First Chapters of Crimes and Cat-astrophes

Crimes and Cat-astrophes
A Purr-fect Relic Cozy Mystery Book 4
by DeAnna Drake

CHAPTER ONE
Family Matters

Aneksi paced anxious circles on the counter beside me. My kitten friend had spent the morning sitting in Cuthbert Exotic Antique’s display window. But instead of napping, as she usually did, she’d been on high alert, nervously awaiting our guest.

When she spotted Luna Sage’s powder-blue hatchback parking out front, Aneksi scurried out of the window, knocking over a miniature King Tut funeral mask in the process, to announce their arrival.

“They’re here!” She brushed against my elbow and gazed up at me, trying to get my attention as I scrolled through a list of Richland University community courses on my phone. “Khepeset is here! My sister is here!”

“I heard you.” I put down my device and turned my attention to my favorite little bundle of fluff. “Remember, no talking when Luna comes in. Okay?”

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t feel compelled to remind Aneksi to stay mum in front of my best friend. We’d settled into a comfortable routine since she had moved in with me a few months ago. She accompanied me to the shop each day and kept me company, which usually involved her sleeping in the display window or on one of the top shelves. She knew she should only speak around my grandfather and me—for her safety and ours—and to keep quiet about her other remarkable qualities as well.

When Stirling was in the store to work on one of his online auctions, as he was doing today, she often slept on his lap, which seemed to suit him as well.

Today, however, Aneksi wouldn’t budge from her spot at the front, even for Stirling’s kind attentions, because she was waiting for Khepeset.

I knew how much this reunion meant to Aneksi, and that’s what worried me.

As much as we all adored Luna, who had become an even more frequent visitor since opening the Sweet Spot bakery next door, she didn’t know Aneksi was an immortal creature with the power to speak—which she still tended to do in the distinctly British accent she’d picked up on our first night together after watching a television mystery series starring my favorite spinster sleuth—or Aneksi’s ability to transform into a tiger when she or I faced danger.

As far as I could tell, Luna didn’t even know her grandmother’s cat, Khepeset, possessed similar abilities. When the two felines had crossed paths a few weeks ago, after having not seen each other since their days in Cleopatra’s ancient court, it had surprised them both.

I would have never guessed there could be others who shared my unusual circumstances if Luna’s Aunt Delphine, who had brought Khepeset to the shop that day, hadn’t followed me into the shop’s office when the cats chased each other there.

When I overhead their feline conversation, I feared how Delphine would react—until I saw her face. The way she looked at me, I knew instantly she knew the truth.

Delphine and I had no chance to speak of it then, and she and Khepeset had left soon after. I didn’t know how to proceed, but Aneksi had spent the next several days begging me to arrange another meeting with her sister.

Finally, I’d come up with what I thought was the perfect plan, and today was its result.

“Hi, Rebecca! We’re finally here!” Luna announced as she spotted me beside the cash register. “I can’t believe how hot it is out there. The forecast said we’d hit triple-digits this afternoon, but it must be ninety out there already. Thank goodness for air-conditioning.”

I had to agree. While the shop’s unit was keeping things cool, the one in my apartment had decided this late-summer heat wave was more than it could handle. Stirling was trying to get a technician out to fix it, but so far everyone was already booked for at least a week. He felt terrible about the inconvenience and even offered to let me and Aneksi sleep in his guest room until it could be fixed, but so far we were managing with a fan and open windows.

As Luna lugged in the slate blue carrying case, Khepeset pressed her furry gray face against the mesh opening, probably searching for Aneksi.

Aneksi pranced and yowled, greeting her sister in the most catlike way she could manage.

When the larger cat’s tawny-colored gaze landed on the enthusiastic gray tabby kitten, I thought I saw her lips spread into a smile.

“Kheppy slipped away when I was trying to get her into the carrier.” Luna pushed back a corkscrew curl that had come loose from her lavender-print headband, which perfectly matched her bohemian sundress. “Then she refused to come down from the tree. I had to bribe her with cat treats to get her into the car. Gran said she’s been gaining too much weight, so she’s been limiting her to two treats a day. It took ten to get her out of the tree, so she’s on a strict diet for the rest of the day. I’ll feed her when I pick her up later.”

The smile on Khepeset’s face vanished. She apparently wasn’t a fan of diets.

I didn’t blame her.

