Death By Ink: A Whispering Cove Mystery Read online

  Mannford turned abruptly, saying, “Shall we get started? I have plans for later this evening.”

  As the others followed Mannford, Catherine saw Rafe held back as the others moved forward, grabbing for Judy’s hand. She took a step closer to Rafe, hearing him say, “These are not my glasses. You know I do not wear glasses.”

  She watched Judy smile and heard her say. “The glasses will help hide those signature ice-blue eyes of yours.” Judy walked past Catherine, ignoring her presence to catch up with the group.

  Catherine noticed it took a minute for Rafe to breathe again. “Are you okay Rafe?”

  “I’m fine, Catherine, excuse me. I need to make a call.”

  Catherine nodded, watching Rafe take his phone out. It surprised her when he covertly took a picture of the duke. Maybe he was a fan of royalty. She watched as he walked out of the room, entering the now closed bookstore to make his call. She was tempted to follow him. Looking back at the group, she noticed they were all intently listening to Mannford explaining the history of the pen before them.

  Catherine quietly walked to the entrance of the bookstore, sliding inside silently, hiding in the shadows of a row full of books. She listened to the one-sided conversation.

  “Stella, I am texting you a photo of someone who claims to be the Duke of Somerset.”

  Listening for a moment, Rafe continued, “Listen closely Stella, I have texted you a picture of a gentleman who is claiming to be me. If you would reach out to our contact at MI6 and see if they know who he is, I would appreciate it. Though it is imperative, you get back to me as soon as possible, Stella.”

  Catherine, seeing Rafe disconnect the ducked deeper into the dark, holding her breath, while her mind reeled. Did Rafe just say he was the Duke of Somerset?

  Catherine joined the group at the exhibit table. Temple looked at her, and whispered, “Where have you been?”

  “I thought I would use the restroom before getting busy for the night. What did I miss?”

  Temple didn’t answer while Mannford, hearing them whispering, glared in their direction.

  “Where’s Judy, the librarian? I didn’t see her in the restroom.”

  Catherine jumped when she felt a movement beside her. Turning, she saw Judy standing right next to her. As Temple moved with the group to the next pen, Judy walking around Catherine said quietly so only Catherine could hear.

  “Hiding in the shadows is not always the safest option, Ms. Landen.”

  Catherine gasped as she watched Judy rejoin the group. She walked up to the table intime to hear Mannford start the history of the next pen.

  “This is the Pen of Winston Churchill. Best known as the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom during the Second World War. It is said that his half-American heritage was the reason he sought the United States as an ally during that tumultuous time.

  Churchill was a well-known fountain pen enthusiast. Though he owned a plethora of pens, his favorite brand was the Conway Stewart. The Company even now releases new pens dedicated to him with his favorite quotes engraved on them.”

  A cell phone sounded off loudly. Rafe pulled out his phone and excused himself. “Sorry everyone, I should have had my phone on silent. I need to take this call. It’s my publisher.”

  Rafe walked out of the exhibit to take his call. While Mannford moved on to the next pen in the exhibit.

  Catherine, standing next to the duke, watched as the duke tensed as Rafe left the exhibit area. Then she watched as he frowned when Henry Duchene entered the room. She smiled. There certainly are some weird dynamics in this town. This writing club just may be more interesting than what she first expected.

  Mannford arrogantly continued. “Here we have an Estes Brook J pen. You may find similarities with the now LAMY brand. Like the now modern brand, the Ester brook J pen came in many sizes and colors to choose from. The difference between the two was in size. Vintage fountain pens were much smaller than what you are used to today.

  This pen belonged to Simone De Beauvoir. Born in France in 1908, her full name was Simone Lucie Ernestine Marie Bertrand De Beauvoir. Her well-known works delve into many philosophical, political, and intellectual issues of her time. She was one of the more prominent feminists for her time.”

  Moving to the next pen, Mannford began his story. “This pen is a Parker Durfold, used in creating the most popular detective in the world, Sherlock Holmes. By none other than Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, born in 1859 as Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle.”

