Page 7 of Murder By the Millions
I retreated to the office, grabbed my purse, told Darcy I’d be back soon, and headed to Ragamuffin, a coffeehouse located in one of the connecting courtyards between Holly Street and Elm.
The bistro tables on the exterior patio were filled. Inside, all the tables were occupied, as well. I spotted Reika at the standing-only bar. Amira, her emotional support animal, or ESA, a bulldog named after a dog inThe Serpent on the Crownby Elizabeth Peters, stood beside her. I’d met Reika at a book club event at Feast for the Eyes. She often proclaimed she was a devout Peters fan. Though she was in her sixties, Reika, who had donned a square-shaped blazer and a knee-length skirt, looked as muscular and energetic as her bulldog. Her pixie-style salt-and-pepper hair didn’t dissuade me from the comparison.
“Good. You’re here. I worried I got the time wrong.” Reika didn’t wear a watch, saying she hated how one felt on her skin, but she loathed referring to her cell phone all the time. Therefore, she invariably showed up early for events so she wouldn’t be late.
“What can I get you?” I asked her. “Mocha? Cappuccino?”
“An Irish cream latte, please.”
Ragamuffin’s baristas were gifted when it came to their coffee beverages, adding all sorts of house-made syrups, like lavender, honey-maple, and Irish cream.
“Extra sweet,” Reika added. The bulldog barked in its throaty way. She hushed it and tugged lightly on the dog’s leash, which was loose around her wrist.
“And to eat?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Reika waved a hand. “I’m watching my figure.” She winked. “That’s all I’m doing. Watching it. Not minding it.” Though the curator had a stubborn streak, which made her a force, she also had a self-deprecating wit, which I appreciated. The history museum was in good hands under her leadership.
The bulldog yipped again.
Gently, Reika tweaked the dog’s nose with her finger. “Shh, you silly beggar.”
I got in line behind Patrick Hardwick, a home renovator in his late thirties. Rugged and lean, with unruly dirty-blond hair, he reminded me of the kind of guy who could climb Mount Everest with one hand tied behind his back. He also appeared to have been stomping through a filthy area recently. His work boots were caked with dried dirt.
“Hi, Allie,” he said over his shoulder, before shoving a wad of gum into the hollow of his cheek. “Nice to see you. I’m on my way to Tegan’s mother’s place to pin down the details about how she wants me to renovate her office.”
Tegan’s mom owned the Blue Lantern, a lovely bed-andbreakfast in Montford, an enclave at the north end of Asheville.
“In those?” I indicated his boots.
“Oh, geez, bad on me. I forgot to clean them up. I had a minor snafu with yesterday’s rain. It washed out my gravel driveaway. Don’t worry.” He grinned. “I’ll switch shoes for the meeting. Had to stop here first. I’m getting muffins for me and my crew. They’re finishing up another job and love the poppy-seed ones.”
“I’m glad you like them. I make them.” Ragamuffin was one of my many customers. “When do you start working at the Blue Lantern?”
“It’s a go Tuesday, as far as I know.” He paid for his purchase and said, “Say hi to Tegan for me.”
“Do it yourself. The copy ofDuneyou ordered came in.”
“Cool. I’ve carved out an entire reading day next Sunday.” Like Tegan, he enjoyed the fantasy, sci-fi, and supernatural genres. He raised the bag as a good-bye salute and exited the coffeehouse.
Minutes later, I rejoined Reika with two lattes and a dog biscuit for Amira. I bent to scratch the dog behind her ears. “How are you, Princess?” A while back, Reika had told me the dog’s name translated toprincess,so I’d begun using the mon -iker as a greeting. She let out a low, raspy bark of joy and salivated for the treat. I made her sit before giving it to her. Watching a bulldog sit made me laugh. Because of their short legs, they hunkered down like a human.
“She’s spoiled rotten,” Reika said of the dog, “but I couldn’t live without her. She keeps me calm. Ever since …”
She didn’t continue. She didn’t have to. She had confided on another occasion that in her thirties she’d been attacked by an intruder and had owned an ESA ever since. Amira was her third dog.
“The doctor says my heart …” Reika stopped mid-sentence again and sipped her beverage. “My heart can’t take any more surprises.” Her mother had died suddenly a month ago. Her father, last year. Not from anything untoward. They’d been in their nineties. Even so, losing a parent could be daunting. Reika withdrew a manila envelope from the tote bag she’d hung on one of the standing bar’s purse hooks. “Let’s get down to business. Take a gander at these beauties.”
I pulled photographs from the envelope. “You didn’t have to print them. I could’ve viewed them on your cell phone.”
“Bah. It’s important to touch things. Tactility matters.”
“Always the museum curator.”
“That’s right. Cameras capture memories, but they don’t provide the joy of a physical photograph. The feel of the paper. The brilliance of the colors.”
I spread the photos on the standing bar and oohed with excitement. “The pearls in the oversized champagne glass are gorgeous. And these feathers?” Two-foot-tall black as well as white plumes sprouted from the tops of gold-flecked candlesticks. “Stunning.”
“By the by, I need you to supply two dozen assorted cookies and two dozen muffins for my Thursday morning meeting at the museum. I prefer chocolate, but do include those fabulous apple muffins you make. My assistant adores them.”
