Here's a different kind of book: Chasing the Codex (Cozy Cat Press; November 2015 trade paperback and ebook formats), a cozy mystery written by 24 of Cozy Cat Press's authors, with each penning their own individual chapter or chapters. None of the authors had any idea where the next author would take the story; they only knew what they wanted to do with the characters and the plot in their own chapter.
We are pleased to introduce you to Chasing the Codex with an excerpt, the first chapter (written by Christian Belz).
— ♦ —
SOMETHING WAS MISSING. IT WAS NOT as obvious as a gap on a bookshelf, or the small ring of dust where a Royal Doulton figurine had stood. Nothing seemed out of place in the old store, nothing she could name. But the pressure of an unknown void bugged Bryndis Palmer like a pebble in her shoe.
Her first batch of cinnamon cross buns had come out of the oven scorched, and when she'd pulled the tag on a fresh bag of coffee, it had ripped and spilled all over the floor. Her schedule was off even before she'd opened for business. She'd stared at the coffee pot as she wondered what was wrong.
It's nothing. She shook herself out of her stupor, glanced up and looked through the large beveled glass front window of her bookshop The Neglected Word, and smiled at the familiar sight of Tony crossing the street. He stopped at her front door and bent over. What is he doing? He straightened up and fumbled to rearrange his backpack. Bryndis caught a flash of red as he came in.
With practiced elegance, Bryndis selected a cup and a saucer from the shelf behind her, and placed them on the counter. Carefully she poured coffee. Tony strode across the wooden floor and held up a brightly wrapped candy-box-sized gift. He offered a bright smile. "Hey, Bryn, this was leaning up against your front door." He handed her the parcel. "It's got your name on it." Bryndis eyed the package — the glossy red wrapping paper, the black lace ribbon and bow.
Agitated, her heart beat faster.
"What's new?" he said, sliding onto a stool at the counter.
"Hmm. Someone left a gift at my door." She glanced up at Tony's intense blue eyes, made more vivid by his indigo sweater. Her apprehension loosened. "I made apple cinnamon cross buns. They're still warm. Want one?" He nodded and she placed one on a plate.
He took a bite. "Wow! This is amazing!"
Bryndis studied the tag dangling from the bow on the package. This could only mean one thing. And I'm not having it.
"I know you're dying to open that, but I really need a favor," Tony said. "Can I borrow a copy of Alice Munro's Vintage Munro? I need it for second hour."
"This isn't a library, Tony." Bryndis looked at him pointedly. "And the teacher is supposed to remember his supplies. You know, set a good example." She could see the anticipation on his face. Tony was her ex-boyfriend's younger brother and she felt a little protective of him — a feeling which extended as far back as high school when Tony had been just thirteen. She softened. "Should be a copy on one of the shelves in front. When you bring it back, I'll add it to my café counter collection." "Great, thanks," he said.
Her thoughts returned to the package in her hands. Her knuckles going white as she gripped it harder, she studied her name on the tag, written in bold letters with a black felt-tip pen. The space marked "from" was blank. Why is he doing this?
She suddenly scooted sideways through a break in the counter, and barreled toward the far wall which separated her shop from the business next door. "Help yourself to the coffee!" she called over her shoulder to Tony. She yanked open an aluminum and glass door that connected the two stores. "This won't take long!"
She stormed into the neighboring shop, crossing a vinyl tile floor, all the while craning her neck from side to side, and running her eyes along rows of white washing machines and grey dryers. The only people in sight were a woman in her early twenties and a toddler sitting next to her on dilapidated orange plastic chairs. The toddler swung his legs back and forth, his eyes fixed on one of the washers in front of him. Suds behind the glass door churned in circles. The place smelled like soap.
Bryndis's eyes finally settled on the service end of the Laundromat, near the rear of the shop, beneath a sign that advertised "Dry Cleaning." A teen-aged girl was slouched behind the counter, twirling her hair. She jumped when Bryndis slammed the gift-wrapped box down in front of her.
