The Purloined Letter Opener Page 3

  “I’m not sure, not until I do inventory next week, but I think one of the letter openers is missing,” Misty said with a frown. “One of the pretty ones, with the purple agate handle.”

  Lydia sighed. Whoever it was didn’t take things every week. They just moved them around. They seemed to be able to vaguely control themselves most of the time, and only stole something once every six weeks or so.

  As their “poltergeist” had only started visiting the gift shop after the first of the year, both Lydia and Misty had a pretty good idea of who it was.

  Schooner Thomas.

  “Why is that man stealing knickknacks?” Lydia asked, frustrated as she scooped out melon seeds. “What is he doing with them?”

  “I think it’s a spell,” Misty said firmly.

  Lydia rolled her eyes.

  “I’m serious! I think he’s some kind of witch and is trying to put a hex on you,” Misty said.

  “Are there male witches? Or would he be a warlock instead?” Lydia mused.

  “I don’t know,” Misty said. “But mark my words. He isn’t up to any good.”

  Lydia blinked, surprised. She hadn’t ever heard Misty say anything bad about anyone. “What did Schooner do to get on your bad side?” Lydia asked after a moment.

  “Ack. It doesn’t matter what he said to me,” Misty said. “But he was mean to Alice, and I won’t stand for that.”

  “He what?” Lydia asked, putting down the knife carefully before she marched right out and stabbed someone.

  “Was mean to her,” Misty said, sniffing once with disdain, pushing off with her hip and standing up straight. “I didn’t think Alice would say anything to you. But I had the impression it wasn’t the first time. I only found out about it because I came walking in and heard him.”

  Lydia felt her temperature rise, and it had nothing to do with the grill behind her. She could just imagine what sort of impolite things someone like Schooner Thomas might say to a developmentally disabled young woman.

  “He’s no longer welcome here,” Lydia said with finality.

  “Good,” Misty said with a nod. “You tell him that when he comes in. I’ll back you up.”

  Lydia smirked at her.

  “What?” Misty asked, sounding offended.

  “There’s a Mama Bear underneath all that kindness and love,” Lydia teased.

  “You’re darned tootin’,” Misty said in a huff. “And them claws and teeth are sharp.”

  Lydia was still giggling as she went back to chopping, glad that she finally had an excuse for kicking Schooner Thomas out of her establishment. It said right there on the door that she could refuse service to anyone. And she’d had enough of his sourness spoiling her service.

  However, Schooner Thomas didn’t come in that Saturday. Or Sunday.

  And Monday afternoon, Alice came to work with the news that Schooner Thomas was dead.

  5

  “What do you mean, he’s dead?” Lydia asked, astonished. She stood in the laundry room with a clean sheet in her hands, unable to process or to keep folding. The machines were quiet behind her. She’d finished serving breakfast early that morning, and had pulled the dirty linens out of all the rooms and washed them already. It felt good to be so far ahead, particularly on a Monday, after a fairly busy weekend with all the rooms occupied.

  “He’s dead,” Alice said with satisfaction. She stood nodding her head at Lydia, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for Schooner Thomas to have died. She wore a navy blue shirt and jeans. Shouldn’t she be wearing black if she was carrying such news?

  “Who told you that Schooner was dead?” Lydia said. How did Alice know about it? Would her parents tell her? But why?

  “Here,” Alice said. She took the sheet from Lydia’s still unmoving hands and started to fold it. “Mitch told me.”

  That made even less sense. Lydia wondered if this was part of the novel that Mitch was writing. Sometimes Alice confused fictional stories that she’d been told with true, real things.

  “Why does Mitch think that Schooner Thomas is dead?” Lydia said, reaching for one of the clean pillowcases in the dryer and starting to fold that automatically. It warmed her hands, which had suddenly grown cold.

  “He heard it on his scanner,” Alice said solemnly as she finished folding the sheet.

  “What scanner?” Lydia asked. “Like a police scanner?”

  Alice gave her a great smile. “Yes! It’s a scanner the police use to catch bad people.”

