Murder Turns the Page

by Thea Cambert

  “And all that stuff about other authors stealing his work!” said Franny. “I hope that’s not true.”

  “I’m sure it’s not,” said Alice. “Look—Blanche is here, and she just walked right by Lawrence like she didn’t even know him.”

  “But we saw them talking earlier, didn’t we?” asked Owen.

  “Well, we saw him talking. She didn’t seem to be participating in the conversation,” said Alice.

  “She’s beautiful,” said Franny, looking at Blanche.

  “Tres chic,” said Owen. “A class act. Look at her outfit.”

  “Impeccable,” Michael agreed.

  Helen hurried over to Alice. “Everything’s set backstage. And I see Ms. Miller is here now.”

  “Yep,” said Alice. “Let’s go say hello.”

  “We’ll see you inside,” said Owen, taking Franny and Michael’s arms and turning to go into the auditorium. “Good luck presenting the gift, Alice. Hope it’s not a bust!”

  “Very funny,” Alice called after them.

  “Good morning, Ms. Miller,” Helen said as they made their way through the group of people who were gathering around the author. “I am Helen Hart and this is Alice Maguire. We’re co-chairs of the festival. Welcome to Blue Valley!”

  “Thank you,” Blanche said, her eyes pausing on Helen. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  “No,” said Helen, shaking her head. “I don’t believe so. But I am a big fan of your work.”

  “So am I,” said Alice. “I’ve spoken to you on the phone several times now, but it’s an honor to finally meet you in person. I own the bookstore here in town, and my customers always line up when one of your books comes out!”

  Blanche gave Alice a gracious but slightly condescending smile. “Isn’t that nice to hear?”

  “Well. If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you backstage and get your mic set up.” Alice had the sudden sensation that she was shrinking in Blanche Miller’s very imposing shadow.

  Chapter 4

  Blanche’s keynote address to the crowd was very well-received, and she seemed to be thrilled to receive her commemorative William Shakespeare bust, although something about the way she handed it off to her assistant backstage made Alice think the warm, honored expression on Blanche’s face in the moment had just been an act.

  After stopping off at the Bard’s Bookstop to check on things and purchase a few books, Alice, Owen, and Franny decided to take a break in the garden before the scheduled lunch in the park.

  “Ugh, my feet are huge!” Franny plopped down into her chair while Alice poured her a cold glass of lemonade.

  “You need to elevate,” said Owen, pulling another chair over and setting a cushion in the seat, then helping Franny get her feet onto the cushion.

  “You two are spoiling me,” Franny said gratefully.

  “That’s our job,” said Alice. “Besides, it’s nice to take a break before the afternoon activities. Author meetings are underway now. Then this afternoon, we have our Much Ado About Plotting workshop with Blanche Miller over at the Lodge, followed by the authors’ panel discussion, and then back here for the Coffeehouse Chat we’re hosting tonight. It’s going to be a busy day.”

  “I’ll be relieved when my meeting with Lawrence Spraggins is over and done with,” said Owen.

  “And that’s at the Smiling Hound?” asked Franny.

  “Yep,” said Alice. “Lawrence and Blanche are in one of the party rooms at the Hound—we’ve hung a curtain to divide the room into two. And then in the larger of the Hound’s party rooms, we’ve got Addy Bachman meeting with thriller authors, Saladin Raeve is on fantasy, and Phillip Bennett is covering non-fiction. The rest of the authors are using the conference rooms at the Lodge.”

  “Let’s take a peek downtown—see how sales are going,” said Owen, walking over to the front façade of their building to look up and down Main Street. “Wow! Business is booming! Look at Helen—she’s running around like a crazy person.”

  Alice and Franny joined Owen. Sure enough, they could see Helen loading up people’s shopping bags while Katie and Ann took money and made change.

  “She’ll be able to add a whole new wing to the library!” said Franny.

  “She’ll be able to get that bookmobile she’s been wanting,” said Alice. “So the library can reach readers way back in the mountains and in the smaller towns nearby—like Runesville.”

  “Look, there’s Michael,” said Owen. “Looks like he’s having quite a spree.”

