Prologue to Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  He looked up at her. “Are you questioning my orders and concern for my officers?”

  “No, I was just making a factual point.”

  “Here’s another factual point for you. The loading dock has only been here about ten years, so the vibration of the heavy trucks above is something new and is obviously stressing the integrity of this grotto.”

  “Come on, Addie.” Simon tugged on her sleeve. “Let the police do their job.” He pulled her away.

  “But, Simon,” she said, shaking off his hand, “I need to know what’s in there.”

  He leaned toward her. “Will these help?” He grinned and opened the photos on his cell phone.

  She gasped. “Yes, I could kiss you right now.”

  “Well, I always did like your thank-yous.” He winked.

  She playfully slapped his arm and glared at Marc’s back as he crouched in the entrance waiting for Jerry to emerge. “Come on. Let’s go back to my shop and have a good look at these.”

  “I can’t believe that find. Wow!” Simon puffed as they jogged across the lawn out of the park, attempting to avoid a run-in with Gloria in case she tried to recruit their volunteer services.

  “I know,” Addie panted. “Obviously the pirates covered the shaft opening with the lumber beams and dirt to hide it.”

  “And it’s exactly where it was marked on June’s map.”

  “Yeah, and when they built the hospital, they just paved over it, and no one was any the wiser to what lay underneath.”

  “That’s why whoever’s been excavating had to go in from the utility tunnel.”

  “Yes, digging up the parking lot would have drawn attention.” She unlocked the front door, made her way through the dark to the back room, and turned off the alarm. She threw her handbag on the desk, pulled up her rickety old office chair, and patted a crate next to it. “Come on, show me what you got.” Simon grinned. She shook her head. He plopped down beside her and pulled out his phone.

  They scanned the pictures for several seconds before Addie broke the silence. “Look at these old barrels. They’re crushed. These clay wine casks are all broken, too, and there doesn’t appear to be much else in there.”

  “So why would the pirates dig the shaft and cave to store rum and wine? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yeah, they look like they’ve been like that for years, and I don’t see any sign of a chest or crate that might hold a buried treasure.”

  “Unless whoever broke through the wall did find what they came for and they have it now.”

  She shook her head. “I’m no archaeologist, but by the looks of these photos, I’d say this cave was looted years ago.” Simon glanced sideways at her.

  “I’m just thinking that June may have found evidence that there once was treasure buried under Greyborne Harbor, but my guess is that it’s long gone.”

  “You’re probably right.” Simon shifted on the crate. “After all, the British destroyed the cave on the coast, and this one under the big rock appears to have been cleared out years ago. We can’t go digging up the playground to search the cavern below the old Davenport homestead.”

  “My thought is that Lillian probably cleared that out about three hundred years ago, anyway.”

  “So now what?”

  “We need to focus on who killed June. It must have been someone who still believes treasure is here and is so bent on finding a buried treasure they’d stop at nothing to achieve that.”

  “But where do we start?”

  “Let’s start with all the major players.” She glanced at the names on the blackboard. Her eyes flashed from one name to the next, running each of their relationships with June past Simon. The name that kept popping up was Steven, aka Peter. Addie went to her computer and searched the names of staff members in the news department at Lacey’s old network.

  “Here, look. Peter Jacobson, news reporter known for his two years’ worth of investigations into to America’s lost treasures. That’s it. He was researching buried treasure and, probably through Dean, when he was in LA, heard about June’s book. He has to be this mysterious Steven character.”

  “Okay, how do we prove it?”

  “We need to talk to Jeanie.”

  “She might still be setting up at the park.”

  “Let’s go.” She grabbed her bag.

  Simon walked up one side of Main Street and Addie the other. They met up at the loading ramp behind the hospital.

  “Maybe she’s working in the park.” She glanced back at the loading ramp as they headed toward the twinkling fairy lights in the park behind the municipal buildings.

  Addie spotted Dorothy at the pavilion speaking with a group of volunteers and turned in that direction, tugging Simon along with her. “Hi, Dorothy, looks like you guys are nearly done. Great job.” She stood back and admired the lights hung throughout the festival area.

  “Yes, almost there. Some of the vendors are done setting up their booths and stalls already, and the last of the lights have just gone up.” Dorothy smiled, and relief swept across her face.

  “It’s magical.” Addie beamed, looking around her.

  Dorothy looked at Simon. “Were you two working on Main Street?”

  “You might say that.” Simon coughed.

  “Have you seen Jeanie?” Addie stood on her tiptoes, scanning the thinning crowd.

  “She left a few hours ago. Steven came—in a foul mood he was, too—and swept her out of here in a flash.” Dorothy clucked her tongue. “Trouble in paradise, I assume.”

  “That’s too bad,” Addie said. “How did Jeanie and he end up together when he was dating June first, anyway?” Simon elbowed Addie’s arm. She glanced at him, her top lip twitching.

  “He’s a travel agent from Chicago and apparently had read June’s book and emailed her saying he wanted to arrange to bring tours down here—you know, to explore the pirate sites she talked about in the book. So, he came down and that was that. June fell immediately in love. Her husband passed away over twenty years ago, you see. She’s been pretty lonely.”

