Mockingbird Court, page 3
“Yes, Chief,” Bradley agreed, looking a bit calmer now, perhaps because Orville hadn’t arrested him on sight. “Is that little hotel still around?”
“Bramblebriar Bed and Breakfast? Yes, it is,” Vera said. She hoped that the inn’s proprietors, Geoffrey and Ben, had rooms available—but considering what a pill Marvel had been the last time he was in town, they might not want him as a guest.
“Good. My assistant will be here soon, too, probably sometime tomorrow,” Bradley said. “She’ll need a room as well.”
“You didn’t tell the cops you were coming here, but you told your assistant?” Orville asked, incredulous.
“Well, somebody had to pack my bags, didn’t they?” Bradley said. “She’s probably on the next ferry.”
Vera knew the schedule since her work often required her to travel to towns up- and downriver. “That’ll arrive tomorrow morning then. Anyone else that you’ve got showing up in our town?”
“Er, no. Darcy’s the only one I told. She was with me when I found the body. Completely ruined the carpet in my living room. The body did, I mean. Not Darcy. She’s very tidy. Excellent assistant.”
“So, there was a lot of blood?” Vera asked, focusing on that rather upsetting detail.
“Whoever killed him was thorough about it. I don’t know why they chose my apartment though. Or how. Mockingbird Court has security. You’d think they would have kept the riffraff out of the lobby, let alone the rest of the building.”
“Could have been a bungled robbery,” Orville guessed, obviously still interested despite the crime not being in his territory. “One thief could have gotten angry at their partner, and it got violent. Though in that case, I don’t know why you wouldn’t have just notified the police.”
“The police were already on their way,” Bradley said. “My neighbors heard a ruckus and told the building supervisor. Plus, the door was left open, apparently, so everyone who came by could see the crime scene for themselves. Very bad for my image, you know. I just couldn’t stick around.”
Vera frowned. “I still don’t understand. If it was just a random robbery or whatever, why would it reflect badly on you? Everyone who’s lived in the city could tell you a story of some crime that they experienced. At most, there would be an article in the paper because you’re a well-known author. But it’s just a coincidence.”
“Well…” Bradley looked away.
Orville put his paws on the desk, anticipating the worst. “Oh, no.”
“He was my editor at the publishing house. But he still had no business being in my place when I wasn’t there!”
Vera groaned. “You ran away from a murder scene where you knew the victim? What were you thinking?”
“He wasn’t thinking,” Orville said flatly. He glared at Bradley. “I ought to keep you in a jail cell till they come to collect you! You neglected to explain that you’re not only a witness; you’re a suspect.”
“But I shouldn’t be! I wasn’t even there! Darcy can confirm it. She was with me all evening.”
“If that’s true, why didn’t you just tell that to the cops in the city?” The big bear’s voice had grown louder with each word.
The wolf fidgeted in his seat, his paws crumpling the brim of his fedora. “Er, well, it’s awkward, because I did have a bit of a fight with him the day before. Some folks might get the wrong idea. But I didn’t kill him!”
Orville took a deep breath. “Listen. I’m going to send this wingmail. And Vera is going to walk Mr. Marvel over to the bed-and-breakfast to get a room, where he will stay until I order him otherwise.”
“Um, can I eat first?” Bradley asked. “The boat didn’t have meal service.”
“Fine,” Orville snapped. “Go to Joe’s on the way. I’ll join you there after I’m done at the message service, so don’t try anything funny.”
“Don’t take too long, darling,” Vera told Orville, with a pleading glance. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with Bradley for any amount of time longer than necessary.
She marched out of the station and down the street, Bradley Marvel in her wake. Residents took notice of the wolf, who’d snapped back into the confident attitude he used as a “world-famous thriller writer.” He grinned at everyone, showing off sparkling white canines. When a squirrel excitedly called his name from across the street, he waved as though he were a one-wolf parade. Only Vera knew how false the facade really was.
