Reserved for Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  It wasn’t hard to imagine anyone feeling this was the ultimate blow—the final betrayal. Lisette’s contract with the publisher, and the possibility that it would open up future professional writing opportunities, would, I was sure, have felt like being stabbed through the heart.

  The death of a dream, I thought as I stared at the paperback ARC. And if that isn’t enough to drive someone to murder, nothing is.

  Chapter Twenty

  After cleaning and baking Friday morning, Alicia and I set up the front parlor for the afternoon tea. Once we’d arranged all the chairs and side tables, we pulled in one of the round tables from the dining room and draped it in a lace table covering.

  “Isabella said this tablecloth was a gift from some Englishman,” Alicia told me as she placed a tiered silver-plated platter in the center of the table.

  I rubbed the intricately worked lace between my fingers, wondering if the Englishman had been Paul Peters. Or even Leo Evans, I thought, releasing the fabric. “It’s quite lovely.”

  “You don’t find handiwork like that these days.” Alicia stepped back and studied the table. “I think we can fit all the tea pastries and sandwiches here, along with the lemonade pitcher and glasses. But we’ll need something else for the tea set.”

  “How about the side table?” I pointed to a tall, narrow mahogany sideboard set against one of the parlor’s wainscoted walls.

  “That will work. We’ll need something to cover it as well.” Alicia shoved one of her springy curls back up under her hairnet. “I think there’s a lace-edged table runner in the linen closet.”

  “Thanks. If you’ll take care of that final detail, I’ll run out and cut a few more flowers for a centerpiece on the sideboard. We can put the tea set on one side and the cups and spoons on the other.” I looked around to make sure we’d arranged enough chairs to accommodate our guests before I thanked Alicia again and left the room.

  I glanced at my watch as I walked down the hall. Fortunately, I had more than enough time to gather some flowers and create an arrangement before I needed to shower and change my clothes. Grabbing my woven straw basket and clippers from the back porch, I headed outside.

  As I laid a stalk of white daisies on top of a pile of lavender, cherry-red hollyhocks, coral zinnias, and greenery, I heard a voice call out my name.

  “Good afternoon, Charlotte,” Gavin said, as he jogged over to the rose-draped fence that separated Ellen’s garden from mine.

  “Hello.” I shifted my basket to my other arm. “Have you talked to Ellen yet?”

  “Jumping right to the point, I see,” Gavin said, with a smile. “Yes, I’ve filled her in on the real reason I’m here. Needless to say, she wasn’t pleased, but to be fair, her anger was directed more at herself than me.”

  “I know she regrets her past actions in relation to Ophelia. So—now what?”

  Gavin pulled off his sunglasses. “Now I wait to hear if I’m free to leave Beaufort.”

  I stared into his light brown eyes. They gave nothing away, which I supposed was one reason he was good at his job. “I thought everything was under control.”

  “It is, but there’s still the matter of leveraging our information to keep Ellis-White in line. Until my superiors feel they’ve accomplished that mission, they want me to stick around.” His lips twitched. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” I said, staring down at my cut flowers. “I just think Ellen will be happy when all this is resolved.”

  “I imagine so, although she seems to be focused on your murder mystery at the moment. Perhaps to distract her mind from other thoughts? Anyway, I understand she’s attending a couple of parties at your B and B today.”

  “A tea party this afternoon and then a cocktail party in the evening,” I said, looking back up at him. Studying his calm face, I considered the fact that he’d requested this mission to protect one of my friends. “The tea is for a select group of guests, but if you want to attend the cocktail party later, I don’t mind.”

  “Thanks, I just might do that.” Gavin’s lips curved into a smile. “Especially since I know that both the Sandburg sisters plan to attend. A good way to continue my surveillance, even if it isn’t such a high priority now.”

  “All work and no play, I see.” I wrinkled my nose. “I suppose you ferreted that information out of Ellen?”

  Gavin quirked one eyebrow. “Maybe. Or maybe I have other sources.”

  “No doubt. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to carry these flowers inside and create an arrangement before the tea party.” I slipped my clippers under the stack of flowers. “The cocktail party starts at six PM. Very casual, so don’t worry about dressing up.”