  As the group moved on, Temple touched the attractive pen. Feeling panicked, she felt the all too familiar chill which began at the bottom of her spine and creeped up to her neck. She slipped into her own realm of reality, as she felt a strong sense of death and dread as she touched Sir Conan Doyle’s pen.

  Catherine watched Temple, confused. She seemed to be in a trance as she touched the pen of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. She felt a chill in the air surrounding her and Temple. She jumped when Temple’s cat Wizzy hissed at her, attempting to scare her away from Temple's side. She watched as Wizzy wrapped her body around Temples' legs, moving slowly and purring loudly.

  Catherine reached out to touch Temple's arm, who jumped, whispering. “What is it, Temple? What’s wrong?”

  She watched as Temple bent down to pick Wizzy up, rubbing her forehead on top of the cat’s head, whispering, “I’m okay Wizzy, it’s over now.”

  Catherine was startled when Temple looked at her with an intensity she had never seen before. Temple was always airy, and flirty, this was a novel experience.

  “Death is coming with this pen.”

  Catherine looked curiously at Temple. “Death? Temple, are you okay? Let’s go over and get a lemonade. You’re white as a ghost.”

  Leading Temple over to the table across the room that held cookies and drinks for the group. Catherine poured them each a lemonade and directed her to sit down.

  “Temple, what just happened to you?”

  Temple, shaken, took a drink of her lemonade. “I have a unique gift. When I turned eighteen, I was in a horrific car accident with my father. He didn’t survive. I had a traumatic brain injury and spent three months in a coma. When I woke from the coma, I noticed nothing at first. After a few weeks, when I went home from the hospital, I picked up a baseball that was in the yard and immediately felt chilled. I saw that baseball flying through my Livingroom window. It scared the daylights out of me. I dropped the ball and went in the house. The next day, a kid in the neighborhood hit that same ball with a baseball bat right through my living room window on his way to practice.”

  Catherine had read about people that held this unique talent, but she had never experienced it before and didn’t know if she believed in the practice.

  “There have been more incidents, but none like this. I touched that pen and saw death. Not who’s death, or how, or even why, but the feeling was overwhelming.”

  Catherine watched Temple look her in the eyes with sheer panic. “Catherine, somebody is going to die.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Saturday Morning

  The day of the Famous Pen Exhibit

  Catherine sat out on the lanai of her penthouse, having her first cup of coffee that morning while the painters were setting up for work. She hoped the soft yellow color she chose for one of the three bedrooms in her penthouse would inspire her to write. It was to be her new writing space, so the aura had to be just right. She called the movers last week to have her things in storage transported to Oregon. One of those items was her father’s mahogany desk he had treasured.

  She wondered if moving all her things so quickly was the right thing to do. What if it turned out she couldn’t manage an inn? Where would she go? Catherine felt a flutter of excitement. She was looking forward to getting back to writing if she could come up with a story idea. However, today was not the day for contemplation of a new book. Her thoughts needed to be focused on the incident with Temple the night before, and her premonition of death.

  What did
it mean? Could her cousin seriously see the future? She knew there were people out in the world with special gifts, but Catherine had never quite experienced an episode like this in person.

  Catherine looked at her watch. The Famous Pen Exhibit event was due to start in four hours. The writing club was hosting the event, and as a new member, she should arrive early. Plus, she could look in on Temple before they all got to work. But she had time. Catherine walked into her closet and pulled out a box. It was time to review her story ideas. An hour later, Catherine set a file on her bed. Velocity, she thought. Perfect title, interesting storyline. This is the story she would write next.

  Catherine took a shower and prepared for the evening ahead. Braiding her long hair, she dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white silk blouse, putting on a pair of black flats, knowing she would be running most of the evening serving the guests. Adding a coat of mascara and glossing her lips with a mauve lipstick, she looked in the mirror, thinking, ‘it’s not fancy, but it will work.’

  After ensuring everything was running smoothly at the inn, Catherine walked into The Haven three hours later, to find Temple’s assistant running the bookstore.