Thankfully, Joe’s Mug wasn’t far, and Vera hustled her charge inside. The diner was cozy at any time of day, but in the evening, it was almost magical. Warm light spilled from the lamps hanging above every booth and table. The wooden surfaces of the pine tables and chairs glowed gold thanks to dutiful oiling and the many paws that had eaten there over the years. By the long wooden counter, a glass case displayed the daily desserts on offer, and a couple of young mice were squeaking excitedly as they pointed out the items they wanted most.
And the smells, oh the smells. Vera inhaled and caught the friendly aroma of coffee, and then the delicious scents of baked bread, the oil of the fryer, and the sharp, fresh tang of autumn fruits. Yes, she could endure Bradley’s presence, as long as she was at Joe’s!
It was fairly crowded with early dinner guests, so she deliberately chose a booth in the far corner, away from the windows. With luck, Bradley could resist the limelight for a half hour.
Moments later, a beaver waddled up to the table in a checked dress with a white apron. It was Esme, the harder-working half of the von Beaverpelt twins.
“What can I get for you, Vera?” Esme asked brightly, taking out her order pad.
“I’ll take a coffee for sure,” Vera said. “What’s the dinner special?”
“It’s a root vegetable stew with a side of rosemary rolls.”
“Yes, that’s fine, thanks, Esme.”
“And for you, sir?” Esme’s tone was polite but not deferential, and Vera couldn’t tell if the beaver even knew who Bradley was.
Bradley perused the menu and proceeded to order the harvest loaf sandwich with a side of mashed potatoes and glazed carrots, plus lentil soup and an extra roll. “And coffee too. And maybe just a couple of doughnuts? Great.”
Esme left to put in their order.
“It might be one of my last meals as a free beast,” he said defensively to Vera. “Besides, I really am hungry.”
“All right, Bradley,” Vera said while they were waiting for their food to arrive. “Tell me what’s going on.”
The wolf sighed dramatically. “It’s the curse of being famous, Vera. You’re a small-town reporter; you wouldn’t understand.”
“Bradley, I lived in the city for years before I moved here. I was born there.”
“But you aren’t a big name like me! Folks just lose their heads around celebrities. It’s a fact!”
“Cut the publicity hound act.”
“Well, the truth is I don’t know why someone would want to frame me. Maybe some obsessed fan wanted to make an impression, or they thought it would be a good start to my next Percy Bannon book. Or maybe they didn’t like the way the last book was edited. I mean, that would be totally understandable. You know, we had a whole extra subplot where Percy meets a cougar and they nearly get married, but then the cougar is kidnapped by Percy’s archnemesis, and then Percy goes to rescue her, but then it’s revealed that she was working for the archnemesis the whole time, and Percy’s heart is broken—of course he still battles all the minions and wins—but the entire time he’s fighting, he’s really fighting his own sense of betrayal and sadness, and it’s tragic really. Fantastic subplot. But my editor said it slowed the pacing and the readers don’t care if Percy Bannon is sad, so he cut it. Plus, it saved on paper costs. But I was so upset. And when I told him I wanted to do the same plotline for the next book, he said no, he already worked out everything with Darcy—” Bradley suddenly broke off.
But before Vera could ask anything, Esme returned with coffee mugs and a plate of doughnuts. “First shipment! Two cups of mud with rafts,” she declared cheerfully. “I’ll bring the rest out as the kitchen gets it done.”
“Thanks,” Vera told her.
Bradley was already stuffing a doughnut into his mouth, but he nodded thanks as well.
The door opened again, bells jingling, and Orville walked in, heading directly for the back table. Vera was so happy to see her beau she almost yelped with joy.
“Sent it off,” Orville said to Bradley, taking a seat next to Vera and putting one paw around her. He wasn’t usually one to make any sort of possessive gesture, but then again, Marvel had a reputation. The bear said, “So it shouldn’t be too long before the city police deal with you, one way or another. That murder is big news—it was the top item on the police bulletin at the message service office. All law enforcement officials have been asked to keep a lookout for anyone involved. The name Bradley Marvel was mentioned.”