  “Good, because I don’t do that often. Unless work demands it, which is rare.” Gavin’s smile morphed into a broad grin. “It’s not like in the movies.”

  “No James Bond bespoke suits or tuxes?” I asked with a lift of my eyebrows.

  “Almost never. At least for my missions. I’m usually playing the understated, average guy. Slipping past observers because of my very ordinariness.”

  I looked him over. “I can see that. I imagine a lot of people underestimate you.”

  “To their regret, sometimes. But you said you have work to do, so I’ll say goodbye for now.” Gavin slipped his sunglasses back on. “I do think I’ll pop over for a drink later, though. If I have more news on the Ophelia Sandburg situation, I’ll share it with you then. Discretely, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said, before wishing him a good afternoon and leaving the garden.

  After creating an arrangement in a jade-green ceramic bowl, I grabbed a shower and dressed in an understated outfit consisting of a silky, amber-colored blouse and beige linen slacks. Fluffing my hair in the mirror, I mentally prepared myself for the upcoming parties. I felt tired but knew I had to remain alert if I wanted to pick up on any information that could assist Detective Johnson with the Lisette Bradford case.

  “Wish me luck,” I told Brent’s photo, pressing two fingers against the frame for a second as if metaphorically drawing on his courage before leaving my room.

  In the parlor, Alicia had already filled the tiered tray with small, crustless sandwiches, delicate pastries, and other tea party fare. Damian, wearing his white chef’s jacket over a black T-shirt and trousers, greeted me with a smile.

  “I hope you like the sandwiches. I tried to create a good variety.” He pointed at the serving tray. “Cucumber and cream cheese, egg salad, tuna salad, chicken salad, and even a little homemade pimento cheese. Not strictly a tea party staple, but since we’re in the South …”

  “It looks lovely, thank you,” I said.

  “Made the bread myself.” Damian adjusted the white chef’s hat that covered his dreadlocks. “Tried out a new recipe at home yesterday and it came out well, so I thought, why not use it for the party?”

  “I should reimburse you for the ingredients,” I said absently, my focus pulled to the hall as the front door opened. “I think some of the guests are arriving.”

  “No need, I was the one who wanted to experiment with a new recipe,” Damian said with a bob of his head. “Anyway, before too many people get here, let me run back to the kitchen to grab the lemonade. That will be everything, except for the tea, and I think Alicia plans to wait to bring that out once everyone arrives.”

  Molly brushed past him as he exited the room. “Hello again, Charlotte,” she said, pausing just inside the doorway to survey the room. “How lovely. Perfect setting for a tea party, especially with the antique furniture and that awesome baby grand.” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Do you play?”

  “Not really. I can pick out a melody, but that’s about it. I do sing, usually in choruses and choirs, although I haven’t done much of that recently.”

  “That’s a shame. But I guess running the B and B takes a lot of time.” Molly sat down but bounced up again as Amanda and Harper entered the room.

  I greeted them and
told everyone to help themselves to the food. “Tea will be out momentarily,” I said. “We’re just waiting on my neighbor Ms. Montgomery, and Julie Rivera. I hope you don’t mind that I invited them to join us.”

  “Of course not.” Amanda, who was looking very chic in a periwinkle blue dress with a short-sleeved white jacket, motioned toward the serving table. “Everything looks so perfect; I almost hate to touch it.”

  “You’d deeply disappoint Alicia and Damian if you don’t eat their creations,” I said, with a smile.

  “In that case …” Amanda picked up a rose-patterned china luncheon plate and plucked some of the tea-time delicacies from the tiered tray.

  As Harper and Molly, who’d waited for Amanda to fill her plate, followed suit, Alicia bustled in with a steaming pot of tea. She set the silver-plated teapot on a matching platter on the sideboard. “Here you go,” she said, as Ellen and Julie appeared in the parlor doorway.

  “Thought we’d better hang back and give Alicia plenty of leeway with that hot pot,” Julie said, flipping her long braid behind her shoulders.

  Alicia muttered something about people making a fuss over nothing and left the room.

