Red stood at the window, gazing down at the rain-slicked streets of the city. Curls of mist clung to the glass, obscuring all the people hurrying below like beetles, their black umbrellas the exoskeletons protecting them from the harsh spring morning. The private eye smiled as the flash of yellow appeared in their midst, the umbrella that signaled the best part of her day: the morning coffee delivery. Right on cue, her assistant’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Ms. Ellison, Ms. Queen is here.”
“Thank you, Lacey. Send her in.” Lacey Kessel was a gem of an assistant, intelligent and discreet, with a sharp mind that made her an excellent sounding board. Red often remarked that she didn’t know how she’d gotten along before Lacey, to which the girl would always smile and agree. They had a relationship more like mother and daughter than employer and employee, one treasured by both parties.
But thoughts of her assistant fled as the door opened, admitting one Cory Queen, restauranteur and dear friend. Their morning ritual was something Red looked forward to every day, so much that she found it difficult to go without on weekends. It wasn’t just the caffeine she missed, though it was her excuse for visiting the café on her off days.
“Red, hello.” Cory smiled, her black curls glistening from the rain. “I’ve got your French Vanilla cappuccino, and a blueberry muffin, on the house.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Red protested, grinning like a fool. She reached for the treat, jumping when her fingers brushed against Cory’s.
“Oops.” Cory pulled her hand away with a grimace. “Sorry about that—I’m sure I’ve got flour all over my hands—well, paste now. Mom’s been baking all morning.” Her mother, Tamara, worked with her at the café. Since the recent death of her stepfather, Cory had stepped in to take care of her, keeping her busy, providing comfort, and in general doing whatever she could to make the pain bearable. Red liked to tell Cory she had a heart of gold.
“How’s she doing?” Red peeled the paper from the muffin and took a bite, savoring the tart blueberries and the sweetness of the crumble topping. “Sounds like I need to stop by, if she’s baking treats.”
Cory blushed and smiled. “That might be a good idea. Later, though—it’s been a busy morning.”
Red didn’t know what to say to that, nor how to explain the sinking feeling in her heart. Cory had never acted like she didn’t want Red around—quite the opposite, in fact. Red watched her go with narrowed eyes, wondering why her instincts told her all was not as it seemed.
She had little time to ponder, as it turned out. No sooner had Cory left than Lacey entered the office with a small red envelope. “Look what came in the mail,” she said, handing it over. “Hand-lettered with no return address. A case?”
“Only one way to find out.” Red sliced the letter open with her heart-shaped silver letter opener and shook the envelope. Out slid a small sheet of heavy, creamy parchment with a few words written in elegant calligraphy on one side.
If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever.
Frowning, Red turned the paper over. On the back were hand-drawn lines representing the city, with a tiny flower near the middle of the page. Lacey saw it and squealed.
“No way! Is this some sort of scavenger hunt? Do you have a secret admirer?”
Rarely had Red seen her assistant so animated. The girl had a good head on her shoulders, and wasn’t at all prone to flights of fancy, yet there she stood, giggling like a schoolgirl. “I doubt it’s anything like that,” Red said. “It’s probably a prank. You’re secretly filming me for YouTube or something.”
Lacey rolled her eyes. “Like I would ever do that. Come on, it looks like the note’s pointing to the conservatory.” She turned and headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “Are you coming, or what? Don’t tell me I have to do this without you. The note was addressed to you, after all.”
Hesitant, Red looked at the note again. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, and certainly no one had asked her out recently. Unbidden, the image of Cory rose into her mind, and her face glowed red enough to match her name. But of course, that was silly. Cory wouldn’t have sent the note. She was too practical, too steady, and much too busy to put together something like this. And there was nothing to indicate she had feelings for Red beyond a loyal customer and friend. The words Cory and romantic didn’t go together. She would probably roll her eyes at the thought of a love scavenger hunt.
But the fact remained that someone had written the note. Someone wanted Red to go to the conservatory. Was it a silly ploy, or was there a person out there who truly had feelings for her?
