Prologue to Murder

by Lauren Elliott

Simon looked over at her. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to take a look at it?”

  “No, I’m fine, but playing this constant game with Lacey is getting hazardous to my health.” She grimaced at the pain that shot down her forehead to her cheek.

  “Well, I am going to give you a quick look-over anyway,” he said as he pulled the car out into traffic.

  She glanced sideways at him. “Well, there is one thing.”

  “Are you dizzy? Blurred vision, feel nauseated?”

  “No, but Lacey makes me feel sick to my stomach. Is that a symptom of anything?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure I have the cure for that. I will say that you handled yourself pretty well back there, though, head injury and all. What’s up with Serena? I thought she’d learned her lesson.” He pulled the Tesla down her driveway.

  “It’s all okay. She sent a coded message. Apparently, she’s working undercover.”

  “That’s good. I’d hate to think she was back to trusting my number one suspect,” he said, shifting the car into park.

  Addie hopped out, and her eyes were immediately drawn to a reflection on the chair beside the front door. She frowned, narrowed her gaze, and made a direct line toward it. When she reached the bottom porch step, she froze.

  Simon, following close behind, bumped into her and sent her stumbling forward. He grabbed her in mid-motion and righted her before she crashed onto the steps. “Whoa, what just happened?”

  “Look—that box on the chair.”

  He dashed up the stairs toward it.

  “What are you doing? Don’t touch it,” Addie shrieked. “Call the police.”

  He looked at her, his brow creased. “Because of a gift someone left you? Don’t be silly.” He picked up the box and shook it, still wearing his leather driving gloves. “It’s not ticking and definitely not heavy enough to be a bomb. Aren’t you curious?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  He slid the silver ribbon from around the tall red foil box.

  “Stop, don’t open it. It’s not a gift—”

  Simon pulled off the lid. His eyes widened. “If it is, someone’s pretty warped.”

  “Is it another dead rat?” she choked.

  He shook his head and looked at her. The pain in his eyes stabbed at her heart. “What is it?” She crept up the steps toward him.

  “I don’t think you want to know, and yes, we’d better call the police.”

  Addie cringed. “What’s in it? Let me see.” She stood on tiptoe and peeked inside the box. “What the . . .” She recoiled.

  He closed the box, set it back down on the chair, and dialed 911.

  She slid into the other wicker porch chair.

  Simon moved around behind her, removed his gloves and began rubbing her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No, you weren’t, and you weren’t listening. I tried to tell you. It looks just like the other one I received.”

  “I know, I know, but I forgot and hoped it would be something to brighten your day. I remembered the rat box too late.” His hands rested on her shoulders, and he gave them a light squeeze. “Forgive me?”

  “Why? You didn’t send it. Did you?” She looked up at him.

  His eyes dulled, and hurt reflected back at her. “Of course not. I’ve been with you all day.”

  “You didn’t happen to put it there this morning when you arrived, did you?”

  He pulled his hands away, walked over to the top step, and slumped down onto it. “What, just so I could have an alibi for when you suddenly saw it when we pulled up, since I somehow managed to camouflage it when we left this morning so you didn’t see it then?”

  “No, of course not.” She slumped back in her chair. “Besides, that dagger is a replica of ones in the museum and is stuck through the heart on the exact same flag that I bought there today.”

  “I know. That’s what scares me. Someone was watching you today, and the knife through the heart is a pretty strong warning for you to stay out of all of this.”

  “I can see that.” She knew her voice held a biting edge to it, but she didn’t care. The psychological message behind the contents of this box messed with her mind more than the blatant warning she’d received with the dead rat. She drew her knees up to her chest resting her chin on them. “I’m sorry I said what I did. I’m just so fed up with all this and tired of trying to figure out who has it in for me and why. Obviously, I’ve gotten too close to something for someone’s liking.”

  “Just remember, I’m one of the good guys.”

  She nodded.

  “Here they come.” He rose to his feet.

