by Sara Rosett
“Page Turners? Your book club?”
“Yes. You should come. We meet once a month and read something Austen-related, either one of Jane’s books or something based on her work.”
“I’ve never read any Jane Austen fan fiction,” I said, thinking of Elise’s demand that we amaze her with our pitches.
Louise had been leaning, elbows on the bar, but she straightened. “Anyway, Harriet Hayden is the main reason I’m going to the Christmas market. She’s had a booth there the last few years. It’s the only place to get an autographed copy of her latest book.”
“She doesn’t do book signings?”
“No.” Louise frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand it. The chap at Slightly Foxed acts like he’s never heard of her,” Louise said, naming the only bookstore for miles around, which was located in Upper Benning. “The owner says he doesn’t carry her books because she publishes them herself instead of through a big company.” Louise shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense to me. Harriet Hayden’s new books are always best sellers. At least, online.”
Nether Woodsmoor had plenty of tea shops, restaurants, and stores carrying quaint items that appealed to the weekend tourists who arrived in the area to bike and hike, but purchasing anything from books to housewares required either a trip to the next larger town, Upper Benning, or an online order.
Louise shrugged. “So, if I want an autographed copy of Georgiana’s Intrigue it will have to be at the Christmas market. That’s her latest. I already read it on my e-reader, but I like to have the autographed paper copy, too. Are you coming with me? It’s just what you need to take your mind off this,” she said with a nod at my Christmas list. “Come on, who knows what you’ll find.”
I closed the Moleskine notebook. “Sounds great. I’ll run home and get Alex’s car. He’s letting me borrow it while he’s gone.”
Louise waved the idea away with an easy flick of her wrist. “Ride with me. My car’s right here.” She removed her green apron and greeted Ella, the teenager with long red hair who had stepped behind the bar.
I bundled up and followed Louise out of the pub. As we circled around to the back where her royal blue Ford Fiesta was parked, a movement along the street caught my eye. The road was busy with pedestrians toting shopping bags and compact cars zipping along, but my attention focused on one woman across the street, probably because she was staring at me. It was as if I could feel her gaze on me, which drew mine. It was the same woman I’d seen on Cottage Lane. She took a hesitant step forward, then stopped as a car tooted its horn at her. She stepped back on the curb as the car whisked by.
“Kate, are you coming?” Louise called from a few feet farther down the narrow alley that ran between the pub and another shop. “If you changed your mind and want to get your car, I’ll wait. You can follow me.”
I took a couple of steps down the alley. “No, that’s fine.” As I turned away, I got a last glimpse of the woman. She stood, her face ambivalent as she watched me. Then she turned and got into the gray hatchback. I picked up my pace and joined Louise at her car. It almost seemed as if the woman was following me. But that was crazy. Why would anyone follow me?
Chapter 2
“WHAT’S WRONG, LUV?” LOUISE ASKED as she signaled to turn into the parking area reserved for the Christmas market.
I pulled my attention away from the side mirror. I couldn’t think of a single reason anyone in the world would follow me, and I would have written off the two sightings of the woman as coincidence, except that she had been staring at me.
Both times.
I had watched the road behind us as Louise pulled out of her parking space behind the pub. A small gray hatchback had fallen in behind Louise’s car before we crossed the bridge and left Nether Woodsmoor. The gloomy day made it hard to see the driver, but the hatchback never passed us or closed the distance. A few times, another car slipped in between us and the gray car, but eventually the other cars passed or turned off, revealing the headlights of the gray car still shining in the side view mirror.
“I saw a woman as we left the pub. She was outside my cottage earlier. Both times, she was watching me.”
Louise gave me a worried look as she swung into a parking place.
“And I think she followed us here.” I twisted around and looked out the back window, but no silver car cruised by. I opened my door and stepped out, scanning the parking area.