  “He’s got an armload of books. Oh—and he’s getting one of our commemorative Alas, Poor Yorick skulls!”

  “I was considering getting one of those myself,” said Owen. “It’d make an interesting paperweight, don’t you think?” He waved at Michael. “Hey, Michael! Yoohoo! Up here!”

  Michael looked up, saw the three of them, and waved.

  “Good luck at your meeting with Lawrence!” Owen called.

  “Thank you! I’m going there now!” Michael called back, and gave a thumbs-up before walking a few doors away and going into the Smiling Hound.

  “Man, I hope it goes well,” said Owen. “Word on the street is Lawrence isn’t pulling any punches today. And Michael is a sensitive soul. I wouldn’t want to see him hurt.”

  “Well if Lawrence tears him down, we’ll build him back up over lunch,” said Alice. “In fact, we should probably head over to the park soon.”

  “I can’t wait to talk to Michael. Hopefully Lawrence isn’t as brutal as I’ve heard he is.”

  Chapter 5

  “So, we’ve got . . . peacock, swan, goose, or lobster?” Owen scratched his head as he looked over the selection of lunch boxes at the pick-your-own-lunchbox gathering in Town Park.

  “Well, that’s not really what’s inside them, of course,” said Alice. “We wanted to pick main course names that were typical in Shakespeare’s day.”

  “Oh, good,” said Franny. “Because I’m not hungry enough to eat a peacock. Although I could go for a lobster.”

  “The peacock is really a turkey sandwich with chips, fruit, and a cookie. See? It’s on the label,” said Alice.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Owen, taking a closer look. “Ironically, the swan is roast beef.”

  “Ooh. The goose is grilled cheese with a cup of tomato soup. I’m picking that,” said Franny.

  They all took their lunchboxes, then grabbed bottles of water from the drink table, and found seats in the shade.

  “Hello,” Alice said, seeing Saladin and Phillip with their lunchboxes in hand. “How’s your morning going?”

  “Great,” said Saladin. “I’ve gotten to meet with some wonderful aspiring authors. So many creative ideas out there!”

  “Same here,” said Phillip. “It’s wonderful to be able to help give a little guidance to these writers. I remember all too well when I was in their shoes.”

  “We’re so grateful you’re here,” said Alice.

  “Our pleasure,” said Saladin. “This is one of the best parts of the job. Gets me out of my writing cave for a few days.”

  The two men gave a wave and went off to enjoy their lunch.

  “I wonder when Michael will get here,” said Owen, looking through the stream of people wandering into the park.

  “There he is,” said Franny.

  “Uh-oh,” said Alice. “He looks upset.”

  “Upset? He looks a little crazed. Look at his eyes,” said Owen, getting up and hurrying over to Michael. Owen brought him back to their shady picnic table. “Sit here,” he said, handing Michael a bottle of water. “You look awful.”

  “Thanks. I feel awful,” said Michael, looking at the bottle of water as though he didn’t know what he was supposed to do with it.

  “So, your session with Lawrence was . . . bad?” asked Alice.

  “I don’t think I want to talk about it,” said Michael, his brown eyes glassy. He looked up, noticing the group of authors from the Hound coming to sit at a nearby table. “Oh, go
sh! I don’t want to see Spraggins right now! I better go.”

  “It’s okay,” said Owen. “Look—he’s not even with them.”

  Alice saw that Phillip and Saladin had been joined by Blanche and Addy. They were laughing and talking and enjoying their lunchboxes, but thankfully for Michael, there was no sign of Lawrence.

  Just then Helen rushed past the table.

  “Helen!” Alice called. When Helen stopped and turned back, she added, “Are you here for lunch? Join us!” Alice scooted closer to Franny to make room for Helen.

  “No, I—” Helen paused and looked at the ground.

  “Helen, are you okay?” asked Alice.

  “I’m fine, I—” Helen cleared her throat and looked around. “I just came by to pick up lunchboxes for Katie and Ann. I have to go.”

  “So do I,” said Michael, standing to go.

  “Michael—” Owen started to say.

