Prologue to Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  “Marc,” she said, her tone as surprised as she could manage, considering the churning bile in her stomach, “what brings you here tonight?”

  He looked past her to Simon. “You texted me and said you needed to tell me something.”

  “That was hours ago, sorry. I forgot. Come in, please. We were just having a drink and going through June’s manuscript. Can I get you anything?”

  He shook his head and stepped into the foyer, his eyes fixed on Simon.

  “We’re here in the living room. Please have a seat.” She motioned to a seat on the sofa closest to the door.

  He walked past Simon and sat where she had designated. She took a seat on the end of the sofa closest to the chair by the fireplace, removed Simon’s coat from it, and patted the chair seat gesturing to Simon that was his place when he entered behind Marc. There was no way she was going to let these two sit on the same sofa. “There, nice and cozy. Are you sure you won’t join us in a drink?”

  “No, I’m on duty till midnight. Had a guy go off sick.” His eyes never wavered from Simon’s.

  “Well, Simon was just telling me that the stomach flu seems to be going around.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably it.” He took a deep breath and placed his cap on the coffee table. “So, what is it you needed to tell me?”

  She proceeded with her tale of witnessing Dean and Steven’s meeting at the park behind the utility shed. She also summarized Jeanie’s verbal assault on Serena about her selling tainted tea, and her own part in saving Serena from Jeanie’s threats to have the health department close the tea shop. Even in the retelling, she still couldn’t figure out Jeanie’s strange reaction and immediate departure. She went on to tell them about her seeing Lacey hand Dean a large sum of money and how Serena then discovered after Lacey left with him—those words caught in her throat—that the till and storeroom safe had been emptied out except for a note that simply said, Thanks for the loan.

  Marc leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I guess, since I’ve been ordered to read you into this—”

  Simon sat upright in the chair. “Since when?”

  Marc glared at him.

  “I forgot to tell you, Simon,” Addie said. “Remember when you had the meeting with the DA in Salem?”

  Simon nodded, returning Marc’s eye daggers.

  “It seems your friend Jeff Wilson called Marc and asked him to take me on this case as a consultant. So it appears I’m temporarily”—she smiled at Marc—“working with the Greyborne Harbor Police Department.”

  “Wonderful news.” Simon clapped his hands. “That means we’re all colleagues now.” He locked eyes with Marc.

  “I guess we are.” Addie grinned at Marc.

  Marc shook his head, grabbed his hat from the table, and stood up. He tossed it back on the table and sat down again. Simon flinched and looked blankly at Addie. She shrugged and shook her head.

  Marc looked down at the floor, then at Addie and Simon. “You’re right. We’re all colleagues and adults. So, from here on in, we all share information with each other freely, and I, as the police officer, will follow any leads we find. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Addie barely kept herself from squealing with excitement.

  “Deal,” Simon murmured.

  “Okay, I’ll track down the background on this Steven fellow and dig up more information on Dean’s last trip to LA. You, Doc, look into the tainted tea and possible suppliers, and, Addie . . . do what you do best. Research that manuscript to see if we can find out exactly what it is we’re dealing with here, but most of all, stay safe and out of the line of fire. I have a feeling this is a powder keg ready to explode.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded.

  Marc headed for the door then turned back. “I forgot. I also came here to tell you about something you might be faced with in the morning, Addie.”

  “What?”

  He leaned against the doorframe, fumbling with his cap. “I suspected Lacey of being Miss Newsy, as I told you, but never had the exact proof I needed to call her on it.”

  “I thought you had it?”

  “Only what I’ve gleaned from conversations we’ve had and a few side comments her editor, Max Hunter, had made. Before I confront her, I want to catch her red-handed.”

  “Okay? Not sure what you mean though. How?”

  He straightened his shoulders. “I planted some false information with her today. I told her we were on the verge of making an arrest in June’s murder and kind of hinted that you might be involved, but we were still in the process of following a lead on that.”

  “You did what?”

  “I know, I know, I should have left you out of it.”

  “Darn right you should have.” Simon stormed across the room toward Marc. “Do you have any idea what that will do to her already tarnished reputation?”

  “Think about it. Lacey can’t do any more damage than she already has.” Marc planted his feet, looking down his nose at Simon.

  “But why?” Addie joined Simon.

  “Because sometimes in the investigation business, you have to feed some people manure just to see what comes back to you. No one else in the station can corroborate it, because it’s not true. Which makes me her only source. So, if she prints anything in that column tomorrow, I can nail her on it and prove to the DA that there is no leak within the department, just an underhanded reporter willing to do and say anything for a story.”

  Simon crossed his arms. “Well, you do realize, don’t you, that Addie’s going to be the one to pay the price?”

  Marc looked at Addie. “It’s no worse than it’s already been, and this is a chance to stop her without you having to continue worrying about what she’s going to print in the paper every day.”

  Simon opened his mouth. Addie placed her hand over it. “No, Simon, he’s right. This is nothing different than she’s already said about me. Except this time, we’re in control of what it is.”