"Where is he?"
A whoosh of air and a door shut in the dark void behind her. The girl muttered, "Who? Oh, um, he's — "
"I'm here!" a baritone voice called out from the shadows." A man came into view, hustling quickly toward Bryndis as he peeled off his windbreaker. "You lookin' for me?"
"Stop leaving me gifts, Weston!" Bryndis said with a raised voice. The counter girl slinked off to the side.
The man glanced down at the package and grinned at Bryndis. "Looks like a nice wrap job," he said.
"Come on," she said. "How many times do I need to tell you to leave me alone?" She punctuated her words by stamping her foot, and instantly regretted straining the heel of her Michael Kors boot.
Weston's gleaming head of hair, the color of a Hershey bar, turned toward her as he leaned down to inspect the package. "I'd never buy you chocolates," he said. "Too common." He winked a blue eye at her.
"This isn't from you?"
He spread his arms and shook his head.
How she hated guys leaving little gifts for her. Flowers at her door. A Captain Kirk bobble head on her counter. How quickly she'd jumped to this conclusion — apparently incorrectly this time. At least she was wrong about Weston Blake. Bryndis lowered her head, her rage collapsing as quickly as it had arisen.
"But obviously someone's interested," Weston said. He shuffled through the break in the counter and started toward the front windows of the Laundromat. He said good morning to the woman customer and her son, then paused at a large whiteboard on a side wall, next to a grouping of plastic chairs and a magazine rack.
He picked up a red marker. "What's your special today?" he called back to Bryndis.
Bryndis squared her shoulders and stomped across the floor. She snatched the marker from him. "I'll do it." She looked up at the heading:
THE NEGLECTED WORD
Chalet Shopping Center
Harpshead, MO
SPECIALS
She wrote in neat handwriting Apple Cinnamon Cross Buns and Soup: Mushroom Barley. "Why don't you make that three bean soup anymore? It's a taste of heaven."
Bryndis scoffed and choked back her response. In the next moment, she walked out the front door onto the sidewalk, heading away from the Laundromat, taking in the fall air. She stepped back towards her bookshop and paused to shake off the Laundromat exchange. Weston Blake was basically a nice guy who'd tried too hard to get her attention when she and Holt had broken up. I have to learn to get along with my neighbors, she thought. She took a breath and noticed the September sky growing lighter in the distance, turning a vivid pink that deepened her ease.
She'd left Tony sitting at her counter, and she should be returning. She found Tony's demeanor refreshing — so lively and charismatic. As a teenager, he would always get into trouble — step-on-the-neighbor's-daisies kind of trouble, nothing more serious — and would come to her for advice. They'd forged a nice sibling kind of bond while she'd dated his brother Holt for four years. She'd broken up with Holt just before she quit college. That was eight years ago. Two years after that, she and Holt had reunited, until six months prior when they'd broken up for good. Meanwhile, Tony had graduated from Eastern Missouri State University with a BA in English and now with the local public schools barely back in session, he was a busy substitute teacher, on the call sheet at four districts.
Bryndis was taken with the rays of vermilion now streaking across the skyline. What was that sailor's saying? Red sky at morning? As her eyes drifted down to the eastern horizon in the direction of St. Louis, she noticed a large group of women in tights and Reeboks, standing restlessly in front of the shop on the other side of hers — Furst Training. The group included Betty Jo Kramer, her thunder thighs in purple tights, strutting around practically screaming: Here I am, guys! Bryndis could make out her cellulite through the Spandex.