Luna unzipped the carrier to release Khepeset as Aneksi jumped down from the counter and ran to the back of the shop. Khepeset slipped through the opening and chased her sister, evading Luna’s efforts to stop her.

“They’ll be fine,” I said, when it was clear Luna didn’t stand a chance of catching the cat. “Stirling is in the office. He’ll keep an eye on them. Besides, it’s why Khepeset is here, right?”

Luna watched the kitty tails turn the corner. “I guess. I’m not sure why you think Aneksi needs the help, though. She seems fine.”

“You’re probably right. I’m just worried about her being separated from her mother so young. I looked into it, and the research shows abandoned kittens can really benefit from spending time with older female cats.”

If she asked for the source of that research, I’d be in trouble because it didn’t exist. I’d made it up so I could ask for what was basically a kitty play date. It must have sounded reasonable enough because Luna hadn’t hesitated to ask her grandmother for the favor.

Since Luna’s Aunt Delphine hadn’t seemed as surprised as she should have been to overhear two cats talking, I suspected Luna’s grandmother knew about Khepeset’s ability as well. Maybe the cat had even told her about Aneksi.

Like Aneksi, however, I had to be careful about what I said to Luna. As I went to prop up the King Tut mask Aneksi had knocked over, I tried to change the subject. “I made the appointment with Richland University’s admissions office to see if I can still get into that course. I’m going tonight, after work.”

Luna’s face brightened. “You’re doing it? Good for you! Their small-business program is fantastic. I plan to go back to finish once things slow down with the bakery.”

When the mask was back in the window, I brushed a layer of dust from the tops of the Moroccan lamps standing in the corner. “I wish you were still in the program. It would be a lot easier to do this with a friend.”

When I’d first met Luna, she was managing the memorabilia shop that used to occupy the next-door space during the day and attending the small-business program at night. She’d dropped out when she’d started the bakery, but it was her high praise of the program that inspired me to check it out.

She crinkled her nose. “If I was taking night classes on top of running the bakery, I’d never have time to see Hank. I’ve also been helping him with his dad, since it’s just the two of them. It’s been a challenging time.” She glanced away, but before I could ask what was troubling her, she shook it off and beamed a smile. “If things keep going well with the bakery, that could change. I might even be able to hire some help soon.”

No one worked harder than Luna, and her bakery was already popular with locals. “If the line I saw in front of your place yesterday is any indication, I think it’s safe to say your customers aren’t going anywhere. By the time I got in, the blueberry supreme cupcakes were already sold out. I ended up with a lemon chiffon cookie, which was still delicious, but those blueberry supremes are my current favorite.”

“I’ll put them on the menu tomorrow and set one aside for you.”

“Promise?”

My phone vibrated on the counter. When I reached for it, the name on the screen made me smile.

Luna saw the name, too, and motioned for me to take it.

I tapped the button to accept the call and turned away for a little privacy. “Hi, Nick.”

Nick Devon and I had been getting together a few times a week for the past couple of months for dinner or to go to the movies, but it still felt strange to call him by his first name. My first instinct was to call him “detective” or “Detective Devon.” I kept waiting for that to change.

The other thing that hadn’t yet changed was the fluttering in my stomach every time he called.

“Kevin’s T-ball practice was canceled,” he said. “Half the team is down with a stomach bug.”

Kevin was Nick’s five-year-old son, which he shared with his ex-wife. I had little experience with children that age—or any age, for that matter—but I could imagine how unpleasant a stomach bug could be for one. Especially one as excited about his summer sports league as Kevin was. “That’s awful. Is he all right?”

“His mom stayed home with him today, so he’s in good hands. The worst of it seems to be over. The coach thinks it was the celebration pizza after yesterday’s game. Hard to say for sure, though. So, in a roundabout way, I’m asking if you’re free for dinner tonight.”

“Oh! Uh… I would, but I promised Stirling I’d hang out with him tonight.” Was I really lying to a police detective? Wasn’t he trained to catch that kind of thing?

“So, I’m losing out to another man?”

He sounded like he was joking, so I forced a laugh. “We’re still on for Friday night, though, right?”

“Of course. I grabbed the early shift, so I should be able to get away at a reasonable hour. I’ll swing by and pick you up about six-thirty, if that works.”

“That definitely works.”

After I hung up, I took a deep breath. It wasn’t the smoothest recovery, but it could have been worse.