“Only one way to find out,” Lacey said, reading the look on her employer’s face. “Come on! If nothing else, this’ll hone your skills.”
Red snorted. “They drew us a map. Cheating spouses and insurance fraudsters aren’t usually kind enough to do that. The only skills I’ll be honing are driving down freeways in the rain.”
Lacey grinned. “Still a useful skill to have.” She stomped across the room and grabbed Red’s hand, pulling her boss toward the door. “Come on, you spoilsport! Quit looking so glum. This is exciting. You and I have an admirer to find.”
Sighing in defeat, Red went.
The conservatory had miles of walks, at least a dozen massive greenhouses, and gardens beyond counting. Red looked at Lacey as she parked in the massive lot and turned off her Volkswagen. “How are we supposed to find anything here?”
“Uhhhh…” Lacey chewed on her lip, thinking. Then her eyes lit up. “Oh, my God! Right there!” She jumped out of the car and took off down the sidewalk. Mystified, Red followed. She didn’t understand what had Lacey so excited until they drew closer to the front office. There, propped up on a giant easel near the door, was a giant red envelope with a huge piece of paper popping out of it, advertising a romantic walk for couples at dusk.
“It’s nine in the morning,” Red said, confused. “That can’t be what the note meant.”
Lace frowned. “I wonder…” She went around the easel, looking it up and down. Then she squealed. “Oh, my God! There’s another envelope stuck to the back!” Looking extremely proud of herself, she pulled it off the easel and handed it proudly to Red, who took it with an air of mystification.
“I’m the private eye,” she said, shaking her head. “Why are you so much better at this than I am?” She opened the small red envelope and withdrew the parchment.
There is nothing more truly artistic than to love
Red stared at the note in wonder. Painting was a particular passion of hers, one she didn’t share with a lot of people. Either the note was a complete coincidence, or the writer knew her better than most. Cory’s face once again rose in her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. She didn’t even think the other woman was gay, let alone had feelings for her. It was just wishful thinking. Turning the paper over, Red saw another hand-drawn portrait of the city, this time with a small square smack dab in the middle.
“Museum?” Lacey suggested.
“It would appear so,” Red said. She slipped the parchment back into the envelope, feeling unaccountably irritated. “I suppose we’d better get moving.”
Lacey looked at her strangely, but said nothing. They returned to Red’s car and drove away from the conservatory, both of them silent, lost in thought.
“I don’t know that we should be doing this,” Red said suddenly. “For all I know, it could be an idiot or a psycho—I mean, they’re leading me on a wild goose chase all over town—or it could be—“
“It could be the person you’re meant to spend the rest of your life with,” Lacey said. “Come on, Red, this is exciting. I’ve never been involved in anything like this before.”
Red gave her a dubious look, but continued driving toward the museum, consoling herself with the thought that they might not even find the next clue. The building sprawled over three city blocks, dwarfing the conservatory, and had several miles of rooms and corridors. It would be like finding a needle in a field of haystacks. For some reason, this reassured her.
The parking lot was only about a quarter full, thanks to the hour and the nasty weather. The rain had started up again, so the two women dashed from the lot to the massive awning covering the front entrance to the art museum. It operated on a “give as you can” system, each ticket costing only what the entrant was willing or able to pay. Red dug out what she thought was a good amount and paid for a pair of tickets, all the while on the lookout for that familiar red envelope. She hoped it would be as easy as at the conservatory, but after close to half an hour of looking around, it appeared this one wouldn’t give up its secrets.
“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” Lacey mused. “What did the note say? ‘There is nothing more truly artistic than to love’? Maybe that’s a famous quote.” She dug her phone out and typed it into her browser, her fingers flying over the keys. Red had no idea how kids these days managed to type so quickly. A moment later, she was glad for it. “Yes! That’s a partial quote from Van Gogh. We’re looking for Van Gogh!”