She turned to enter her shop. The bell jangled as she pulled open the door. From the corner of her eye, Bryndis caught purple moving behind her. Oh, no, here she comes! Her respect for Betty Jo had dissolved eight years earlier. They'd been at Missouri State together, where Betty Jo had roomed with Bryndis's best friend, Claire, who'd constantly relayed to Bryndis stories of Betty Jo's nasty personal habits. Claire had told her how Betty Jo would pull an ice cream container out of the freezer, scrape ice cream out with her fingers, pop it into her mouth, then return the container back to the fridge. That was before Bryndis gave up on college altogether during her fourth semester and started working at this bookstore. Her Aunt Snaedis had gotten her the job — as she was good friends with the owner of the Chalet Shopping Mall and proprietor of The Neglected Word, Elena Vasquez. Having found her passion at The Neglected Word and a soul mate in her new boss, Elena, Bryndis was, in short order, promoted to assistant manager, then manager. When Elena had retired the year before, Bryndis had bought the place. She loved her shop and having her elderly aunt just two doors down from her.
"Bryn! Bryn!" Betty Jo called after her.
Bryndis threw the woman a glance as she slid in behind the counter. Realizing she was still holding the wrapped package, she quickly tossed it into the waste can on top of the morning's scorched pastries and coffee grounds. To Tony she said, "More coffee?" He nodded. She grabbed the pot and refilled his cup.
Betty Jo, who was only five feet two, pushed up to the counter beside Tony, huffing and puffing, and leaned in, setting her ample breasts on the Corian counter top. "Hey, where's your boyfriend?" she said to Bryndis. "He's late for our aerobicize class."
Bryndis slid a pile of display books down the counter, away from Betty Jo's elbows. She liked to keep books on the counter for her customers to read over coffee and pastries. She would later sell these "counter books" at a discount. The Battered Smile was on top of the pile. "Not my boyfriend." She glanced at Tony. "My ex."
Betty Jo said, "Oh really? He didn't say anything about breaking up with.... Oh, whatever. He's late and we're all standing out there waiting. I need to get to work. I only took this class because all my best friends were taking it. That way, we can catch up on the week's happenings — "
Bryndis cut her off. "He must have overslept again." To Tony she said, "Your brother needs to learn some responsibility."
Tony grinned and turned his palms up — what do you want me to do?
Another confrontation with Holt was the last thing Bryndis needed, especially after last night's argument. Holt could be assertive, and when he went overboard — like he had last night — it had a way of getting her ire up and that wasn't good for anyone. She paused, feeling the glare from Betty Jo. "You have a seat. I'll go check on him." She tapped her finger on the glass pastry bell jar. "A cinnamon cross bun while you wait? Fresh this morning."
With a huff, Betty Jo said sure, with coffee, and mounted a stool. "So, is he seeing anyone?"
Bryndis pulled out a plate, grabbed the tongs, and put a pastry on a dish. Might as well just tape these on your hips. "I wouldn't know, Betty Jo." She turned to pick up the coffee pot and glanced at the wall-long mirror. A sticky note caught her eye: "Frida. St. Louis Airport. Thursday, 3:00 p.m." With alarm, she realized that today was Thursday. She wasn't prepared for Frida's visit — at least, not mentally. She rested her hip against the back counter. She still needed to pack, but she'd secured their room reservations at the convention hotel in St. Louis. She was looking forward to the book convention, but having her fourteen-year-old niece along meant more work for her. Finding things to do. Making sure her meals were nutritious. Worrying about Frida getting lost. Should she censor what the girl saw? What breakout sessions she attended? But maybe it would be fun. After all, she always had a blast with her sister Lia and her kids when she visited them in Santa Barbara. Like when they'd all gone hiking. The breathtaking views of the ocean! But this was different. She would have responsibility.
Three days at the Midwest Book Lovers' Convention, viewing exhibits and attending workshops about classic novels, modern romance books, crime fiction — well, anything and everything book related — would certainly give them both something to do. It would surely entertain the book-loving Frida for a few days. Aunt Snædis had promised to look after her bookstore while she and Frida were away. Snaedis would just put up a sign on the door of her dress shop, Modiste, two doors down at the small Chalet Shopping Center, and handle both businesses from the book shop.
Bryndis poured Betty Jo a cup of coffee. To Tony, she said, "I need you to go with me. This is the second time this month. Maybe you can talk some sense into him."