  Marc relaxed his stance. Simon scoured his hands through his hair and walked back to the sofa.

  “Talk to you tomorrow.” Marc’s finger traced the outline of her jaw, and she shivered.

  When he left, she went back into the living room. Simon stared out the window into the blackness. She took a seat beside him on the sofa. He didn’t say a word.

  She picked up her laptop and volume I of the 1724 pirate book and began reading. He sighed, took the manuscript from the tabletop, and settled back into the sofa.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Addie stretched out her neck and arms. Over an hour ago, Marc had dropped his bombshell, then left and Simon had yet to utter a word to her. She glanced sideways at him. A faint smile graced her lips. He was tucked up in the far corner of the sofa, one leg, folded loosely under the other, propped up the manuscript. His other knee was drawn up, balancing a notepad. His eyes moved unwavering between the two.

  She went to the kitchen, returned with two steaming cups of coffee in hand, and waved one under his nose. Without looking up at her, he accepted and returned to scribbling. She pressed her lips together and plopped down on the sofa, sighing noisily. “Are you okay? Are we okay?” She tilted her head, waiting for a reply.

  He went back to scribbling and then tapped his pen on the notebook. “Everything’s fine, and we’re fine. I’m just trying to help you comply with the commanding officer’s orders.”

  “The commanding officer?”

  “You heard him. You were given your orders and I mine, so I figure two heads are better than one, and the sooner we comply, the faster this can all be solved then we can move on to a life without living under the scrutiny of the chief.” He all but spat out his words.

  “Okay, then, I guess I’d better get back to work.” She looked down at her laptop but watched him out of the corner of her eye.

  He went back to his reading and then looked back at her and closed the manuscript on his knee. “I’m sorry. I know Marc means something to you, and obviously you an
d your safety are important to him. I’ll try and be a little more sensitive . . . or a little less, whatever . . . in the future.”

  “Thank you.” She set her laptop on the coffee table. “I know all this is hard, and there is too much drama, but please try and understand. I’ve never been in this situation before, and I’m not sure—”

  “Me neither.” He smiled.

  Her gaze lingered on him for a second or two, only breaking off when heat began to creep up her cheeks.

  Simon coughed, breaking the spell between them. “Have you found anything of use?” his voice a raspy whisper.

  “Not really, but it’s interesting. I can see why June used this book as a resource.”

  “So no pirate treasures pinpointed, then?”

  “No, lots of history and a few maps, like this one.” She pulled a map out of the pages. “Not sure it’s actually part of the book, but it’s a woodcut engraved plate map of the eastern coastline of the United States. There’s an X, which I’m guessing, by the looks of it, is Greyborne Harbor, although it’s not named on here. What about you?”

  “I think I have.”

  “Ooh, tell me.” She drew her legs up and hugged her knees.

  “Well, I’ve been comparing June’s original notes to the map you found in the notes Jeanie gave you, and it seems she was under the impression that the dotted line showing a tunnel system under the town wasn’t one continuous tunnel but a series of shafts built under the marked landmarks. The dotted line wasn’t indicating a tunnel, only the landmarks’ proximity to each other for easier tracking.”

  “And what do these shafts represent?”

  “The hiding places for pirate loot and contraband, it seems.”

  She edged closer, looking at the map Simon held in his hand.

  “See here—the dotted lines. This map was drawn to represent where each of these shafts was located.”

  “That makes more sense, because there’s a lot of bedrock, and I have been trying to figure out exactly how an entire tunnel system could have been dug back then with only hand tools.”

  “Exactly. That’s what June figured, too. These lines are like navigational lines to show where these shafts and caverns were located, like a grid.”

  “And this one is a solid line. See where it comes from the coast, where the cave entrance is, and goes here to under the Smuggler’s Den restaurant.”

  “Yes, that was obviously an actual tunnel. But didn’t you say the British found that one and blasted it?”

  “Yes. I was told there are signs of cannonballs having been used.”

  “Right, so after that, it appears the pirates took their stores more inland and used a series of smaller shafts and caverns to hide their loot farther away from the eyes of the British and people like Gerald Greyborne. It’s all kind of like criminals today using multiple offshore bank accounts to evade authorities.”

  “So, according to this and what you read in her notes, there’s a cavern under the big rock, which Serena told me is the site of the hospital now, and then this one here where Fielding’s Department Store is. And then what’s this one here, by the playground?”

  “That’s an interesting one.” He looked at her, his eyes sparkling, and stabbed his finger on the X by the playground location. “This is where Henry Davenport’s original house stood.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, it seems when he brought his wife and children over from England, he followed in the footsteps of Gerald and built a home for them above the harbor to keep them away from the riffraff of the sailors and pirates down below.”

  “And what happened to the house?”

  “When he was arrested, his property was confiscated and burned by the British because it had been gained by criminal activity.”

  “So his house was burned down?”