Once again, Red was seized by a sense that the person setting up these clues knew her too well. She was more a fan of the impressionists, but Van Gogh held a special place in her heart. She and Lacey hiked to the tiny display holding several of his prints, and—lo and behold—saw a red envelope stuck to the wall behind a bench, hidden but still accessible. This time, Red reached smoothly past Lacey to pluck it from the wall herself, wasting no time going for the parchment.
Yearning for you is like trying to touch a star. You know you’ll never accomplish it, but you just keep on trying
This time the map pointed to a place Red didn’t know well at all. “Planetarium?” she guessed, confused. Perhaps this “secret admirer” didn’t know her so well, after all. She loved gardens and art, but couldn’t have cared less about astronomy.
“No,” Lacey said. “Not planetarium. That’s further west. This marker points to something else—I can’t really tell what. It actually has an address.”
Not very mysterious. However, looking up the address showed only Mitchell’s Designs, with a vague blurb that could have lent itself to almost anything. Intrigued, the two women ran back to Red’s car, avoiding puddles and dripping trees, and set off for their destination, which the GPS said was less than a mile from the museum.
Mitchell’s Designs was in the middle of the Village, a quaint, old-fashioned section of town with brick Victorian buildings, many of them repurposed homes, with a plethora of restaurants, antique stores, and mom and pop shops specializing in anything from rare toys to pottery. They found a parking spot just down the street and approached the building on foot, a three-story house with a brick walk, gingerbread moldings, and a small wooden sign out front showing a strange multi-colored orb.
“What is that?” Lacey asked.
“No idea,” Red said.
Halfway up the walk, the door opened. In it stood a slim, gray-haired woman wearing old jeans and a smock with colorful smears all over it. Paints, Red assumed, until she got closer and saw they looked more like dust than dried paint.
“You Red Ellison?” the woman said without preamble. “The private investigator?”
Red nodded. The woman beckoned them inside, and then turned and disappeared into the house without waiting for them. More intrigued than ever before, Red and Lacey hurried up the walk and into the house, which was surprisingly hot, considering the cold rain still falling. Strange sounds could be heard from the back, something metallic scraping something non-metallic, and was that the sound of a roaring fire?
The hallway stretched about twenty feet in front of them, with multiple closed doors on each side. A glow at the far end told them where to go, so Red and Lacey followed. They found themselves in a massive workshop, with a huge glass kiln in the middle of the room. It threw immense heat everywhere, venting up through the ceiling in what was obviously a custom-built chimney. Tools, shelves, bins, and half-finished pieces were everywhere, everything from ashtrays to vases to stunning sculptures of animals so lifelike you half expected them to start snorting and pawing at the ground. Red looked around the room, utterly entranced. She adored homemade glassware.
“Got strict instructions to give you this.” The woman came toward them with a small wooden box and a familiar red envelope on top. Her heart pounding, Red accepted the gifts.
“Instructions from whom?” she asked, her throat dry from more than the room’s heat. Planetarium, indeed. Nope, her suspicions had been correct. Someone who knew her was orchestrating all of this. For the first time that day, she began to believe her hopes were true. But first…
“Wow,” Lacey breathed, as Red set aside the lid and lifted the piece from the box. The last note suddenly made sense, as she withdrew a clear spherical object with a flat bottom that allowed it to be displayed on a table or shelf—or a velvet pillow covered in glass, for the beauty of it was so great it would have been at home in a museum. The outside was perfectly clear, but the heart was a wash of colors, a million planets flung across a star-strewn sky. Fantastic dust clouds caught and held the light, somehow preserved perfectly within a smooth, perfect ball of glass. It was like holding the universe in her hands.
“Who asked you to give this to me?” Red asked, blinking back tears. The woman chuckled.
“Afraid I can’t say. This piece is yours, though. Paid for in full.”
Hardly able to believe this strange turn of events, Red opened the envelope and withdrew the next parchment with shaking hands.
Food is symbolic of love when words are inadequate
An electric shock ran through her when she read these words. She couldn’t help but call up the memory of daily coffee, more often than not with a free treat or two thrown in. The look in Cory’s eyes when their hands had brushed earlier. The way she had flushed, as if her feelings had also become something more.