"Sure." Tony checked his watch and gulped the last of his coffee. "Then I have to run. Class is in thirty minutes. School's barely started and I don't want to set a bad example so early in the year."
It cracked her up to see Tony's maturity. Not too long ago, he'd been a kid himself. But she was glad he enjoyed his work. With her heels clicking on the wooden floor, Bryndis led the way through the back of her store, past rows of bookshelves, through the door marked
"EMPLOYEES ONLY" to the storage room where boxes of new arrivals for Mother's Day — still many months away — awaited unpacking. She thought with happiness about the books she'd selected, titles she'd enjoy herself. A few had been recommended by her own mother and her friends. She'd kept copious notes about what they liked.
At the back of the storage room was a solid metal door with a peephole which she never looked through during the daytime. She unlocked it and tugged the door open. The morning air was refreshing, with a slight smell of pine.
"Hey," she said, turning to Tony who was immediately behind her. "I've been meaning to mention your Facebook page. I really love the little snippets of conversation with the students in your classes that you put in your status updates. Do you really rap? They must think you're so awesome."
Tony stopped and struck a "hip" pose:
"Follow my logic, stop playing the tunes.
You've spent the minutes to be in school.
Some folks like Longfellow, Carroll, Thoreau.
Ruminate, cogitate, please don't be bogue.
Follow your passion,
No need to ration.
You could move to the mansion.
You may not waltz like the Viennese.
You may not want to learn Archimedes.
But for me, numbers are a disease."
Bryndis laughed.
"Ah, kids are cool," sighed Tony.
"How do you get so lucky? Seems they all enjoy having you."
"Ah, they're great — mostly. Only one or two troublemakers."
They continued out the back door, turned to the right, past the Laundromat, to an old wooden staircase which accessed a continuous balcony along the second story of the small strip mall, from which the apartments above the stores could be reached. There was a stairway at each end. Weston Blake's Laundromat, Bryndis's bookstore The Neglected Word, Holt's gym Furst Fitness, and her Aunt Snædis's dress shop Modiste at the far end each had apartments above.
From behind, the entire brick building resembled a quaint farm structure like something out of Gone With the Wind. For all Bryndis knew, the original Chalet Shopping Center could have been a barn or workers' quarters on a farm back in the mid-1800s. All she knew for sure from discussions with her previous boss and mentor, Elena, was that the structure had undergone numerous redesigns and refurbishing until it had reached its present eclectic look. Her bookshop was a double-wide store and had two smaller apartments above it, with the second one in between Bryndis's place and Holt's apartment. This was a blessing after they'd broken up, because she didn't want to hear him making noises in his apartment all the time. They'd taken on the practice of parking at opposite ends of the building too.
Bryndis thought about what she would say. Or should I leave the whole thing to Tony? Not only was it rude for Holt to leave paying customers at his gym door, but most of the women standing there had jobs to get to. If he kept this up, his customer base would evaporate. Maybe he just needed better technology to wake him. Setting two alarms would be good. Even one. But she knew Holt prided himself on waking up naturally. His body was in tune, he often said. This quality had originally attracted her to him — not the lack of an alarm clock, but his free-spirited nature.
The phone in her pocket rang — Janet Jackson's Escapade — and she answered as she stopped on the balcony.
"Hi, Aunt Bryn! I'm at the airport in Los Angeles and I'll be getting on the plane in a few minutes."
"Oh, hi, sweetheart," Bryndis said to her young niece Frida. "You have a nice flight, and I'll see you this afternoon. Did you get a window seat?"
"Uh-huh, and it's in front of the wing, so I'll be able to see down on top of the clouds. It will be magical."
"And you can tell me all about it when you get here," she said and chuckled warmly. They said goodbye and Bryndis's thoughts turned back to Holt. Last night he'd been standing outside his apartment when she'd come upstairs after closing her store — staring at his door. When she'd asked if something was wrong, he'd snapped at her. No.
"Lost your key?" she'd asked.
"It's here somewhere."
"Maybe you left it in your car," she'd said.
