The Secret Circle

By Lisa-Anne Wooldridge

The Secret Circle

A Cozy Cat Bookstore Mystery #1

A wave of trouble is headed straight for the quaint coastal town of Seaview.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Revelare Books
• Release date: Aug 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737329510

Book preview

Chapter One

Lucy Patterson locked the door, flipped over the sign, and turned off the lights. She rested against the door for a moment and enjoyed the warm glow of the old-fashioned streetlight. It gave her such a homey feeling as it illuminated the little bookstore, the light falling on her grandfather’s leather club chairs, on her grandmother’s knitted throws, and on the moody cat she’d inherited along with the store.

She’d always loved her grandparents’ shop, The Cozy Cat Bookstore. Dusty treasures and old books filled the packed shelves and small alcoves right alongside the new releases. Every kind of knickknack imaginable was squeezed into every available space. It had been just a house once upon a time, an old Victorian three-story complete with gingerbread trim and a grand tower. The round room on the ground floor was now a snug reading space with a semi-circular, velvet-cushioned window seat. There was a little kitchen in the back from which the most amazing smells were known to come, luring in customers and little children alike. No one could resist one of her grandmother’s vanilla pudding cookies!

Lucy made her way through the store, picking up a book here and straightening a lampshade there, setting to rights a top-heavy stack of dusty old books left there by her grandfather on the day he and her grandmother had gone missing. She wanted to keep everything just as it was. Lucy had taken over the operation of the bookstore almost right away, even before the authorities were sure her grandparents were dead. After living and working summers there most of her life, the familiar, slow days of selling a few books to regular customers and tourists felt like a way to stay close to her grandparents.

Lucy put the kettle on and shook out a tablespoon of her favorite tea—it had notes of cinnamon and vanilla and something else Lucy could never quite figure out. Her grandmother made the blend herself, but the recipe was top secret. Lucy hoped she’d find it written down someday when she had time to look through her grandmother’s staggering collection of cookbooks, notebooks, and journals. In the meantime, there was no sense in letting it go to waste.

The tea had a calming effect on her as soon as she poured the boiling water into the pot. This is at least a two-cup night, she thought. She loaded a tray with cookies and her tea things and made her way up the tight wooden staircase—the servants’ stairs—to the room she’d moved into. She meant to only stay there temporarily, but weeks had turned to months, and now she felt more at home in the bookstore than she did in her tiny, modern apartment.

Her grandparents had lived in one of the smaller bedrooms, preferring it to the large suite Lucy currently occupied. It was easier to take care of, her grandmother said, and they were only ever in there to sleep. The smile in her eyes indicated that her grandmother might not be telling the whole truth. Married for just over fifty-one years, it was apparent that the romance had never faded between those two. Lucy had given up hope of ever having that kind of relationship in her own life. Men like her grandfather were rare indeed! These days, she was never sure if she was going on a date or just hanging out. And the men she’d met were in no hurry to commit themselves to one person. It was just as well, she thought, that she liked books and cats so much.

The antique bed was piled high with featherbeds and soft blankets and downy pillows. The sheets were that crisp, cool, soft cotton that could only come from quality and age. After so many washings, the fabric was as smooth as satin to her cheek, and she fell asleep almost immediately. Somewhere in her subconscious mind, though, she heard a muffled thump downstairs, which troubled her dreams.

The next morning brought a small rush of customers. A couple passing through on an anniversary road trip came in looking for something to read on the beach. A half dozen local children came in wanting cookies. Then an elderly woman spent lengthy periods in each of the alcoves, carefully examining books and knickknacks before putting them back precisely and carefully where they were before. When Lucy offered to help her find something, the lady stiffened and hurried from the store. Something about her seemed familiar, but nothing came to mind. Lucy chalked it up to the eccentricities of the elderly.

She took her lunch at her usual spot—the grand, oversized secretary her grandmother had loved. It was a beautiful, well-made piece of furniture with craftsmanship unheard of in contemporary furnishings. When she sat, something seemed off to Lucy. She realized that her chair—a modern office style with plush leather and adjustable positions—was all wrong. It was too high for her, and the back was straight up and down instead of leaning back an inch or two the way Lucy liked it.

How odd, someone’s been sitting in my chair!

Laughing at her own Goldilocks joke, she readjusted the seat and put it out of her mind. The tuna salad on lettuce was delicious and had a garlic pesto dressing she’d purchased at a small cafe in town. Unfortunately, Victor Admetus Bombalurina thought so too. The cat, named after a ridiculous T.S. Eliot poem on naming cats, jumped from the floor to the top of the secretary and stared down at Lucy. Or rather, at Lucy’s lunch.

Oh, no you don’t. Lucy waved her fork at the black-and-white tuxedo cat. You may be a very distinguished cat, but you can’t have my lunch!

