Joe said no more but whipped up a cappuccino and put some muffins in a bag. Vera paid him and turned to go. She planned to drop off the coffee and treats, and then get back to her investigation.
Before Vera reached the door, none other than Professor Heidegger entered. The owl had attended the funeral earlier, like nearly all the citizens of town, but she hadn’t got the chance to speak to him.
“How are you, Professor?” Vera asked politely.
He blinked his large eyes and said, “Enervated, Miss Vixen. I am not, as you know, typically diurnal, but needs must. One must show respect for tradition, and Adora Springfield would have done the same for me, I trust. We matriculated from the same college, you know. Fine creature, decorous and exemplary in all ways.”
“It was good of you to attend the funeral,” Vera said. “And lucky you returned from your visit in time. I heard there was some, er, confusion at your house when you got back?”
“No confusion at all, Miss Vixen. Some scamp, some squatter, some miscreant had enjoyed my domicile without permission while I was in absentia! Very rude, I say. There is a fine inn for guests in town, not to mention rooms to let for those of lesser means, and the woods if one is destitute. To commandeer my home is most uncalled for!” His feathers had puffed out so much during this indignant speech that he reassembled a dandelion about to burst apart.
“But nothing was stolen?”
Heidegger hooted in annoyance. “Nothing of value, though my larder was considerably depleted by my unwelcome guest. And the books all read through and put back in the wrong places! I suspect my collection of local yearbooks may take years to put back together. I had a more complete collection than the library, you know. Some of the pages were dog-eared!”
“Oh, no!” Vera gasped in horror, because he clearly expected this offense to bring the most outrage. In truth, she was known to fold over a corner of a page or two when a bookmark could not be located.
“True! And the police insist that they can do nothing because I cannot prove that these things were done by someone other than me.”
“I’m so sorry to hear all that, Professor. Perhaps you can search your house again until you find some evidence that will support your claim.”
“Oh, I looked,” he said. “But whoever it was left nothing behind. And Deputy Braun won’t listen to me when I tell him that I never shelved Shady Hollow: A History next to The Flavors of the Forest. Entirely different categories!” He flapped both wings wide with indignation. “So I am deserted in my time of need and I’ll have to re-sort all my books myself, which will probably take until next spring, and meanwhile the miscreant is probably skipping off to the next town, to steal someone else’s maple-roasted nut mix purchased specially from the Ms. Muncie’s Munchies catalog. It has cashews in it!”
“Oh, that’s a real tragedy,” she said, with sincerity (one never wanted to have one’s favorite snack stolen). “But since you’re here, I wonder if I might stop by tomorrow to look at your books. I’m researching a story and I’ve come up short with the public collections. And you’ve got so many unique books.”
“Certainly, my dear lady!” he responded, perking up at the compliment. “Midafternoon would be best. I’ll be sure to wake early for your visit.”
Vera thanked him and promised she’d ring loudly when she arrived the next day. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for Adora’s wake.”
Chapter 8
Vera dressed in a black velvet gown for the wake, draping a cloak over it for warmth, as the evening had turned quite brisk. A wind sprang up from the north, reminding anyone walking that evening that winter was on its way.
After meeting up with Lenore (who always dressed in black), the two friends walked to Mirror Lake, chatting as they went. The raven’s mind was fully occupied with the event she would holding at the bookstore in less than twenty-four hours’ time, and Vera wanted to relieve her of as much stress as she could. That’s what friends did.
In fact, before they knew it, they arrived. The wake for Adora Springfield was held at the original family home, the very same house where Dorothy made her drastic accusation and where Edward now lived alone, suffering from both his mother’s death and the loss of his wife. Naturally, Dorothy did not make an appearance all night. But many other creatures did.
Vera and Lenore joined the line of folks entering the house, many of them bearing little bouquets of flowers, or a letter of condolence, or a small gift.
Edward stood at the door, greeting each and every creature as they came in. He was somberly dressed in a black suit, with a yellow carnation blossom in a tiny silver boutonniere vase pinned to his lapel. He nodded and spoke to everyone for a moment, then invited them in to partake of the food and drink inside, and share their memories of Adora.
Vera listened to Lenore’s event preparations with half an ear, and listened to the buzz of conversations around her with the other. As they approached the doorway, she overheard Edward talking to a guest just ahead of them, who’d brought a bottle of port bedecked with a ribbon.
“Stanley Mortimer, you shouldn’t have,” Edward said, but he chuckled. “Which is not to say that I won’t drink it. How long has it been since I’ve seen you?”
“Must have been that dinner in June, eh?” Stan responded.
“Feels like much longer than that. We’ve got to have another dinner soon, Stan. Please go in, make yourself at home. Thank you for coming, friend.”
“You know I’d never let you down, Ed,” the other rat responded. “Anything you need, you