“It could have been just one of those things,” Louise said. “Plenty of people out shopping today. Lots of silver cars, too.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I picked up my purse. “On to the market,” I said, trying to put some enthusiasm into my voice, but I continued to look at the cars as we walked to the green and its towering Christmas tree.
A petting zoo with several reindeer dominated one open area while a couple of stages ringed the tree. A country dance was in progress on one stage, the men and women lined up on opposite sides, stepping forward and back and weaving through the lines in elaborate patterns as music played over loudspeakers. We paused to watch the dancers, who were in Regency dress. I thought some of the women looked a cold.
Bundled up children swarmed around a puppet show on another stage. Booths decorated with evergreen, twinkling lights, holly, and mistletoe ran around the perimeter of the green and spilled into some of the side streets, selling everything from evergreen wreaths to refrigerator magnets. The aroma of roasted chestnuts drifted our way from the food area, where I also spotted a tent serving hot chocolate and snacks. Most of the vendors were in traditional dress, the women’s long skirts swishing as they moved and the men repeatedly lifting their chins as they tugged at their fancy cravats.
We browsed through the stalls, Louise picking up gifts for some of her employees, until I came to a stop in front of a booth selling antique prints. I saw one with a vintage car and flicked through the stack, stopping at a print ad with a red MG Midget convertible. The MG symbol floated in the background behind the images of the car. The text at the bottom of the ad touted the slogan, “Safety Fast!” It wasn’t the same year model as Alex owned, but I knew he’d like it. I pulled it out and showed Louise. “I think Alex would like this.”
“See, I knew you’d find something.”
The owner stepped forward. “Sorry, but that one is sold.” He pointed to a tiny sticker near the price tag. “I may have another one at my shop. Should I check for you?”
“Yes, please do,” I said with a sigh. Of course the only potential gift I’d found was sold.
“I’ll have to take your name and call you tomorrow.” He reached for a pen and paper.
I gave him my phone number and found Louise outside the booth, consulting the free map of the booths that we’d picked up on our way in. “Where to now?” I asked. “Should we find your author?”
“Yes, she should be down this way, near the food.” Louise strode briskly across the green. She stopped short outside a booth and read a sign aloud, “Harriet Hayden regrets that she is not able to be here.” Louise’s voice rose questioningly on the last words. “That can’t be right.”
Inside the booth, we stepped up to a table beside a haggard-looking woman with a half-grown out blond dye job that contrasted sharply with her own dark brown roots. I probably wouldn’t have noticed her, except that once you entered the area around her, it was obvious that she hadn’t showered in a few days. I shot a sideways glance at her and noticed she wasn’t wearing a coat, only jeans and a worn brown sweatshirt that was fraying at the cuffs and neckline. She seemed quite different from most of the other attendees, who were bundled in thick coats and seemed to be mostly families with young kids or women shoppers intently working their way through the market. I wondered if the woman was homeless.
She stepped aside, making room for us at the table, which was set up with stacks of books, bookmarks, and an eight-by-ten photograph of a woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties with a round face, a generous smile, rosy cheeks, and shoulder-leng
th pale brown hair parted on the side that hung straight to her shoulders. She exuded an air of quiet confidence as she smiled out from the photo.
Louise bent to read the smaller print on the sign. “See All Things Jane for purchases.” An arrow pointed to the right.
“But she never misses a Christmas market,” Louise said. “Never. She’s one of the original organizers.”
“Exactly,” said a voice directly behind me. Louise and I both turned. The scruffy woman was gone, but the woman I’d seen outside my cottage and the pub stood in front of me.
I stepped back instinctively. My legs bumped into the edge of the table and the photo toppled. The woman didn’t look threatening, but I still wanted some distance between us. The way she’d quietly appeared directly behind me unnerved me. Up close, I could see that she was small-framed and petite. Her glasses were too heavy and clunky and overwhelmed her delicate bone structure.
