Chapter 2 #2
“That’s what friends are for. Now, let’s think about what kind of an event we can host at the bookstore.” Hearing Fletcher ask Liam about partnering had given me a new thought. “What about a mystery festival?” I blurted out, almost surprised at the words as I said them.
Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “A festival, hmmm. Tell me more.”
I wasn’t sure I knew yet, but my brain spun with possibilities. Maybe there was a way we could bring an entirely new tourist to Redwood Grove, not just for the bookstore but for the business community as a whole.
“Okay, let me think this out.” I took a long sip of the buttery Chardonnay.
If I could get Fletcher to buy in, I knew we could convince Hal.
“What if it’s a completely immersive Redwood Grove Mystery Fest?
Readers from all over the region will come if we brand Redwood Grove as the cutest, coziest mystery town on the entire West Coast. I don’t think we’ll get any pushback from Hal if we tell him our goal is to make Redwood Grove the St. Mary Mead of the US. ”
“Annie, how much wine have you consumed?” Fletcher gave me a sideways glance and shifted his glass to his other hand. “That sounds like a huge undertaking. You’re talking about getting everyone in town to participate. That could be a lot of work.”
“I know. I understand that, but I’m serious that we need something more than your average book signing.
Listen, we have to do something to save the bookshop.
Hal is the best, but let’s face it, he can barely figure out how to turn on his phone.
He’s content to curl up with his Golden Age biographies and a cup of tea.
He’s slowing down, Fletcher.” I paused, thinking about how recently Hal had been complaining more about his creaky knees and the drafty glass-paned windows keeping him cold at night upstairs in his apartment above the store.
“At some point, he’s going to retire. If the store isn’t making a profit, he will sell the estate.
What other choice will he have? A big event could bring some new blood into town. ”
“New blood. I see what you did there—clever, clever.” He laughed and raised his cocktail in a toast.
“What if the Secret Bookcase is the central spot for the festival?” I strummed my fingers on the rim of my glass, feeling my energy pick up.
“We can have a variety of author talks and signings. I’m sure the library will help, too.
I could craft a puzzle for readers to solve.
We could hide clues around the village square.
Then, if we could get the shops and restaurants in town involved, they could come up with mysterious food and drink pairings.
I’m thinking a pub crawl meets a book festival.
Skull lattes at Cryptic Coffee, Hercule’s Hops at the Public House, author panels, and pop-ups all over town. ”
“Okay, okay. I’m feeling you.” Fletcher’s pale blue eyes shimmered with a hint of excitement. “Tell me more; I’m listening.”
“Um.” I paused and dragged my teeth over my bottom lip. I hadn’t fully formed a vision for what the festival might include yet. “Uh, let’s see… maybe we can convince the theater to put on a production of The Mousetrap; Hal would love that. If we go all in on Agatha, he’ll be on board for sure.”
The idea was picking up steam. Yes, this is what we needed. This could breathe new life into the Secret Bookcase. My mind spun with possibilities.
“Yeah. What about a Marple or Poirot film fest?” Fletcher suggested.
“Or both.”
“I’ll drink to that.” He clinked his glass to mine and then polished off the last sip of his whisky. “Can I get you another? I don’t think I’ve had a chance to tell you about the new Dr. Watson documentary I watched last weekend. It was absolutely riveting.”
I gave him a regretful smile. “Thanks, but no. As I mentioned, I promised Pri I would swing by after work,” I reminded him, setting my empty glass on the table. “I’ll keep thinking about the idea. You do the same, and we can pitch the idea to Hal in the morning.”
“You know my methods.” Fletcher gestured with one hand. “By first light, I’ll have stacks of case notes for your consideration and anything else you desire.”
He didn’t need to go to any extra effort, but I knew it wasn’t worth trying to dissuade him.
I grabbed my things and headed outside. I couldn’t plan an event of this scale and magnitude without help, and I knew that once Fletcher’s imagination caught hold of the concept of a mystery festival, he would champion the idea.
I dearly hoped for Fletcher that a fellow Sherlockian would wander into the bookshop one day, and it would be love at first sight.
He was a good friend and deserved to be happy.
As I headed toward the coffee shop where I was meeting Pri, I thought about my own non-existent romantic life.
Love had been elusive for me. Probably because I’d gone out of my way to avoid dating.
Swipe-right culture wasn’t my thing, and Redwood Grove wasn’t exactly a hotbed for singles.
After Scarlet’s death, dating had seemed frivolous.
I could barely function in those early days.
I abandoned my dreams of working in forensic psychology or criminal profiling.
The FBI was off the table. My criminology degree would go unused, nothing more than a worthless piece of paper stuffed away in a box in my parents’ basement.
I channeled all my energy and everything I’d learned into trying to solve her murder when the police seemed to get nowhere.
I spent the first six months sleeping on the couch in my parents’ house, buried under blankets of notes, old police files, and my Excel spreadsheets.
I thought breaking the case might bring me some relief, but now, with distance and time, I doubt it would have mattered.
I needed to grieve, to lock myself inside and sink into the sadness.
I’d done that well. In fact, I might have holed up in my parents’ basement forever if it hadn’t been for an ad Hal posted about hiring a bookseller at an off-the-beaten-path mystery bookstore in the small town of Redwood Grove.
Books had gotten me through my worst days.
They were comfort, escape, and provided closure, which remained elusive in real life.
In mysteries, the killer is always brought to justice.
If I couldn’t find justice for Scarlet, at least I could surround myself in a world of crime fiction where evidence and clever detectives outsmart villains and restore peace.
A few weeks later, I found myself at the Secret Bookcase, accepting Hal’s job offer on the spot. I’ve never looked back or regretted my decision.
I only had one big regret. I would never forgive myself for pushing Scarlet to help me investigate a cold case we’d been assigned as our final project.
Our criminology professor, Dr. Caldwell, had us examine an unsolved murder, tasking us with reviewing the crime scene, suspects, and case notes and extrapolating any new insight.
With all the naivety of a twenty-two-year-old student, I had convinced Scarlet that we could crack the case.
It was because of me that she was dead. She would still be here today if we had followed the assignment and left it alone.
I tried to shake the memory from my head; it didn’t do me any good revisiting it.
Lately, I was starting to realize that one of the reasons I’d blocked the possibility of love was that it was too painful to imagine losing someone I cared about again. But where did that leave me?
Alone.
Maybe it was time to reconsider. Maybe it was time to put myself out there more, to break free of the safety of the cocoon I’d created for myself. Maybe being a part of something big was just what I needed.
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