  That made a little more sense. “Why does Mitch have a police scanner?”

  “It’s for his novel,” Alice said, obviously tired of having to explain even the simplest things. “It’s research.”

  The way Alice stressed that word made Lydia wonder what else Mitch had bought or had done all in the name of that holiest of quests: book research.

  “I wouldn’t go around telling everyone that Schooner Thomas is dead,” Lydia said slowly as she reached for a warm towel. “Not until we hear from a more official source. Like the police or on the news or something.”

  “But I didn’t like him,” Alice complained.

  “I know,” Lydia said. “I didn’t like him either. And he can’t come here anymore. But until I hear from someone other than Mitch and his scanner, I wouldn’t necessarily believe that Schooner is dead. Not yet, anyway.”

  Alice pouted at her. “But why?”

  “It might not be true,” Lydia said. “And we don’t want to be spreading lies, right? What would happen if he walked in here tomorrow? Though I wouldn’t let him stay.”

  Alice sighed. “I’d be sad.”

  “I would be too,” Lydia admitted honestly. “But maybe the police were wrong. Maybe he wasn’t really dead. Maybe a doctor can save him.”

  There wasn’t an adequate hospital nearby—closest one was in Yakima, which was a good two-hour drive away.

  “Mitch said he was dead,” Alice said, sticking to her story.

  “But Mitch only heard it. He didn’t see it for himself,” Lydia said.

  Alice looked stubborn for a moment, before she nodded. “But he was going to go see. After he dropped me off. I told him he could just walk to the house. But Mitch didn’t want to. He wanted to drive by and get a feel for the area.”

  “Walk to Schooner Thomas’s house?” Lydia asked, surprised. “Have you ever done that?”

  Alice grabbed another sheet from the dryer and started folding it. “Maybe. But you can’t tell!” she said, suddenly looking up. “Please!”

  “What were you doing at Schooner Thomas’s house?” Lydia said as she got another towel to fold, needing the warmth on her hands again.

  “Throwing eggs,” Alice said slyly. “Not any of the good ones,” she assured Lydia. “Just the rotten ones.”

  Lydia tried not to laugh or encourage the young woman to continue such behavior. Still, she was pleased to know that Alice could, it seemed, take care of herself. “And when did you go throw eggs at Schooner’s house?”

  Alice thought for a moment, counting back in her head. “Friday night?” she guessed. She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay,” Lydia said. She took the last towel from the dryer. “You know that you’re not supposed to do that sort of thing, right?”

  Alice nodded. “But no one is supposed to call me names, either,” she said. “Not like he did.”

  Lydia didn’t have to ask what names Schooner had used. She could guess. “Well, if he isn’t dead, and he ever does something like that again, you need to tell me. Promise?”

  “But he’s dead!” Alice insisted.

  Lydia sighed. “We’ll see,” she said as she gathered up the clean linens. “Let’s go get some rooms clean, all right?”

  “Okay!” Alice said cheerfully.

  Lydia glanced into the dining room on her way up the stairs. There weren’t too many people there. Mondays tended to be their least busy lunch. But she’d still set Alice to cleaning the rooms upstairs and come back d
own to see if Misty needed any help.

  And maybe to see if anyone else had heard the news.

  6

  Lydia texted Patrice a vague message, merely asking her if she’d heard anything, and to ignore the text if she hadn’t. Patrice replied with an emoji—a smiley face scratching her head in confusion, so Lydia assumed that Patrice hadn’t heard anything either.

  It wasn’t until Jen McGowen, Alice’s mother, came to pick up her daughter that Lydia got any further news.

  Jen was prematurely gray, or at least that was what she claimed. None of the black remained in her hair, which she wore in a short, masculine style that suited her. Lydia could see Alice’s features in her mother’s face, the rounded cheeks and smiling blue eyes. Jen always wore comfortable farm clothing, heavy jeans even during the heat of the summer, with loose brown or navy blue T-shirts that hid her muscles. She was short as well, maybe five-four, but came across as a powerhouse.

