Inkwell of Shadows 15: Whacking Weeds and Other Wild Hopes

November 9, 2024. Moonlight Curiosities Antique Shop. Gloamstead, Alabama. Later that afternoon, feeling like we needed a scorecard for all our troubles…

Author’s Note: Inkwell of Shadows is a serialized fiction story in Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries, set in Blighridge County, Alabama. A quiet corner of the world where old ghost linger, cursed objects refuse to stay quiet, and some secrets never stay buried—at least, for long.

New installments or chapters will materialize every Monday…

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Previously. Both pie and questions were Dorian over, leaving Daniel retuning to Moonlight Curiosities for a quiet afternoon with Cassidy. At first, it seemed he might get his wish—until he didn’t. He filled in Cassidy on what he learned, which let them both connect pieces to a very unsettling picture. But Cassidy had news of her own such as a strange visitor looking for a desk and a dinner invitation from Mrs. Adelyne. But the worst was saved for last. When Daniel walked into the shop’s office, he realized to his and Cassidy’s horror, someone might have broken in. The only thing missing? The fountain pen Dorian had given them to study…

November 9, 2024. Moonlight Curiosities Antique Shop. Gloamstead, Alabama. Later that afternoon, feeling like we needed a scorecard for all our troubles…

It was mid-afternoon before the sheriff’s office was done searching the premises with a fine-toothed comb. Unfortunately, the results weren’t encouraging.

Deputy Marla Keene reappeared in the shop’s office, snapping her small notebook closed with a sigh. I set my tablet down, exchanging a concerned look with Cassidy, who was in the padded chair next to me. The deputy’s professional smile was worn at the edges.

“I appreciate your patience,” she told us. Her gray eyes traced the room, surveying for any overlooked mischief. “We’ve looked your place up and down. Nothing was forced or pried open.” The deputy glanced between us, gesturing at the now-empty spot on the shelf. “If we recover anything from the strongbox, we’ll let you know, but honestly… are you sure the pen was taken?”

A sigh tumbled out as I stared at the top of the office desk. Life’s recent twists had gotten old.

“Yes,” I said a little too fast. Cassidy put her hand on mine, clearing her throat.

“Positive,” she said. “It’s on loan from a client who wanted us to find the rest of the matched set. It mostly stayed locked up. The pen’s pretty valuable.”

“Right. The sheriff mentioned you two were doing some research about that.” Deputy Keene nodded as if running the details over a mental spreadsheet. “Well, you’ve sent the security footage. That’ll help a lot. Really… y’all ought to make sure your doors are locked—” She didn’t quite hide a sympathetic wince. “—just to be sure. It’s been a little difficult lately.”

That sent up warning flares in my head. “Difficult? Deputy… are you expecting more trouble?”

Deputy Keene’s eyes shone like old steel. It was the same look I saw in the aftermath of our wedding reception nightmare. She pulled off her brown felt hat, smoothing down the side of her hair; dark brown strands had escaped her tight bun in a fit of stress. It was as if her professional mask had slipped in real time.

“Well, there’s been more odd calls in the last three weeks than in the last three years. Small stuff, mostly. Petty theft. Prowlers. Some idiot even dug up the mayor’s prize roses.”

I shared a dryad-sized, suspicious look with Cassidy. Deputy Keene didn’t seem to notice as she continued.

“Then there was the attack on you both, and the recent murder?” She shook her head, rubbing the brim of her hat. “It adds up in a way I wish it didn’t. Speaking of bad moments, that brings me around to the other thing.”

Deputy Keene smiled thinly, tired but genuine. That made me sit up and pay more attention than anything else.

The deputy shifted her weight, boots shuffling quietly against the wooden floor.

“Sheriff’s worried about you two. He’d asked me to stop by and look in on you both when your call came in.” A tight frown crossed her face as the deputy glanced between us. “Look, sorry about the hard line earlier. I didn’t like it that someone made you two feel unsafe. It’s making Gloamstead feel unsafe. Especially since last week at your wedding… y’know?”

