Whiskers and Ciphers
A Purr-fect Relic Cozy Mystery Book 6
by DeAnna Drake

CHAPTER ONE
Stranger Danger

 

Aneksi’s whiskers twitched as she perched on the counter beside me, her ocean blue eyes locked on the woman examining a rack of lapis lazuli necklaces on the other side of the shop. “Do you think she’ll ever leave?”

The gray tabby’s tail flicked back and forth like a metronome. An obvious sign of her irritation.

“Keep your voice down,” I whispered. Ever since I’d confessed to Nick Devon—my boyfriend and Citrus Grove’s top detective—that Aneksi could talk and had a history that stretched back to Queen Cleopatra court, my furry friend had stopped being careful around strangers. Or at least as careful as she should be. The last thing I needed now was a customer discovering Aneksi was no ordinary cat.

But the little furball had a point.

The woman had entered Cuthbert Exotic Antiques more than an hour before and was poking through the aisles with measured precision, inspecting everything from the kitschy brass pyramids to our Indian silks. Since I’d never seen her before, I figured she must be in town for the local university’s symposium on Egyptian antiquities, which was organized by my grandfather’s colleague Professor Abraham Omar.

Yet she didn’t strike me as an academic, despite her fixation on the shop’s ancient artifacts, imported handicrafts, and assorted replicas—which my grandfather insisted on calling faux relics. That razor-straight auburn bob, tailored cherry-red suit, and a designer handbag that probably cost more than I made in a month screamed something, but it wasn’t academia.

She also wasn’t a people person. When she’d arrived, I’d greeted her with a smile and offered to help her find something, but she’d dismissed me with a frosty “I’ll let you know” in a curt British accent that stood out in this quiet Southern California town. So, I’d let her browse while I petted Aneksi and scrolled through my phone. I needed to catch up on a reading assignment from last week’s small-business entrepreneurs class, anyway.

My feisty feline partner huffed. “She hasn’t bought anything, and she keeps looking at the door. I find it rather suspicious.”

I caught the faint trace of British formality in Aneksi’s tone—maybe inspired by the shopper’s accent, or more likely from the reruns of my favorite spinster sleuth, which I’d had on while I prepared for work. The homage was amusing, sure, but I still had to resist the urge to muzzle her—for her safety and mine. Instead, I cranked up the volume on the shop’s speaker system, which was softly running through my playlist of eighties hits.

“It’s called shopping,” I groused and continued scrolling through my notes until I reached the instructions for the next assignment. Write an advertising slogan for your business. Huh? If I could do that, I wouldn’t need this class. I scrolled back through the notes, hoping they would make more sense the second time around.

The woman in red wasn’t making it easy to concentrate. She was lingering near the alabaster canopic jar Stirling had put on display in a locked glass case on a back shelf. It was a genuine artifact from the Ptolemaic dynasty he had pulled out of storage. He was hoping it would attract the attention of the visiting scholars because its value, he’d confided, surpassed everything else in the shop, combined.

It had certainly attracted this woman’s attention. Her hand, with its glossy red fingertips, hovered over the glass case as if she were debating whether to ask for a closer look.

My hopes for a sale rose.

“She doesn’t feel right,” Aneksi muttered before leaping gracefully to a higher shelf for a better view. Her ears flattened slightly.

“She’s probably just considering her options,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely sure I believed that. Something about the woman had put Aneksi on edge—and if there was one thing I’d learned since meeting my remarkable companion, it was to trust her instincts.

The shop door jingled, pulling me from my concerns. A young woman wearing large black glasses and an oversize cardigan stepped inside, clutching a small stack of books to her chest. She hesitated and glanced around like she wasn’t sure if she was in the right place.

“Are you looking for the Antique Depot?” I asked, already preparing to redirect her to the shop on the other side of the traffic circle with a similar address.

She smiled hesitantly. “I’m looking for Stirling Cuthbert. Is he here?”

I stepped out from behind the counter. “Not at the moment.” He’d left to buy a new printer because the old one stopped working this morning in the middle of printing an invoice for one of his online auctions. But he’d been gone so long, I suspected he’d stopped at the Old Towne Victorian Tearoom to see his friend Vee Quinn, who ran the place. “I’m his granddaughter, Rebecca. Can I help you?”

“I wanted to drop these off. He requested them from a neighboring library, and they just arrived.” She set the books on the counter, and I immediately noticed the titles: History of Cryptography, Ancient Scripts Decoded, and Cipher Cracking for Beginners. Since I’d told Stirling about finding J.P. Cuthbert’s journal, which was written in code and hidden in his cousin’s suitcase, as well as what I’d overheard him tell someone on the phone about searching for a decoder, I knew Stirling had been scouring through the collection of cursed artifacts J.P. had left in a secret vault in the shop’s basement, hoping to beat his cousin to the discovery.

Stirling hadn’t mentioned the books, but the search made sense. Maybe they would shed light on what the decoder looked like, so we’d know it when—or if—we ever found it.

“I didn’t know the library delivered,” I remarked with a polite smile.

“We usually don’t.” She adjusted her glasses. “When I was helping Stirling with the form, we got on the topic of cupcakes. I told him I hadn’t had a decent one since I moved from New Orleans.” She laughed lightly. “He recommended the bakery next door.”