  “So, my sister’s youngest boy, Mitch, is here visiting,” Jen said. “He’ll be here for the next few weeks. You should come over sometime.”

  “It’s tourist season,” Lydia explained, hoping that would be enough of an excuse. “But I did hear some news this morning. From Alice. About Schooner Thomas.”

  Jen looked over at her daughter. “We talked about this,” she said sternly.

  Alice returned the stern look, though with an added dose of stubborn. “I don’t like that man,” she stated plainly.

  Jen sighed. This wasn’t the hill she wanted to die on, obviously. “Mitch went by the house after he dropped you off,” she said slowly. “Sergeant Gonzales was there, and there was police tape across the door.”

  “See! Mitch said he was dead,” Alice said.

  Lydia blinked, surprised. She hadn’t expected that at all. Why hadn’t anyone come by with the news? In a close community like Lake Hope, she would have expected everyone to be commenting about such an occurrence.

  However, Lydia couldn’t ask Jen if she thought Schooner was dead. It was obvious that Jen didn’t want to talk about it in front of Alice.

  “I’m sure we’ll learn all about it later,” Lydia said.

  “We should go see what Papa’s gotten up to this afternoon,” Jen told Alice, putting her arm over her daughter’s shoulder and leading her out of the B&B.

  Lydia smiled. The McGowen’s really were the nicest people. Even if they were still trying to set her up with Mitch. She turned and headed back toward the kitchen, to make sure that everything was ready for tomorrow’s breakfast. Misty had gone to fetch supplies for the morning, so she was alone in the B&B.

  Before she could get started with anything, the door leading to the outside opened and the bell tinkled merrily.

  None of the guests coming in that evening had told her about an early check-in. She was sure of it. Must be some tourists looking for…something.

  Lydia put on her best smile and walked back out into the restaurant. “I’m sorry, the restaurant is closed for the afternoon,” she told the young man waiting there. She’d turned off the lights and everything, hoping to discourage people from coming in.

  He gave her an aggravated sigh. “You forgot, didn’t you?” he asked.

  Lydia blinked. Her world shook apart, then righting itself again, and she recognized the person in front of her.

  “I didn’t forget,” Lydia lied staring at her little brother Theodore. It didn’t matter that he was at least half a head taller than she was. She would always think of him as her little brother.

  Theo had grown…thinner, she guessed was probably the best way to describe it. He felt like a shadow to her, as if the last few years had worn him down from the inside. He had the same petite Marsh nose that she did, though his had grown sharper with age. He wore his dark brown hair short enough that the front of it stood up stiffly from his broad forehead, like a teen-idol wannabe, making his oval face seem even longer. His eyes looked hooded and dark, carrying secrets and pain. He wore an off-white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, showing off pasty white forearms with no muscle tone, as well as khaki shorts and black sandals.

  Ed and Alan would have been appalled at Theo’s lack of fashion sense. The only good thing she could say was that at least Theo wasn’t wearing socks with his sandals, though she would bet that come fall when it was cooler, he would.

  “How are you?” Lydia asked quietly, as if talking to a horse who might spook and run off.

  Lydia had gone to see her parents on Sunday night to say goodbye. However, Theo had been out, so she hadn’t seen him.

  “Fine,” Theo said. He seemed angry. But he still asked, “How are you?”

  Lydia smiled at him. “About the same. Busy.”

  Theo looked around the empty room. “I can tell,” he said, the sarcasm dripping from his words.

  Lydia thought about taking offense. She knew that his words would have automatically set up the back of her younger self. However, she was busy most of the time. And she actually did have her life mostly together, the lack of a partner being her only pain point. She had good friends, a good business, and generally enjoyed herself.

  While it would have been nice to become friends with her brother, she didn’t need it. And she really didn’t need his sourness in her life.

  “Misty has stepped out for a minute—do you remember her?” Lydia said, leading Theo deeper into the restaurant, not bothering to turn on the lights.

  Theo shook his head.

