Reserved for Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “Thinking about stealing it?” Gavin asked, his voice calm and still as water in a tidal pool. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. Rides rough, and the AC doesn’t really cool well.”

  I turned, shaking off his hand. “I’m not in the market for a car, so, no. I was just … checking my hair in the reflection from the window.”

  Gavin’s eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but I could read amusement in the twitch of his lips. “Really? You expect me to buy that?” He stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I don’t care what you buy or don’t buy,” I said, with a swift glance to my left. If I yelled, would any of the garden club members, hear me? Or maybe someone dining outside on the pub deck? “Since you’re the government agent, surely you can figure out my real motive.”

  “I refuse to have this conversation on a busy street. If you want to talk, follow me.” He turned on his heel and strode down a tree-lined residential street.

  “Hold up,” I said, as I jogged to catch up to him.

  “Did you tail me here from Beaufort?” He shot me a sharp glance. “And yes, I did notice you lurking in the bushes near the Sandburg sisters’ house, in case you’re interested.”

  “You didn’t give any indication that you saw me.”

  “Of course I didn’t. I wanted to see what you’d do next. I guess now I know—you alerted your friend Ellen and decided to follow me here.”

  “Only because we knew you were tracking Ophelia Sandburg, and we were worried about her.”

  “Perhaps you were; as for Ellen, I suspect the only person she’s worried about is herself.” Gavin stopped walking and whipped off his sunglasses as he turned to face me. “This playing detective has to stop, Charlotte. I don’t know why Ellen would involve you in her problems, but I’m here to tell you it isn’t safe.”

  I met his stern gaze with a lift of my chin. “I trust Ellen.”

  “You shouldn’t. Not entirely.” Gavin’s light brown eyes glittered.

  Not with charm, I thought. With anger, or frustration. “Speaking of trust, why should I listen to anything you say? I know you broke into Chapters and searched the attic.”

  “So I did hear something.” Gavin narrowed his eyes. “I should’ve investigated, but I was too …”

  “Involved in rummaging through my great-aunt’s things?”

  “Touché. But don’t worry, I found nothing useful. It seems that one journal is the only piece of evidence Isabella Harrington forgot to bury, or burn.”

  Determined not to allow him to intimidate me, I stared boldly into his eyes. “According to my housekeeper, you visited Isabella once, not long before her death. It seems she thwarted you then as well.”

  “My, my, but you are a nosy one, aren’t you?”

  “I prefer the term curious, but if you insist.” I placed my balled fists on my hips. “I plan to continue to be nosy where you are concerned, especially since you had the audacity to break into my house and search through my belongings, or at least my great-aunt’s belongings. And, for your information, I know you’re not Ellen’s cousin. She was the one who told me that, by the way, while you’ve seemed quite happy to keep up your deception.”

  “Part of my job,” he replied, slapping his sunglasses against his palm. “I’m on assignment. Did Ellen bother to tell you that?”

  “Yes, and she even expressed her suspicions as to why.”

  Gavin slid the sunglasses into the pocket of his loose cotton shorts. “She may think she knows my mission, but she doesn’t have the whole story.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what that is, and then we’ll all be in the loop.”

  “I can’t do that,” he said, taking off at a brisk walk.

  “Can’t or won’t?” I huffed, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

  “I don’t have clearance to explain any more than what you already know. And, honestly, you shouldn’t even know that.” Gavin stopped at an intersection with another narrow street. “It was irresponsible of Ellen to share anything with you about her former operations.”

  I followed his gaze, noticing that the intersecting street ended at a marina, In the distance, the river and intercoastal waterway glittered under the July sun. the watery vista broken by clumps of islands and sandbars. “I think she wanted to warn me; to let me know that I needed to be on my guard around you.”

  “That’s good advice.” Gavin flashed me a cool smile. “But this particular mission isn’t anything that should pose a danger to you. Not if you mind your own business.”

  “But what about Ophelia Sandburg? Do you, or your mission, pose a threat to her?”

