She snorted, stifling a laugh and glanced around the empty waiting room. “Okay, then spill.”
He chuckled and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”
She nodded, her eyes twinkling.
“Well,” he said, yawning, “most of it is as you suspected all along, and I was too pigheaded to listen.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “It seems Dean and Steven, aka Peter Jacobson, did meet up in LA through an introduction by Lacey.” Addie nodded and mentally checked that clue off her blackboard. “Dean told him about June’s book, and they concocted a plan to search for the buried treasure that June thought might still be hidden in Greyborne Harbor. Peter created the false identity of Steven, including dying his hair.”
“I bet he thought changing it from blond would disguise him enough in case someone recognized him. I guess he hadn’t counted on that someone being Lacey, who had worked closely with him and spotted the similarities right off, which is what really got my radar buzzing.”
“Yeah, he was definitely trying to hide his true identity. First, he made himself appear older for June, but when he got nowhere with her. He gradually went straight black to make himself more attractive to the younger Jeanie. In the hope he could dupe at least one of them into giving him access to the original manuscript, because Dean couldn’t remember all the details after his one and only read of it. As you know, it’s far more detailed than the published version was, so they needed it to move forward with their plan.”
She leaned forward, her eyes set on his.
“It seems that Steven was drugging June in order to knock her out so that when she slept, he could search through her house for it. When that didn’t work, he started an affair with Jeanie, continuing to drug June, so he and Jeanie could spend time together in the hope that she might reveal where the original was.”
“But she didn’t know where it was.”
“No, she didn’t. Anyway, while all this was going on, Dean and Steven were also working on excavating the utility tunnel, because Dean thought, from what he could remember of the manuscript, that was the most likely location of this supposed treasure.”
“But when they finally broke through, they found it empty, right?”
“Right. Dean was furious, as he had invested all his money into the project and was left empty-handed.”
“So he had a fight with Steven that night in the garage. But I thought you said he wasn’t Steven’s attacker?”
“I did, and they did, but just a few punches were exchanged. Dean swears that when he left, Steven was fine.”
“So how does Dorothy fit into all this? Was she a partner, too?”
He shook his head. “She wasn’t part of their scheme, but she did catch on to it. She was already furious with June for dismissing her from working on the book; she felt like June ignored her and wouldn’t share credit for the success of the book. She found another way to make sure she got payment for the research work she’d helped June with in the beginning.”
“From the first day I met Dorothy, I had a gut feeling she was involved somehow and hiding something. I should have known better and followed my instincts.”
“But you did as soon as you had proof, like Dorothy having June’s phone and her lying about being with Jeanie at the hospital. And you acted on them—you let me know.”
“And look where it got me.” She pointed to her neck. “There were just so many puzzle pieces I was missing. No wonder I couldn’t put them together.”
“But you had most of them. Just think, if you hadn’t been asked to join that book club, we wouldn’t know half of what we do. So I figure that because of your intuition, we are miles ahead in unraveling all those pieces you’re whining about.” He took her hand, rubbing his thumb in small circles over the back of it. Her skin quivered under his touch, and she pulled her hand away.
“Anyway, getting back to another one of those missing pieces.” He took a deep breath. “Apparently, when June and Dorothy were leaving the book club meeting, they noticed the utility shed door wasn’t quite secured. As I understand it, Dean and Steven were working down there, and a pebble had probably gotten stuck in the doorjamb, so it hadn’t latched behind them.”
“Pretty sloppy on their part.”
“Well, neither man showed much smarts through this whole thing anyway. Except when Dean had a good friend who worked for the utility company and he managed to make a copy of the shed key that his friend had.”
“Maybe he was smarter than I thought.” She looked down at her hand in her lap and wished she hadn’t pulled it away from him. She needed his warmth, his touch.
“June was curious as to why the door wasn’t secured and went in. Dorothy had already started to put things together about what Steven was really up to with June, so she followed her in. When she saw the extension cord and a tool kit she’d seen once in the trunk of his car when he drove her home after a book club meeting, it confirmed it for her. She had never told June about the tools or her suspicions, so when June wanted to call the police because things didn’t appear right in the shed, they had an argument.”
“And I’m guessing that since Dorothy was already furious with June for cutting her out of the book deal, she wasn’t going to let her cut her out of an opportunity to get her hands on a piece of the treasure, too?”
“Exactly. She said she wasn’t thinking straight, saw a shovel by the door, and, well . . .”
“Wow.” Addie sat back. “Dorothy was the killer all along.” She shook her head. “I didn’t see that one coming. Was it her, then, who called in the report about me having the shovel?”
“No. That was Lacey trying drive a deeper wedge between you and me, and to keep her news stories going.”
“It all really does come down to something my dad always said.”
“What’s that?”
“The motive behind every murder is love, jealousy, or money. It seems this one had all three.”
He shifted on his chair. “I think your dad was onto something with that.”
“Did she say why she hung onto June’s cell phone?”