Tor, short for Victor, as her grandfather called him, wasn’t impressed. He feigned indifference, but just when Lucy thought he’d gotten the message, he reached a sly paw toward her plate. This caused a series of events. First, Lucy stood up to remove the cute pest from the desk, but Tor’s paw brushed a decorative enamel panel on the upper portion of the secretary, which, in turn, triggered a small, hidden drawer to swing out from the desk. The effect of all this movement startled Tor, who jumped to the floor just as Lucy’s tuna salad, pushed by the opening drawer, tumbled down beside him. Purring, Tor tucked into the fish while Lucy stood glued in place, trying to figure out what just happened.

A hidden drawer! Where did that come from? She’d never seen any sign of it before, and she’d spent years there, coloring, playing, and doing her homework. Her grandparents certainly never mentioned it. In the drawer was a card-sized blue velvet bag pulled tight with a drawstring, a gold-colored pen, and a folded piece of paper on top of a leather-bound book. As she tried to take it all in, including the loss of her lunch, chimes jingled at the front door of the shop. Instinctively, she pushed the drawer closed and noticed that it disappeared seamlessly into the wood around it.

She turned to greet the customer, ready to apologize for the mess. It was the elderly lady who’d been in earlier, and something in her demeanor made Lucy wary.

Uh-oh, Lucy thought. The diminutive senior woman stood just inside the door, with a scowl on her face and her hands hovering just above her hips. A picture floated through Lucy’s mind as she imagined herself and this woman on a dusty street in an old Western town, squared off for a duel at high noon. Lucy’s imagination always made her laugh, and even with the flint-faced woman staring her down, she repressed a smile.

It was you, wasn’t it? The woman spat venom at Lucy.

Excuse me? I don’t know what you’re talking about.

You did it. You did away with your grandparents so you could have the shop. There’s no other explanation! I never knew you were such a greedy child, Lucy!

Stunned, Lucy leaned back on the secretary behind her. How could this woman say such things to her? She’d adored her grandparents, loved them with her whole heart. Tears sprang to her eyes as she struggled to regain her voice.

Do I know you? You can’t speak to me that way!

Then Lucy realized she did know the woman. She remembered her from childhood—a friend of her grandmother’s who frequently used to stop in for tea and cookies and a chat at the dropleaf table squeezed into a corner of the old-fashioned kitchen. At some point, she stopped seeing the woman, but it never occurred to her to wonder why.

I do know you, Lucy continued. You used to come here to see my grandmother. Why on earth would you accuse me of something so horrible?

The woman’s face crumbled, and her shoulders slumped forward. She shook her head.

I didn’t think you’d remember me, she said.

Lucy, still shaken, said, You’re Mrs. Butterfly, aren’t you?

One corner of the woman’s mouth twisted into a half-smile. Yes, that’s what you used to call me. It’s Mrs. Butterfield. Fuchsia Butterfield. I was a friend of your grandmother’s, yes. But then we had a falling out. I can’t even remember what it was about anymore. Something silly and unimportant, I’m sure. But my stubborn pride kept me from coming back, and now it’s too late!

The sun poked an afternoon ray through the top of the shop window, highlighting the lines on the woman’s powdered cheek. Lucy watched as an illuminated tear made a wet track down her weathered face. She observed how frail the woman was, especially now that the rush of adrenaline appeared to be over.

Come over here and sit down, Mrs. Butterfield. Let me get you a cup of tea, and then you can tell me why you think I’d ever hurt my grandparents. She led the woman to one of the leather chairs and helped her sit.

Lucy turned to go, but the woman clutched her with a bony hand. The veins showed through her translucent skin as if they were painted on.

You really don’t know? You don’t know what your grandparents were doing here? She scanned Lucy’s face.

Again, Lucy said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ll be right back with some tea.

Lucy gently pried the woman’s hand from her arm and headed toward the kitchen. She collected her plate, now clean of any trace of tuna, and gathered up the bits of salad that littered the floor. Then she began putting together a tray for tea, but just as the kettle whistled, she heard the door chimes. Lucy sighed and turned off the stove. She knew without looking, the elderly woman was gone.

Chapter Two

I can do this, Lucy insisted. Don’t look at me like that!"

Tor, taking offense to her tone, flounced off to find the sunny patch on his favorite chair. Concentrate, she told herself. If the cat can do it, I can do it. But after a solid hour of trying to reopen the secret drawer—pushing decorative buttons, pulling handles, twisting knobs, and even climbing under the old desk to see what she could discover—Lucy had to admit defeat.

Don’t look so smug, Tor. I’m going out for dinner. When I get back, I’m going to want your help. Tor yawned and rearranged himself, blinking at Lucy with his green and gold-flecked eyes. Lucy locked up the shop and set off on foot to the charming cafe downtown.