When I turned around, Luna was staring at me.

“You’re ditching Nick to stay at home with Stirling? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m not ditching him.” When she kept staring and kept grimacing, I added, “I didn’t want to tell him why I’m not available.”

The shop phone rang, and I thought it might be my out. I wasn’t that lucky.

“I’ll get it,” Stirling yelled from the office.

Luna was still staring at me.

“I plan to tell him,” I said. “I just haven’t done it yet.”

“Why not?”

She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer.

I wish I had one. Nick and I had gone out twice since I’d made the decision, but both times I’d talked myself out of mentioning it. I told myself I was waiting to see if the admissions office accepted my transcripts and cleared me for registration. If they didn’t, then there was no point in mentioning it.

Still, I knew that wasn’t the real reason. I was afraid Nick might try to talk me out of it.

It was a silly fear and totally irrational. Nick Devon was not my ex-fiancé, Mason Morretti. Nick had done nothing to make me think he would dismiss or belittle my educational goals as Mason had, but I couldn’t bring myself to test that theory. It had been easier to avoid the conversation. It worked for me, but Luna’s disappointment made it clear she didn’t agree.

“Fine,” I said. “When I see him Friday, I’ll tell him.”

Her hard gaze softened. “Don’t keep secrets from him. Trust me. Honesty is always the best policy.”

Ordinarily, I would agree. But since arriving in Citrus Grove and learning about the cursed Egyptian artifacts my grandfather had stashed in a secret vault beneath the store—an unknown number of which he and I were still trying to locate after his previous shop manager stole them—not to mention the talking cat that now lived with me, my thoughts about complete and total honesty had changed, to put it mildly.

Although these secrets could sometimes be a burden, I’d willingly accepted the responsibility that came with them, and part of that responsibility was protecting the people I cared about by not putting that burden on them. For that reason, I’d become more comfortable keeping secrets than I ever had before.

Keeping the night classes a secret, though? That was different. The only thing stopping me from telling Nick was my fear of how he might react. “You’re right,” I said to Luna. “I shouldn’t have lied.”

She glanced up at the shop clock. “I should head next door to get the place ready for the lunch crowd.”

We heard a feline yowl in the back, then another in a slightly lower pitch.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right with them?” she asked.

“I’m sure.” It was only for the day. What could go wrong? Besides, I trusted Aneksi.

When I closed the door behind Luna, I headed back to remind Aneksi that I’d cut the visit short if they didn’t follow the rules.

I could hear them in the washroom, which I hoped meant Aneksi was introducing her sister to the litter box.

On my way to check, I noticed my grandfather standing by the empty electric kettle. His palms were on the counter, and he wasn’t moving.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

For a man in his seventies, Stirling was in exceptionally good health. But something was troubling him. His shoulders slumped. “That call.” His voice cut off.

My heart sank. “Was it bad news?”

He glanced up, his eyes wide and dazed. “It was my cousin. He’s invited me to breakfast.”

“Is that bad?” I was failing to see the problem.

“I haven’t seen him in…” He rubbed his bald spot. “My goodness. It must be fifty years now.”

“You have family you haven’t seen in fifty years?” As someone who recently lost both parents, who had been the only family I’d ever known until I discovered Stirling after their death, that seemed unfathomable.

“He lives in England, and neither of us travel. At least I didn’t think he did.”

“But he’s coming to visit you? Aren’t you happy about that?”

The deepening lines around his mouth told me he was not.

“Can I meet him?” I asked.

His attention had drifted, but it snapped back. He nodded, slowly at first. “Yes, of course you can. He’ll want to meet you, too. You are a Cuthbert, after all.”

So, the cousin was a Cuthbert. The prospect of meeting another member of the family my father had kept hidden sent a shiver of excitement through me. “Great. Is he coming soon?”

“No.” Stirling frowned, and my heart sank a little. “He’s already here. He’s waiting for us at Malone’s.”

***

CHAPTER TWO
Family Matters

“You’re sure the cats will be all right?”

It was the second time Stirling had asked since we’d set off on foot for Malone’s Diner. Honestly, I wasn’t sure, but the last thing I wanted to do was give my grandfather something else to worry about. The surprise meeting with a cousin he hadn’t seen in fifty years was already stressing him out, and the hot weather wasn’t helping. Sweat beaded on both our faces, and I was already craving a tall glass of iced tea.