  “Finally.” She willed her shaking legs to support her as she stood. “Glad a murderer wasn’t sticking that knife into my real heart right now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Addie had already become somewhat accustomed to Marc’s aloofness and RoboCop demeanor when he was investigating anything to do with her calamities. But this evening, he presented an even colder detachment. She wanted to slap his face whenever he set his callous, dark eyes on her or Simon during questioning. He’d become outright rude, to not only her, but to her new friend, and she wanted to remind Marc that Simon was also the county coroner and a colleague.

  Was he actually jealous of Simon? She shifted her weight from foot to foot as he snapped his notebook closed. How could he be? He’d walked out on her without giving her time to explain and then headed straight to Lacey’s seductive arms. A soft growl escaped the back of her throat, and Simon glanced at her. She pasted a smile on her face. “So, Chief, are we done here?”

  Simon rested his hand on the small of Addie’s back. “Yes, can we let Miss Greyborne finally get some rest now?”

  This slight gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Marc. His eyes traveled from Simon’s arm placement up to his face, and Simon returned the fixed stare. Addie stepped between them and turned to Marc. “Well, thank you for your time, Chief. If we’re done, I think I’ll make some coffee. Would either of you like a cup?” Passing between them to the kitchen, she could feel the tension as neither man had blinked. She shook her head and plopped a pod into the coffee maker. “Men.”

  “I have one more thing to add, Miss Greyborne.” Addie jumped at Marc’s voice. Simon swept past him and came to stand beside her.

  “What is it, Chief ?”

  His gaze went from her to Simon. She noted his jaw flinch as he took a step toward her. “May I remind you of a conversation we had just this very day? If I might quote, I told you not to investigate by yourself, and you replied, ‘I don’t think coming to a museum is placing me or anyone else in any jeopardy.’”

  “Well, well, I—”

  His eyes narrowed. “You said in your report that the dagger looks like one of the replicas sold at the museum, and, I might add, was stuck through a flag just like the one you purchased today at that very museum. So”—he paused and stroked his jaw—“it stands to reason even an innocent adventure to a museum is a danger to you and everyone else.”

  “That’s not fair, Chief.” Simon again placed a protective hand at the small of her back.

  Marc’s head jerked toward Simon. “I’ll tell you what’s not fair. Do you want to be performing an autopsy on Miss Amateur Sleuth here?”

  Simon shook his head.

  “That’s more like it.” Marc regained his earlier stance.

  “I’m a certified amateur sleuth,” Addie whispered, stifling a giggle.

  Marc’s eyes shot darts at her. “You don’t seem to understand, do you? The force with which the dagger was thrust through that flag shows an extreme tendency toward pure hatred and rage. So much so it pierced through the bottom of the box.”

  Addie wilted back against the counter. “Have you asked Lacey where she was today?”

  Marc ignored her and straightened his shoulders. “I hope this sees the end of it, and you stop your solitary sleuthing adventures. You’ve rattled someone, and who knows what’s coming nex
t.”

  “That’s exactly why I shouldn’t give up now.” She stepped forward. “Marc, we’re onto something. Something big. And we have to keep rattling and see what falls out.”

  Marc scrubbed his hands over his face. “Damn, you’re incorrigible.”

  “You know her well,” Simon snorted, suppressing a chuckle. Marc glared at him. “Well, you must admit, Chief, she does have a valid point about Lacey. I was witness to a conversation today that took place between the two women where your Lacey mentioned the fact that Addie was off up and down the coast playing cops and robbers. How did she know Miss Greyborne was out of town for the day? Where was she all day?”

  Marc’s jaw tensed. He nodded at Addie and left.

  Addie took a long hard look at Simon.

  “What?” He shrugged.

  “You really thrust your knife deep into the heart of that one, didn’t you?”

