Side street mystery; dog eared page

 

Finally, after everyone had gone—with a menacing last remark from Chief detective Pierre Reaux,

“do not plan on leaving the country,” he said looking pointedly at Grant as if a warning, and then he had spun on his heel and left on the tail of the departing policemen.

Grant shut the door behind them and they watched from the window as the cops got into the police cars and Pierre Reaux disappeared across the street. They watched the police cars drive away soon followed by a silver nondescript sedan, the unmistakable profile of Pierre Reaux illuminated by the street light.

Grant had been holding apart the curtain at the window as they watched them depart, and now he dropped the sheer and then closed the heavy hunter green drape. He then went to each window to do the same. There were five windows that circled the front of the house and he went to each one after to do the same. 

When he was done he sighed heavily and leaned against the wall by the last drapery of the bay window he had drawn shut. He stared dully at the floor. Or rather his own shoes. But he was not looking at his shoes, really, he was examining his own thoughts and still seeing Aunt Fiona in his thoughts as she had appeared when he first found her in the bedroom. 

Faun’s first thoughts were out of concern for Grant, even as the shock of seeing a dead body which belonged to someone she knew—and had liked had left her quite shaken as well. Her first instincts were the need to find order among the chaos of everything; she relied heavily upon order, it was always her pillar and source of strength, but also, her desire to provide some means in which to be of help.

“Would it help if I made you tea?” she asked him 

Her words seemed to make no sense to him. At first he blankly stared at her but he was not seeing her, he was still seeing Aunt Fiona and that horrid impression still left upon his inner mental retinas. 

“Erm….” to pause to regain a lucid thought. Then he said, “not here….” 

Yes. There was the burning need to leave the house as soon as possible. 

Faun felt the same and looked around for where she had left her umbrella and clutch. When she spotted both, laid upon the entrance console by the gilt framed mirror to the left of the highly polished wood door she slowly walked towards this.

And cautiously Grant added with a sigh,

“but first, perhaps we had better look for King Leopold,” he raised his now bloodshot, shadowed-forest eyes as she turned to look at him.

Faun drew a gap in the drawn drapery and curtains to look again out the window nearest the console,

“it looks like the rain has finally stopped….” and then dropped the draperies to wait for him by the door, holding both her umbrella and clutch close to herself, repressing a chill that swept through her, “do you know where the house key could be?”

“Check the table drawer,” he suggested, remembering having seen it there often.

Faun found the key,

“we should lock up—make sure all the doors are locked.”

Once they had done they left together, shutting the front door, locking it, and went down the front path towards the chess pieces. 

It seemed a life time had passed since they had walked past them when they had arrived now so many hours ago.

In silence they reached the gate and paused a moment. 

“We can start looking around the block first—I think Arthur usually would walk him to the park thst is down that way—perhaps that’s where Leopold went….”

Faun followed where he pointed and turned as if to go but hesitated,

“Did the paramedic say it was carbon monoxide?” Faun asked him now 

“He said it was not up to him to determine, or something like thst—I forget exactly what he said—I’d mentioned what the coroner told me earlier….”

“Oh,” Faun thought about that 

For a few beats they stood paused at the gate still within the grounds

“What is that?” Grant asked slowly as he listened to something. 

Faun strained her ears.

“Do you hear that?” Grant asked her

At first she hadn’t but after a moment she heard a sound. Like a movement. It sounded like a rustling in the bushes that lined the front of the house. 

Faun reached for her phone and found the phone flashlight. They could see a skunk skulking in a run through the grass 

Instinctively they both moved back a few inches, even as they were well enough away. 

“Just a skunk,” Grant said opening the gate and waited to let her through first 

“Yes,” Faun said as they started out

But then they heard a louder sound of bustling leaves as the thick hedge was disturbed, followed by a loud bark,

“King Leopold!” they both said together as they watched the huge black mastiff come galloping towards them with a terrified expression on its canine, aristocratic face

No king of clubs; side street murder? mystery

 

It was only a matter of minutes before the ambulance arrived, no sooner hung up the phone, they could hear the sirens coming. And then almost just as quickly ….the paramedics pronounced Fiona Bishop dead. 