“The Sweet Spot,” I said. “And he’s right. It’s the best bakery in town.” Sure, I was biased, but it was still true. “If you like blueberry, try the blueberry supreme cupcakes. They’re my favorite.”

The woman’s face lit up. “I love blueberry. Thanks for the tip.”

As she turned to leave, her gaze drifted to the woman in red. She lifted a hand in a tentative wave.

“Hi!” she said brightly. “Twice in one day. Small world.”

The redheaded woman glared at the librarian, then turned her attention back to the canopic jar.

The librarian lowered her hand awkwardly and looked like she wanted to melt into the floor. “I must be mistaken. Anyway, thanks for your help.” She nodded toward the books. “You’ll tell Stirling that Penelope dropped them by?”

“Of course.” I tapped the top of the stack. “Also, Luna runs the Sweet Spot. Tell her we sent you, and she’ll take good care of you. Enjoy the cupcakes!”

Once the young woman was gone, I turned back to our lingering shopper. She was still examining the canopic jar, but there was something different about her now—a stiffness in her posture, a tension that hadn’t been there before.

I approached her. “Are you sure I can’t help you find something?”

“That isn’t necessary,” she said coolly. “I was hoping to run into Phineas. Do you expect him soon?”

I tried to muster a smile to hide my irritation that she hadn’t been shopping at all. She’d been hoping to run into my grandfather’s cousin, who somehow attracted women of a certain age like bees to honey. “No, I don’t expect him. Would you like to leave him a message?” I really didn’t want to get in the middle of one of his romantic liaisons, but judging by that look on her face, she was expecting me to do something.

She shrugged, but instead of returning to her browsing, waiting, or whatever she was doing, the woman continued to stare at me—starting at the top of my messy bun, then slowly scanning down my rumpled button-down shirt, jeans, and red high-tops, a splurge after last week’s paycheck—before meeting my gaze again.

It gave me a chill that had nothing to do with the shop’s temperature.

“How do you know Phineas?” I asked. Maybe it was presumptuous to ask, but that expression on her face was making me uncomfortable.

“We work together,” she said.

“At Richland?” When the woman’s ruthlessly tweezed eyebrows pulled into a question, I added, “The university.”

“Oh, no,” she scoffed, then pointed up to a shelf where a wooden Isis figure held the baby Horus on her lap. “That is such a lovely piece. Did you know it’s one of the most popular depictions of the goddess?”

I did, but it seemed rude to say, so I pretended to be surprised.

Aneksi was still watching from the other side of the room. When we locked gazes, she pulled into a crouched position as if she were preparing to pounce on the woman. It was an intimidating pose in her tiger form. But as a kitten? Not so much.

“Would you like me to pull it down, so you can have a closer look, Ms. …”

“That’s all right,” she said, ignoring my attempt to get her name. “I can admire it from here. Oh, there he is!”

I whipped around to see Phineas entering the shop—and he wasn’t alone. Close behind was a willowy woman with a wide smile that made her dark eyes crinkle and disappear into crescents as she pushed back long strands of honey-blond hair that had come loose from her low bun. Her tweed jacket looked identical to the one Phineas wore, down to the same brown leather patches at the elbows. If she had worn brown wool trousers, a flat cap, and a bow tie instead of a simple wool skirt, they could have been twins.

Their laughter followed them in.

“Don’t be silly. Professor Omar was over the moon when you contacted him. He was beside himself when you offered to present the keynote address,” he said. “Your work on the undersea discoveries off Alexandria’s coast is breathtaking. You were always his top choice, but he naturally assumed you were too busy with fieldwork. Is it true you’re living in Egypt full time now, Ms. Granville?”

“I told you, call me Emma. Please,” she said coyly.

He tapped his forehead lightly. “Yes, of course. Emma. Such a delightful name for such a delightful and accomplished woman. Not to mention beautiful.”

“Phineas?” I called sharply, interrupting his flirt fest.

When he turned to see what I wanted, he saw the woman in red staring at him. The color drained from his face.

His mouth twitched, but no words came out. After taking a deep breath, he tried again. “Our appointment. I completely forgot. Give me one moment.” He turned back to his companion with an effusive smile and ushered her back out the door.

A few moments later, after the woman in red and I had stood in awkward silence as Duran Duran sang about someone dancing on the sand, he re-entered, huffing like he’d run a marathon, which couldn’t be healthy for a man well into his seventies.

“You’re here,” he said, between gasps for breath.

The redhead, whose expression remained locked in that eerie, inscrutable smile, spread out her arms. “As promised.”

“You should have told me you were expecting a visitor, Phineas,” I said. “She’s been incredibly patient.”

The woman smirked but said nothing.

Phineas stood rigid and perfectly still. Then his stillness broke, and he rushed at the mysterious woman, placed his hand on the small of her back, and guided her toward the door.

“Sorry for the rush, Rebecca, but we must be going,” he said.

The woman allowed him to maneuver her through the shop, but her mildly surprised expression suggested she had no clue what he was doing.

As Phineas pushed her onto the sidewalk, I called after them. “Nice meeting you. Hope we see you again.”

Phineas gave a halfhearted wave; the woman did not.

The moment they were gone, Aneksi leaped down from the shelf and landed gracefully on the counter beside me. “What do you suppose he’s up to?”

I exhaled, still watching the door. “No clue. But that was definitely weird.”