“That’s what I thought, too—” she broke off then smiled. “Louise! I didn’t recognize you with your new hair color. I like it, very flattering with your porcelain skin. Here, let me fix this picture.” She moved to the table.
“You know her?” I asked quietly to Louise while the woman’s back was turned to us. “It’s her, the woman who has been following me.”
“Gina?” Louise said. “Gina has been following you? Why on earth?”
The woman adjusted the picture and turned back to us, looking embarrassed. “I do apologize, but I thought you might be able to help…about Harriet, you know. Louise told us at the book club all about how you helped the police, and I thought, well, since the police don’t seem to care, maybe you could look into it.” Her hand fluttered up to her glasses. She repositioned them and said, “I’m sorry. I’m going about this completely the wrong way.” She put out her hand. “I’m Gina Brill. I should have introduced myself this morning.”
I shook her hand. “Kate Sharp. Nice to meet you.” Now that she was talking in a soft, hesitant way, I didn’t feel threatened.
“That’s why I was outside your cottage,” she continued, “but it seemed rather forward—walking straight up to you on your doorstep.” She looked at Louise. “I should have had you ask her, Louise, but you’re always so busy. I thought I’d do it myself, but…well,” she turned back to me. “Once I saw you, it was as if everything I’d prepared to say just disappeared from my brain. I couldn’t think of one word. So I followed you to the pub. I had just screwed up my courage to go in and talk to you when you left. So I followed you here.”
“But why? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.”
“Because of Harriet. Something is wrong. Very wrong. As Louise said, Harriet would never miss a Christmas market. I think,” she faltered and repositioned her glasses before continuing, “I think something bad has happened to her. She wouldn’t miss the Christmas market,” Gina repeated then turned to Louise as she said, “And she was working on that Valentine novella, which she promised to let the book club read before she released it. She was very specific about the dates. She said she’d have it to us by December first and that she’d need it back from us by the New Year with feedback. She wouldn’t forget something like that.”
The draping that separated the booths was swept back on one side and a tall woman in a Regency bonnet and green velvet pelisse stepped into the booth. In contrast to her clothes, her narrow face was heavily made-up with thick eyeliner, false lashes, and pink lipstick. Her thick golden-brown hair hung down her back and heavy bangs stuck out from under the brim of the bonnet. “I thought I heard voices. Louise and Gina. Lovely to see you both. Stopping by for the latest Harriet Hayden book, are you? It’s wonderful, as always.” Despite her words, her dislike of the two women came across, even to me.
“Of course,” Louise said, picking up a book off the top of a stack. “I never miss one.”
“I know. You’re lucky to get it. That’s the last of the batch she signed before she left.”
“Left for where?” Louise asked with a look out of the corner of her eye at Gina.
“The Canary Islands. She hadn’t planned to be there over the holiday, but she called me and said it was so lovely that she just couldn’t leave yet. Do you want to pick up anything else before I ring this up for you?” she asked.
“No, I have the rest,” Louise said succinctly, and I realized that the dislike was mutual.
“Well, I want one.” I reached for a copy of Miss Bingley Suspects. “I’ve heard this one is really good.” I smiled at Louise.
Gina said, “Oh, yes. One of my favorites. She’s at the top of her game in that one.”
The woman cut her glance toward Gina sharply. “Harriet Hayden is always at the top of her game.” Then she turned to me and extended her hand. “Always a pleasure to meet another Janeite. I’m Carrie Webbington. Maybe you’d like to take a look around my booth before I ring this up?”
“Um…sure. I’m Kate,” I said as we followed her through the gap in the draping. Every square inch in Carrie’s booth was filled with tables and portable shelves displaying anything and everything with either a Jane Austen quote or an Austen profile, including mugs and tea sets, shawls and jewelry, keychains and phone covers, tote bags and note cards, even boy short panties with Austen quotes. It was overwhelming. She had to be going for festive and Christmassy, but all of it together added up to claustrophobic. “No, just the book for now. I may be back later.”
