Antiques, Codes & Conundrums, Evelyn Chambers Cozy Mysteries: Book 1

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

Evelyn Chambers, clad in her favorite tan slacks and pink blouse, stepped into the cozy café in Langley, Virginia. Her gaze was immediately drawn to vintage furniture spread about the room that seemed to whisper tales of the past. Soft, warm lighting cast a gentle glow over the patrons as they savored their coffee and pastries, adding to the nostalgic atmosphere. Paintings with scenes of yesteryear adorned the walls, while shelves displayed delicate teacups and saucers reminiscent of elegant tea parties from long ago.

“Oh, this place is charming,” Evelyn mused to her next-door-neighbor and friend, Margaret Tuttle, as they settled at a small wooden table near a window. “I’m so glad you suggested we try a new place.”

Margaret glanced around. “It’s certainly got a vibe. And they have waitstaff. No going to a counter with a barista.”

Evelyn’s keen gaze darted around the room, observing each patron, and absorbing every detail of the café, her curiosity piqued by the myriad stories the antiques could tell. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a distinguished-looking gentleman with a dark briefcase walk into the café. He appeared to be in his early sixties, about ten years younger than her. He sported a well-groomed, iron-gray goatee and wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches. A bow tie neatly fastened under his collar added a touch of sophistication, while eyeglasses perched on the bridge of his nose like an ever-watchful owl. His thinning hair was meticulously combed, completing his refined appearance.

“Going to get your usual black coffee?” Margaret asked.

Evelyn perused a menu that lay on the table. “I think I’ll try a cappuccino.”

Margaret arched an eyebrow. “That’s not like you.”

Evelyn laughed. “I’m feeling daring today, especially after the issue with the plumbing this morning.” She waved a hand around. “Even more adventure with a new café.”

“We are being different,” Margaret agreed as she looked at the menu. “I’m glad you were able to get the sink fixed right away.”

“Me, too.”

“Excuse me.” A waitress approached, her cheerful voice interrupting them. “May I take your orders?”

Evelyn nodded. “I’ll have a cappuccino and a buttery croissant, please. It’s been one of those days where only caffeine and carbs can save me.”

The waitress chuckled. “I know exactly what you mean.”

Margaret ordered a latte and a bear claw, and the waitress thanked them and walked away. Margaret began talking about her lackluster garden, and how the Virginia July heat was taking its toll on her plants, but Evelyn’s attention returned to the distinguished-looking gentleman, who was now introducing himself to a younger-looking man who had just walked up.

“Philip Wright,” the distinguished-looking man said, extending a hand to his companion. “A pleasure to meet you.”

The name struck a chord in Evelyn’s memory, though she struggled to determine why it might be significant. She furrowed her brow, wracking her brain for clues.

“Alex Thompson,” the other man said, his cooler voice making Evelyn pause. “I’ve heard quite a bit about your expertise in antiques,” he continued.

“Only good things, I hope,” Philip said smoothly. The two men settled at a nearby table. “Now, let’s talk about that Chippendale cabinet you’re interested in.”

Evelyn puzzled over Philip Wright. He had a unique manner of speaking—authoritative and charming, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter. But her mind was on his name. Where had she heard it before? Both first and last name were somewhat common; maybe she’d heard it on TV or she’d read the name in a book. She leaned slightly closer to his table, her ears straining to catch every word he said. She found herself captivated by his enthusiasm as he spoke about antiques, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“The Chippendale was crafted in the mid-eighteenth century,” Philip said. His voice carried a hint of nostalgia, tinged with a reverence for the past as he showed Thompson photos from his briefcase. “A true masterpiece, if I may say so.”

Laughter erupted from another table and caused Evelyn to miss some of what Philip said. Then he went on, and she caught bits and pieces.

“. . . and the intricate carvings on the mahogany . . . can’t be like today’s mass-produced world.”

“I see that,” Thompson said as he looked at a photo. “The attention to detail is astonishing.”

Philip definitely has passion for his trade, she thought. It was clear he truly cherished the history and artistry of the items he dealt with. Still, there was something about the name.

“Here you are, ladies,” the waitress said as she placed their orders on the table. “Enjoy!”

“Thank you,” Evelyn replied. As she took a sip of her cappuccino, she strained to catch snippets of the conversation at the next table.

“. . . evaluate the plans now, and . . .” Thompson was saying as he eyed another photo.

Philip hissed at him and glanced around. “Don’t talk about that here!” His chair legs scraped loudly on the floor as he scooted closer to the table.

Margaret waved a hand to get Evelyn’s attention, her eyes gleaming with mirth. “You’re distracted again.”