"Just go on home, Bryn. Don't worry about it. I forgot to get the mail anyway." And he'd walked back down the stairs to the mailboxes. When they'd been together, they would retrieve their mail together hand in hand. Now they didn't even speak much. She'd watched him take some letters out of the box, then walk over to his car and open the back door. Maybe he'd left the keys down there. Wouldn't have been the first time. He'd been forgetful about a lot of things lately. Rather than watch him further, she'd gone inside her place. A short while later, she'd heard his footsteps on the balcony, and then his door slamming. When she'd gone out to look, his kitchen light was on.
Now she stood in front of his place with Tony.
Ceiko was at Holt's door. Meew! Meew!
"Hey, she shouldn't be out here," Bryndis said, picking up the cat.
"I'll knock," Tony said and pounded on the door. "Holt! Open up. Holt!"
Bryndis peeked over the filigreed wooden railing at the parking lot. Holt's black Charger was in its usual parking spot, where it had been last night, next to a slab of grass scattered with morning glories that were climbing a fence behind the picnic table. Oh, the early mornings we sat out there at that table, not too long ago, lingering over coffee and kisses.
She peered into Holt's kitchen window and gasped. "We gotta get in there!" She bent down, pulled up a piece of loose wood trim by the door frame and retrieved a key.
Tony was already pushing in the door. "Don't bother; it's unlocked." They hesitated in the doorway at the sight before them. Two wooden kitchen chairs were on their side; mail was strewn about the floor. A small table was askew, with at least a couple of drinking glasses on the floor, broken. A kitchen trash can was on its side, with coffee grounds, microwave dinner boxes, and used paper towels scattered about.
"Holt!" she called, her heart thumping in her chest.
Tony made his way across the floor to the living room, Bryndis following. "My God! What happened here?" he said.
Couch cushions were tossed about. Papers and books littered the floor. A bookcase was bare, except for a few books lying on their sides at uncommon angles. Bryndis trod through the mess toward the bedroom, her pulse racing. The bedroom door was open a crack. She pushed in. The metal bed frame was intact. The mattress was leaning against the wall. No Holt.
Bryndis pulled out her phone. Punched in Holt's number. Music sounded by the bedroom window. We will. We will. Rock you.
"That's his phone!" Tony said.
She moved over to the window, bent down and picked up the cellphone. Stared at it.
"Call 911," she whispered hoarsely.
— ♦ —
Chasing the Codex by Cozy Cat Press
A Mystery by 24 Authors
Publisher: Cozy Cat Press
Bryndis Palmer, owner of The Neglected Word bookstore, invites her fourteen-year-old niece Frida to visit her so that the precocious, Jane Austen-loving young girl can accompany Bryn to the "Midwest Booklovers' Convention" being held in nearby Saint Louis. Never mind that Bryn has just broken up with her on-again, off-again boyfriend Holt Furst, or that said boyfriend has suddenly disappeared from his apartment above her shop — — possibly in a violent kidnapping. Bryndis dutifully heads to the airport to pick up Frida, only to discover that Frida has also disappeared — — reportedly swooped up by a chauffeur and whisked away in a limousine. Who would kidnap her niece? Where could they have taken her? Where could Holt be?
Brynn is an amateur sleuth from her childhood days of reading Nancy Drew mysteries, and she barges ahead with her own investigation, certain that the local police and the airport authorities will bungle the job, and fearing the wrath of her sister Lia if anything happens to Frida. Of course, Bryn doesn't know that the disappearances of Holt and Frida are actually connected, and as she begins her search, a mystifying tale starts to unravel — — introducing her to a host of strange characters, all more unusual than those in the murder mysteries she's accustomed to reading. Along the way, she discovers that she herself is somehow at the center of it all, and swirling around her are other strange curiosities — — a missing Bible, a famous frontier hero, and a hidden secret code. Will she find Frida? And Holt? How does it all connect? And how is Bryn involved?
It will all be revealed …
— Chasing the Codex by Cozy Cat Press