  Gavin took two steps back and looked me over, his expression unreadable. “Ellen told you about how she and your great-aunt used Ms. Sandburg in the past? How they embroiled her in espionage without her knowledge or permission?” He shook his head. “Yet you say you still trust Ellen. I’m sorry, but that makes no sense.”

  “Ellen admitted that she made mistakes,” I replied, fighting to keep a defensive bite out of my tone. “Meanwhile, here you are, stalking poor Ophelia for some reason you won’t disclose.”

  “Can’t,” he said, moving closer to me. “And I’m trying to protect Ms. Sandburg. I can tell you that much.”

  He was only an inch or two taller than me. I squared my shoulders and looked him in the eye. “But you can’t say why she’s suddenly in danger, after all these years?”

  “Exactly. I’ve already said too much. I’d need approval from my bosses to say any more, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’ll even bother to ask.” Gavin tapped my lips with one finger. “Loose lips sink ships and all that.”

  “I don’t spill secrets,” I said, pushing my hand into his chest. “And I’d thank you not to touch me again in such an intrusive way without permission.”

  Gavin widened his eyes. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, before giving me a little salute.

  “It isn’t funny. I don’t know you from Adam, and you think you can grab me or whatever just because you have some sort of badge?” I shook my head emphatically. “I don’t go for that sort of behavior and, trust me, I’m more than happy to share my concerns with the Beaufort police if you try anything again.”

  Gavin held up his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I’m sorry. I fell into operational mode, which obviously wasn’t appropriate in this circumstance.”

  “Clearly not.” I thrust my hands into the pockets of my lightweight slacks. “Now—I’m going to walk away and I suggest you don’t follow.” I looked him over for a moment. “I plan to rejoin Ellen, who’s probably talking with Ophelia at this point. If you simply head back in the direction we came from, get in your car, and drive back to Beaufort, I’ll promise not to tell Ellen everything that has transpired between us. Although”—I held up a finger, silencing the words Gavin appeared about to say—“I will mention I saw you, but say you merely waved and drove away.”

  “I can’t leave until I know Ophelia Sandburg is safe,” Gavin said, his jaw clenching.

  “We’ll make sure she is, although since you won’t say from what, that may prove difficult.” I shoved a damp lock of hair away from my eyes. “But if you insist on keeping watch, stay out of sight. I can’t vouch for what Ellen might do otherwise.”

  “I’m confused—you seem to think I’m the enemy here, so why would you want to protect me from Ellen Montgomery’s wrath?” Gavin’s tone, as well as his expression, lightened.

  “I don’t know. I suppose because I know you’re only doing your job.” I walked a few paces before turning to add, “And because, if we’re being honest, I’m not exactly pleased with what Ellen, and my great-aunt, did all those years ago. They used a friend as an informant without her knowledge. That’s pretty … unacceptable in my book.”

  “On that, at least, we can agree,” Gavin said, casting me a smile before slipping on his sunglasses.

  “Just don’t think this makes us friends,” I said, spinning on my heel and marching away.


  He called something after me that sounded like “not yet.” I didn’t bother to turn around and correct him.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When I caught up with Ellen, she told me that she’d promised Ophelia a ride back to Beaufort after the garden tour.

  “She came with another club member, but agreed to ride back with us.”

  “Why’d she agree to that?” I asked,

  “Because I told her I wanted to share some extra cut flowers with her and thought it would be easier if she traveled with us,” Ellen said airily.

  “Do you have them? The extra cut flowers, I mean?” I asked, as we wandered through one of the private gardens on the tour, trailing somewhat behind the others.

  “Not yet, which is why I want you to offer her some lemonade on the porch while I go to”—Ellen cleared her throat—“collect the bucket.”

  “Wheels within wheels,” I said, with a wry smile.

  “It’s one way to keep an eye on her today. While keeping Gavin at bay,” Ellen yanked Shandy away from his investigation of a bee burrowing into a hollyhock blossom. “Even if he seemed about to drive off after he waved at you.”