  “This whole charade of his is ridiculous.” Addie’s head jerked. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you and him, and I don’t care to. But the fact of the matter is he’s with her now. So why is he blinded by possessive jealousy over you spending time with me and not remaining open to clues or hints that could lead him to the real person responsible for all this?”

  “I’m really not sure.” So Simon sensed the jealousy from Marc, too. It wasn’t all in her mind.

  “Well, he’d better start seeing what’s right under his own nose. After her performance today and what she said to you, any doubts about her that I might have had are gone.”

  “I’m starting to agree.” She looked to the front door that Marc had slammed behind him. “But I’m starving. Let’s make some sandwiches and head up to the attic for a less exciting adventure.”

  “Have you heard from Serena?”

  “No, not tonight, why?”

  “Just wondering.” Simon took a plate of cold chicken out of the fridge. “Hope you don’t mind.” His boyish grin melted some of her stress away.

  She chuckled. “No, make yourself at home. It must be hard living in a room at the inn.”

  “You have no idea how much I’ve missed having my own kitchen, of all things.” He retrieved a loaf of bread from the pantry.

  * * *

  Addie bit into her sandwich and moaned. “You’re an artist in the kitchen.”

  “It’s just a matter of getting all the ingredient proportions just right.”

  “Well, this is the best chicken salad sandwich I’ve ever had. Ever consider a career change?” She took another bite.

  He shook his head and swallowed. “Not recently, no. Although . . . if I had a kitchen like this one, I might be persuaded.” He winked at her across the island.

  She set her sandwich on the plate. “Speaking of ingredients, have you received the analysis back on the tea yet?”

  He stopped in mid-bite. “Didn’t you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “I sent the preliminary to Marc’s office.” He pushed his plate away. “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Do we appear to be on friendly terms?”

  “I guess not. Why would he share that? Anyway, they’re not conclusive yet. I still need more time. There’s something the equipment isn’t picking up on, and I just can’t pinpoint it. It would sure help if I had an idea of what I’m looking for. Organics and natural products are hard to analyze unless”—he held up his thumb and index finger, squeezing them together—“you have an eensy-weensy idea of what you’re looking for. It’s a fairly broad spectrum.”

  “Natural and organic?” She looked at him. “Serena’s new boyfriend, Zach, is a naturopathic medical student studying with Dr. Lee down in the Harbor district. Maybe he can help? And he works part-time at your temporary home, the Grey Gull Inn, in the dining room.”

  “There you go. I should have just asked you in the first place.”

  She blushed and popped the last bit of her sandwich into her mouth. “Okay, it’s past eight, and I’d like to get to work in the attic.” She rinsed her plate and set it in the dishwasher. “That is, if you’re still up to it?”

  “Of course—any reason to spend more time with you.”

  A warm flush crept up her neck to her cheeks. “Look, Simon I’m not sure what you know about my past, but . . .”

  “I heard about David. If that’s what you were going to tell me.” She stared at him, question filling her eyes. “People talk.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I get it. Grieving takes its own time. Just promise you’ll give me a shot when you decide that you are ready.” At her nod, he grinned. “Good, let’s get to work.”

  They stood at the top of the attic stairs. Simon placed his hands on his hips and whistled. “Wow, where do we begin?”

  “That’s exactly how I feel every time I come up here, but follow me. Tonight, I think I can narrow it down a wee bit. Here is the back room. I’ve determined this is where June did most of her research, so we might as well start in here.” She flipped on the overhead light and stood back.

  He poked his head inside and nodded. “Okay, this looks more manageable. What am I looking for?”

  “Anything to do with the American Revolution and pirates. I’ll start with this wall of books. I noticed there were a lot of older leather-bound books in the mix yesterday, and I’ll need to check titles and publishing dates. If you don’t mind, you can work over there on that wall. They look newer, but still might be important.”