Evelyn blinked, tearing herself away and back to Margaret. “Was I?”

Margaret sighed and patted Evelyn’s hand affectionately. “I know that look. You’re intrigued by something.”

“No, I’m not,” Evelyn protested, though her lips twitched into a smile. She couldn’t fool Margaret, who knew her all too well.

“We’ve been friends for over forty years, and I can see right through you.”

Now Evelyn smiled broadly. Margaret did know her well. Evelyn and her husband—Henry—had met her and her husband—Frank—when they’d moved into the neighborhood. Brookton, not far from Langley, Virginia, was a charming town, full of history, its small downtown dotted with brick buildings full of shops, art galleries, restaurants, and cafés. It was also a far cry from the St. Louis suburb where Evelyn had been born and raised. Margaret had been so kind to her new neighbor, and they’d become fast friends.

Margaret’s brow raised as she glanced to Philip. “You know him?”

Evelyn shook her head. “I feel like I should know the name.” She leaned over the table. “Philip Wright.”

“Never heard of him,” Margaret said as she bit into her bear claw.

“Hmm.” Evelyn sipped her cappuccino, then tuned into what Margaret was saying. “What’s that? You tried to make your own perfume?”

Margaret nodded. “I wanted something natural, that kind of thing. I’d done some reading online, and I thought it would be easy—just mix rose petals, lavender, and a touch of lemon zest for a fresh, floral scent.”

“Not bad,” Evelyn commented, taking a bite of her warm, buttery croissant, savoring the way it melted in her mouth. For a moment, she allowed herself to be lost in the simple pleasure of her surroundings.

“It might’ve been, if Doyle hadn’t decided to ‘contribute’ by knocking over a bottle of peppermint oil into the mix.” Doyle was Margaret’s Labrador.

Evelyn burst out laughing at the mental image of chaos that must have ensued. “So, what did the final mix smell like?”

“Picture yourself walking into a garden where all the flowers are in full bloom, only to be slapped in the face with a wall of minty freshness so powerful it knocks you off your feet,” Margaret replied dramatically, fanning herself as if she were there again.

“Your olfactory nerves must’ve been on fire,” Evelyn said between giggles.

“Let’s just say, I’ve learned my lesson when it comes to homemade perfumes. If I ever decide to try again, I’m locking up Doyle first.”

Despite the levity of their conversation, Evelyn couldn’t help but listen to Philip as he continued his discussion with the other man. They weren’t looking at the photos anymore.

“. . . get them to me, but discreetly,” Philip was saying. “Maybe after . . .”

Evelyn couldn’t hear the rest of the sentence.

“You don’t have to worry,” Thompson snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”

Philip held up a hand. “I’m just saying, I have to be careful.”

Evelyn found herself drawn to the dark timbre of Philip’s voice. She shook her head slightly.

“And you’ll . . .” Thompson said.

“How’re your curious cats?” Margaret asked.

Evelyn sighed, trying not to seem irritated at her friend inadvertently keeping her from hearing the conversation between Philip and Thompson.

“You wouldn’t believe what Midnight did the other day,” Evelyn replied. “He watched me solve a crossword puzzle, and later, I found him sitting on the table with the puzzle book in front of him, one paw resting thoughtfully on his chin like a professor deep in complex calculations.”

Margaret laughed. “He may become a better brain-gamer than you.”

“Could be. He might publish a paper someday.”

“And how are the other two? Anything new?”

“Mischievous as ever.”

“That tripod cat really knows how to find trouble,” Margaret smirked.

“Lucky does great. And Butterscotch. I swear she’s learned to run even faster, and I bet it’s because she can’t see where she’s going—like a rollercoaster ride without brakes.”

“A blind cat who still manages to ‘catch’ toy mice. It’s like she knows exactly where they’re hiding. She must have some special radar powers or something.”

“Sometimes I think all three are plotting world domination,” Evelyn joked.

“They could be,” Margaret said. “But if they’re anything like their owner, I have no doubt that the world would be a better place.”

Evelyn smiled. “Thank you.”

Margaret talked more about Doyle, but Evelyn was only half-listening. The aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafted through the air, intermingling with the gentle hum of conversation and the clinking of porcelain cups. Soft oldies music playing in the background added a soothing ambiance to the bustling café. Evelyn took a deep breath, savoring the comforting scents as she delved deeper into her thoughts about Philip. She was sure she’d never met him personally, so what was it about his name?

“Earth to Evelyn!” Margaret chided playfully, again waving a hand in front of her friend’s face. “I seem to have lost you for a moment there.”

“Sorry,” Evelyn apologized with a sheepish grin. “My mind was wandering.”