  “See you later,” Michael said, and walked off.

  “No way am I going to meet that Lawrence Spraggins now,” said Owen. “The rumors must be true. He must be a big meanie.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Franny. “At least go see what he has to say.”

  “Nope.”

  “We’ll go with you,” said Alice, tossing their trash in the nearest bin. “Frankly, I think I’d better make sure Lawrence is being kind to our guests. I’ve never seen Michael that upset.”

  Alice and Franny took Owen by the arms and the three of them walked back down Main Street to the Smiling Hound. Patrick was waiting at his usual station just inside the door.

  “Hi, Patrick. How’s it going?” asked Alice.

  “Great!” said Patrick. “Even with the event going on at the park, I’ve got quite a lunch crowd.”

  “Is Lawrence Spraggins around here somewhere?” asked Alice.

  “Yep. He’s still in the party room.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t go to lunch with the other authors,” said Franny.

  “Because he had some kind of big idea for a book,” said Patrick. “Said he was going to write through lunch break. Ordered a sandwich, but told us to leave it outside the door. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Alice glanced at her watch. “It’s time for Owen’s appointment with him.”

  “Or not,” said Owen weakly. “I could just skip it. I don’t want to bother him.”

  “Aren’t you at least a little curious as to what he’ll say?” asked Alice.

  “We’ll come with you, Owen,” said Franny. “If he’s a jerk, you can get up and walk out.”

  Owen thought about this and seemed to make a command decision. “You’re right. I’ll screw my courage to the sticking place!”

  “You’ll what?” asked Franny.

  “Out of the way, ladies. I’m going in.” Owen walked confidently to the door of the party room, almost tripped over the covered plate with an untouched sandwich on it, and flung open the door. “Hello, Mr. Spraggins!” he said, and closed the door behind him.

  A split second later, Alice and Franny heard a blood-curdling scream and the door was flung open once again, but this time, Owen bolted through it in the opposite direction.

  “Owen! What is it?” Alice looked at the ghostly-white face of her friend and hurried into the party room.

  There, on the floor, was Lawrence Spraggins, with a pool of blood under his head. And next to him, a few feet away, was what looked like a bloody skull.

  Owen peeked into the door behind Alice. “Did I really see what I think I saw in there?”

  “Yep,” said Alice grimly, as she knelt to feel for a pulse that wasn’t there.

  “Alas . . . poor Lawrence,” whispered Owen.

  “Owen, tell Patrick to call the police.”

  Chapter 6

  Ben and Luke, along with Officer Dewey arrived within a few minutes, and had soon cordoned off the room. Curious bystanders milled about, whispering among themselves. Patrick stood off to one side, answering Ben’s questions, while Luke and Dewey knelt near the body, making notes and taking photos. Alice, Owen, and Franny sat quietly in chairs in the corner of the room, watching everything.

  “Look. They’re putting the skull in an evidence bag,” said Franny.

  “I never would have dreamed one of our Alas Poor Yorick commemorative skulls would be used as a murder weapon,” said Alice mournfully. “This is awful.”

  “I mean, I know Lawrence was not universally liked,” said Owen. “That much was clear. But who would hate him enough to kill him?”

  “Good question,” said Luke, walking over and joining them. He sat down next to Alice. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

  Alice caught his somber eyes and nodded.

  “It might’ve been an accident, you know—killing Lawrence. It might’ve been that someone got so angry with him that they hit him in the head in a fit of rage but didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “Michael wouldn’t do it,” Owen blurted out.

  Luke shifted his gaze to Owen. “Michael? From the Lodge? Why would you mention him?”

  “Because . . .” Owen looked as though he wished he could pull the words back into his mouth.

  “Because he might’ve been the last person to see the victim alive? Officially, I mean.” Luke pointed to the large appointment list on the wall, with “Michael Boyd” written plain as day in the eleven-thirty slot.

  “Why did you have to be so organized with the appointment lists?” Owen whispered at Alice.

  “Or it might have been because we saw Michael buy one of the skulls,” said Franny as Ben walked over and sat down next to her. “But that doesn’t mean that one was his.” She pointed a shaky finger in the direction of the evidence bag. “I mean, lots of people were buying them.”