And then it was a whiplash of events that followed. 

Before the police showed up Grant and Faun sat stunned on the Bishop’s couch next to each other, staring into the room they sat in; the main part of the downstairs was their sitting room; a lavishly furnished room much like the bookshop with the addition of a harpsichord and a standing harp; there were bookcases everywhere filled with books; and books piled on the floor in neat stacks all over the hard wood floor. The colors were deep earthy tones of dark browns and greens with an occasional brick red here and there…. snd sitting there, it was impossible not to imagine Fiona walking through the room and laughing about something she heard someone say at the shop….

“Did you smell any carbon monoxide?” Grant suddenly asked her out of the blue 

For a moment Faun tried to remember ….

“No actually,” she said thoughtfully 

“Neither did I,” he said ponderously 

Then she sat bolt upright and looked at Grant,

“King Leopold!”

Grant sat up too and faced her—he would have stood but he was still in shock and the sudden head rush he got sitting up m, prevented him from standing up just yet. 

He looked at her then away, biting his lower lip as he then played absently with his facial scruff; he considered this. Then he looked back at her,

“he can’t have gone too far, he doesn’t like rain—plus, he’s a mastiff—he’s almost taller than you, someone would have seen him, I should think, and maybe taken him in….” and now he stood up feeling more confident that he could. He turned to look out the window, “it’s likely a good thing he wasn’t here or he’d —maybe be dead ….too,” still as he said this he began walking around the huge room and searching outside through each window, trying not to panic over another crisis, “god,” he said, “that’s all we need now….” 

“The neighbors all know him….” Faun stood up too and began doing what Grant was doing but it was pitch dark out with the exception of the other houses across the street with their lights on —as it was now half past seven in the evening. 

And then the lights of the police cars lit up the road as they looked out.

“It’s the police!” Faun gasped 

Grant glanced at Faun and walked straight to the front door where only moments ago the paramedics had rolled Fiona Bishop out on a stretcher; sheet over her face.

Grant did a quick inhale. Then out. Then stood by the door and watched from the window as four cops got out of two police cars from where they had parked; right out front on the curb. They left their lights flashing on the top of their cars and the spinning, luminous, red cast an eerie light on the evening. It was a formidable image to watch from the living room window of the Bishop’s house. Past the chess pieces, they stormed through, pushing wide the gate and not shy about the pieces they wore on their hip. 

Three very loud knocks followed,

“Police,” the biggest of the four stated through the door—Faun could see him clear from the window 

Grant opened the door. 

In loud pounding footsteps they entered the house, all looking around suspiciously before settling their attentions on Grant and Faun.

“Officer Sullivan,” he held up his badge with terrifying authority and narrowed cold blue eyes on both of them. 

And then it was a long grueling duration of questions, all asked bluntly in fast succession before getting their statements; and in the middle of this —another authority made his entrance; arrogantly cutting in and interrupting the cops’ procedures 

“Who are zese people?” the oily little msn asked Officer Sullivan with a heavy French accent; he wore a long black trench coat and he had dark greasy hair with an odd mustache 

“I’m sorry—and you are?” Grant asked the oily little man 

“I am Chief detective Pierre Reaux!” the little man straightened his back to make himself appear taller as he looked up at Grant, “and I will be investigating the events of tonight!”

It seemed quite unbelievable that any of this was happening; it was like something out of the mystery section, Faun was thinking 

“Did he say Poirot?” Faun looked up at Grant wondering if maybe this was a surreal dream 

Grant wasn’t sure either and looked back at Faun wondering the same thing 

Chief detective Pierre Reaux heard this though and sneered, and with an insulted tone and heavy sarcasm said as he looked down his nose at them, 

“I am not from Belgium—I am from Montreal!”

Faun had a moment to wonder to herself ‘so what are you doing here?’ and rather unimpressed by the man’s arrogance— instead of caring to be embarrassed that he caught the reference (it had to be the shock from the evening) Faun felt outraged! Grant had just found his family member dead —and now this little twit shows up! 

