organization. Making a swift mental note to talk to James about that, she turned again to the old woman and frowned in concern.

  “Mary Ann, I swear your lips are blue! Come sit, and I’ll have Robert send down a pot of hot tea for you.”

  “Well, maybe I’ll take a cup, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  They didn’t head toward the stairs leading up to the coffee lounge. Instead, tucking Mary Ann’s cold hands beneath her arm, Darla led the woman to a cozy corner in the main store where a bistro table and two chairs awaited them.

  “Do you want black tea with cream and sugar, or do you just want a nice cup of Earl Grey?” she asked, recalling Mary Ann’s usual preferences.

  The old woman smiled as Darla helped her into the chair. “I think I need something on the stout side, so black tea with cream and sugar would be lovely.”

  Nodding, Darla sat as well, and used the pen and pad sitting on the table to write out the order. Then, tearing off the top sheet, she pressed an ornate call button on the wall beside them that summoned an old-fashioned dumbwaiter that was an original fixture of the brownstone. Once the doors to the miniature elevator opened, she placed Mary Ann’s order on a plate inside and then sent the dumbwaiter back upstairs again
so Robert could retrieve the order and then send it down a few minutes later.

  “Such a clever idea, my dear,” Mary Ann observed, as she always did.

  Darla nodded. Actually, the mini bistro area had been James’s ingenious solution for catering to the customers who couldn’t manage the stairs up to the coffee lounge. She’d seen customers ranging from seniors to moms pushing strollers take advantage of the system. A framed menu posted on the wall gave a list of the lounge’s offerings while also instructing customers on how to order. The basic tea and coffee accoutrements—sugar, sweetener, and so on—were already neatly arranged on the table in a white wicker holder.

  While they waited for Mary Ann’s tea to arrive, Darla asked, “You remember Detective Reese’s fiancée, Connie Capello? I don’t know whether you met her at the July Fourth block party or not. They didn’t stay long.”

  When the old woman shook her head, Darla reassured her, “Well, I suspect you’ll have a few chances in the future to meet her. I’m planning to throw a little party for her and Reese over at Thai Me Up”—the local Thai food place run by her friend Steve Mookjai—“the Saturday before Thanksgiving. You and Mr. Plinski will be invited. But, anyhow, Jake and I went wedding dress shopping with her today.”

  She spent the next couple of minutes entertaining Mary Ann with talk of the various dresses until the dumbwaiter had made its return trip. When the doors opened, waiting on a red, cork-lined tray was a fat white pot of steaming water from which dangled a tea bag string and tag. Alongside it sat a rose-patterned teacup and saucer and a white mini pitcher of cream.

  While the elderly woman began preparing the tea to her liking, Darla said, “When we got back this afternoon, Connie remembered that she needed something old for the wedding. You know, something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.”

  “And a sixpence in her shoe,” Mary Ann finished with a nod.

  “Exactly. So Connie asked me to go with her to your shop tomorrow around eleven. I told her you’d have some great ideas, and—Mary Ann, what’s wrong?”

  For, to Darla’s shock, the old woman had set down her teacup and was dabbing at her eyes with a paper napkin.

  “Mary Ann, are you all right?” she persisted, her concern growing as the other woman made no effort to hide her distress. “Is Mr. Plinski ill again? Is there a problem at the store?”

  “No, no, I’m just being silly, and thinking about weddings just makes it worse.”

  Dabbing at her eyes once more, Mary Ann took a fortifying gulp of tea and summoned a tremulous smile. “My dear, may I confide in you?”

  “Of course.”

  She took another sip of tea, and Darla gave her an encouraging nod. It occurred to her, however, that she might know the reason for her elderly friend’s distress. Hadn’t Jake said earlier that Mary Ann and her brother were at odds over Mary Ann’s renewed friendship with her high school boyfriend?

  In the next breath, Mary Ann confirmed Darla’s guess. Putting down her cup and squaring her shoulders, she began, “Things are quite a muddle these days between me and Brother. He’s furious that I’ve renewed my acquaintance with my high school beau, even though being with Hodge makes me happier than I’ve been in years.”

  “But shouldn’t he be glad you’re happy?” Darla asked in concern. “It’s terrible to say, but if something happened to Mr. Plinski, wouldn’t he want to know you wouldn’t be alone?”

  “Pfft, he’d rather see me alone than with Hodge . . . which is difficult to understand, since the two of them once were best friends.” Mary Ann took another sip of tea, her expression now sour. “It’s so strange. He claims that Hodge did something quite terrible back when we were young that I know nothing about, but he refuses to tell me what it is. And now he’s trying to forbid me from seeing Hodge again. Darla, I don’t know what to do!”

  “Have you tried asking Hodge if he knows why Mr. Plinski resents him so much?”

  The old woman nodded. “Hodge swears he can’t remember doing anything that could have caused such a rift back then. Truly, it’s most confusing. And until Brother can give me a good reason otherwise, I’ll keep seeing Hodge as long as I want to,” she finished with a defiant jut of her small chin.