  “But that one belongs to Michael,” Ben said. “He left all of his purchases here. His receipt is in his shopping bag.”

  “I’m going to need to get statements from you three, so we can start to piece this thing together,” said Luke. “It’s good we don’t have to hunt for the murder weapon.” He glanced over at Dewey, who had sealed the evidence bag and had gone back to snapping photos. “We’ll check it for prints.”

  “But it will have Michael’s prints on it!” said Owen, his voice rising an octave.

  “But maybe it will have someone else’s prints on it, too,” said Luke. “Don’t worry. We’ll find the killer. And we’ll notify Mr. Spraggins’s family. Meanwhile, I’ll take your statements and maybe you can all get back to the festival. It can go on as planned for the most part, and I know you have hundreds of people in town for it.”

  “Are you going to arrest Michael?” asked Owen.

  “We’re going to talk to Michael,” said Luke, reaching around Alice to put a comforting hand on Owen’s shoulder. “We’re going to find the killer—whoever that turns out to be.”

  After giving detailed statements, Alice, Owen, and Franny finally left the party room and walked to the exit. There, they saw Addy Bachman, sitting at a small table in the bar area, crying. Taya Helms, the Hound’s bartender, set a glass of ice water down in front of her and patted her gently on the back before returning to the bar.

  “We have to talk to her,” said Owen, looking at Addy. “She and Lawrence seemed to be a couple. She probably knew him best.”

  Alice glanced back toward the party room, which was on the other side of the restaurant, out of sight. When she saw that none of the police seemed to be emerging at the moment, she gave Owen a small nod and they all went over to Addy’s table.

  “We’re so sorry, Ms. Bachman,” said Alice.

  Addy looked up, eyes full of tears that were spilling down her cheeks. “Call me Addy. Please,” she said.

  “Of course,” said Alice.

  “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” Addy said, taking a sip of her water. “I just saw him. Alive. And now he’s . . .” She looked at the table and wiped her eyes.

  “When did you see him last?” asked Alice quietly.

 
“Before lunch.” A frown creased Addy’s forehead. She glanced up at Alice, eyes wide and teary, then looked back down at the table. Then she stood abruptly. “I’ve got to go. I’m going back to my room at the Lodge. I want to rest a while.”

  “Of course,” said Alice.

  They all stepped aside so that Addy could slip out the front door.

  “Poor woman,” Patrick said, coming to stand with them. He gave Taya a little wave, and she nodded and came to clear Addy’s table.

  “We saw her with Lawrence earlier today,” said Alice. “They seemed very close.”

  “Did you see that look on her face, there at the end?” asked Owen. “She looked . . .”

  “Like she felt guilty about something,” said Franny. “I thought so, too.”

  “We need to keep an eye on her,” said Alice. “She might’ve just been grieving. She’s probably still in shock.”

  Alice turned to Patrick. “Did you notice who went into that room around the time Lawrence was killed—which would’ve been . . . I don’t know . . . around lunchtime?”

  Patrick thought about this. “I saw Michael go in there around eleven-thirty,” he said finally. “I remember, because he looked nervous and said, ‘Wish me luck’ as he went in, and that was when we were prepping for the noon crowd.”

  “Anyone else?” asked Owen.

  “Well, we were really busy, but let me think . . . Lawrence had called—the guy literally telephoned me from his room right here in this restaurant—asking for lunch to be left outside the door at noon . . .”

  “Right,” said Alice. “And?”

  “And then when I went to set the food down, just before noon, I heard voices coming from inside. Angry voices. One was Lawrence, the other . . . I don’t know.”

  “Was it Michael?”

  “No. It sounded female.”

  “Do you think the female voice was Addy?” asked Owen. “Or maybe Blanche Miller. She was sharing the room with Lawrence.”

  “Like I said, it was the lunch rush. I really have no idea who went in or out, or when they came or went. I know Lawrence was in there, and I know Michael was in there, and apparently some woman was in there, too. Sorry, guys.”