Bishop takes the square; Side street hard boiled mystery

 

After Faun put down the phone, she had the sense that something was wrong as she looked up at Grant; there was slightly more of that troubled look within his intense deep forest eyes with the exception of bright moss in one of them,

“Are you all right?” she had started to move to the cash register to remove the till but he was leaning upon the counter in a brooding manner as he stared dully at the row of volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary, the complete volumes taking up most of the bookcase that was beside the pillar and desk. 

“Erm….” he stared for a moment at the volumes thinking of all the words that must be …. and here he could not find one on how to begin …. finally he looked at her, “I don’t know….” 

The register drawer had popped open with an alarming ring but neither of them seemed aware of it

“Something’s wrong….” Faun said as more a statement than a question 

“Yes—well…. something rather…. quite disturbing and I’m not sure I should bother you with it,” he sighed 

“Is it about the Bishops? —or the bookshop?”

“It’s about Uncle Arthur—well, Arthur I should say as he was not my real uncle as I said and —they married late in life….second marriages, them both ….” he consciously spoke slower now to make sure she caught his words but—he wasn’t sure what he should tell her. Then he shrugged, “damn, I’ll just tell you as this may turn into a—well….I got a call today from the coroner’s office ….”

for a moment those last words hung in the air

At first she wasn’t sure she heard right. 

He watched her face. Such a pretty face too, he thought as he worried now about shocking it, so he raised his dark chestnut thick brooding brows as if to imply his words in case she missed it

It was slightly delayed. She said with s kind of gasp,

“coroners?—you said —did you say coroner’s office?” And her hand went to her throat as she accidentally leaned too hard on the till drawer and it swung back into the register with a loud cash register ring! It was also rather alarming and punctuated the moment 

Grant reached around her and took her first by her slight, narrow shoulders and then outside each arm he placed his hands to move her away from the register,

“yes…. the coroner’s office ….you see, it appears the cause of death was carbon monoxide ….”

“Oh my God!” Faun exclaimed as she thought of the tragedy of Arthur Bishop’s untimely death…. “ I’m so sorry, Grant….” that was the first time she said his name, it just slipped out all on its own and she looked at him

“Well—it’s Aunt Fiona I’m more sorry for….” he said in a hushed tone of regret looking down 

The following silence had Faun’s thoughts considering his words until what he didn’t say dawned,

“oh…. you have to tell her….”

He looked up at Faun now, relieved she connected the dots and then it was the dark, exotic pools of her eyes that lassoed him with their strange almond slant which were looking back at him and now caused him to momentarily forget what he meant to say. 

They were both quiet with their own thoughts for a moment. 

Finally Faun took a deep breath,

“I’ll come with you to tell her—were you going there now?”

Grant let out a sigh of relief,

“yes.”

Faun looked back at the register decisively,

“I’ll balance the till in the morning ….let’s go, we can take my car.”

In the car they were both quiet. It had turned dark and it started to rain as she drove, the wipers on the glass making their antiquated rhythmic sound that felt somehow very reassuring. What is it about old things that can be so comforting in times like this? Faun was thinking. She could have no idea that Grant’s thoughts had been quite similar as he watched the wipers move the rainwater across the windshield making irregular designs where the rubber was coming off the blade

“I should fix that,” he said absently 

“What?” she asked 

She had no idea what he actually said 

But then they were pulling up to the house and suddenly the dreaded deed loomed more uncomfortably for further chat 

“So—I left a message I was coming —so, I expect she knows ….” Grant opened the passenger door and got out.

she had grabbed an umbrella and opened it, raising it high enough over his head as she caught up to him.They walked up the sidewalk together 

The front of the house had high hedges and this gate was flanked not by the usual lions that often decorated pretentious people’s homes but but by two four foot tall, marble, sculpted, chess bishops and for a quick instant Grant paused to caress the top of one,

“he was a good player, I’ll give him that,” he said and glanced back at her before opening the black, iron gate and letting her through before continuing up to the door 

Faun followed behind him, then up the path to the door. 