  He saluted and began scanning the shelves on the far wall. “This is quite the collection your aunt had. There’s even some books from the Magic Tree House series for kids, including Revolutionary War on Wednesday and American Revolution: A Nonfiction Companion to Revolutionary War on Wednesday, and Pilgrims: A Nonfiction Companion to Thanksgiving on Thursday by Mary Pope Osborne and Sal Murdocca. There are even some duplicates on this shelf.” He slipped a book from another shelf. “Here’s Johnny Tremain, by Esther Forbes, published in 1943.”

  “You’re kidding. That book won the Newbury in 1944.” She rushed to his side. “Jackpot! Any other children’s or young adult books? They’re exactly what we need right now at the store.”

  “Well then, gold star for me.”

  “Yes, another one. Your star sheet is filling up fast.”

  “Good to know, because there’s lots for adult readers, too. Look at this.” He held up a copy of Oliver Wiswell by Kenneth Roberts.

  She flipped it open to the title page. “And it’s a 1940 edition. This is perfect.”

  “I saw a near-empty crate in the outer room. I’ll go get it and start packing these up.”

  “Thanks, Simon.”

  She couldn’t help but notice how his muscles rippled across his broad back as he walked out the door. Addie shook her head and moaned. “Just bad timing for me, I guess,” she muttered to herself as she headed back to the wall of books that had caught her interest yesterday.

  Simon worked on sorting the fiction books from the actual history books, and Addie browsed her designated area.

  “How are you making out over there?” Simon stood up and stretched out his back.

  “Good. I can’t believe how many books my aunt had on piracy. It’s amazing. Like this one. It’s a 1996 copy of The Pirates of New England Coast 1630–1730 by George Francis Dow and John Henry Edmonds, and this 2005 edition of Buried Treasures of New England by W. C. Jameson. There’s so many like this. I had no idea she was such a pirate buff.”

  “Maybe she knew about the rumored treasure buried under the town and was hoping to find clues to its whereabouts.”

  “Maybe. Here’s another good one for the box. Lost Loot: Ghostly New England Treasure Tales by Patricia Hughes. It will be perfect to display alongside June’s.”

  “I’ll have to go find another crate. This one’s full.”

  He returned and began packing up the books she’d pulled out and stacked on the floor in front of the shelves.

  “Now I’m getting somewhere,” she cried. “Here are the ones I
noticed yesterday. See all the calfskin bindings? This means they are probably older, if not first editions. Today a leather book is generally made of cheaper bonded leather.”

  He peered over her shoulder. “Is the book Dorothy and the museum manager mentioned there?”

  Her fingers ran over the titles on the spines. She pulled a few off the shelf that didn’t have spine imprints and read the publisher’s page. “No, not yet, but this shelf stretches the whole length of the wall.”

  She tapped her fingers across the books as she made her way down the line. The last few books on the shelf made her heart leap. “Here it is—A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates by Captain Charles Johnson. Did you know that since this book was first published it was widely speculated that Charles Johnson was a pseudonym for one of London’s most prolific writers of that time, Daniel Defoe? He wrote Robinson Crusoe.” She flipped to the publisher’s page. “And it’s a 1724 first edition. Look. Here are two other later volumes that were printed by another printer, Thomas Woodward. His first one was released in 1726, and the second volume came out in 1728. This particular one includes some additional notorious pirates not mentioned in the initial books—like William Kidd, Samuel Bellamy, and William Fly.”

  “You sure know your pirate history. Guess it’s something in your family genes.” He looked over his shoulder at the book she held open in her hands.

  She smiled. “I suppose it is. And guess what I read at the museum today?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and scrolled through her pictures. “Here, read this.”

  He squinted and looked at the image, expanding it to get a better look. “You do have treasure hunters’ fever, don’t you? Okay, ‘Where’s Captain Kidd’s Treasure? It’s thought that Pirate Chief William Kidd buried his treasures throughout the world, including a large stockpile of treasures in the New England area . . .’” Simon groaned. “You aren’t thinking that—”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking, and you know as well as I do that I’m not the only one, and that’s what’s behind June’s murder.” She snapped off her phone.