  “Can I pour anyone tea, or would you rather do that yourselves?” I asked, when all the guests had filled their plates and set them on the small tables placed beside each chair.

  Ellen waved her hand through the air. “We can handle that, can’t we, ladies?” She sauntered over to the sideboard and surveyed the tea set-up. “Lemon, cream, sugar, and even some mint leaves—something for everyone, it seems.” She cast me a sidelong glance. “Just the thing to accompany an enlightening conversation.”

  Once everyone was settled with their tea cups as well as finger food, I kicked off the conversation with an innocuous discussion of favorite authors and books.

  “Well, Amanda is my favorite, of course,” Molly said, between bites of cucumber sandwich. “Nobody even comes close for me.”

  Amanda lifted her china cup. “Thank you, but I know there are much finer authors than me. I certainly don’t compare myself to the true greats.”

  “I don’t agree with that assessment.” Molly clinked her teaspoon around in her cup. “You just have this magical way of writing that captivates me. I don’t think anyone else can match it.”

  “Lisette thought she could,” Harper, sitting next to me, said under her breath. But when Amanda asked her what she’d said, Harper took a sip of tea before replying. “Changing the subject a little, I’m interested in this new book you mentioned the other day, Amanda. I know you don’t want to say too much, but could you give us a tiny clue as to what it’s about?”

  Amanda set down her tea cup and leaned back in her armchair. “I can tell you it isn’t a romance in any way, shape, or form.”

  “Really?” Julie, about to take a bite from a pink petit four, halted her hand inches from her mouth. “Not whatsoever? That’s a big change from your other work.”

  Amanda shrugged. “Change can be good, don’t you think?”

  “Most definitely,” Ellen said. “And in my opinion, romance isn’t the be all and end all of life, despite what the media would have us believe.”

  “I so agree.” Amanda turned to Ellen, her blue eyes bright as sapphires. “Our society makes it out to be the only thing that matters in life, but I think there’s so much more.”

  I studied the author for a moment, intrigued by her enthusiasm over this topic. “I take it you want to explore other things in your writing now?”

  “I’ve always wanted to,” Amanda said, shifting her gaze to me. “It’s just … Well, I wrote Tides of Time when I was young, still rather foolishly hoping to prove something to myself as well as others. I didn’t expect it to take off like it did, and never envisioned such a long series.”

  “But you’re known as the queen of romantic adventure,” Molly said, widening her eyes. “Why would you want to mess with a perfect formula for success?”

  Julie used her linen napkin to dab a few cake crumbs from her lips as she gazed at Amanda with a thoughtful expression. “I think I can understand it. Perhaps Amanda almost feels like a hostage to that success?”

  “I confess I sometimes do.” Amanda’s smile was lovely but sad. “I know it sounds terribly ungrateful, especially when there are so many people struggling to break into the publishing world with little or no success.”

  “That may be true, but you’re still allowed to feel how you feel,” Ellen said firmly. She stood, tea cup in hand. “I understand the publishing business can be tough, isn’t that right, Julie?”

  “Definitely,” Julie said. “Like everything else, it’s driven by the market. While there are many well-written bestsellers, there are some that aren’t, and yet are still inexplicably popular. And you know, trends come and go. What’s popular one day can change the next.”

  Ellen poured another cup of tea before turning back to face the group. “Not to mention, from what I’ve read online, there’s a lot of scams and people looking to take advantage of authors.” She stirred her tea as she allowed her gaze to sweep over the room. “I’ve even heard of people outright stealing other authors’ books and simply changing a few names and words before republishing them under their own name.” She strolled over to her chair, teacup in hand. “Does that really go on?” she asked Amanda, widening her eyes in feigned innocence.

  She’s good, I thought. If I didn’t know better, I’d buy her act.

  Before Amanda could reply, Molly jumped in. “Definitely true. And in the fan fiction community it can be even worse.” She shot a glance at Harper. “Right?”

  “I’ve heard something about that but don’t know for sure.” Harper stirred her tea so vigorously that a little sloshed over the rim of her cup.

  Amanda pursed her lips. “As I’ve said before, I don’t read fan fiction based on my own works, or on anything else, really, so I wouldn’t know about that. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Where there’s money to be made, or fame to be acquired”—she shrugged—“I suppose anything’s possible.”