He knocked, and called through the door,

“Aunt Fiona—it’s me—I’m here with Faun….” 

They waited outside in the dark. 

“No porch light on….” Grant said wondering aloud 

They both looked up to see if there were any lights on in the house that they could see from outside and to get a better view, they both walked back along the front walk to look up at the house to see if any lights were on upstairs. 

“Oh—yes, there—“Faun pointed, “that must be the bedroom—I see a light up there.”

Grant looked up,

“Ok, let’s try again,” he said and went quickly back up the steps to the door.

He knocked. This time the door latch came open and the door swung open.

“Odd,” he said and went in

“I think you should go up alone, maybe she fell asleep and it would be alarming to see both of us in her bedroom,” she said, “I’ll wait a moment—maybe I’ll make tea….?—or ….?”

But she had been here before. And something felt a bit off….the dog!

“Where is King Leopold?”

Grant looked at her and even in the dark it seemed he went pale as a ghost

“Leopold….” he rushed up the stairs 

Faun waited by the door as she watched ….

It seemed an eternity followed ….but was really only less than a minute before she heard him shout,

“Faun!”

She ran up the stairs and followed the light, she found the bedroom and there was Grant standing beside the bed next to…. what was clearly Fiona Bishop but…. she was not moving 

Faun moved slowly to Grant’s side and when she was beside him he said in a barely audible tone,

“oh my god….” he stood frozen, Faun reached for his ice cold hand as he whispered, “I think she’s dead.”

Side street mystery unfolds

 

In the end, that time, it was the shop’s phone ringing that interrupted them,

“….oh I should….” and she started towards the cashier desk where the phone was now ringing ; which was at the center of the ground level, a few feet from the stairs where they had been standing and which lead up to the next floor

he watched her run for the phone, mesmerized by the burgundy folds from the back of her. He watched her every move, somehow drawn—was it her scent or her aura? he didn’t know but pulled to as he was he could see the swell of thigh, which lead to a firm suggestion of —where it lead, to the slightest rounding that the folds clung to from behind with her every step, which captivated his stare as he said,

“I’ll just…lock up….” even as he still watched her furtively, as he moved to lock the two green, painted, wood-framed, glass-windowed doors. He listened to her answer the phone 

“Side-Street Book shop,” she said

She was behind the cashier counter by a dark glossy wood desk that was mounted to the dark wood pillar wall that matched it. It had vertical file shelves all crammed with cards and papers, a huge wrapping paper roll installed on a metal cutter and an antique stapler dominated the surface with a clipboard and legal pad in the center upon which she was scribbling notes. 

and as he came back he heard her responding to the caller’s questions,

She looked up as she saw him walking towards her  

“oh—I see…. well, I don’t see why not, but I’ll have to check with the owner first to see if they normally do this but —if not— I am sure I can get this for you—“ she was saying as Grant came walking over

side street hard boiled bookshop mystery

 

Later Faun was to feel quite mentally discombobulated over her thoughts of how their coffee together ended. It was again the sudden interruption with that otherworldly ring tone. 

She lay in bed staring up at the ceiling unable to sleep as she went over in her mind the day’s events. First meeting Grant and then their conversations that left her wondering what she had gotten herself into by ever renting this place. How did she become suddenly embroiled in this bookshop mystery? —her unlikely landlords from England. But they had been so charming, the day she met them at the house when they showed it to her, pulling up in a green MG, Arthur Bishop, somewhere in his mid seventies but not at all ill looking, dressed smartly in casual business attire and well groomed. Fiona Bishop, also smartly dressed in a floaty, floral-pastel-colors dress and high heels and about the same age by all appearances but both such a happy couple. 

After they had showed her the apartment she wound up signing the lease right away and then they got to chatting about books. When they learned of her years as a bookstore manager they invited her to join them for tea at their house. It had been so spontaneous, Faun adored both of them immediately and they talked for hours about so many things…. And it was not long before it became a habit to stop by for tea, bumping into them often during her local walks around town. 