Wishful thinking, Red told herself firmly. It’s just a coincidence.
Except she didn’t really believe in coincidence. At least not four in a row.
“What do we have?” Lacey murmured, peering at the map on the back of the parchment. “Another address. What say we don’t look this one up ahead of time? Let’s just go.”
Disappointed that the address didn’t match Cory’s café, Red nonetheless agreed. Her heart galloped in her chest as they thanked the glassmaker and said their good-byes. The old woman watched them go, still chuckling to herself as they got in Red’s car and drove away, through the pounding rain that seemed determined to make the drive as long as possible. It was close to one o’clock when they turned onto Grace Street.
“Oh! I forgot Petite L’amour was down here.” Lacey peered through the window, oblivious to her boss hyperventilating in the driver’s seat. Red’s heart threatened to burst from her chest as she pulled into the tiny lot, still nearly full at the end of the lunch hour. Just last week, she had let slip to Cory that she’d always wanted to eat here. Too expensive, I’m afraid, she had said with a laugh. But I would love to try it sometime.
She parked and got out of the car like a woman in a dream, gliding rather than walking to the front door. It opened as if by magic, and she stepped inside, shaking the rain from her red hair. Her gaze swept the restaurant, hoping against hope to see a curly black head in one of the booths. But she did not.
“Madamoiselle Ellison?” The maître d bowed. “Lovely to see you. And mademoiselle Kessel, I presume? I was told you might be here as well. I am so sorry for zis terribul weather. Please, follow me.”
Bemused—did he really just apologize for the rain?—Red and Lacey followed him past sumptuously appointed tables, dimly lit with small golden lamps that cast just enough light to create cozy little pockets of space for the diners. The room was almost completely full—all but the best table in the house, near the big bay window in front, where he led them unerringly.
“Please, order anything you like. Eet has already been paid for by a friend.”
The two women looked at each other over the table. Then they opened their menus. Lacey rattled off her meal and a wine selection without hesitation, which impressed the hell out of her boss. Red had no idea how to order at a French restaurant, and feared the stereotypes of rude staff she’d seen in movies and television. But the maître d was more than gracious, and helped her muddle through everything from the aperitif to the dessert wine. She enjoyed it so much, she nearly forgot why they were there. That is, until the waiter appeared afterward with a tiny covered silver tray and placed it in front of her.
Her heart pounding, she glanced up at Lacey, who watched her with a small smile. Red removed the cover and saw a tiny plate with two objects. One, a red envelope, was now quite familiar to her. But it was the other that sent shock waves reverberating through her.
It was a blueberry muffin.
Red’s mouth went dry. She glanced up and saw the waiter had already gone. Lacey’s smile had widened into a grin. “Well? Aren’t you going to read the note?”
Stunned, Red reached for the envelope. Her fingers shook as she opened it. The line was simple:
Together we can face any challenges as deep as the ocean and as high as the sky
She didn’t even have to glance at the other side to know it pointed to the beach, to a tiny little sundae shop where she had first met Cory over a year before. In an instant, Red was transported back in time, to less than a week after her divorce had been finalized, a day in which she had wandered aimlessly up and down the shore, unsure what to do with herself or where to go now that her identity as wife was no more. Along with her two cats, Matey and Misty, she had just finished moving from a large three-bedroom home in the suburbs into a tiny apartment with windows overlooking an alley and the loudest upstairs neighbors in history. After an hour or so, she had sat on a bench right in front of the shop, exhausted by more than the exercise, staring out at the sea as the occasional tear slipped down her cheek.
