Plus Liam was the one who’d come up with the idea of pitching a tour built around Mayville Heights to Legacy Tours in the first place. Why would he kill Mike? It didn’t make any sense. For all Liam knew, if Mike was dead, that would be the end of any deal with Legacy.
I looked at my watch. Mary and Abigail would be arriving anytime now and so would our new co-op student and her teacher. I took one last long drink from my cup and headed downstairs.
Harry Taylor—Junior, not Senior—came into the library just after eleven o’clock with Elizabeth.
“I have a couple of books your dad requested,” I said, walking over to meet them by the circulation desk. I smiled at Elizabeth. “Hi.”
She smiled back and Harry nodded. “Mary called. That’s what we came to get.” He took a library card out of his shirt pocket and handed it over to Abigail, who was working checkout; then he turned back to me. “There’re a couple of things I wanted to ask you.”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“Do you mind if I start cleaning out those flower beds at the front tomorrow and getting them ready to get the bulbs in?”
“That’s fine with me,” I said. “Do what works best for you, but don’t forget it’s story time tomorrow. You might end up with some little helpers.”
Harry smiled. “I don’t mind.” He glanced at Elizabeth. “The other thing is, I was wondering if Elizabeth and one of her friends could come meet your cats sometime. They’re thinking about helping out at Wisteria Hill.”
I was guessing the “friend” was Wren Magnusson and this was Harry’s way of giving me a chance to talk to her.
“Absolutely.” I turned to Elizabeth. “Owen and Hercules came from Wisteria Hill. The only thing you have to remember is that they don’t like to be touched by pretty much anyone but me. But they do like company.”
“Did one of them really go and get Harry when someone broke into your house?” She shot her big brother a skeptical look.
I nodded, my hand automatically going to rub my left wrist. That encounter just over a year ago was when it had been broken. “Hercules,” I said. “Harry was mowing the lawn at my backyard neighbor’s house. Hercules got in front of the lawn mower and made so much noise, Harry came to see what was going on.”
“I figured either something had happened to Kathleen, or Timmy was stuck in the well and the cat fancied himself to be Lassie,” Harry said dryly. Abigail handed him the two books and he thanked her.
Elizabeth smiled and made a face at her brother before shifting her gaze back to me. “Is after supper tonight too soon?”
“No, it’s not,” I said. We settled on a time and I gave her directions. “Tell your dad the other book he wanted should be here next week,” I told Harry.
“I will,” he said. His eyes darted sideways to Elizabeth for a moment. “Thank you.”
I spent most of the morning teaching our new student intern—whose name was Mia—how the computerized card catalogue worked. Like most teenagers, she had good computer skills and she picked it up easily. She was well spoken and well read, conservatively dressed in a black skirt and long-sleeved white blouse. After working with her for a couple of hours, I felt Mia was going to fit in just fine, although her neon blue hair was probably going to get more than a second glance. I sent her to shelve books with Mary and walked over to the circulation desk.
“What time is Susan bringing lunch?” Abigail asked.
I glanced up at the clock. It was almost eleven thirty. “About an hour,” I said.
She swept her braided hair over one shoulder. “I don’t suppose there are any muffins in the lunchroom, are there? I’m hungry now.”
I shook my head. “Sorry. To paraphrase Dr. Seuss, the only crumbs in our lunchroom are crumbs that are even too small for a mouse.” Then I remembered that description pretty much described my kitchen and I’d invited Elizabeth and Wren over. I made a face. “Crap on toast!”
“It’s okay,” Abigail said. “I’m not going to pass out from hunger in the next hour.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “But I just realized that I invited Harry’s sister and her friend over tonight, and there isn’t so much as a brownie crumb in my kitchen.”
Abigail smiled. “I could call Georgia and see what she has for cupcakes. I don’t mind holding the fort here so you could run over there. She’s just over on Washington Street.”
That sounded a lot better than having to make coffee cake the moment I stepped through the door. “Please,” I said.
She reached for the phone. “And if you decided to reward my brilliance with a double-chocolate cupcake, I would be filled with gratitude.”
I smiled and shook my head. “You’re full of something.”
Good fortune was on my side. Georgia had just finished frosting a batch of cupcakes and I could have half a dozen. And Washington Street was close enough that I could walk. “I shouldn’t be much more than half an hour,” I told Abigail. “Mia is helping Mary.”
“Take your time,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to smush the icing or anything. You know, for your guests.”
I waved at her and headed out the door.
Washington Street was a couple of streets above Main, two blocks east of the library. Georgia was working out of a blue-shingled two-story house that, like most of the other buildings on the street, had a business on the main level and apartments on the second floor. Abigail had told me to go to the back, and as I stepped onto the small verandah, I could see Georgia through the screen door, filling a pastry bag with what looked like chocolate frosting.
She looked up when I knocked on the doorframe and beckoned me inside. The kitchen smelled of a delicious mix of chocolate, vanilla and caramel.
“Mmm, it smells good in here,” I said.
Georgia made a swirl of dark chocolate on the top of a dark-chocolate cupcake and set the pastry bag on the counter. “That’s probably my cupcakes and Liv’s caramels,” she said with a smile.
“You share this space with Olivia Ramsey,” I said. “I thought the address sounded familiar.”
She nodded, icing sugar dusting her dark curls. “Actually, there are three of us: Decadence—that’s Olivia— me, and Earl of Sandwich. I’ve been here only a month.”
Olivia Ramsey was a chocolatier who specialized in handmade truffles and caramels. Decadence’s reputation was beginning to spread outside the state. Earl of Sandwich ran two lunch wagons that serviced pretty much all the construction sites in the area. And yes, the owner’s name really was Earl.
I looked around the kitchen. The walls were painted a pale creamy yellow, like whipped butter. The appliances were all gleaming stainless steel. At the far end of the space, I could see two brick ovens built into the wall.
Georgia followed my gaze. “They still work,” she said. “This was a pizza place at one time, I guess.” She gestured at two wire racks to her left on the long butcher-block table. “What would you like? The ones with the green frosting are Chocolate Mint Madness and the others are Devilishly Decadent Chocolate.”