  “I didn’t know that. But Steven looks so much younger than what June would have been.”

  “Well, when he first arrived, his hair was gray, and he did look and dress much older, very conservatively, but after he and Jeanie got together, he started changing and began using that men’s shampoo that slowly covers the gray.”

  “I guess dating a younger woman like Jeanie brought out a more youthful side of him,” Addie chuckled.

  “Well, he is younger than June was, but I don’t think by too much, and he’s not much older than Jeanie. Perhaps he was just at the age where he was bored by June’s sudden need to turn in by eight or nine at night, as she’d always been such a go-getter before, and still was when they first met.”

  “I wonder what caused the change in her?”

  Dorothy shook her head. “I just know what Jeanie told me, and that was he soon got tired of sitting around the house all evening by himself. She felt sorry for him, not realizing her mother had suddenly become so old and frail.”

  “How old was June?”

  “She was a very young, active seventy-year-old. We swam at the Y together, went hiking. She liked a good party as much as anyone. She was fun and lived life to the fullest.”

  “Then she suddenly changed?”

  “Yes, it started to happen almost right after Steven arrived. It was weird, but we all thought perhaps he just wore her out, if you know what I mean.” She nudged Addie’s arm. “Anyway, Jeanie, just being friendly to her mother’s boyfriend, took him out to a couple of local clubs and such, and well, one thing led to another, and they fell in love.”

  “Really?”

  Dorothy gasped. “Just look at that guy over there. Does no one these days have any common sense? Hey, Albert,” she shouted, marching off toward a small balding man, “are you trying to pull all the strings of lights down on purpose? Who taught you how to carry a ladder?”

  Simon’s eyes wi
dened. “Wow, remind me to never get on her bad side.”

  Addie studied Dorothy berating the poor volunteer and nodded. “So, what do you think?”

  “About that bullying?”

  “No—well that, too.” Addie looked back at Dorothy and shook her head. “But I mean about the sudden change in June’s disposition.”

  “I’d say, as we suspected after analyzing the tea, that Steven had been drugging her.”

  “Yeah, maybe so he could use it as an excuse to get close to Jeanie, who he thought might be more help to him.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “What if—and this is a big what-if, based purely on speculation. . .”

  “Okay, I’m following you.”

  “What if Steven had read the book and heard through Dean about the original manuscript and knew there was nothing about the pirate hiding places in her published book and was searching for the original Dean had told him about?”

  “I see where you’re going with this.”

  “You do?” Her eyes lit up.

  “Yeah, and he started drugging her so she’d go to bed early and he could search her house for it.”

  “Exactly!” she cried, clapping her hands. “That’s it, and when he didn’t find it, he thought Jeanie might know where it was and—”

  “Started working on her, thinking she could lead him to it? Maybe your theory isn’t as far-fetched as you thought?”

  “No it’s not, and that could be why they had the argument in front of my bookstore that day after she dropped off June’s notes to me. He thought she’d given the original away. I wonder if Jeanie knows.”

  “It could be possible that after the confrontation with Serena in her store and your planting the seeds of doubt about him, she started to figure it all out. You did say she bolted when you told her about the man who bought the tea.”

  Addie’s eyes widened. “Yes, and her life could be in danger if she confronts him about it.”

  Simon’s cell phone sent off a foghorn sound alert. “That’s my emergency ring tone,” he explained apologetically and pulled it from his jacket pocket. He read the message. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Please don’t say it’s about Jeanie?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not.” He spun on his heel, stopped, and turned. “Here—you’ll need these to get home, I might be hours.” He tossed his car keys to her and dashed off toward the hospital.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Addie pulled her car into the parking stall in the alley behind Beyond the Page, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music playing through the speakers. She turned off the ignition, hopped out and took a deep breath of the fresh, sea salt–filled morning air and smiled, still humming the tune that had just played.

  Serena’s back door burst open. Her red head popped around the corner, and her eyes locked with Addie’s. She tossed a bundle of paper at Addie’s feet, retreated, and closed her door. Addie looked down at the elastic-bound roll at her feet. The Greyborne Harbor Daily News banner glowered up at her. She tucked it under her arm and entered the back room of her store.

  Paige looked up from the book crate she was unpacking and stopped in mid-motion. She grabbed an armful of books and darted into the main shop.

  “Umm, good morning?” Addie called after her, but her greeting was met with silence.

  She shrugged and tossed her purse on the desk, the newspaper beside it, and took off her coat. She started for the door and paused, her hand against the doorframe. She glanced over her shoulder at the newspaper, sucked in a deep breath, went back, removed the elastic band from around it and laid it flat on the desk. The top story headline jumped out at her.

  Area-wide Manhunt Under Way

  Greyborne Harbor Police has issued an area-wide warrant for Dean Davenport, who has been reported as being a person of interest in the brutal attack on an area resident who was discovered unconscious last night in a local garage. If anyone has information about Davenport’s whereabouts, they are urged to contact the police department immediately.