  Darla gave her a thoughtful nod.

  “Just be smart and keep your eyes open,” she advised her elderly friend. “Mr. Plinski seems to have a pretty level head on his shoulders. I can’t believe he’d hold a grudge for, what, almost sixty years, if what happened wasn’t kind of bad.”

  “Hmmph. If it was that bad, he should have told me sixty years ago.”

  With that, Mary Ann finished off the rest of her tea and stood.

  “Thank you, dear. This was just what I needed,” she said, and Darla knew she meant the unburdening as well as the hot drink. “Do bring Connie by tomorrow. Oh, but wait, I won’t be there,” she added, looking suddenly flustered. “I, er, have an appointment with a gentleman who wants to consign his mother’s estate, but I know Brother will have some clever suggestions for you.”

  “Not a problem. I’m sure Connie and I will manage.”

  Then, despite Mary Ann’s protests, Darla insisted that the old woman borrow her down jacket for the short walk back to her brownstone.

  “Please, as a favor to me.” Darla said to mollify her. “My mother would never forgive me if she found out I let you go out in the cold without a coat. Don’t worry, I’ll pick it back up when Connie and I come over in the morning.”

  And since it was already dark out, Darla also insisted that Robert leave a few minutes early so that he could escort Mary Ann. First, however, she told the youth about the black cat that Mary Ann had seen outside the brownstone.

  “From what she says, it’s Hamlet’s twin. I really hate to think about it out there in this weather, so keep an eye out. If the poor thing is a stray, maybe we can coax it inside and hold it until your rescue friends can take it to a foster home.”

  “Sure thing, Ms. P.,” he eagerly agreed as he grabbed up his backpack and jacket. “And I’ll put a little bit of Roma’s food outside my door tonight in case it comes back.”

  Once he and Mary Ann had rushed out into the chilly evening, Darla carried the tea things upstairs to the lounge and did a final wash-up. When she returned downstairs a few minutes later, she saw that Hamlet had abandoned his beanbag and now was sitting on the counter near James. Both had their noses practically pressed to the computer monitor.

  “What’s wrong? Does someone’s cart have the wrong shipping again?” she ask, referring to their online shop for rare and collectible books that she and James had recently launched as an experiment.

  James shook his grizzled head. “Actually, I have found an interesting situation with the algorithm for my automatic pricing. Take, for example, this 1871 edition of Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Marble Faun,” he said, pointing to the listing on the screen. “I originally listed the set at one hundred sixteen dollars, which is a more than fair price, given its condition. I found two other online shops with comparable volumes of this title all priced within a dollar or two of our offering.”

  “But our price says three hundred forty-nine dollars,” Darla countered with a frown. “Did one of our competitors hack us?”

  “Not in the traditional sense. But apparently they have software pricing programs that are similar to ours, all of which monitor everyone else’s prices. When our software sees that Rare Bird Books’ copy is a dollar higher than ours, it raises our price accordingly. This then prompts the software belonging to Books in the Attic to raise their price, too,” he explained.

  Darla nodded. “Right. The intent is to keep us all on an even footing, so to speak.”

  “Exactly. And the software should have parameters to limit the number of price changes to a single unit. But if a setting is off, that could open the door to a virtual repricing war that would continue until one
of us notices and puts a stop to it, or until everyone’s prices reach ludicrous heights. On the bright side,” he finished, “at least the algorithm is not dropping the prices.”

  Darla grimaced. “I wouldn’t mind selling the Hawthorne for three hundred fifty bucks, but going the opposite way could be pretty brutal. Is that the only book you know of where the pricing is off?”

  “I shall have to go over our listings in the morning and see if I discover any other errors. And I did have such high hopes for this program.”

  “Check with the software manufacturer,” Darla suggested. “Maybe they have a patch you can download to fix the bug.”

  Leaving Hamlet and James to shut down the computer, Darla did her usual pre-closing walk through the store to check for wayward books and stray customers. She found none of the latter but picked up a couple of the former—a French cuisine cookbook and a sports bio—that had been left behind on one of the chairs scattered about the shop for browsers. Which, while something of an annoyance, was preferable for inventory purposes to being shelved back in the wrong spot.

  She halted, however, at the sight of an oversized paperback book lying smack in the middle of the self-help aisle.

  She retrieved it and looked at its cover. “The Fool’s Guide to Wills and Estates,” she read aloud. And then, feeling suddenly unsettled, she glanced around for Hamlet.

  The cagey feline had developed a habit of communicating with her by means of book titles from volumes he would surreptitiously pull from the shelves when she wasn’t looking. Of course, said communication only happened after some sort of disaster or another . . . such as an unexplained death. Darla frowned. Fortunately, nothing like that had happened in months. So why the book snagging?

  Hamlet chose that moment to stroll up the aisle to join her, tail waving gently as if to show he just happened to be walking past. Nothing to see here, nothing to do with the book, he seemed to be saying. She was just about to agree and chalk the incident up to coincidence, when it hit her.