  “That’s what I saw, so I assume he left.” I leaned over a rosebush and made a great show of sniffing one of its pale-yellow flowers. “Not much scent.”

  Ellen tightened her grip on Shandy’s leash. “That’s one of those hybrid varieties. They don’t have the perfume of the older roses,”

  This distraction was so successful, I continued to pepper Ellen with questions about the plants and shrubs we encountered as we trailed the larger group of garden enthusiasts through a few more gardens. Anything to avoid questions about Gavin, I thought, wondering as I did so why I felt any inclination to shield him.

  Because what you told him was the truth—you don’t feel comfortable about the way Great-Aunt Isabella and Ellen used Ophelia back in the day. I pulled a tissue from my pocket and dabbed at my eye, which was stinging from a drop of sweat that had rolled off my brow. Because you believe he may have Ophelia’s best interests at heart, while Ellen … I shoved the wad of tissue back into my pocket as I stared at the determined set of Ellen’s shoulders. Who knows what Ellen Montgomery will do to protect her secrets?

  After the tour concluded and the garden club group had dispersed, Ophelia accompanied us on the short walk to Ellen’s vehicle, chattering the entire way. When we reached the car, I insisted that she sit up front. “I don’t mind sharing the backseat with Shandy,” I said, giving the Yorkie’s head a pat. I received a tongue lick across my hand in response. “See, he agrees with that plan.”

  On the drive back to Beaufort, Ellen kept the conversation focused on a critique of the gardens we’d toured earlier—a topic that Ophelia participated in with enthusiasm. Once I found I wasn’t required to add anything to the discussion, I sat back and absently petted Shandy while staring out the window.

  At Ellen’s house, our prearranged ruse worked like a charm. Ellen had time to cut a few flowers from her garden while Ophelia and I relaxed, sipping lemonade on the front porch. When Ophelia finally left, toting the bucket of flowers around the corner to her house, I also made an excuse to leave, claiming some prior scheduled activity. It was a hasty lie, and not one I felt Ellen entirely believed. I didn’t blame her, but the truth was, I didn’t really have any specific plans. I just needed a little time alone to clear my head.

  After checking in with Alicia, who said everything was under control at Chapters and, in fact, she was going to take a little time to just sit and read a book in the library for once while things were quiet, I retreated to my bedroom.

  I took a shower and changed clothes before doing a little reading of my own—diving into a reread of John le Carré’s Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. It seemed a good fit for my current entanglement with the espionage game, especially since I knew the book had been inspired by le Carré’s own experiences with the Cambridge Five.

  Absorbed in the intricate machinations of le Carré’s wily intelligence officers, I almost didn’t hear the buzzing of my cell phone. I grabbed it off my nightstand and answered just before it went to voice mail.

  “Hey, I know this is last minute,” Julie said, after we exchanged greetings, “but I wondered if you’d like to come over for dinner this evening? Scott is grilling some fresh-caught mahi-mahi and I’m making a salad. We’d love for you to join us.”

  “Sounds lovely,” I said, as an unexpected sense of relief washed over me. I hadn’t realized how desperately I’d wished for a conversation that didn’t involve secrecy or borrowed guilt over the past indiscretions of a relative or friend.

  “Great. Let’s say six? We’re going to eat out on the little patio behind Bookwaves, so casual attire is perfectly fine. And don’t forget your bug spray.”

  I asked what I could bring, and Julie suggested a bottle of wine, which was never a problem since I had to keep Chapters well stocked for the guests.

  When I left the house around a quarter to six, I paused on the front porch steps to survey the area. Seeing Gavin’s white car parked across the street gave me a moment of relief, before I realized that he, like me, probably chose to walk to most places within the historic district. Which included the Sandburg sisters’ bungalow.

  Forget about that for one evening, I told myself, as I set off toward the waterfront. I made my way to Front Street, shifting from shoulder to shoulder the heavy canvas bag that contained three bottles of wine—two for the evening and one as a gift.