  “Wow.” Addie drummed her fingers on the page and reread the news alert. “Dean, what are you up to now?” she muttered, thumbing through the paper. She stopped at page five and blinked. “Got you now,” she smirked, fist bumping the page. “It looks like there’s more than one snake in the family.”

  Paige’s head poked around the doorframe. “Every . . .” She cleared her throat. “Is everything okay in here?”

  Addie looked over at her, a wide grin across her face. “Yup, it’s a great day.”

  “Okay?” Paige grimaced. Her eyes went to the paper, then back to Addie. “Dorothy’s on the phone and wants to know if she can pick up some more copies of June’s book for the Smuggler’s Den.”

  “How many do we have left in stock?”

  “A couple of dozen, I think.”

  Addie whistled. “Is that all? We just got fifty in.”

  Paige nodded. “They’ve been flying off the shelves, same as the books you brought in to restock the historical fiction section with.”

  “Good news all around, I guess.”

  Paige glanced back at the paper, frowning. “Yes, good news?” She looked at Addie. “So, what do you want me to tell her?”

  “Tell her we can give her another dozen, but then they’ll have to wait for us to reorder if they want any more copies after tonight.”

  Paige double tapped the doorframe and returned to the front.

  Addie looked down at Miss Newsy’s latest rant and smiled.

  I have it on good authority that police are ready to make an arrest for the murder of local librarian June Winslow. It has also been reported that due to excessive police activity in and around the Beyond the Page bookshop and at the home of area resident Addison Greyborne, she may know more than she’s saying in regard to this matter.

  She walked into the main shop, winding her way down the aisles, making mental notes of which book genres she’d have to concentrate on restocking. Paige was right; the historical fiction section was nearly empty again. She went to the cash register, input the code to bring up the weekly sales reports, and smiled. The door chimes rang and she looked up.

  “Dorothy? Good morning. I see you’re out and about early.”

  She nodded and slumped onto a stool. “I haven’t had any sleep either.”

  “That’s not good. Trouble with the setup?”

  She shook her head. “No, we were just finishing up when you left, and then I got a call from a rather hysterical Jeanie. They’d just taken Steven to the hospital.”

  Addie’s mind flashed to the text Simon had received. “I read about an attack in the paper. Was that him?”

  Dorothy nodded.

  “Is he okay now?”

  “He’s in critical condition, but stable. Jeanie’s a wreck though.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I had to get some work finished up for the festival, and, well, have just left her with Mildred in the waiting room of the hospital.” She shook her head. “It’s so uncalled-for, this random violence.”

  “So, it’s being considered a random act?” Addie plopped a pod into the coffee maker.

  “They have a suspect. Jeanie said she and Steven were at home, and he got a call from Dean Davenport out of the blue, demanding to meet him out back. He went out to the garage without another word to her.”

  “Did he know Dean? Were they friends or . . . business partners?” Addie handed the steaming cup to Dorothy.

  “Not as far as Jeanie knew, but she said he may have run into him sometime around town.” She clasped the cup Addie presented to her and took a sip of her coffee. “It just doesn’t make any sense. Why would Dean attack someone he didn’t know—at least not very well, if he did?”

  The tip of Addie’s tongue burned to speak out, but she ran it over the inside of her cheek and shook her head. She spied calluses on Dorothy’s hands, and her brain began whirling.


  “Your hands look sore, like you’ve been chopping wood for a month straight.”

  Dorothy jerked her hands to her lap. “Not quite. Just been hanging lights and hauling stage risers and booth lumber for the past few days.”

  “I have some cream in the back that might help.”

  “No, I’m fine. They’ll heal when all this manual labor is done.”

  A cell phone rang. Addie glanced at her silent phone on the counter. “Dorothy. Dorothy? That must be yours.”

  Dorothy’s head jerked. “Sorry, I must be half-asleep.” She fished around in her bag of books, withdrawing a phone. “Hello . . . hello?” The ringing persisted. She frowned, turned the phone over in her hand and shook her head, dropping the pink pearl tortoiseshell phone back into her bag and withdrawing a plain white one instead.

  The fine hairs at the back of Addie’s neck stood up.

  “Hello? . . . Yes . . . Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll be right there.” She clicked off. “I have to go. There’s an issue with the fire department regulations over in the park.”

  “You have two phones?”

  Dorothy waved her hand. “I keep forgetting to give Jeanie June’s phone. She left it at the last meeting at the library. That night she . . . she”—Dorothy looked down at her bag—“disappeared. I picked it up to return it to her later, and then, well, with everything that happened, it’s just slipped my mind, I guess. Well, I’m off.” She turned directly into Marc’s path.

  He caught her arm. “Morning, Dorothy.”

  “Morning, Chief,” she muttered and dashed past him.

  Marc slid onto a stool. “She’s in a hurry today. The fire chief’s doing his inspection of the lights.” His mischievous grin had her lips dancing in a return move.

  “I think it might be more than that.”

  “How so?” He set his cap on the counter.

  “Did you know that she has June’s missing cell phone?”

  “No, how do you know that?”

  “She just tried to answer it and realized she’d pulled the wrong phone out of her bag.”

  “Interesting.” Marc spun around on his stool and looked out the window toward the park. “We’ve been looking for that.”