Publishable By Death by Andi Cumbo-Floyd (reading like a writer TXT) 📖

“There was some grumbling of course. Always is in a small town. But people like Lucas so much, they pretty much stayed quiet.” Cate’s voice was matter-of-fact – even. She clearly didn’t let much get to her.

As we went in through the full-glass double doors, I gasped. “Oh my goodness. It’s so beautiful.” The doors opened into a long, wide hallway with a view to the dining room and kitchen and beyond that a full wall of windows that looked out over the brackish canal that ran behind the house. In the half-light, I could see two egrets and a great blue heron standing sentry in the reeds. “That window.” I walked right to it and stared.

I heard a deep chuckle to my left and turned with embarrassment. There, apron over his khakis and polo, was a man I took to be Lucas. He was tall – well over six feet – and thin, reed-like is how I could describe him. “The view gets everyone the first time.”

He put down the pasta spoon he had been holding, wiped his hands on the apron, and came to greet me. “I’m Lucas. Nice to meet you.”

“I brought home my new friend. I expect you made enough pasta,” Cate said as she flung her wool cape over the back of club chair in the living room just in front of the kitchen.

“I’m Harvey,” I said with a smile. “And that’s Mayhem.” My pup was doing the usual sniff and greet with the most adorable dog I’d ever seen. “This must be Sasquatch. I love his eyebrows.”

“Nice to meet you, Harvey. Someday I need to know the story of that name. And yes, that’s our resident pillow stealer. Guard yours if you ever stay over. You’ve been warned,” he said as he headed back to his work. “Pasta puttanesca okay? I felt like capers today, and Merv down at the fish market had some amazing anchovies.”

I tried not to wince. I wasn’t the biggest fan of seafood, which made me ridiculous in this town where dinner was literally out the window. Something in my face must have given me away because Cate asked, “Not a big fan of anchovies?”

“Not really. I don’t like much fish, actually.”

Lucas gasped with mock horror. “That’s it. You’ll have to leave,” he said with a smile. “Just kidding. Lucky for you, I cook the anchovies separately so I can mince them over the top, so I’ll just leave them off your plate.”

I sighed with relief. “Thanks. If you have a tiny bit I can try, I’m always game. Just anchovies . . . “

“They’re the stuff of pizza nightmares, I know.” Lucas turned the big saucepan full of pasta and veggies with tongs. “Trust me, these are not those anchovies.”

“Wine?” Cate said holding up a glass.

“Yes, please.”

She poured me a glass of a gorgeous pinot noir, and I savored my first sip. Then, Lucas plated our food and we sat down at their long, blonde table. The conversation wandered from Lucas’s work at the museum to my shop to Cate’s plan for a series of portraits of the oldest residents in St. Marin’s.

By the time I was done with my second glass of wine, had decided anchovies weren’t totally terrible, and gobbled down a vanilla cupcake that Lucas had picked up from the bakery in town, I was completely relaxed and felt right at home. I couldn’t wait to introduce Mart to Cate and Lucas.

I looked at my phone and saw it was after ten. “Oh my. I better get home and feed this girl.” I looked down at Mayhem, who was asleep on her side at my feet, and gave her a nudge.

“Actually, I think she and Sas shared dinner. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Are you kidding? Anyone who will feed me and my dog is a friend for life.”

Cate stood with me and grabbed my peacoat off the chair. “Thank you for coming. I’m so glad you’re part of our town, Harvey.” Her face grew more serious. “I know the shop got off to a rough start.”

I had almost forgotten about the murder, which I felt kind of bad about. “Did you know Ms. Stevensmith?”

“I did,” Lucas said as they walked me to the door. “She was an acquired taste, let’s say.”

“That’s how most everybody describes her. My experience was similar.”

“Still, it’s a tragedy,” Cate said quietly.

“It is. The sheriff says they’re making progress on the investigation.” I didn’t know how much I could share of what the sheriff had told me, so I kept it simple.

“Good. I don’t like the idea of having a murderer in our little town.” Cate shuddered.

“And on that note, let me run you home, Harvey. It’s late, and I would feel better if you weren’t walking alone.” Lucas was already grabbing his coat.

I smiled gratefully. “What? You don’t think this girl can protect me?” I gave the sleepy dog a nudge with my ankle.

“Oh, I’m sure she would. But what if she hurts someone else? Best to just keep all our citizens, even the canine ones, safe.”

As Lucas and I drove the few blocks to my house, he caught me up on all the quirky people in town. There was the guy who pretended to be homeless when the tourists were around and made a good enough living to afford his Bentley in the off-season. And the woman who wore only purple ever. “Rumor has it that everything she wears is purple.”

I guffawed. “Hey, maybe you can tell me about someone I met briefly the other day. Black kid, late teens or early twenties, a really impressive flat top?”

“Oh, you met Marcus.” Lucas’s voice had lost all the humor. “Marcus Dawson. He went to Salisbury U for a few years. Rumor has it that he was uber-smart, too smart for his own good, maybe. For whatever reason, he flunked out and moved to St. Marin’s. He does odd jobs for folks – hard worker for sure – but kind of angry.”

“Hmmm. He was pleasant enough for me, but he did use up at least two whole rolls of paper towels in the bathroom at the shop.”

“Hmph. Maybe he doesn’t have great aim?”

I laughed hard as Lucas pulled up to my house. I loved this town.

5

The next morning, Mayhem and I took a little more circuitous route to the shop. That little piece of paper that Sheriff Mason had mentioned had come to mind as I scrambled an egg that morning – it might have been the turmeric that I threw in for flavor that triggered some hint of a memory, something to do with Main Street. So the hound and I headed out early to see if we could find the source of that nibble.

We walked past the park on the waterfront and took a left through our neighborhood of ranchers and cottages that were the homes to some of St. Marin’s year-round residents. We hung a right on Main Street and went past the sail shop, the garden center, and the stately historic houses that had probably been home to ship builders back in the nineteenth century. As we passed the bookstore, I could see Rocky inside dancing, and I smiled.

We strolled on up the block past the post office and the creperie, where the smell of sizzling butter almost drew me in. A couple was looking at the real estate listings at the broker’s office on the corner, and I found myself hoping they could afford the high price of our gorgeous town’s real estate because we could use a few more young families in the area. I peeked in Max Davies’s windows at the quaint tables for two and found myself actually wanting to eat there, despite the owner’s bristly personality.

Ahead, I could see Eleanor Heron opening the front shutters on her farm stand, and that’s when I remembered – the paper flowers in her windows. I tried to keep my pace steady as Mayhem and I walked over to Eleanor, whose arms were full of something that looked like plump bowling pins.

“Hey Harvey. Hey, Mayhem.” She put her load down in the bins just inside the door and bent down to give the dog a scratch. “Just putting out the last of my winter squash. I ration these all winter so I have produce throughout the cold months. Need to keep that foot traffic going,” she said with a laugh. “I expect you’ll know more about that soon enough.”

“I expect I will,” I said with a smile as I stepped over to the leaded glass windows. “Tell me about these flowers, Eleanor. They’re gorgeous.”

“Aren’t they, though? They sell them over there at the art co-op,” she said as she came and stood next to me. “I bought these years ago and just keep them in a tote for the first hint of spring. But