SummerSimo Travel Troubles Notes and The Purring Page

The Coffee Taverna was a hive of activity, the air vibrating with the hiss of steam and the clink of porcelain. Anna moved with practiced efficiency, leading us to a secluded corner booth that offered a clear view of the entrance. We sat in wait, four women bound by a bond stronger than the local white wine.
The man in the gray coat entered with a hesitant step, his limp creating a rhythmic thump-drag on the ancient terracotta floor. He sat at the far end of the bar, pulling his collar up as if to hide from the very shadows he inhabited.
“Now,” I whispered, channeled the quiet intensity of a detective. “Anna, serve him your strongest ristretto. Altea, use your charm to keep him from bolting. Marisa and I will provide the ‘evidence’.”
As Altea approached him with the grace of a grand galleon, the man looked up, his eyes darting like trapped birds. I stepped forward, placing the silver snuff box onto the bar with a deliberate click.
“A peculiar delivery for a house of sweets, wouldn’t you say?” I asked, my voice as smooth as honey stirred into cream.
The man’s face went ash-gray. “I… I was only told to deliver the crate. I didn’t know what was inside.”
“And the silver ink?” I pressed, pointing to the shimmering script on the vellum. “It matches a book I own. A book found in a pile of forgotten histories. Who gave this to you?”
He leaned in, the scent of stale tobacco and fear clinging to him. “It was a woman in Florence. An art historian, she said. She was obsessed with old metals and a ‘lost heart’. She told me if I didn’t deliver the box to the Mint Chocolate House, the ‘sleeping cat’ would never wake up.”
Marisa gasped, clutching her hand to her throat in a gesture reminiscent of the silent diva. The connection to Dr. Evelyn Reed and the Blackstone mystery was now undeniable. She was reaching out from the shadows of her arrest, using the very treasures of Speranza as a delivery system for her final, desperate game.
“The silver ink,” the man stammered, “she penned it herself. She said it was made from the dust of a ‘star’ Sir Alistair had hidden.”
I looked at my friends. The “star” was likely the missing center of the diadem. The mystery of the Raven’s Kiss wasn’t over; it had simply found a new, bittersweet home in the hills of Speranza.

The Interrogation at the Coffee Taverna

The man’s hands shook as he reached for the ristretto Anna placed before him. The heavy, dark aroma of the coffee seemed to trap him in the small corner of the bar. Altea leaned against the counter, the earthy scent of her fine tobacco acting as a sophisticated tether to his presence.
“Let us speak of the ‘star’, signore,” I said, my voice dropping to a Poirot-like whisper. “You say Dr. Evelyn Reed penned this note in silver ink. An ink that catch the light like the magic in my book, Days of your Dreams”.
The courier glanced toward the door, but the path was blocked by the sheer energy of our group. “She called it ‘Stardust’,” he stammered, his eyes fixed on the tarnished silver emblem of the sleeping cat on the box. “She told me it was the only substance that could reveal the ‘Heart of the Raven’”.
Marisa, her pale face reflecting the soft, cream-colored lamp light of the Taverna, leaned in. “The Mint Chocolate House receives shipments from the Amazon, but we also handle delicate imports from Florence,” she noted, her mind as organized as her laboratory-like kitchen. “Was there a second crate? One marked with a silver key?”.
The courier nodded frantically. “Yes! Tucked under the cocoa husks in the cellar. It’s a box of ‘Midnight Mint’, but the seal is made of the same gray wax as my coat”.
I felt a Hitchcockian chill. If the “star” was indeed a part of the Blackstone diadem, then the treasure was not at the bottom of a river, but hidden within the very sweetness of our village. The courier’s limp, I noticed, seemed to worsen as he spoke, a psychosomatic reaction to the dread of the secret he carried.
“Everything is tied together,” I concluded, looking at the silver-inked vellum. “The art historian, the forged dagger, and now a treasure buried in chocolate”.
I stood up, signaling to my friends. We needed to return to the Mint Chocolate House. Somewhere in those archives of sugar and spice, a map was waiting—and I knew exactly who would help us find it.