“Well, if you’re going to daydream, at least share with the class,” Margaret said.

Evelyn leaned in. “I feel like I should know him.” She jerked her head toward the other table.

“Maybe you’ve visited his store?” Margaret whispered. “You and Henry did like to poke around antique stores.”

Evelyn smiled at a memory of herself and her husband in a quaint store in Pennsylvania. They’d had such a good time, even though shopping wasn’t Henry’s cup of tea. She grinned at the pun. But her smile faded, replaced by an ache in her heart. Even though Henry had been gone five years, she still missed him.

“I don’t think we ever visited Philip’s store,” Evelyn’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I would’ve remembered.”

“What about your nursing days? Did you ever treat a patient by that name?”

“Possibly,” Evelyn mused. “I think I’d remember if I had treated someone with such a unique flair about him.”

Margaret glanced surreptitiously at Philip, then shook her head. “I don’t know anything about him, and if you’re not careful, he’ll notice you’re trying to listen to his conversation.”

“I think there’s something more to it,” Evelyn insisted, her voice hushed.

She glanced around the café, hoping for some inspiration. The café buzzed with a diverse mix of late afternoon customers, each with their own unique style and demeanor. A young couple in the corner, more engrossed in their phones than each other. A group of elderly friends gathered around a table, their laughter echoing throughout the room. A mother helping her little girl with a coloring book, the girl sneaking bites of a chocolate croissant when she thought no one was looking.

The waitress stopped to ask if they wanted anything. Evelyn glanced at Margaret, who shook her head. “We’re fine,” Evelyn told the waitress, who dropped a check at the table.

Margaret changed the subject. “How’s Colton?”

Evelyn never missed an opportunity to brag about her thirteen-year-old grandson. “He’s fine. You wouldn’t believe how much he looks like his father.” She smiled at the thought of her son, Vince. “Colton’s in summer baseball, and he’s getting so big, he’s really filling out his uniform.”

“I hear that. James is growing like a weed.” Like Evelyn, Margaret bragged on her grandson every chance she got. “He’s still in soccer, and he’s really good.”

“I’ll bet.”

The two women finished their pastries and drinks, Margaret chattering on, but Evelyn was still distracted by the men at the other table.

“. . . and so, I told Grace there was no way I was going to make three dozen of those fiddly little cupcakes for the bake sale. Honestly, does she think I have nothing better to do with my time?” Margaret huffed, shaking her head.

Evelyn focused on her friend. “I could help you. When did you say?”

“I’d need them next Thursday.”

“I’ll do it.”

Margaret wiped her hands on a napkin. “Well, I was hoping for an excuse not to bake at all, so you’re no help.”

Evelyn laughed. “I’ll come over Wednesday evening, and we’ll get them baked in no time.” She pulled her wallet from her purse and placed a credit card with the bill. “This is my treat.”

“Next one’s on me,” Margaret said. She glanced at the two men, then shook her head. “Still don’t know them.”

The waitress swooped in and took the credit card, returning almost immediately. As Evelyn paid the bill, she thought about Henry. He hadn’t really enjoyed browsing antique stores, although he’d talked about visiting one around the time he’d passed away. Evelyn suddenly bolted to her feet, toppling her chair.

“What on Earth?” Margaret stared at her.

Evelyn felt eyes on her. Her cheeks burned, and she was sure she’d turned red. As she mumbled apologies, she noticed Philip and Thompson staring at her. She righted her chair and sat down.

“What’s going on?” Margaret asked.

“We need to go,” Evelyn replied in a low voice.

“Now?” Margaret gestured to her half-full cup. “I need to finish my latte.”

Evelyn drew in a calming breath. “Oh, right.”

As if to punctuate the point, Margaret took a sip of her drink. Evelyn tamped down her impatience as she waited on her friend. As Margaret went on about the bake sale, Evelyn delved into the recesses of her memory to a sunny afternoon five years ago, right before Henry passed away. He’d been gone all afternoon, and he’d come home and recounted his visit to Philip’s antique store. He’d mentioned the owner by name, and his bow tie, and how the two had talked about a collection of vintage pocket watches. But Henry had been distracted, and when Evelyn asked about his mood, he’d uncharacteristically brushed her off.

“What weren’t you telling me?” Evelyn asked out loud, a habit she had.

“I told you everything,” Margaret said impatiently.

“Never mind, lost in my thoughts.”

“I see.”

Evelyn didn’t want to be rude, but she was dying to leave the café. She wanted to get home as fast as she could. There was a connection between Henry and Philip Wright, and she wanted to find out what that was.

 

This series is very much recommended – a fabulous addition to Renee's body of work. ~Reader review