“Thank you,” I said with a long sigh. Cassidy simply gave the deputy a soft smile.

“You’re welcome,” Keene said quietly. “All I’m trying to say is maybe think about taking it easy for a few days? Close the shop, do one of those staycation things.” She shrugged, slipping her hat back on. “Think about it, y’hear? Rest sometimes works magic.”

We saw the deputy out the front as a customer walked in.

Rail-thin with a drawn, tan face and wearing a White Sox jacket, he stepped politely aside with a nothing sort of smile. After a brief, interested glance at the deputy then us, he casually wandered the aisles.

I turned toward the counter when Cassidy touched my arm.

“It’s him,” she whispered, indicating the customer with her eyes. “Caleb Hayes. The desk guy.”

Said desk guy in question roamed the shelves with a casual grace. He had his hands tucked behind his back as if taking score over the inventory. Something about him looked familiar, but I couldn’t place from where.

Cassidy gave me a tiny nod. “Go be charming,” she whispered. “I’ll tag the antique letter sorters in the office.”

I tried not to stalk Mr. Hayes, but failed anyway. After what I felt was an appropriate amount of ‘patient shop owner’ time, I strolled in his direction.

“Anything I can help you with?” I asked warmly.

He turned, giving me a soft smile. Brown-eyed and sporting a sandy-brown brush cut, he reminded me of one of those antique pickers from a reality TV show.

“Yes. I heard you might have a good selection of estate finds? Such as desks?” His accent was thin and barely there. Something from up north. “Have any?”

I gave him a sympathetic look. “Sorry, no. Usually, we wind up with smaller items. Desks?” Words failed as my thoughts tabulated the shop inventory. “Nope. Not even any pending to come in soon. But I can make a few calls, Mr…?”

“Hayes.” He stuck his hand out, and we shook. “I’m hunting antique desks about fifty or so years old; maybe a shade older.” Hayes casually shrugged. “I’m tracing my family’s heritage, and supposedly there is a desk that might have some history to it; worth getting pictures of, I’m told. Roll top desk, I think. Green felt ink blotter. Made of teak wood, maybe? Small brass corner fittings on the inside, with a set of cat scratches along the outer left side.”

The details rang like a bell inside my head, but I swallowed my alarm. Nodding, I waved him over to the checkout counter.

“Let me get your email or number. I’ll ask around, see if I can find anything.”

Email was what it was, but the number confirmed what Cassidy said; he was from way out of town. Maybe the other end of the state or farther. I handed him a card for our shop in return.

“So, the sheriff visit?” Hayes asked, waving the card toward the front door. “Sorry to be nosy, but I hope everything’s all right?”

I pursed my lips, wondering how much to say. Finally, I didn’t see the harm in a little honesty. It was probably my time people-herding in tech coming out in me.

“We had a break-in scare. No one got hurt, but things are a bit tense.” I shrugged, hiding behind the words. “Sheriff’s office has it covered. I’m sure they’ll have a car come around more often now that they’ve got the security footage.”

Hayes nodded, giving me a sympathetic look. “Damn. I’m so sorry. The town here looks so,” he glanced around, “calm and laid back. Well, if you hear anything about the desk, I’d really appreciate it.” With a final wave, he headed out the door.

I was in the shop office before the front bell stopped ringing. Cassidy practically jumped out of the desk chair when I charged inside.

“Cassie, we need to lock up fast for an early lunch,” I panted.

She eased out of her chair, nerves making her human disguise slip. All at once, the whites of her eyes bled into a solid, brownish-black as her human ears sharpened into erect, pointed ones pushing through her hair.

“Why,” she asked, feeling out the word.

I bounced on the balls of my feet, tennis shoes abusing the wooden floor. “Hayes. He was describing, you know—” I swallowed, nerves bubbling.

Cassidy’s eyes went huge. “—the desk downstairs!”