“We leave Aneksi alone in the shop all the time. I trust her.” I also didn’t plan on staying away long. Once I met the long-lost relative and chatted a bit,

I’d already planned to excuse myself to get back to the store.

As we approached the diner, Stirling froze, spun around, and walked away.

“What are you doing?” I closed the door I’d opened for him and rushed to pull him back.

He paced in circles and took one deep breath after another. I feared the heat had gotten to him.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said. “It’s been so long. Maybe too long. Maybe you can tell him I’m not feeling well.”

The color drained from his face.

“You’re nervous. That’s understandable. You haven’t seen each other in a long time.” Almost twice as long as I’ve been alive, which was a sobering thought. I put my hand on his shoulder to soothe him. “Take a deep breath and think about what you want to do. If you really want to go back to the shop, we’ll go.”

As much as I wanted to meet this new Cuthbert, I would never abandon my grandfather.

Stirling placed his hand on top of mine and squeezed, then adjusted the sunflower yellow bow tie that added a cheery pop of color to his pale blue Oxford shirt. “Thank you, dear. I don’t know what came over me. This is silly. Come on. Let’s go inside.”

The instant we stepped in to the air-conditioned coolness, Stirling waved at Hank, the diner’s owner, who was refilling water glasses for customers at the lunch counter, instead of the usual coffee mugs. Couples and small groups filled most of the tables, except for a boisterous group of college students at the back who had pushed three tables together. Only one table in the place had a single occupant, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind it was Stirling’s cousin.

When the man with the bushy gray hair spotted us, he grabbed the brass handle of his polished wood cane and rose, revealing an impeccably tailored gray tweed suit with a crisp ivory shirt and burgundy silk tied Ascot-style at his throat. He checked the silver pocket watch suspended from a chain attached to a waistcoat button and nodded as though he found the timing of our arrival acceptable.

“Phineas, so good to see you,” Stirling said in a voice deeper and more formal than I was used to. He extended his hand, and the other man shook it twice before turning to me.

“You must be Rebecca.” His British accent had none of Aneksi’s soft and lyrical cadence. It didn’t comfort, like a smear of clotted cream on a freshly baked scone. His snippy vowels and jagged consonants left me wincing like a mouthful of too-tart lemon curd.

“I am.” I tried to ignore the way his gaze traveled from my black-and-white high tops over my faded jeans and up to my forehead, still sweaty from the heat outside.

“A pleasure to meet you at last,” he said.

At last?

Before I could ask him to elaborate, Phineas gestured for us to take the seats beside him. “I tried to order a proper pot of tea, but I’m told they only sell it by the cup, which is a pity. I hope it won’t be a problem.”

It obviously was for him.

“You’ve chosen the Scottish breakfast.” Stirling motioned to the tag hanging over the rim of Phineas’s mug. My grandfather had considered it a personal victory the day Hank agreed to stock our favorite teas, although a cup of hot tea was the last thing I wanted in this heat.

“Yes, that was a pleasant surprise.” Phineas settled back into his seat, leaned his cane beside him, and pulled his tea bag from the rich, dark brew.

A wave of hoots and applause from the large party in the back drowned out everything else in the diner. I looked to see what the commotion was about and saw Hank was setting down platters of pancakes and waffles, bacon, hash browns, and scrambled eggs. Every kind of breakfast food on the menu.

The six young men and four young women, most wearing Richland’s burgundy and black spirit colors emblazoned with Greek letters, were clinking soda glasses and water bottles until an older man with black horn-rimmed glasses at the head of the table tamped his hands to quiet his younger companions.

Hank arrived at our table as the man urged his young companions to dig in. “Sorry about them.” He jutted his thumb at the noisy table. “They’ll quiet down soon.”

“It’s no trouble. Are they celebrating?” Stirling asked.

Hank shrugged. “Professor Plunkett is coming back after being off on extended sick leave. Whatever was wrong with him, he’s cured, I guess.”

“Cured?” Stirling looked impressed. “Good for him!”

“Yeah, good for him.” It wasn’t like Hank to be so cranky, but the heat probably had him on edge. He pulled his order pad from his apron pocket and plucked a pen from behind his ear. “What can I get you? Unless you’ll be having just the tea?” The way he glared at Phineas’s cup made me wonder if the heat wasn’t the only thing setting him on edge.