  Simon nodded. “His house . . . but not the tavern in the harbor—or the small house he’d built beside the tavern to live in before his family came over, which he later ran as a lucrative brothel, adding to his business portfolio.”

  “So why didn’t the British burn those?”

  “Because they were in place before property in the Harbor was registered, and they didn’t know they were his.”

  “What happened to his family?”

  “They were turned out on the streets, which was typical of that time, as wife and family were seen only as an extension of a man’s property.”

  “Well, obviously since Lacey and Dean are still here to carry on the family name, they must have survived.”

  “Oh, yes. Henry’s wife, Lillian, was a woman of resourcefulness, and rather than live on the streets, begging, she soon took over the tavern. The family lived upstairs, and her six children went to work downstairs in the tavern, and . . . she ran the brothel next door.”

  “What? She became a madam?”

  He smirked. “It seems our little Miss Lacey isn’t the only Davenport woman to do whatever she can to survive and create a future for herself.”

  “That must be part of the reason Blain and Dean didn’t want this first version of the book published. Today, that’s probably not common knowledge.”

  “It did take me some digging. When the family, under Lillian’s guidance, got back on their feet, she built the house where Lacey grew up in the area on the other side of Oak Street from where the original house stood, and the family were then seen, once again, as upstanding members of the community. Lots of new folks had moved to town, and they weren’t aware of the family’s shady past.”

  “That is, all except the Greybornes and a few others that had come before.”

  “So the infamous Madam Lilly departed, and the Harbor saw an emergence of the gracious Lillian Davenport in town. Fear of her past being discovered was something that Lillian apparently took with her to her deathbed.”

  “And her family has carried on her charade these past three hundred years. Interesting.” She stood up and stretched, then spun around. “You said one of the spots marked was at the site of the original Davenport house?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Maybe Lillian found a treasure Henry had buried under it, which also helped finance her new life?”

  “Maybe, but that would have been a long time ago. No trace would be left now.”

  “But what if there is more treasure hidden under the other marked shafts? Maybe ones under the hospital or Fielding’s Department Store that are just waiting for someone who knows they are there. I mean, if there was treasure in the Smuggler’s Den cavern, the British probably took that before they blew it up. They’d be fools not to.”

  “Could be. And Dean did read this manuscript, so he knows all the shaft locations.”

  “Yes, and what if Dean is already working on digging some of them out—you know, after he read this first draft when June submitted it to the town council?”

  “That was over two years ago, wasn’t it”

  “Yeah, but it would take planning and financing first, wouldn’t it?”

  “That’s a lot of what-ifs.”

  “Yes, and there’s only one way to find out.”

  He slowly shook his head. “No. You can’t be thinking what I think you are.”

  “Yes, let’s go.”

  “At this time of night? It’s almost eleven.”

  “I’m wide awake.” Her eyes pleaded.

  “Where do we start? We can’t just go digging around in the basement of the hospital or Fielding’s. Or start hacking up the playground.”

  “The utility shed. The tunnel in it links up with the hospital at the far end, which is where the large rock on the map used to be located.”

  “That’s a long shot, and I have no intention of doing any digging tonight.”

  “No, just looking, that’s all. No digging. I promise.”

  “And just how are we going to get access to the utility shed? It’s a highly secured area, remember?”

  “I’ll figure that out. Let’s just go look and see if the whole idea
is feasible first. Maybe there is no way it can be, and it’s only my wild imagination taking over.”

  “That I tend to agree with.” He chuckled.

  “What? You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

  He looked down at her. “You, my friend, must have been a witch in another life.”

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.

  “I’m not sure what spell you’ve cast on me, but let’s go before my wit and good sense come back and I have second thoughts.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “What is going on down here?” Simon’s eyes darted from one side of Main Street to the other.

  “I forgot. Tomorrow’s the first day of the weekend festival. They’re setting up.”

  “That’s tonight? I’m supposed to be volunteering. Well,” he said as he turned down her shop street and pulled into a parking spot in front of the park, “at least we’ll be inconspicuous in our quest.”

  “Yeah, we’ll just pretend to be working.”

  “Now I feel guilty that we aren’t here to help, especially since I’m on a list somewhere.” He joined her on the sidewalk and they made their way into the park, heading in the direction of the utility shed.

  “Look at it this way. We are helping the town, in a roundabout sense, if my hunches pay off.”

  “I’ll try.” He weaved around groups of people and their collection of ladders, stringing lights in the park. “Just a minute, you said festival weekend? Does that mean I volunteered for two days?”

  “I doubt it. You most likely volunteered just for the setup.”

  “I hope so. I’m on call all weekend.”

  “Don’t worry, there are other committees that look after everything else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, like the ghost walk tour of historical sites in the harbor area, held after the park festival tomorrow night, and then the Sunday-morning minutemen parade, and after that the day-long sailing regatta, followed by a family dance and fireworks.”

  “It sounds like fun. Are you going? I could meet you if I’m not work—”