“In a good way or a bad way?” asked the wolf nervously.
“The police bulletin is generally not where you want to see your name show up,” Orville replied dryly. “It means you’re either a victim or a suspect. Considering how annoying you are, it was a bit of a shame no one tried to kill you.”
Vera gasped. “What if someone did try exactly that? After all, it was your apartment.”
“Could be,” Orville said, newly interested in what had been an off-the-cuff comment. “In the dark, a large fox might be mistaken for a wolf.”
“Wait, the victim was a fox?” Vera asked. Bradley hadn’t mentioned the species, and she’d been hoping that she’d never have to learn much more about the crime, especially if Bradley would soon be leaving Shady Hollow.
“Yeah, Rick was my editor. But we weren’t friends. He took a red pen to all my best words. Said he lived to turn pages red. Well, I guess he died the same way, huh?” Bradley sighed into his coffee mug.
Vera’s stomach clenched. She said, very slowly, “Your editor was a fox named Rick who lived to turn pages red.”
“Richard Renard. Bane of my professional existence. Don’t tell anyone else this, but I’m not sorry he’s dead. Just wish it wasn’t on my floor.”
If Bradley was expecting a laugh, he was disappointed. Orville just frowned, commenting that only an idiot would confess to hating the victim of a crime for which they were a suspect. But Vera said nothing. She was thrown by something Bradley had said, memories of the past suddenly rushing back at her.
I live to turn pages red, Vera. Yes, Rick had said that to her as well, a long time ago. When he was her editor at her first newspaper job.
She watched Bradley and Orville bicker over the last doughnut, the truth sticking in her throat.
She knew the victim, too. And like Bradley, she wasn’t sorry he was dead.
* * *
Vera Vixen had grown up in the city, the only kit of parents who were both professors at the local university. They had expected Vera to follow in their academic paw prints, but she had dreams of becoming a reporter, and she never wavered. When Vera was ready for college, she sat down with her parents and informed them that she was going to study journalism. This came as a shock to them, and they never stopped mentioning how they hoped she would change her mind about devoting herself to “scribbling stories about the goings-on in the city.” (And since Vera lived at home while she went to college, she got to hear these comments quite regularly.)
After graduation, Vera landed a job as a cub reporter at the City Times, the biggest paper in town, and the one where Vera had always imagined working. That also meant it was time to move out of her parents’ home and into her own apartment downtown. Which would mean finding a roommate.
So, Vera answered an ad in the very same paper at which she worked: a creature by the name of Chloe McKibben was looking for another female to share a downtown apartment. The two potential roommates made an appointment to meet at a nearby coffee shop. Vera was always happy to drink coffee at any time of the day or night.
Vera was feeling both very grown-up and a little nervous. It was early afternoon on a Tuesday, and the place was almost empty. The fox looked around and spotted a gray-and-white cat with green eyes sitting at one of the tables. She was wearing a fuzzy cardigan in a pretty shade of dark pink. The well-dressed feline nodded, and Vera approached the table.
“Are you Chloe?” the fox asked, extending a paw. “I’m Vera Vixen.”
The cat took Vera’s paw and greeted her in return.
“Have a seat, Vera. Tell me about yourself.”
Vera told her about her recent graduation from college and her new job at the City Times. Chloe shared that she was a second-year law student, and her grandparents were helping out with tuition so that she could concentrate on her studies. She explained that the apartment was a two-bedroom unit in a building right around the corner, and that she would be happy to show it to Vera. The fox agreed readily, and they left the coffee shop, already fast friends, and headed to their new place.