Stirling must have sensed it, too, because he was turning up the charm. “Hank, have you met my cousin, Phineas Cuthbert? He’s visiting from England.”

Hank smile at Phineas, and it almost looked genuine. “Welcome to Malone’s Diner, Mr. Cuthbert. Will you be staying long?”

Phineas’s haughty smile faltered. “Thank you, and that’s an excellent question. Citrus Grove certainly has its charms.” He picked up one of the laminated menus and skimmed it. “Tell me, I’m not familiar with American diner fare. What do you recommend?”

“You can never go wrong with a short stack and eggs.” Hank perked up. “Or you could try today’s special—a homemade strawberry shortcake. Fresh strawberries and a sweet glaze served on a delicate shortcake and covered in Chantilly cream. It’s a collaboration with the Sweet Spot, a fantastic new bakery in town.”

Luna couldn’t pay for a better pitchman.

“Sold.” I slapped down my menu. It wouldn’t be the healthiest breakfast, but I promised myself I’d stick to a salad for lunch. And, hey, the fresh strawberries had to count for something.

“Me too,” Stirling declared and set down his own menu.

“Then make that three, young man,” Phineas said.

Hank scribbled our order and headed back to the kitchen. As he pushed through the swinging door, the professor cupped his hand to the side of his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Junior!”

Hank glanced his direction.

“A round of root beer floats for the table. Pronto.” He snapped his fingers, then turned back to his young friends.

I’d seen Hank’s temper before, and I half expected to see it again now. But through obviously gritted teeth, he said, “You got it, professor!” before disappearing into the kitchen. All the time he’d been spending with Luna and her Zen-like attitude toward life must be rubbing off on him.

An awkward silence settled over our table, and I was trying to come up with something to say when Professor Abraham Omar walked in. He was striding toward the busy back table when he spotted Stirling and turned to our table instead.

“A bit late for breakfast, isn’t it, Stirling?” He pulled off his straw fedora and anxiously ran his thick fingers through his hair, which did little to tame that wild black mass.

“Perhaps.” Stirling leaned toward his cousin. “Phineas, allow me to introduce Professor Abraham Omar. He runs Richland University’s archeology and ancient history department. Abe, this is my cousin, Phineas Cuthbert.”

Professor Omar’s wiry, black eyebrows pulled so close together they formed a single, bushy V over his nose. “Phineas Cuthbert? The British Archaeological Society’s curator of the Royal Antiquities Egyptian and Mesopotamian Collection?”

Phineas lifted his chin. “It’s curator emeritus now.”

“I stand corrected.” Professor Omar threaded his hat brim through his fingers and glanced back toward the busy table.

“I didn’t realize you knew each other.” Stirling frowned at Phineas then Professor Omar.

Phineas said nothing, but the professor’s guilty gaze darted between the larger gathering and his hat brim.

“Professor, we’re here.” The man at the rowdy table seemed to address Professor Omar.

Stirling frowned. “Is he talking to you?”

Professor Omar cleared his throat and looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. “I’m afraid so. I believe I’ve told you about my colleague Horatio Plunkett, from the science department. The one who had taken leave a few months ago.”

Stirling tapped his head. “Yes, that’s where I’ve heard his name before. He has the office across the hall from you. The one you’re inheriting.”

“Yes, well, that news may have been premature.” The professor looked away.

“Abraham!” Professor Plunkett came up beside Abe and clapped him on the shoulder. Since Abe had a few inches on him and easily fifty pounds, the two of them reminded me of a scruffier version of the old Laurel and Hardy comedy team. “Don’t keep us waiting, old man. You’re part of the team now.”

That thick black beard didn’t hide the deep crimson hue creeping over Professor Omar’s cheeks. “Yes, of course.”

Professor Plunkett hunched forward like a boxer and did a playful one-two punch into Abe’s beefy arm. “I’m telling you, I feel like a new man.” He turned and touched his stomach. “Though I may have overdone it with the bacon. Or maybe it was the sausages.”

Professor Omar bent toward the other man’s ear and lowered his voice. “Before we head back to the others, could I have a private word?”
Plunkett waved him off. “Later, Abraham. Come enjoy the food before those hooligans devour it all.”

Professor Omar cast an apologetic look at Stirling and Phineas. “Yes, of course. Right behind you.”