  “Hi Julia. Is Temple around?”

  “Hello Catherine! No, Temple is next door at the Seaside Boutique. I’m sure she won’t mind if you stroll over there.”

  “Thanks Julia, I think I will.”

  Catherine noticed the closed sign before she tried the boutique’s door, finding it open. She spotted Temple bent over a file of papers on the counter, beside Hilly Barrington, the owner of the boutique.

  Temple looked up, hearing the bell ring. “Hi Catherine. Welcome to the new Haven’s Whimsy Tea & Apothecary shop.”

  “A new shop? Temple, that’s exciting.”

  Hilly Barrington beamed. “Yes, it is. I am so pleased. I can now move to Portland and be closer to my children. Temple, it looks like everything is in order, so I am going to take my leave. I have a lot of arrangements to be made for the move.”

  As Hilly left the store, Catherine eyed her cousin. “Temple, how are you today?” She jumped when Wizzy rubbed up against her legs.

  Temple giggled as she picked up her cat. “How did you get in here, my pet? I haven’t opened the wall yet?”

  “Wall?” Catherine asked.

  “I thought I would open a doorway space between the two shops and keep separate openings from the street. What do you think?”

  “Great idea Temple. I came a little early to check on you and help you prepare for tonight.”

  “Catherine, I am better, a bit shaky yet. I haven’t had a feeling that strong before, especially such a dark feeling. It really unnerved me. I am worried about the outcome of tonight’s event.”

  “Did you feel the premonition specific to anyone at all? Or any sense of a timeline? A place, perhaps?”

  No, not at all. That’s what is so eerie about this. I don’t know what is going to happen. I just know that death surrounded that specific pen. Let’s go over to the bookstore. The others in the writing group should be here shortly.”

  “Let’s get busy then.”

  An hour later, when the members of the Whispering Cove Writing Club arrived for the exhibit, Catherine witnessed Judy, seeing Rafe arrive, pull him to the side, away from anyone who could overhear their conversation.

  Catherine watched from across the room, as Rafe’s expression turned from shock to one of recognition. Rafe nodded, with a charming smile, putting on the glasses that Judy had given him the night before. She watched as Rafe and Judy walked back into the hall where the exhibits were on display.

  With a tilt of her head, Catherine thought, wasn’t Judy’s hair pink last night? Now it appeared to be a spiky purple color that matched perfectly with the color of her pants.

  With the official event underway, Henry Duchene was finishing his keynote speech about how he produces his specialized one-of-a-kind fountain pen, the Duchene, while Catherine worked in the kitchen with the owner of the Confection Connection, a local dessert restaurant in town. The women were setting up the trays to be moved throughout the room, offering the guests delectable desserts that would complement trays of expensive wine that were also being served.

  Catherine picked up her tray filled with desserts and moved into the hall. She stood for a moment, taking in the beautiful sounds of the quartet playing Mozart’s ‘Dissonance.’

  As Catherine approached Justus Gordon, she was just in time to hear Mark Stevenson, author of The Jericho Wolf, NYPD Series say, “Yes, Justus, I am hard at work on my new book focused on the disappearance of Eddie Asbury, a known mob hit man. Would you be interested in reading what I have so far?”

  Catherine noticed the flash of fear that entered Justus's eyes. She interrupted the two men’s conversation, perhaps to the benefit of Mr. Gordon. Still, Catherine wondered about that look of fear in Justus’s eyes she had just witnessed.

  “May I offer you gentlemen a delectable dessert?”

  As the two men chose their individual desserts, Justus said, “Eddie Asbury, huh? Yes, I would very much like to read what you have written so far. Tell me about your research.”

  Mark Stevenson remark, “Sure, let’s meet tonight after the event at the bar back at the Inn.”

  Smiling to herself, Catherine moved on to the couple of women standing near the two men.

  She recognized Harriet Sutherland as the girlfriend of Henry Duchene.

  “Just look at Cassandra Collins, Marjorie, dressed like that in a backless red dress for this event. Could the tramp get any more obvious? She is practically drooling down Henry’s dress shirt.”