With the shop sign flipped and the front door locked, we hurried down the stairs and invaded the basement. Quickly, we inspected the roll top desk with surgical precision. Corners, rolling cover, and even the underside were checked. Nothing was left to chance.

Minutes later, I stood and ran a hand through my hair, knocking away a layer of dust. “He didn’t get into a lot of details, but I have a bad feeling this is the desk he’s after. It’s like a pattern I can’t stop seeing.”

As Cassidy searched the underside with a flashlight, I glanced around the basement office as frustration bubbled in my chest. It was hard to shake the idea that we were being toyed with in a bad way—the kind that gets people killed. I glanced at our last remaining Waterman pen in its glass case on the shelf. Quietly, I stared holes into it, studying the glimmer of light along the thin turquoise vines covering its shell.

“Daniel!”

I twitched when Cassidy touched my arm, calling my name. “Sorry,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

“You were standing there, just staring off into space.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You all right, love?”

I squinted at her, the room, and back to her. “Yeah, just… lost in thought. Too much happening.”

She rubbed my arm a little. “Then, maybe what I found under the desk will clear a few things up. I’m just not sure if it’s a good thing.”

Opening her phone, she flipped through a series of pictures, zooming in on the last one. It was a snapshot of a brass plate bolted into the wood beneath the desk. It was tarnished with age, but the raised letters were clearly legible.

“Eugene Altamont, Esq?” I blinked, shaking my head a little. “Altamont… wait. Isn’t that—?”

“Yes,” Cassidy said. “That’s the same name as Professor Martin Altamont who owned all four pens before he died. The one who withered with ink stains.”

I blew out a low sigh with a dozen curse words buried underneath. Motion on the desk caught my eye. I stiffened, watching the greenish-gray mist in the antique inkwell churn like a summer thunderstorm. Worse, it glowed a soft, putrid green like eager pond scum.

“Cassie… why is that glowing?”

She turned around to face the desk, then froze. After a moment, we exchanged a brief look as silence answered my question. Upstairs suddenly felt like a fantastic idea.

“Okay, so Caleb Hayes is connected to Professor Altamont. If he’s telling the truth, he’s related,” I said, closing the secret door as we returned to the supposed safety of the second floor.

“Big if.” Cassidy brushed dust off her sundress. “That sort of explains a little about Hayes, but still leaves the people we saw snooping around and just… everything.” She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “We need to whack some of the weeds we’re in over this; it’s a mess.”

I stood still, running down the calculus in my head about what we knew. “Also, one of the two on our security footage looked way too much like the person who attacked me. They have to be connected to the break-in.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe both break-ins. Also, then there’s that bit about the pens compelling people.”

I studied her for a moment, pursing my lips. “Like maybe Dorian was affected? He was compelled to break in and steal the pen from us, but doesn’t remember? Beloved, I hate that idea so, so much.” I snapped my fingers. “That reminds me—Professor Barnes. He said he might have given a Waterman pen to a student.”

Cassidy winced. “Oh, right. But it’s the weekend, we can’t call him. He won’t be on campus.”

“I know,” I said with a deep breath. “If the suspense doesn’t kill us, we’ll have to wait until Monday. Hopefully, nobody dies before then.”

She walked over, wrapping her arms around me. I replied in kind.

“No dying,” she told me with a small smile. “Not allowed. It’s against the rules.”

I chuckled. “Fair, but I won’t rule out nervous hives. Besides, I’m sure all this with the pen and Professor Barnes is probably a wild goose chase.”

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Moonlight Curiosity Mysteries is a work of pure, unabashed fiction. To be honest, it’s a bit creepy, if not spooky, when is isn’t beside itself with nerves. It tends to be a little shy. Did I mention it likes to needlepoint because there’s lots of stabbing? Names of characters, places, events, organizations and locations are all creations of the author’s imagination for this fictitious setting. Which means, really, he gets all the blame.

Any resemblance to persons living, dead, undead, or why-aren’t-they-dead-YET is coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s, since the characters and the author tend to disagree a lot. Like daily.