  Reaching the building that housed Bookwaves as well as Julie’s apartment, I slipped through the unobtrusive wooden gate that led to a narrow, brick-paved alley. Julie had decorated the alley with whimsical metal sculptures, colorful ceramic wall art, and shade-loving plants in hanging baskets. I smiled. This passageway always made me feel I was passing through a magical corridor into a fantasy world.

  “Hi, and here, let me take that,” Julie said, bustling forward to grab the canvas tote. “Ooo, party time!” she added, as she peered into the bag.

  I rolled my shoulders to loosen my tensed muscles. “I thought we could crack open two this evening and you could keep one for future use.”

  “Thanks.” Julie thrust the two bottles of white wine into a waiting bucket of ice before setting the red wine on her cedar serving table. “But I’ll leave them all out here, just in case.”

  Scott, who was standing in front of an egg-shaped green grill, waved a metal spatula at me. “Good to see you, Charlotte.”

  I noticed his white chef’s apron and smiled. “Grill Master General? Is that how you wish to be addressed now?”

  “You can still call me Scott,” he replied with an answering grin. “I don’t require my friends to use the title.”

  “I call him a lot of things, not all repeatable,” Julie said, wrapping her arms around his waist. She leaned her cheek against his back and flashed me a brilliant smile. “Not really. He’s actually a pretty good guy.”

  I sat on one side of the small picnic table that filled the center portion of the tiny patio. “I’m aware. And I also know how you two like to spar with one another. So, trust me, I don’t take everything you say seriously.”

  “That’s good. Saves a lot of explaining.” Scott carefully flipped pieces of fish. “This will be ready in just a sec.”

  “Here you go,” Julie said, as she set a plastic wine glass in front of me. “Please, enjoy some of the chips and salsa too. I’m going to dash upstairs to grab the salad.”

  As Julie climbed the black iron stairs that led up to her apartment, I gulped in a deep breath of air, which carried the faint tang of the not-so-distant ocean. Above our heads, the globe lights Julie had strung from the Bookwaves building to the tall privacy fence enclosing the patio glimmered in shades of blue and green. Unlike my backyard, Julie had limited space, but she’d worked wonders, lining the solid wooden fence with enameled pots filled with flowers and herbs. Lime-green lounge chairs offered another bright pop of color, w
hile the cedar serving and picnic tables provided earthy tones to ground the setting.

  “I suppose your weekly guests are still at Chapters?” Scott asked, as he placed a foil-covered platter of fish in the center of the picnic table.

  “All except Molly Zeleski, one of the fans. She lives in Morehead City so the police allowed her to go home.”

  “That must be fun.” Scott poured a glass of wine before joining me at the picnic table. “I’m just glad I’m not under suspicion this time. Unlike Roger, who has been mysteriously incommunicado since Saturday.”

  “You still haven’t spoken with him?”

  Scott took a sip of wine, eyeing me speculatively over the rim of the glass. “Not since he called late Saturday night with that odd story about car trouble. I know he’s in town, since I think the police told him not to leave. And I believe he’s still doing some research at the Maritime Museum library. Another colleague mentioned seeing him there over the last few days, but even though he knows I’ll be leaving for Asheville soon, he hasn’t gotten back in touch with me.”

  “Do you really think he’s capable of killing someone over threats of bad reviews?” I placed my elbows on the picnic table and leaned forward. “That seems pretty drastic.”

  “I’m sure if so, it wouldn’t have been premeditated,” Scott said. “I mean, I doubt he would’ve sought out Lisette Bradford with plans to harm her. But if he ran into her somewhere near the docks, and they argued …” Scott took another swallow of his wine. “I have seen him lose his temper. Once when I was with him, he struck out at someone, although that individual was hitting a dog, so I couldn’t really blame him for lashing out.”

  “That’s a very different thing,” I agreed. “I might’ve been tempted to do the same in that circumstance.”

  “Me too, although Roger did kind of go overboard. His anger has been known to get the best of him.” Scott slid his finger around the rim of his glass. “It has made me question whether he could’ve lashed out at Lisette and accidentally caused her to hit her head on something.”