  Catherine looked at Marjorie. An elderly, plump woman, who at the moment was staring intently at Justus Gordon, she seemed to be only half listening to what Harriet was saying.

  “I know little about Cassandra. I don’t know her well enough to give an opinion. But I can tell you I am quite upset with Henry. He overcharged me for one of his fountain pens and it just doesn’t meet the standards of the pens exhibited here.”

  “Marjorie, you're worried about a pen. Cassandra is trying to enchant Henry into her bed, and that is not acceptable by any means. Good lord, I will get Henry to replace your pen.”

  Just as Marjorie was thanking Harriet, Catherine stepped up to the women with her tray, “Ladies, may I offer you a dessert?”

  After serving the two women, Catherine headed to the kitchen. After refilling her tray in the kitchen, Catherine saw Juliet Ohara, an aspiring romance writer who was standing unusually close to Rafe just outside the doorway. Juliet certainly looked enthralled with the handsome Rafe. Reaching them, she overheard Juliet saying, “Maybe we could have dinner tomorrow night to discuss writing romances?”

  Before Rafe could answer, Catherine offered them a desert. She tried to keep from laughing when she heard Juliet say cattily, “Look at Harriet Sutherland over there watching Cassandra Collins! Serves her right to be jealous. I can’t stand Harriet. It was her whorish tastes that broke up my marriage to Henry.”

  Rafe, coming out of nowhere, grabbed a dessert from the tray while he winked at Catherine. “Excuse me, ladies.”

  Catherine turned just in time to hear a whispered argument between Mannford Summers and Henry Duchene behind her.

  “Henry, your presentation was not accurate. You were supposed to include information on the museum, yet you only spoke of your accolades. This is the last time I am working with you.”

  “Must you be so picky, Mannford? That is why I cannot sing your praises. You are rude to everyone you talk to. Now I have had enough. Do what you must.”

  Catherine, who had absentmindedly put distance between herself and them, jumped when she heard Mannford exclaim, “Ms. Landen, are we not good enough to sample one of your desserts?”

  As she held out her tray for the men to make their choice of dessert, Henry scoffed and turned back to Mannford. “Isn’t it strange how your guy there, the Duke of Somerset, is taking pictures of everyone by th
e exhibit?”

  Before Mannford could answer, Marietta Hanson, a bookstore owner from Portland, joined them.

  “Henry, I want to speak to you again about putting your pens on consignment in your store.”

  Henry frowned, appalled. “Marietta, I do not sell my pens by consignment or in a store. Each pen is special ordered. I take great care in manufacturing each pen individually.”

  “Henry, the caliber of my clienteles should be enough to convince you.”

  Catherine watched as Henry laughed. “For god’s sake, Marietta, you own a bookstore in Portland. Your clients are readers, not writers.”

  Stepping forward, Catherine said, “May I offer you a desert?”

  “Marietta, I would like to introduce you to Ms. Catherine Landen. A member of the Whispering Cove Writers Club. They are all serving this evening. She is also the owner of the Saltwater Inn where we are staying.”

  “The Catherine Landen, author of Innocent Eyes? I loved that book!” Marietta pulled out her calendar from her purse. “Ms. Landen, I own the Portland Books and Nooks store. When can I schedule you for a book signing? I have a very elite clientele. I would expect you to do a reading of course.”

  Catherine looked at Marietta in wonder. This was not the time and place for this. “I will have my agent get in touch with you, Ms. Hanson.”

  “Agent? I have my calendar here. Let’s get this booked right now. You know I don’t just host any author.”

  “Ms. Hanson, my agent handles all my publicity and events. Right now, I am working at this event. It’s the McGuire agency in New York.”

  “I don’t believe it! You’re signed with Maddi McGuire? Why, she is the biggest agent in New York. Yes, I am sure we can book you something in the next month.”

  Catherine raised the tray back up to her shoulder. “Great, I must get back to work now. It looks like the others have gone to fill their trays, leaving me solo here providing desserts.”