And now all this that has happened since…. it was the sirens that alerted her that day. She was just walking down their street and she saw the ambulance. She ran over to Fiona who was in tears and asked her if she could feed their dog and let their dog out, handing Faun the house key as she got in the ambulance with her husband. 

Such a terrible shock. She felt so awful—and poor Fiona; her heart went out to her…. it was the least she could do for them, it never occurred to Faun not to jump in to help…. and put her own life on hold.

Her own life…. what was that again? Did she actually have one of those….but, she was not dead….so, maybe it’s time she got one ….her thoughts tumbled and reproached her.

After two weeks at the shop—tonight….she meets Grant and …. showing up how he did —somehow ….it was unexpected —as if it allowed her to be more open to chance. She would never have spoken to anyone like Grant if not for the bookshop. And the Bishops. Like Grant….

It was something there as if even before he appeared —as if he was always already there. A strange familiarity; as if wired to his frequency —no matter if the way he spoke was like being pulled under a charm, the words a tangle but the meaning clear by his tone. Yes, it was his tone that nearly sang and his eyes that at once were fierce and troubled and then intense but kind. 

And how he asked her what was she thinking….had caught her off guard. Nobody ever asked her what she was thinking. Nobody ever seemed to care. But the way he looked at her when he asked her— made her aware that he really wanted to know. 

Why?

And then when he said that he knew ….what did he mean? That he knew she was upset that she thought he’d only asked her for coffee to ask for that favor—the manager job.

And then his phone rang. That way. The otherworldly ringtone.

Immediately she had stood up,

“Oh, I should go—you should take your call—“ and she didn’t wait; she just grabbed her clutch bag and darted—half ran through the sitting room, past the salmon velvet couches for the door, “bye!”

And out the door and down the front path, past the overgrown garden and front gate. She was still running down the concrete driveway, her long green paisley skirt getting tangled and caught in her long legs, and it was not until she ran past her yellow Volvo that she slowed down. She took a deep breath and paused a moment ….realizing she did not want to hear him answer the call; she didn’t want to know; didn’t want to care; why should it matter anyway?

Her apartment had its own stone walkway that was lined with hedges, allowing it some privacy. It also had its own porch that faced a back landscaped area with a sundial and a bench where sometimes she sat to read. But tonight she just ran up the steps of the porch and quickly unlocked the door, and shut it behind her, determined to have put it all behind her. What was the point anyway? He had his real job back home. And who ever that was on the phone. He had no room for her and no need.

It was hours later before she fell asleep. 

The next day at the bookshop she busied herself at the shop. There were always a million things to do there and it occurred to her that if she was to run the shop, she could use a hand. When school let out the two girls came bustling in with their usual jabber and Faun had their espressos ready before they had time to ask. 

“How would you girls like to work for me?” Faun asked them, and opened a bag of popcorn and poured it in a bowl putting it in front of them 

And by the time they were ready to run home and start homework, they had agreed to ask their parents to sign the working consent form; Fridays after school and Saturdays ten until six

And as they were leaving, she saw Grant standing in the doorway between the classical fiction area and philosophy which lead to the back of the store towards the cellar doorway to the stairs. Had he been down there all day? she wondered. 

He stood there looking at her a moment. Today she wore a burgundy color dress with little ballet pumps that had buttons on the side and emphasized her little feet and well shaped narrow ankles that lead up the long legs which again he was caught by even as the skirt stopped below the knee. The way it swooshed each time she moved and fell in long folds across her belly and from hip to knee was bewildering to him.

“Why did you run out last night?” he stood there asking her 

She had been holding an old cloth bound book, Henry David Thoreau—and it simply fell out of her fingers. It dropped in a thud onto the floor. But first on her foot. 

“Ouch — “ she looked up but he was already in front of her, bending down to pick it up

She didn’t know what to say so by the time he stood up and looked back at her, she just looked back at him blankly

“You didn’t have to,” he said 

Side street mysteries; what’s really going on?

 

And as she sat there sunk within these thoughts she slipped off a bit and far away…. he was speaking….saying something but….she was crushed ….