Plunkett leaned back and yelled at the kitchen. “Junior! Where are my root beer floats?” Then he patted Abraham’s shoulder again and pushed him toward the rowdy table and into an empty chair. “Hey, leave some for Abraham. I’m sure he’s hungry. I mean, look at the size of him!”

The table erupted with laughter. I wasn’t clear whether they were laughing with Professor Omar or at him, and the look on that man’s face said he wasn’t sure, either.

As they kept at it, the kitchen door swung open and an older man I hadn’t seen before emerged with a single root beer float on a platter.

I leaned across the table and whispered to Stirling, “Is that Hank’s dad?”

Stirling nodded.

I’d never met Hank Malone, Sr., but his picture hung below the diner’s clock behind the lunch counter. A faded photograph taken on the restaurant’s first day of business six decades ago. The photograph showed a robust man fresh out of the U.S. Navy standing in front of the diner with his powerful arms folded across his chest and one of those folded paper hats perched atop his head of thick, wavy hair.

It was no secret the older Malone had been declining in health, but it still didn’t prepare me for this wisp of a man whose arms hung from his short sleeves like matchsticks and whose stray strands of white hair hardly covered his otherwise bald head. That dark and determined gaze was the same one staring out of that photograph, though, and right now it was aimed at that rowdy table.

Professor Plunkett smirked when he saw the older Malone approach. “Moving a little slowly, aren’t you, Malone? Guess you boys don’t hear so well, either. I distinctly ordered a round for the table.” He gestured at the group as though he were speaking to a child.

Why in the world was anyone celebrating this man? He was horrible. Most of the students had the decency to look away, but a few snickered. Professor Omar should have stepped in, but he was too busy hiding behind his phone.

I was about to get out of my chair to tell that bully to have some respect when Hank’s father lifted the tall glass mug from the platter, held it high over

Plunkett’s head, and dumped it.

Every conversation in the place stopped as all eyes turned to Professor Plunkett, who was sitting in shocked silence as foamy root beer dripped over his nose and a scoop of vanilla ice cream slid over his shoulder before landing with a squishy plop in his lap.

“We don’t take orders from you, Horatio. I’m ashamed I ever called you a friend. Now get out of here before my son throws you out.”

That’s when I noticed Hank and his cook, Gil, standing in the kitchen, watching through the pass-through window in shocked horror like everybody else. Gil’s cheek was tucked into an amused smirk, but Hank’s was closer to fear.

Hank’s father stepped back, did a military-style about-face, and walked back to the kitchen, leaving Plunkett grappling for napkins to soak up the mess in his lap.

“Let me help you with that, professor.” The young woman sitting beside him grabbed her paper napkin and one from her neighbor, doused them with water from her plastic bottle, and went to work cleaning the professor’s face and shirt. She peered through a curtain of long blond bangs at the lanky young man on the other side of the professor. “Are you going to just sit there, Jeffrey? Get more napkins.”

The young man looked around the table.

“Forget it,” she said. “I’ll do it myself.” She left the wet wad by her plate, walked to the empty table near us, and pulled more napkins from the aluminum dispenser. Or tried to. What came out was a shredded mess.

I took pity on her, pulled every napkin from our dispenser, and took them to her. “Here. You can have these.”

She took the stack, glared at Jeffrey, who was still fumbling for napkins at their table, and squeezed my hand. “Thank you. You’re a lifesaver.”

I was happy to help, but I almost regretted it when she took the stack back to Professor Plunkett, and he waved them away.

“It’s fine, Nadine. I’ll take care of it myself.” His face was red from anger or embarrassment, or both, as he rose and hurried back to the men’s room.

“My goodness. That was something,” Stirling muttered.

“Indeed.” Phineas pushed back from the table. “If you’ll excuse me.”

As Stirling and I watched his cousin grab his cane and make his way to the men’s room, the silence gave way to the diner’s usual din of chatter and laughter, as though nothing had happened. Gil emerged with clean towels to mop up the mess on the floor and the table and whisked it all away without a word to the unruly students.

When Phineas returned, I spent the next few moments trying to work up the courage to ask him about Professor Plunkett. But then the men’s door opened again, and the man shambled out.

The professor’s hand clutched his chest, and his face contorted in agony as he struggled to speak. Only a halting, garbled sound emerged until his face froze, his limbs tensed, and he collapsed to the floor.

Nadine rushed to his side, but I already knew it was too late. I’d seen that blank stare and slack expression before. Professor Plunkett was dead.