Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
The fairies have never a penny to spend,
They haven’t a thing put by,
But theirs is the dower of bird and of flower
And theirs are the earth and the sky.
Rose Fyleman, “The Fairies Have Never a Penny to Spend”
IN THE AFTERNOON, I CALLED LOGAN and explained the situation.
In the past two years, rather than remaining an old curmudgeon, he had turned into a prince of a guy because he’d joined the Pedaling Pioneers, a bicycling group, and asserted that exercise was good for the soul.
He told me not to worry about the matter for another second.
Tianna or Ferguson would need a permit in order to dig up any of the courtyard, and no judge in the land would grant either request.
A couple of hours later, while dining on the patio of Hideaway Café with my father Kipling Kelly—he hated his formal name and preferred Kip—I mentioned the situation. He agreed with Logan, which set me at ease. I would worry no more.
“Now,” Dad said, “Wanda and I have some news.”
After my mother died, my father didn’t date.
Anyone. However, when he met Wanda Brownie, my best friend’s mother, it was Kismet.
The two were a perfect pair. He loved introducing her to the outdoors.
She adored acquainting him with great art.
Both enjoyed dining out. Wanda resembled her daughter, right down to her towering height and curly brown tresses, though she preferred form-fitting clothing showing off her trim figure while Meaghan preferred Boho chic attire.
“News?” I echoed.
“We’re getting married,” Dad announced.
I squeaked with joy. “About time. But why tell me without Meaghan in attendance?”
“We knew she’d be happy, but we weren’t so sure about you.
” My father was a handsome man in a master gardener kind of way.
Tan, fit, normal. He’d mellowed in the past year or so, which had added much needed smile lines around his eyes.
“We wanted to convey the news one on one, in case you had questions.”
“Ha! Questions? None. I’m ecstatic.” I raised my glass of chardonnay and clinked it with his. “To the happy couple.”
My boyfriend Brady Cash crossed the restaurant patio. He owned the café and rarely sat down to dinner when he was serving a full crowd. “What’s the occasion?” he asked. “You’re all smiles.”
“They’re getting hitched.” I nearly shouted the words.
“Congrats.” Brady clapped my father on the shoulder.
“What about you and my daughter, son?” Kip asked.
Brady winked at me. “We’re talking.”
Were we? The last time he’d raised the conversation, I’d shut him down.
I’d been married before. So had he. Did we think we could make a relationship last?
I adored him down to his toes, but until and unless he saw a fairy, I wasn’t sure we were meant to be.
He wanted to see one. He was open to the idea.
But if he couldn’t, would he resent me? Would he call my fanciful beliefs into question?
I wasn’t a fretter by nature, but I couldn’t seem to shake the concern.
My father gazed at me. Waiting.
“We’re talking,” I confirmed.
He beamed.
“Hey, Horace,” Brady said to the man strolling behind the hostess. “Welcome. Long time no see.”
“I’ve been in Chicago.” Horace Elias was a weathered man with silver-gray wavy hair and trimmed goatee.
He had taken possession of the space previously occupied by a clothing boutique in the Cypress and Ivy Courtyard.
His shop, Time Tinker—he had two others; one in Monterey and another in Santa Cruz—became an instant success because he was an extraordinary clockmaker.
One of Horace’s creations featuring a silver fairy hung in my living room.
Brady had gifted it to me on my birthday.
Without fail, Horace wore a suit. An elaborate chain attached to a heirloom timepiece swooped from the breast pocket to a button.
“For fun, I hope,” Brady said.
“Family business.” Horace tipped the brim of an imaginary cap and continued on to a table just beyond ours. He bent to kiss an elegant woman on the cheek. She resembled him in so many ways, I imagined she was a relative. His sister perhaps?
Brady returned his attention to our table. “How’s dinner?”
“Delicious,” I murmured. “I can never go wrong with the filet of sole meuniere.”
Brady and I had been friends in high school, but we had lost touch.
We reconnected when I decided to launch Open Your Imagination and discovered he’d taken ownership of the café in the courtyard across the street from ours.
I was so happy we had reignited the friendship.
I enjoyed his sense of humor and the easy way he smiled and the warm way in which he greeted all his customers.
He was a man who enjoyed his career and had a passion for life. Plus we were both photography nuts.
“How about I walk you home when you’re done?” he asked. “I’ll need some fresh air.”
“You bet.”
He left, and Fiona zoomed into view with her friend Ulra, a delicate fairy whose pink-and-yellow hair and pink tutu sparkled in the light. A nurturer fairy, Ulra resided in the plants on the café’s patio. She was shy but growing more confident with each human encounter.
“When is the ceremony, Dad?” I asked, resuming our earlier conversation while idly wondering what I’d wear.
“No ceremony,” he said.
“What?” I glanced at Wanda.
“A quick justice of the peace will do the trick, and then we’ll take our honeymoon,” she said. “We’re going to Hawaii.”
“Hawaii?” I regarded my father. It had been my parents’ ideal place to relax. He hadn’t gone since my mother died.
“New beginnings,” he said softly.
“Courtney, Meaghan told me you had a unique visitor today as well as last night,” Wanda said. “Two women believe there’s a treasure buried beneath your shop.”
When my pal stopped in for an afternoon cup of tea, I’d filled her in on the encounters with Tianna as well as Shara.
“What kind of treasure?” Wanda asked.
“Neither elaborated.” I relayed Lissa’s theory about pirates burying gold doubloons.
Dad scoffed. “I’m sure the builders excavated the heck out of the property before pouring the cement. There’s nothing there. Not even a dead body would have been overlooked.”
But what if he was wrong?
Brady offered his arm when we stepped out of the café. The weather was cool. Luckily, I’d dressed for a stroll in a soft red sweater over black jeans and flats.