….and now she wondered what he was saying 

“What?” she looked up at him 

“Are you all right?” he asked her

“Yes. Thank you….” she automatically said but he didn’t believe her

“So, your favor?” she asked and the coffee maker let out a burst of hot air that startled her. She let out a gasp 

“Ah! It’s done!” he said, happily getting up 

She watched him pour and then he brought the two cups and saucers over and placed them down on the table. He let her go first. So she added the fake creamer and then mixed it around with the spoon. She sipped it carefully. Scalding. Put it down. 

Then she looked at him carefully from below her lashes to get a hint of his expression. What was this about? She wondered. And who was he talking to on the phone when he left the office? What was he talking about with the mystery books she had never heard of nor was there any listing of them on any internet search engine —as far as books were concerned anyway. That was what they had been looking up before the phone call ….that phone call— that interrupted ….well something ….that felt had begun —something between them as they sat there together in front of the monitor ….it was such a nice feeling

But also, she was beginning to wonder about the circumstances of Arthur Bishop’s sudden death. And what was that smell in the cellar?

“What are you thinking about?” he asked her suddenly ….he had been watching her sitting there. Some unlikely thing to say but he felt daring. As he asked this he observed her. She was so nervous. And the expressions thst moved across her face as she sat there he found so fascinating. But also ….her smell….there was some kind of sweetness to her body scent that had him quite distracted. What was that scent? It was not from a product; it was something of her own chemistry that filled his head to be near her. 

It seemed such an impertinent question to ask her. The sudden personal question. He didn’t pretend with his eyes. He looked boldly into her. His eyes were poet’s eyes, fringed with shadowed lashes and like fields of grass. When they looked at her, they looked into her and the look was almost violating but he smiled 

So why did she ….not say so?

Any other man ….

“I was thinking ….” she sipped the coffee 

“I know what you were thinking,” he said this in a lower tone but again he smiled and then sighed. He sat back and shook his head to clear his mind, “I erm….wanted to ask you if it would be possible to ask you to stay—to—um….run the ….shop—I mean, I’d help you figure it all out ….erm and you would be paid. He had a manager up until recently —don’t know what happened to him but —see, I’m knee deep with sorting his website out…and my Aunt—Fiona—she’s talking about going to live with her daughter back home plus I have my real job that I need to get back to….”

Long pause.

With Faun’s mind spinning she quickly said,

“back home….” and then added as if in delay, “Aunt Fiona back home…. back home?”

And he did an odd wave behind him to somehow indicate this and at the same time repeated,

“back home.”

So she said,

“back home, back home….” as by saying this it let her mind go over some thoughts …. And it seemed she knew how to carry on a conversation. It’s not hard. Just say the expected thing—but why were his eyes saying one thing —having one conversation as his mouth was having another with her …. but his sensual mouth ….

“So like a job? You are—like, offering me a job?” she asked “because ….she’s going.” 

“Well—yeah—I guess—and it would really help the family—the Bishops….”

“So what’s going to happen with the shop?” Faun lifted the coffee cup to her mouth and sipped, her eyes met his and this time it was her eyes asking other questions 

Side street mystery

 

There was something so quaint about the little two story house; which was the main reason that Faun decided to take the apartment. Like most of the others on the block, the house had the original architecture, with the original house foundation; circa the Victorian age, which oddly obviously left its influence on the town Faun observed, ironically, much like the historical American revolutionary plaques mounted all over town and leant its mood everywhere. All the houses were similar on the street but each had their own unique exception that made them stand out on their own. One was painted a pale shade of pink with white shutters and a matching unattached garage; they had a pale yellow picket fence and a front garden bursting with hydrangeas.

Another house beside it was all subdued shades of grey. This one had a neatly manicured lawn with two ancient weeping willow trees which flanked the house and which gave it more subtle hues of twisted shades in grays. In warm weather, it owed relief from a bright contrast by the shock of pink cast from the Hamilton rose bushes that outlined the home’s front door path which decorated a canopy of arching trellises to the door 

Faun always liked to imagine what went on inside those houses, each so different from the other and walks around the block often caught her observing the residence along the street. 