“There are lots of nasty emails and text exchanges between them, and she didn’t want anyone to see them.”
Addie rubbed the sides of her neck.
“Stop that.” Marc pulled her hand away and helped her to her feet. “Come on, let’s go. We both need sleep.”
She shook her head and flopped back into the chair.
He kneeled beside her. “Now what?”
“I was just thinking . . .”
“Oh no,” he groaned and laid his head on the armrest.
“You stop it.” She looked at his hair, just inches away from her hand. How her fingers itched to feel the softness. “You know what the really sad part of all of this is—aside, of course, from so many people getting hurt by it? Is that any treasure’s been gone for years, and I think June tried to tell people that after she found the British navy’s document on their exploits here. The only real treasures left to discover were the first editions of A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates in my aunt’s attic.”
“How much are they worth?” Marc lifted his head off the armrest and studied her.
“Well, not a fortune—only about fifteen to twenty thousand all together—but these copies are in a remarkably good condition so might get a little more on the open market.”
“So what’s your plan with them?”
She shrugged. “Not sure. I think I’ll probably donate them. Maybe take them to Boston to see if the library or maybe the Marine Museum will be interested. After all, you have to consider how many works of classic literature this set inspired. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, to name only one.”
“So, after all this, June did find a treasure.” Marc smiled. “Well, I’m sure one of them will be interested.” He stood up again and assisted her to her feet.
She held on to his hands long
er than necessary. “Yeah, I’ll think on it and maybe take a drive down there and see what they say.”
“Okay, but first, you sleep.” He placed his hand on the small of her back and escorted her out the door.
* * *
Addie quickly showered and dressed, then dabbed some makeup on to hide the dark circles that no sleep brings out. She hopped in her car, opting to take the scenic coastal highway to Salem, after the events of the night. She needed the serenity of it to calm herself down. Her plan setting out was then to cut over to a route, just past Salem that would lead her to the interstate. Addie crossed her fingers that her nerves and lack of sleep wouldn’t catch up to her before she hit the crazy traffic into Boston. She estimated that the round-trip should take less than two hours, including her stop and then nothing was going to keep her from her warm, comfy bed. That was the mental carrot she dangled in front of herself as she turned onto the highway.
On the drive, she was still torn between which one she should approach first: the library or the museum. Addie hesitated for a moment when she came to an overhead sign indicating an exit ramp, at the last minute. She cut hard to the right and sailed into the early-morning traffic. She pulled up in front of the museum, parked, grabbed her bag from the seat, and headed through the entrance. There was no one at the desk by the door, so she walked over to the back counter.
A silver-haired woman looked up from the paperwork spread out in front of her. “Addie, great to see you again.”
“Hi, Hanna.” She grinned. “I have something for you.” She pulled the original 1724 version, and the 1726 and 1728 volumes printed by Thomas Woodward of A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pyrates out of her bag and laid them on the countertop.
“What?” Hanna patted her chest. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope, they’re all yours to display in the museum.”
Hanna stroked the calfskin binding. “How much are you selling them for? They must be worth—”
“No, I’m donating them.”
“You can’t be serious.” Her mouth dropped open.
“I am,” Addie said, smiling, “in my aunt’s name and in memory of June. I can’t think of a better home for them than with the descendant of a real pirate queen who is working at something that she was obviously born to do.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She looked down at the books and caressed the soft leather with her fingers.
“Have a great day.” Addie turned and headed out the door.
“Thank . . . thank you,” Hanna called out.
Addie stopped on the step. She looked up at the pirate statue, winked, and shook her head. “Pirate books, treasure maps, and ghosts—what next, a band of rogue elves out to destroy Christmas?” She chuckled and headed to her car.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Lauren Elliott’s next Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery,
MURDER IN THE FIRST EDITION,
coming soon wherever
print and eBooks are sold!
Addison Greyborne’s eyes glistened with the reflection of the glimmering snowflakes hanging from the delicate fairy lights she’d retrieved from her aunt’s attic. They were perfect. Both of her shop’s bay windows resembled a winter wonderland of lights. She wrapped her arms around her middle and crossed her fingers. Hopefully, the holiday glow would beckon passersby.
“Morning, Addie,” a stocky woman called as she passed along the sidewalk.
“Good morning, Carol.” Addie smiled and waved.
Had it really only been just over a year since she’d established Beyond the Page, her book and curio shop? It was hard to believe given the bumps and bruises she’d endured along the way, but now, she was truly a part of this town that she’d grown to love.
“Good morning, Addie,” another passerby called out.
“Morning,” she said, smiling.
“Your displays are looking good.”
“Thanks.” Addie grinned and took a step back to get a clearer view of both windows. The display of books in the right one caught her attention.
She pressed her face to the cold glass, wiped off the condensation from her warm breath, and peered at the small tree in the center, colorfully decorated with antique ornaments. But it was still missing something. Tinsel! That’s what it needed, and the book sets she’d wrapped with holiday ribbon and displayed like gifts on a red tree skirt beneath it needed an extra splash of sparkle to make it all just perfect. She made a mental note to buy tinsel and added another package of artificial snow to her shopping list. Outdoor inspection complete, she opened the door to her store and drew in a deep breath.