  Keeping my head down, I surreptitiously glanced at all my guests to gauge their reactions to this discussion. Molly, her eyebrows drawn in over her eyes, fidgeted in her chair while Harper sat still as a statue. Amanda stared down into the cup she balanced between her hands, her lowered lashes veiling her eyes.

  “There are some unscrupulous people, like in any business,” Julie said. “But I believe any reputable publisher would cancel a book’s publication or drop it from their catalog if they thought it included any stolen material.” She plucked a delicate shortbread cookie from her plate. “Books have been canceled because of things authors have said or done too. You know, like making hateful statements about individuals or groups of people. That really isn’t tolerated anymore and, honestly, it shouldn’t be.”

  As Amanda bent forward, her body wracked by a paroxysm of coughing, Harper leapt to her feet and rushed to the author’s side.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine. Sorry,” she said, waving Harper back. She pressed her napkin to her lips for a second. “Forgive me. Tea just went down the wrong way.”

  I stared down into my own empty cup. Amanda’s obvious consternation over Julie’s remark was a clue I couldn’t dismiss, no matter how much I liked the author. Tony said she had secrets. What if those included the kind of statements that might cause a backlash if revealed? Amanda did confess to confiding in Lisette at one point in her career. If Lisette knew something, had some kind of proof of Amanda making ugly remarks … Anger over such a situation could’ve led to an argument and, perhaps, murder.

  And it might damage the publisher’s reputation too, I thought, realizing this also gave Tony Lott another motive, although I wasn’t sure he was that loyal to his job. I glanced over at Ellen, whose gaze was fastened on Amanda.

  “Then there’s ghostwriting,” Ellen said, her tone light as a meringue. “But I suppose that’s a very different thing. I’m told it’s perfectly legitimate, even if so
me readers, like me, don’t care for it.”

  Harper shot Ellen a sharp look before striding back to her chair. “Sometimes it’s just a necessity. There’s such a demand for writers to churn out new works. I think authors can get burnt out and need a break after writing a string of books.”

  Ellen set her tea cup in its saucer and wiped her fingers on her napkin. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. What do the rest of you think?”

  Molly finished off a tea cake before answering. “I suppose it’s understandable, although I can’t imagine you’d do anything like that, would you, Amanda?”

  I adjusted my expression, hoping to appear only vaguely interested, as both Molly and Harper fixed intent gazes on Amanda. I couldn’t tell, from either of their faces, whether they were unaware that Lisette had written Amanda’s upcoming book, or whether one or both were faking. Maybe they’re just testing Amanda, I thought, in order to gauge her own knowledge of the situation. That’s what I’d do, if I suspected the truth, especially if I were Lisette’s killer.

  Amanda fiddled with the handle of her tea cup. “If I did, it’s not something I’d talk about, is it?” She lifted the cup to salute her two fans. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint my readers.”

  I shifted my gaze back to Molly and Harper. Molly’s glower made me wonder, once again, if she was actually Amethyst Angel. Perhaps she already knew all about Lisette writing Amanda’s upcoming book. If she’d also somehow heard the rumors about how Lisette caught the attention of Amanda’s publisher, and especially how their interest was captured by her most popular piece of fan fiction, she could easily feel she should’ve been the one offered that job.

  A compelling motive to murder Lisette, who stole Amethyst Angel’s work and profited from that theft, I thought, before focusing on Harper. Her expression was essentially unreadable, but I noticed that she’d gripped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles had blanched.

  Of course, I reminded myself, both women could just be disturbed by their idol being so cavalier about the idea of someone else writing her books. I cast Ellen a questioning glance before looking back at Amanda. While she hadn’t vehemently denied the ghostwriting in front of her fans, she also seemed unwilling to admit it. Perhaps because she didn’t want to disappoint them. Although there is also another possibility, I thought, with a frown. If she killed to keep Lisette from spilling her secrets and creating a scandal, Amanda might’ve decided not to broadcast Lisette’s connection to her, as well as her latest book. Sure, she told me earlier, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t since reconsidered and decided on a different strategy.