The apartment building was a handsome three-story stone building, and Chloe informed her that their unit was on the second floor. The fox followed the cat up the stairs and down a long, carpeted hallway. Chloe stopped in front of #206. She unlocked the door and stepped to the side so that Vera could enter first. Vera could hardly believe that she was going to be lucky enough to live here. The living room was furnished with a dark green, impossibly comfy-looking couch and a plush chair. There were bookcases lining the walls, and more books piled everywhere else. Vera felt immediately at home, and she hadn’t even seen her room yet!
Vera and Chloe quickly agreed to become roommates. The cat gave her a set of keys and welcomed her to the neighborhood. Vera was only sorry that she would have to spend several more days back at home with her parents. She could sense their continuing disapproval of her new job and her decision to move out, even if they quit saying so out loud.
The days passed quickly as Vera packed her belongings and arranged to have a few pieces of furniture delivered to her new apartment. Chloe was rarely home since she was busy attending classes at the law school and studying in her off-hours at the library. So Vera had plenty of quiet time to unpack and organize her new space before she was due to start work at the newspaper the following week.
Finally, the time had arrived. Vera got up early and dressed carefully for her first day of work as a real reporter. (Chloe had already left for school but called out a “Good luck!” as she raced out the door.) Vera chose a dark green sweater and a blue-and-green plaid skirt. She wanted to appear professional but not too dressed up. She packed her messenger bag with her notebook and plenty of pens and pencils. She trotted quickly down the street and made her way to the City Times.
The newspaper office was large and bustling, with creatures of all types running back and forth and shouting to one another. The atmosphere was buzzing like a beehive. Vera stood in the doorway taking it all in. She heard a voice call out, “Are you Vixen?”
Vera glanced around to see where the voice was coming from. She spotted a handsome red fox in a blue button-down shirt and suspenders. He was waiting for her response.
“I’m, uh, Vera,” she managed to get out. “This is my first day.”
The other fox replied, with a smile, “I’m Richard Renard, and I’m your new boss. You can call me Rick. Let me show you around.”
Vera desperately wanted to appear professional, but it took her a moment to react to the surprisingly handsome creature. He stared at her and waited as Vera gave herself a quick mental lecture about not being a cliché and succumbing to a good-looking boss.
As she followed Rick around the Times offices, Vera found herself fascinated by the energy of the newsroom and thrilled that she was now a part of it. Rick introduced her to countless creatures bustling about, whose names and job titles she could never hope to remember. Finally, Rick arrived at an empty desk in the warren of little spaces that made up the main newsroom.
“This is your desk, Vixen,” he said. “Welcome to the City Times.”
Vera thanked him and put down her messenger bag. She was relieved to have a place that belonged to her, and she sat herself down in the battered chair. Her chair. The chair in which she’d sit while writing articles that would make a difference!
She glanced up to see Rick still standing there.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” he asked. “I can already tell you’ve got the stuff, Vixen.”
“Call me Vera,” she replied.
Vera reminded herself to remain professional, but when she returned home to the apartment she shared with Chloe after that first day, she could not keep from gushing about Rick Renard. Chloe listened with an amused tolerance. Of course, Vera knew that she should focus on her work, but knowing that she would see Rick every day at the newspaper lent a spring to her step. She took extra care with her appearance and her wardrobe, sometimes borrowing outfits from the more stylish Chloe.
After Vera had been working at the paper for a few months, Rick stopped at her desk and asked her if she wanted to follow a lead with him. Of course, she said yes, and her boss took her to a small, dimly lit restaurant some distance from the office. Her stomach was in knots, as she tried to act as though she had secret business lunches with attractive colleagues all the time.
Rick ordered several dishes without asking Vera what she wanted, all while regaling her with amusing stories from his early days as a reporter. She listened in admiration to tales of his exploits and dreamed of the two of them breaking a story together. Then he did something that drove all rational thought from her brain.
Rick’s eyes darted around the room, and he leaned forward over their small table. He placed his paw on top of one of hers and whispered, “I’m so glad we met, Vera. I know we’re going to be very good friends. More than friends. I think you know it too.”