“Want to swing by Flair Gallery?” I asked him.
“Sure. I can always use a dose of art.”
We headed east to Dolores Street, and then north toward 7th Avenue. When we turned into the courtyard, I felt a delicious sense of joy. It had been designed with a Cape Cod feel, its white clapboard buildings trimmed in baby blue and adorned with lots of plantings.
“Are you upset you won’t be celebrating with your dad and Wanda?” he asked, stopping in front of the gallery’s display window.
“A tad,” I answered. “But I’m a big girl. They’ll share pictures. Ooh.” I pointed at a beautiful waterscape. “To have that kind of talent.”
Fiona perched on my shoulder and sighed. “I wish I could paint.” She’d tried. She didn’t have an ounce of talent with a paintbrush, but she was a whiz at gardening.
“Me, too,” I murmured.
“You too, what?” Brady asked.
“I’m just talking to Fiona.” I caught sight of Horace Elias trying to unlock the front door of Time Tinker and struggling, because he didn’t want to lose hold of the piece of paper in his right hand. “Hello, Horace. Late night?”
“Yes, yes. Late.” Hurriedly, he tucked the paper into his pocket. His cheeks tinged bright red, as if he was flustered. “See you.” He tried again to unlock the door and muttered something under his breath.
“Pretty Christmas display.” I motioned to the window, which showcased a dizzying variety of clocks, each one different from the next.
My favorite was an old-fashioned clock with polished brass pendulums swinging behind curved glass.
A plump two-foot tall Santa referring to a pocket watch stood beside it.
“I like the cyclamen in the window box, too.” I motioned to the glossy red flowers.
“I planted the same. Aren’t they festive? ”
Horace glanced at his left hand which was smudged with dirt. He rubbed the gook off on his trousers.
I said, “It sure can be tedious keeping plants thriving at this time of year, can’t it?”
“Y-yes,” he stammered.
“Are you all right?” I was concerned by the edgy way he was acting.
“I’m fine.” He blew out a breath as if to calm himself. “Fine. Say, did I hear at the restaurant you’ve learned about the secret treasure hidden beneath your shop?”
I laughed. “Not you, too.”
“My cuckoo clock bird chirped something about it the other day.”
“The bird talked to you?” I asked. “About the treasure?”
“Yes.”
I exchanged a look with Brady. He waggled his eyebrows.
Fiona flew in front of Horace’s face and flicked her fingers. He didn’t blink.
“I mentioned it to Glinda,” he said, and hooked a thumb in the direction of Glitz Jewelry, the shop to the right of Time Tinker.
Glinda Gill was the owner of Glitz. A string of fairy lights rimmed her display window. Within on gold lamé fabric lay rings and necklaces and decorative Christmas balls. One of the rings reminded me of the diamond ring Tianna had been wearing. Spectacular.
“According to Glinda,” Horace went on, “her pirate forebearers were living in our neck of the woods in the late nineteenth century. If there’s a treasure, I bet it’s theirs.”
To hear Glinda tell it, her ancestors were daring yet kind-hearted pirates. Nary a one hurt another soul. None of them pillaged. I thought of the history Lissa had shared earlier about the Tillburys. Did she know how they’d made their fortune?
“I must see the treasure when it’s exhumed.” Horace pressed his hands together.
I said, “It won’t be—”
“I can be of help.”
“Of help?” Brady echoed.
“Be warned. If it is destroyed, time will cease ticking.” Horace once again attempted to unlock the front door. When he was successful, he slipped inside without another word.
Brady said, “That was strange.”
Fiona said, “Stranger than strange.”
It was, but I couldn’t focus on Horace’s odd behavior because I’d just remembered I’d promised to make a Christmas-themed fairy garden for Glinda’s niece. I explained my mission to Brady. “Do you mind going with me to the shop to gather a few figurines?”
“Lead the way.”
We strolled through the multilevel courtyard in the direction toward Lincoln Avenue and 8th Street.
“I’ll just be a sec.” I pecked him on the cheek, unlocked the door, switched off the security system using the panel to the right of the door, and with only the cabinet lights on to guide me, cut through the main showroom to the patio.
Fiona kept pace, wings flapping.
I flicked two switches. Fairy lights illuminated the ficus. Two sconces on the walls flanking the bakers’ racks illuminated. I paused. “How odd,” I murmured.
“What?” Fiona asked.
“The rack on the right. It’s almost covering the sconce.” I strode to it and gasped when I saw scratches on the travertine tile. “It’s been moved.”
“Joss couldn’t have done it,” Fiona said. “She left before you did to visit her mother.”
“Maybe a customer dropped something at the end of the day, and it rolled beneath the rack so they nudged it aside. But why not move it back?” I started to push it but paused when I glimpsed dirt. A lot of it. I crouched to peek beneath. “Brady!”
He came running. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone has been digging under this rack. The tiles and grout have been removed. Help me shove this out of the way so we can get a better view.” I motioned.
“Hold on. Everything will fall off.”
In a flash we transferred items to the leftmost rack, crowding figurines with environmental pieces. Then he grabbed the right end of the rack and I gripped the left. We edged it away from the wall, exposing a large hole at least three tiles wide and two feet deep.
I stood up and brushed my hands on my capris. “How? Why?”
“When?” Fiona asked. “The alarm was set.”
“And the old entrance is boarded up,” I said.
A long time ago, another shopkeeper in the courtyard had found a secret passageway into this area and used it to gain entrance. I didn’t know why he thought accessing it would make it possible for him to take over my lease, and I never would. I’d found him dead by the fountain.
“Who could’ve gotten in to the shop?” I asked. “Only Joss and I and a few others know the—” I screeched. “Brady!” I dashed toward the teaching table at the far end of the patio.
A body lie still beyond it. And not just any body. Tianna Thistle.