Like The Cozy Cat Bookstore, the Lace Curtain Cafe was a well-preserved throwback to an earlier time. The cafe, a light blue Victorian home built a couple of decades after the Civil War, was nestled into a colorful garden with ornamental trees and flowers that delighted customers all year round. The outdoor tables with colorful umbrellas were always in demand. The century-old pepper tree rained down tiny white blossoms in the spring and later in the year, peppercorns over the diners. As a child, Lucy loved to dance under the tree until her long strawberry blonde hair and fancy dress were full of the delicate, lacy flowers.

A broad veranda looked out over the gardens, which gave diners not only a beautiful view but also the benefit of hidden wall plugs and free Wi-Fi. On pleasant days, Lucy might find just about anyone working from their home away from home at the cafe. Today the veranda was mostly empty. The mayor sat on one side, chatting into his phone, so Lucy headed to the other end and settled into an antique wrought iron chair. She set her bag next to her in an old wooden chair with a newly rewoven rush seat. Everything in the cafe was mismatched, ancient, and whimsical, including its owner, Miss Hattie.

Miss Hattie’s hair was the color of wheat just before the harvest, and her eyes the brightest cornflower blue Lucy had ever seen. Everyone knew Miss Hattie had a standing appointment at the town’s only hair salon the first Monday of every month to make sure it remained harvest wheat and not senior silver, as she called it. She was a thin woman, but no one would ever know it from the flowing, loose dresses she tended to wear. Miss Hattie told anyone who’d listen that she was an old hippie because she was already old when she became a hippie! For some reason, that always made her laugh, and her laugh was so musical and unique that no one ever seemed to tire of hearing it. She always had a flower tucked behind her ear plucked straight from the cafe gardens.

Lucy had grown up visiting the cafe with her grandmother and had many happy memories there. She’d always been fascinated by the intricate lace curtains that hung from every window. They were heirlooms inherited from Miss Hattie’s great-grandmother, an Irish woman who immigrated to marry the handsome Irish boy who’d gone ahead of her. The cafe was the home he’d built for his bride, and the curtains were part of her dowry.

Miss Hattie, who always wanted to know who she was cooking for, popped her head out of the front door. When she spied the mayor, she pursed her mouth. When she spotted Lucy, however, her face lit up. Shooing the waitress away, Miss Hattie made a beeline for Lucy and pulled up a chair to sit next to her.

Darlin’, you are a sight for sore eyes! Miss Hattie’s bright eyes were full of light. Lucy thought she looked more vibrant than ever.

Miss Hattie! I’m sorry I haven’t been by in a while. I’ve been so busy trying to fill my grandparents’ shoes and take care of everything, Lucy said.

A slight furrow briefly appeared between Miss Hattie’s eyes, but she quickly smoothed it out.

I worry about you, Miss Hattie replied, staying there by yourself and nobody knowing whatever happened to your grandparents. I have a spare room upstairs. I’d love to have you here. Your grandmother and I go way back. I know she’d want me to look after you.

Lucy sighed and smiled. Thank you, I appreciate the offer. I just have so much to do, and I wouldn’t want to leave Tor there all alone. He gets into too much mischief to have the place all to himself. But I would like to talk to you sometime when you’re not busy. Lucy nodded toward the group of people coming up the sidewalk with several small children. Looks like you’re in for making a lot of your famous Jammie Sammies! I’m tempted to order one myself!

Lucy’s mouth watered at the memory of the special sandwich. Miss Hattie made them herself, not trusting any cook to get it right. One layer was peanut butter mixed with honey, and the other layer consisted of bananas mashed with vanilla and cinnamon mixed in.

I’ll bring your usual. Let me go put your order in before I’m mobbed by the kindergarten crowd! Miss Hattie ducked quickly back inside, the screen door creaking behind her.

Lucy looked out over the garden, drinking it all in. Roses bloomed next to hydrangeas in many colors, and azaleas flowered wildly at the base of the pepper tree. It was one of the most beautiful places Lucy had ever seen. It made her heart ache for her grandmother, and tears blurred her vision. Looks like a Monet painting, she said to herself. Her grandmother loved Monet.

The first stars of the evening were shyly appearing in the sky as Lucy walked back to The Cozy Cat. It was a beautiful summer evening, mildly warm with a faint breeze carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine. She could hear the Main Street Band warming up a few streets over in the village center, in the town’s ancient and repeatedly repaired gazebo. Twice a month, they held concerts on the lawn between the courthouse and the library, where both the old and the young enjoyed sitting in camp chairs or dancing in front of the musicians. Any other evening, Lucy wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

She cut through Artisan’s Alley, where half a dozen cute shops lined the short street, and fairy lights hung from awning to awning. At the corner, a coffee shop was the only business still open, two bored teenagers scrolling on their phones behind the counter. One looked up as Lucy passed by and offered a half-interested nod, perhaps hoping she’d come in and buy something to break up the quiet evening shift. Lucy had a mission, though, and hurried past the shop and down the sidewalk toward home.