Suddenly, a hand had appeared, thrusting a massive chocolate-and-vanilla swirl cone into her face. “You look like you could use some ice cream,” said an unfamiliar voice. Red looked up in surprise at the smiling face and black curls of the person who would introduce herself as Cory Queen. Unused to being approached by strangers, the gesture nonetheless touched something deep inside Red, something in desperate need of comfort and human validation. Instead of shying away, she embraced it, and two women ended up sitting on the bench and talking all afternoon. Cory had a wicked sense of humor, and Red found herself laughing for the first time in weeks. She learned that Cory owned a café, and Cory learned that Red’s divorce had come about partly because she’d quit her job in finance to become a private investigator, something her ex had thought irresponsible and childish.
“That’s stupid,” was Cory’s judgment on the matter. “PIs are cool as hell.”
By the time Red left, she and Cory were fast friends, and her divorce no longer seemed like the end of the world. Nearly every day since then, the two women had found an excuse to see one another, whether for coffee or pastries or a simple chat, and Red realized this simple friendship had grown to shape the entirety of her life. She felt tears spilling from her eyes, hardly daring to believe such a dream could come true.
“You’re going, right?” Lacey broke into her thoughts, unable to contain herself. Red looked at her assistant and saw the knowing gleam in her eye, and everything clicked into place.
“You knew!” she exclaimed.
“Well, duh,” Lacey laughed. “She warned me ahead of time where the maps pointed. Drawing isn’t her strong suit.”
“No,” Red agreed. But she didn’t care. Cory had her own talents, such as putting together romantic gestures grand enough to knock your socks off. Red pushed back her chair so fast it nearly fell over, practically leaping to her feet. “I have to go.”
“Of course you do. But I’ll drive. You’re too keyed up.”
Red didn’t argue. She waved at the waiter and maître d on the way out, both of whom smiled knowingly as she practically ran from the restaurant. In the car, she sat on the edge of her seat through the entire drive, leaning forward like a child excited to take a trip. The car had hardly rolled to a stop when she was out of it like a shot, skipping down the boardwalk stairs, stumbling over a few of them before regaining her balance. When she hit the sand, she started to run, spying those distinctive curls immediately.
Cory stood by the ocean, gazing out at the water. Even from that distance, Red saw the tension in her shoulders, the tight lines of her body as she waited for her overture to be accepted—or not. Red couldn’t help but admire her bravery. In over a year, she had never alluded to her own feelings. Cory had not only taken that leap, but had done so in the most romantic, moving way possible. “Hey,” Red called weakly, unable to hold back her tears and certain her voice was too quiet to be heard over the gulls and the surf.
But Cory heard. She turned around, and her worried expression instantly transformed into a smile so wide and dazzling it blotted out the sun, which had somehow managed to claw its way out of the clouds. It struck the water, throwing up sparkles like diamonds as the two women ran toward one another, meeting and embracing right there on the beach, laughing, crying, and talking over one another as a year’s worth of feelings tumbled out, acknowledged and returned at last. Red managed to tell Cory she’d been hoping it was her all day, while Cory let slip she had been certain Red would be scared off by her silly attempts at romance. Red only laughed and told her there had been no one else for her since the day they had met on this very beach, over one year ago.
“Same here.” Cory gave a wry smile. “When I saw you sitting on the bench crying, I knew. Then you told me you’d been married to a man, and I figured it would never happen. But I kept coming around like an idiot, because I couldn’t stay away.”
Red laughed. “Why do you think I kept coming in to the café on my days off? You were the first one to make me smile in weeks. Now it seems like a dream, and the only thing that ever mattered were the times we got to see each other. I looked forward to them every single day.”
“Did I get it right?” Unbelievably, Cory seemed worried. “I realize it was probably cheesy and silly, but I tried to do things you liked…”
Red placed a finger over Cory’s lips. “I could work until I’m a hundred years old,” she said, “and I will never solve another mystery as wonderful and as satisfying as this one.”
Cory hugged her tightly. “I’m glad,” she said.
“So am I. I hope you know, though, this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for my morning coffee. Dating a café owner should have its perks.”
Cory’s laughter echoed over the water. “I’ll remember that,” she said, snuggling into Red’s side. Together they watched as the sun set over the water, closing the envelope on a perfect day.
Katia Cole 