“Excellent,” Carrie said as she handed Louise a bag with the words All Things Jane printed on it in a hyper-curly font over a silhouette of Austen.
Louise moved outside the booth to wait with Gina for me. Inside the booth, a tense silence descended as Carrie rang up my book.
To break the atmosphere, I said, “You mentioned the author is in the Canary Islands. My boyfriend is there.”
“What a coincidence,” Carrie said, seizing the topic. “It is a wonderful place, I hear, so I guess it’s not that surprising. It’s a very popular destination, particularly at this time of year with the cold weather here. Harriet says it’s absolutely amazing. We’re neighbors, you know, Harriet and I. We’re very close. Harriet says it’s like a tropical dream there.” She handed me a plastic bag and wiggled her fingers at Louise and Gina.
“Tropical dream, my foot,” Gina said as soon as I’d joined them, and we’d walked a few steps away. The music for another dance began. A vendor called out to us, trying to get us to try his fish and chips. Gina glanced back over her shoulder at the booth, then lowered her voice, despite the racket going on around us. “Harriet loves Christmas and this market. She’d never choose to spend her Christmas anywhere but in England.”
“So you think she’s what? In trouble?” I asked.
“Worse. I think…” Gina’s voice trailed off. She looked over to the Christmas tree, her face sad. She drew in a steadying breath and fixed her glasses firmly on her nose. “I think she’s dead.”
Chapter 3
I EXCHANGED A GLANCE WITH Louise. Gina’s words were stunning, but she looked so distraught that I thought she really meant them.
Louise looked at her friend with concern. “Let’s get a cup of cocoa and sit down.”
I offered to get the drinks and went to turn in our order, hot chocolate for me and Louise—it seemed like a hot chocolate kind of day—and peppermint tea for Gina. “We’ll have it out in a moment,” said a young girl in a Santa hat.
I turned around and nearly bumped into the person in line behind me. I apologized and stepped around her, realizing it was the rather smelly woman from Harriet Hayden’s booth. I found Louise and Gina seated at one end of a deserted table and slid into the long bench opposite them.
Louise nodded at Gina and said, “Tell us all about it, why don’t you?”
Gina blew out a breath. “It sounds so…absurd when I say it aloud. That’s why I hesitated to approach you, Kate. But I really do think that something awful has happened to Harriet.” Gina shifted so that she faced me directly. “I work at the grocer
y, you see. That’s how I met Harriet. She came in at least once a week to do her shopping. I always chat with the customers, and I got to know her a little bit. Then I found out she was the Harriet Hayden. I should have made the connection on my own, of course. I saw her name when she used her card, but it never even crossed my mind that she could be one of my favorite authors. Her picture isn’t in the back of her book, you see. And you don’t expect to meet people like that in your everyday life, do you? One of the librarians pointed her out to me at a library event. I was never so surprised.” Gina paused as the server arrived, the same teen girl in the Santa hat. She handed out steaming mugs.
Gina took a sip of her tea before continuing, “Now you might think that I didn’t know Harriet Hayden that well, but you’d be surprised at what you learn about someone while working at the grocery.” Gina shot a glance at Louise, who nodded.
“I believe you,” Louise said. “I know all kinds of things that people don’t want to broadcast, and I’m not even seeing what they have in their trolleys.”
Gina sipped and nodded. “Yes. I know who bought a pregnancy test last week and which gentleman is suddenly not living at home, from the amount of ready meals he’s suddenly picking up.”
I got that weird feeling that someone was watching me. I glanced around and made eye contact with the haggard woman with the bad dye job. She was seated behind us at another table and had both red-chapped hands wrapped around her mug. When our gaze met, she looked away and took a sip from her mug.
Gina leaned toward me, drawing me back into the conversation. “It’s not that I want to know these things, but there they are. I can’t help seeing them or that I have a good memory.”
“So did Harriet Hayden have some sort of secret that you discovered?” I asked.