The Cozy Cat Bookstore sat on the edge of the small town, separated by the sizeable grounds original to the property. Long ago, her grandparents had walled off a section of it for use as a community garden. It wasn’t unusual to see people working the individual plots of land any time of day or early evening, and often someone occupied the vintage tree bench or the cafe table and chairs that her grandfather had dragged down there one summer. The shadows had faded, and it was too dark to see the back of the garden, but Lucy had the odd sensation that someone was there watching her walk past.

Lucy quickened her steps and hurried up to the short, tree-lined lane that led to the front door of The Cozy Cat.

The streetlights flickered on, marking the boundary of the municipal street. The light streamed into the front window of the store. Lucy froze in place. Someone was inside the store, moving quickly, holding a cell phone to his ear. His back turned to her, he crossed through the room, passed the bookshelves and alcoves, and headed straight for the kitchen.

Lucy, holding her breath, wasn’t sure if she should hide, call for help, or sneak around to the back of the house to peek in the windows. Just as she’d made up her mind to hide, she felt a hard thump on the back of her head and watched the grass rise to meet her.

Chapter Three

Lucy heard voices murmuring somewhere far off. She couldn’t quite open her eyes, but she could hear anxious and angry voices. The voices came closer to her as she began to drift off again. Before she faded completely into the darkness, she heard someone say, We’ll have to take her with us. There’s no other choice.

When Lucy woke, her mouth felt like cotton and the room rocked from side to side. She opened her eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling above her. It seemed oddly close to her face. The pain behind her eyes throbbed in rhythm with the rolling motion of the room, and her head felt tender where it rested on a pillow.

Hello? Is anyone there? She tried to raise her head, but that just caused the room to spin. She stretched her arms out to the side. She only had a few inches on either side of her body before she hit something solid. She was trapped in a small place. Too small!

Lucy started to panic as her memories flooded in. Someone was in the shop . . . and . . . nothing. She couldn’t remember anything past that point but guessed it was daytime because of how the light filtered through the wooden slats on her left side. On her right was a wall of smooth, varnished wood that matched the ceiling. She felt a quilt wrapped around her, and a pillow supported her head, but the solid surface beneath her wasn’t at all comfortable.

Oh, God, she whispered, where am I?

Lucy hadn’t prayed in a long time—like so much else in her life, God seemed like a childhood memory. She’d often gone with her grandmother to the old white church on a hill overlooking the bay. Lucy loved the gothic, carpenter-style building constructed by fishermen in the 1880s. The wooden wall next to her reminded her of the church—the varnished panels were almost identical.

Gingerly, she rolled onto her side, peering through the slats on her left. She couldn’t see anyone, but much of the room was cut off from her view, so she couldn’t be sure it was empty. She pushed against the wood and felt it give slightly. The wood was pine, fresh and thin. Lucy thought she could break through it with enough force.

Overhead, footsteps thumped, followed by a loud bang that reverberated through her. What was that? A moment later, the fast vibration of a motor, loud at first and quickly fading away, provided more clues. I’m on a boat, Lucy realized.

Pushing as hard as she could with her right hand, she strained against the boards, but they stayed firm. Lucy rolled onto her back and tried a sharp blow with her elbow and upper arm, but that effort failed as well. She took a deep breath, trying to quell the pain in her head and now her arm.

I have to get out of here, Lucy said to herself. Mustering up all her strength, Lucy rolled first to the right and then as hard as she could to the left. The entire length and weight of her body hit the wooden slats, causing several to give way.

Ooooft. The pain in Lucy’s head was quite sharp now. Her nose had taken some of the impact, and Lucy could feel an abrasion on the tip of it. She managed to get an arm and a leg under the remaining slats and used them for leverage to push the rest out. The boards fell a few feet before landing, so Lucy cautiously leaned over the side.

She was in a sailor’s berth built into the ship’s wall, solid on three sides. She slowly slid her legs over the edge and held on to the bunk with her hands as gravity pulled her toward the floor. Lucy was just tall enough to reach the ground with balls of her feet, which kept her from falling.

It crossed Lucy’s mind that someone might have heard her break out of confinement, so she leaned over and picked up a couple of pieces of the pine slats, holding them like a bat against her shoulder. She waited there for several minutes, but no one came rushing down the stairs from the deck above.

Cautiously, she crept across the floor to the bottom of the stairs. She had just put a foot on the bottom step when she heard a siren and a bullhorn.

Mendocino Maiden, this is the Coast Guard. Prepare to be boarded. Lucy, weak with relief, sank to her knees on the second stair.

I’m telling you, I don’t know! Lucy sighed. How many times was this man going to make her answer the same questions?

She shifted in her seat