  “So I’m going to make you the best coffee in town, free of charge!” Lydia continued. “I also have some pastries left over from this morning. Next time, I really will remember and we can go someplace else. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Theo said, sliding into one of the chairs at the table closest to the back counter.

  Lydia pulled out a small French press and poured in the perfect amount of ground beans, then added hot water from the automatic coffee brewer and let the press steep. “Are you hungry? Want anything to nibble?” she asked as she fetched two cups.

  “Sure,” Theo said.

  “Raspberry bizmark?” Lydia asked, remembering that had at one point been his favorite.

  “You got one?” Theo said, seemingly impressed for the first time that afternoon.

  “Maybe,” Lydia said. She went searching in the kitchen and came out triumphant. She didn’t like filled donuts herself—she was all about chocolate croissants, sweet and salty and buttery, which fortunately she couldn’t get at Patrice’s place, otherwise she might have ballooned up to three times her current weight.

  She got a ginger molasses cookie for herself and put a few other goodies in a nice arrangement on a plate before coming back out.

  “You always have to have things just so,” Theo said, his tone complaining even as he eagerly reached for his bizmark.

  “What do you mean?” Lydia asked.

  Theo indicated the table. “Everything’s arranged perfectly,” he accused her. “Even if you didn’t remember I was coming.”

  “I like things to look nice,” Lydia said. And she did. It was something else Ed and Alan had taught her, about how to make everyday art, as they called it.

  She wasn’t a great painter or interior designer. Her graphical art skills were laughable. As was her handwriting—Misty wrote up all the price tags and information cards about the items in the gift shop.

  However, Lydia could still make art out of everyday things, like making sure that the plates she sent out of the kitchen looked appetizing and that everything was always clean and tidy.

  “Why are you back, Theo?” Lydia said after she pushed down the plunger and served them both coffee in mugs that yes, she had set out with matching saucers and little coffee spoons. She’d done a complete service without even thinking about it.

  “Mom and Dad needed me to look after their place,” Theo said. He added three heaping spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee before he’d even tasted it.

  “Dad said you were planning on coming here before he’d told you ab
out their grand adventure,” Lydia said. She took her own coffee black, like Dad did. And while it wasn’t the best coffee around, she didn’t serve cheap stuff either.

  It had always been her policy to serve her guests only food that she, herself, would eat. Which meant real eggs, not powdered. Real bacon as well. The pancakes came from a box, but it was a good one. And the coffee was very drinkable, from a localish roaster.

  “I needed…I needed to sort some things out,” Theo said.

  “Like what?” Lydia asked.

  Theo shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “Things,” he said distinctly, effectively ending the conversation.

  “Fine,” Lydia said. “Be that way.” She sipped her own coffee, sitting quietly for a few moments with her brother.

  It was odd, him being here. What did he need to do back in the town they’d both grown up in? It wasn’t merely to sort things out. Something else was going on. Call it sister’s intuition. It wasn’t as though they’d been hanging out recently. The last time she’d seen him had been eighteen months ago—Christmas before last—when he’d brought Quentin home for a few days, without Jasmine.

  The bell over the door rang again. Lydia looked up, hoping that it was Misty returned with something that Lydia would have to do right away, anything to give her an excuse to not have to sit and stew with her brother.

  But it was Patrice, instead. “Have you heard the news?” she asked, sounding breathless as she came in, as if she’d just run from her shop three blocks away. “Oh.” She came to an abrupt halt. “It’s you,” she added, addressing Theo. She sounded tentative, as if she wasn’t sure what her reception to this party was going to be.

  Lydia looked between her brother and her best friend, pinging back and forth. Patrice looked as beautiful as she always did. Her frizzy golden hair threatened to escape the bun she’d carefully created that morning, giving her a shining halo. She wore just the slightest amount of makeup to enhance her natural beauty—a touch of mascara, eye liner around her brilliant blue eyes, her lips slightly reddened. Patrice always looked as though she was about to tear off her apron and go to some fabulous party. Lydia usually felt shlumpy in comparison.