The crisp smell of the New England sea air combined with the scent of old books and leather tickled at her nose, but this morning she also detected the hint of a new aroma. It appeared that Paige Stringer, her shop assistant, had placed small, festive bowls and baskets of apple-cinnamon potpourri on bookshelves throughout the shop.
The fragrance stirred warm memories of her childhood home and her family, now all since passed, including her beloved David. They were to have been married by now and should have been celebrating the season together, but he . . . A tear slid down her cheek. She swatted at it and forced that memory back into its box in her mind as she headed for the coffee maker on the far end of the long antique Victorian bar she used for a sales counter.
Paige poked her blond, curly head out of the storeroom, grinned, waved, and disappeared back inside. Addie shook her head and tossed her purse and red wool coat on the counter. Dropping a coffee pod into the machine, she sorted through the previous day’s receipts as the aroma of fresh brewing coffee taunted her. Paige reappeared, wearing an “I ♥ the Cook” apron and carrying two steaming mugs in her hands.
“What are you up to?”
“Well?” Paige waved a mug under Addie’s nose. “What do you think?”
“I think I smell my grandmother’s Christmas apple-spiced punch?” Addie clasped the cup and waved the fragrance toward her. She took a sip. “Yes, perfect.” She beamed over the rim.
“Good.” Paige gave a toothy grin. “After you told me yesterday that your grandmother’s punch was one of your fondest Christmas memories, I worked most of the night perfecting the recipe you gave me.”
Addie took another sip. “You’ve done well, thank you.”
“I brought in a small hot plate so I can prepare it in the back room and a large coffee urn that we can refill as needed. I thought it might be a good idea to have it up here on the counter for customers. You know as an alternative to coffee for the holidays. What do you think?”
“I think,” Addie said, setting her mug down, crossing her arms, and looking hard at Paige, “that you come up with some . . .”
Paige sucked in a sharp breath.
“. . . of the most . . . outstanding ideas.”
Paige’s cheeks flushed with a rosy glow. “You always get me.”
“Just keeping you on your toes.” Addie winked, grinning. “I don’t want all your brilliant ideas going to your head.”
“No risk of that happening with you as my boss.” Paige returned an exaggerated wink. “I’ll fill the urn and set it up.” She swung on her heel and headed to the back room, straightening bookshelves as she went.
Addie smiled at her protégé. She really had turned out to be the perfect employee, despite her best friend, and the local tea merchant, Serena’s, initial misgivings as to where Paige’s loyalties might lie. Would they be with Addie, her employer, or the tyrant baker next door, Martha, her mother? But time proved Paige most adept at finding a balance between the two of them.
Addie scanned the store. A large wreath and a few more lighted green garlands to wrap around the pillar posts would complete the holiday ensemble. Now to only find time to shop. When she glanced past the window, she spotted a man dressed in a black trench coat and black hat with the brim pulled down covering his features. He stood across the street, seemingly staring at her shop. A
shiver traveled up her spine. She moved closer to the window for a better look, but a large delivery van pulled up, blocking her view of the man.
The courier driver hopped down from his truck and scurried to her front door, yanking it open. The door chimes protested with a merry tinkle. Within thirty seconds, he had delivered a package, asked for a signature, and left with the same force, the chimes still echoing from the first time. She peered across the street after Mr. Speedy screeched away. The man in black was gone.
Addie shrugged and glanced at the large envelope. From Boston. With a smile, she placed it on a shelf under the front counter. The door chimes rang. She looked up, a welcoming smile forming on her lips. The color drained from her face, and the smile faded. The man in black removed his hat, ran a leather-gloved hand over his silver hair, and stood silently staring at her.
She grasped the counter edge to keep her wobbly knees in check. “Jonathan?”
“Hi, Addie.” A smile tickled the corners of his mouth.
She swallowed hard to release the lump growing in the back of her throat.
He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. “Maybe I should have called first?”
“No.” She shook her head and walked around the end of the counter. “You just surprised me. That’s all. Come in; please have a seat.” She motioned to a counter stool. “Would you like some coffee, or hot spiced Christmas punch?”
He shook his head and slid onto a stool. “Coffee’s fine. Just a quick warm-up and I’ll be on my way.” He pulled off his gloves.
“You’re leaving?” She glanced over her shoulder from where she stood at the coffee maker. “But you just got here.”
“Afraid so. There’s a big storm coming tonight or tomorrow, and I’d like to get past it before the highways are closed. But I’d heard you’d moved to Greyborne Harbor, and, well . . . just stopped to say hello.”
“Five sugars, right?” She grimaced, wondering how he didn’t go into instant sugar shock as she passed him his coffee. “This is hardly on the interstate running to and from anywhere, is it?”
Prologue to Murder Page 29