The pale lilac grey house that the Bishop’s let was the most subdued on the street, even with its two apple and maple trees and the big oak that a tire swing hung and shaded the front porch and west facing house with its wide stretching branches. Perhaps the jewel in the crown of this house was the front porch. It was furnished with matching rocking chairs, the kind you would picture in Cinderella with the big circular shaped rocker legs and padded with white, hemp, crocheted macrame with long sweeping fringes.

Faun had never gone into this part of the house, her apartment had its own private entrance at the back of the house, so as she walked with Grant up to the front, she curiously let herself examine what she had never been close enough to see. 

The front garden was overgrown, she noticed in the dark as they passed to go up the steps of the porch. She glanced at the rocking chairs and the tables beside them as Grant stood at the front door to open it with a key.

“I should have put the porch light on,” he said more to himself as he searched for the lock opening with the key; but then he got it and swung open the door. He stood aside to let her in first. 

He flipped on the light switch by the door. They had stepped directly into the sitting room from the doorway and off to the left she saw was the little kitchen; she caught a glimpse of a small dining room beyond. 

In the sitting room there were three sofas; two small and a bigger one. They were the kind of couches that seemed might have been there when the house was built —even as that was impossible, but it looked like it might, with the wood frame and salmon velvet upholstery —that didn’t promise comfort but seemed to preside. The floors were hard wood with various rag rugs thrown casually everywhere; and then, the tables were oddly colonial and matched the bookcases and the framed embroidery on the walls; and as they walked in, their footsteps echoed throughout the room. 

“So—sitting room—“ and here Grant swept out his arms pointing grandly to demonstrate at the couches, “kitchen this way….” he directed like a tour guide for Faun to follow, and as they came to the door that lead in, left open he now flicked the kitchen light switch by the door

It was a simple, tidy kitchenette with plain but solid wooden cabinets that also looked original to the house, but the plain avocado colored stove/oven range was less antique, although far from state-of-the-art, like the coffee maker that sat looking rather friendless on the otherwise bare counter top with its faux marble design.

“And dining room,” Grant stepped past the partition and flicked on another light. There hung a little crystal chandelier over a modest wooden, oval shaped colonial table with four matching colonial chairs. He flicked off the light and turned back into the kitchen, “I usually just sit there,” he pointed to a small square table that had two plain mismatched chairs placed around it

The light in the kitchen made an odd hum Faun noticed, looking up at it; it made her wonder how old the electrical wiring was as she noticed the art deco style of it.

“So—coffee?” Grant asked as he leaned against the side of the sink and turned to face her.

“Um—yeah—sure….” and awkwardly Faun moved, deciding to help him prepare it, she hesitated as she reached to open a cabinet door in search of materials required.

“No, you sit,” Grant smiled at her and carefully reached to remove her hands from the cabinet by taking each hand in his, having moved behind her, and then he gently walked her to the little table and pulled out a chair, and obediently, she sat, the contact of his hands on her momentarily stunning her

as he was saying,

“I invited you for coffee so the task is up to me and I don’t mind doing it.”

As this gave her the opportunity to watch him, she didn’t mind either. And as he opened cabinets and the coffee, he showed her was the shop’s signature brand,

“have you tried it?” he asked her

“No.”

“You’ll like it. It’s my favorite coffee,” he said as he measured it out and poured in the water. He placed two very, vintage, diner, white coffee cups with saucers on the little table where she sat with two spoons, “oh—I don’t have milk,” he said suddenly remembering 

“I don’t drink milk anyway,” she said 

“How’s fake creamer?”  he showed her the package

“Perfect,” she said

And as they waited for the coffee to finish, Grant sat down in the other chair on the other side of the small table. Then he said,

“I do need to ask you a big favor —about the shop ….”

“Ok….”

“So, I’m —that we—that you —that we can chat a bit ….” he struggled over what to say and second guessed every word.

She didn’t notice. All she heard was: a favor ….?

And now suddenly she was crestfallen ….and she found herself ….depressed over this sudden chilling mystery

was that the only reason he asked her to join him for coffee…. ?