Murder in the First Edition

by Lauren Elliott

“Hi, Addie, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve seen you a few times around the hospital, haven’t I?”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Just hopping all over the place.” She fought the tears coming. “Look, I . . . ah . . . have to go and . . . buy a Christmas tree. Ho, ho, ho, and all that jazz.” She didn’t, couldn’t wait for any response and hustled to the Jeep.

  Chapter 27

  Addie pulled into her parking spot in the alleyway behind her shop. She glanced in the rearview mirror and groaned. The black circles etched around her eyes definitely spotlighted her red puffy eyelids. How could she go in looking as bad as she did? Still, it was no excuse to call in sick. Or tired. She slammed her hand against the steering wheel, her Mini Cooper beeping in protest. Sick and tired. That’s what she was. Sick of the tears, the men, the mystery. Dipping her head, she inhaled deeply for four counts and exhaled through her nose for four more. Despite looking as wretched as she felt, she trudged into her shop and shuffled to the front.

  “Good morning.” Paige smiled, looking up from reading the newspaper on the counter. Her grin faded as she searched Addie’s face. “Or is it?”

  Addie’s lips made a lame attempt at a smile. “Not really, it was a long night.” She shuffled some books on the counter. Stacking them first by size and then alphabetically. Before long, she swooshed them along the counter like fallen dominoes.

  “Want some coffee?”

  Addie nodded but didn’t look up from the books.

  “Okay, one strong, hot coffee coming up.” Paige dropped a pod into the coffeemaker, and when it finished brewing the single cup, she stirred in some cream. She passed it over the counter to her. “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  Addie held on to the cup for dear life, its warmth seeping into her. “Thanks, I will, but I’m fine, really.”

  “Just know I’m here if you need anything,” Paige reminded her as she folded the newspaper. “Ah, first fish of the day.” She grinned and, with a winning smile, approached a customer.

  Addie shoved the paper under the counter, sipped her coffee, and ran the receipt totals from the previous day. The morning flew by. It appeared half the town was shopping. By lunchtime, the books left to be sold on consignment mounted into three stacks behind the counter. Paige retrieved a bin from the back to store them in until they could be priced. As Addie loaded them, one title caught her eye. State of Fear by Michael Crichton. She glanced over the dust jacket blurb on the back. “Do you remember who brought this in?”

  “Yeah, it was Marjorie, one of our regulars. She said she found it in her garbage can when she took her trash out. She couldn’t understand why someone would throw it away because it’s in such good condition, so she thought why not try to sell it. Why, is it important?”

  “No, I’ve just been looking for my copy and couldn’t find it. I think I’ll buy this one.” She set it beside the cash register. “That is weird, though. I never could understand why people would throw away a perfectly good book.” Addie shrugged. “Oh well, my gain. Look, it’s past lunch, and there’s a lull. Why don’t you go grab something to eat?”

  “I can pick something up for you, too?”

  “No, that’s fine. I’m not really hungry right now.”

  “Okay, be back in a minute.” Paige grabbed her purse from under the counter and headed out the door.

  “Put your coat on,” Addie called after her, but it was too late. Addie shook her head, chuckling, and lifted the book bin, struggling to balance it on the top rack of the cart. One hand holding it steady, she attempted to steer it with the other to the back room. The door chimes jingled behind her. She spun around and the bin slid off, crashing to the floor. “Hi, Serena, I’ll be with you in a minute. Just let me deal with this.” She hoisted it up onto one knee, balanced it, and Serena arrived just in time to help steady it on the top shelf. “Thanks,” she puffed. “Are we going to have lunch?” She looked at Serena’s pinched face and stopped short. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

  Serena plucked a tissue out of her coat pocket. “Don’t worry, it’s clean. I stocked up in case you needed them after I tell you what I found out this morning.”

  “What are you talking about?” They steered the cart off to the side in the back room. “What’s going on?”

  Serena took a deep breath, fidgeting with the costume rings she wore on her fingers. “I’ll start at the beginning,” she said, dropping onto a crate.

  “That’s always the best place.” Addie slid onto the crate beside her.

  “I dropped in to see Patrick this morning, just to ask if there were any more updates about the gala. He never sent anyone the confirmation e-mail about what he’d said at the meeting.” Serena heaved a sigh. “Well, he wasn’t in his office, and Crystal wasn’t at her desk, so I went to see if they were downstairs. . . .”

  “And?”

  “Not there, either. I thought they must be around somewhere, maybe in a meeting or something. . . .”

  “Okay,” Addie prodded, “and were they?”

  “I’ll get to that. Just let me say what I have to first, please?”

  “Sorry, by all means continue.”

  Serena shifted on the box and turned slightly toward her. “I decided to go to the cafeteria and grab a coffee and wait awhile and then try to find him again.” She glanced at Addie’s tapping foot and rolled her eyes. “I saw that nurse, Courtney, the one with Simon last night, having coffee with some nursing friends.” Addie swallowed hard. “She didn’t see me last night in the Jeep, so I knew she wouldn’t recognize me, and I sat at the table beside theirs, just curious, you know.” She pulled on one of her gaudy rings. “They were talking about her date with Simon, asking her how it went and if his lips were as delicious as they looked.”

  “What did she say?”

  Serena pressed her lips tight and looked at Addie. “She told them she wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, and then giggled and said, ‘I can only confirm that the rumors might be true.’ ”

  Addie let out a deep breath and leaned back on her hands.

  “But that’s not all.”

  “It’s enough, isn’t it?”

  “No. Then one of the others said, ‘I heard he had a girlfriend.’ Courtney waved her off and said something like Simon and this chick were just friends. Apparently, she had meant nothing to him.”

  Addie paced the back room. She fought for control. It was as if Simon himself had punched her in the stomach.

  Serena came up behind her and rubbed her shoulders. “I’m afraid it doesn’t end there.”

  Addie hung her head, fighting the urge to spew out the acrid taste rising in the back of her throat.

  “According to Courtney, she even got to ride in Simon’s Tesla Roadster.” Serena rolled her eyes. “Little Miss Fancy-pants now loves the high life and has no intention of letting Simon off her little grubby, infected, skanky—”

  Addie grabbed Serena’s shoulders. “She really said that?” A smile twisted at the corners of her lips.

  Serena drew back. “Well, a variation of that. She certainly made it quite clear that she only wanted him for his money. Why, what does it mean?”

  “It means she’s one of those, the ones that Simon can’t stand and goes out of his way to avoid. He told me about her kind the first time we met.” She kissed Serena’s cheek. “Thank you, thank you. You’ve made my day.”

  Serena stepped back, her mouth hanging open.

  Addie handed her back the tissue. “I won’t need this.”

  “Not exactly the reaction I expected, but”—Serena shrugged her shoulders—“I’ll take it.” She peered at Addie. “What do you mean you talked about it the first time you met? I was there, and I don’t remember him saying that?”

  Addie waved her off. “It was later, after we all left the Grey Gull. He was waiting for me at my house when I got home, and we talked and actually had an argument about it.”

  “What? You never told me that.”

&n
bsp; “I’m sure I did.”

  Serena crossed her arms, and if looks could kill, Marc would be trying to solve her murder right about now. “Well, maybe . . .” Addie bit the side of her lip. “You’re right. I didn’t tell you because the argument was about you.”

  “Me? What did I do?” Serena’s eyes flashed.

  Addie sat on the edge of her desk. “If you remember that day, then you have to also remember your very failed attempt at playing the seductress. You were convinced he was the man of your dreams, just like this Courtney, I might add, and you even got mad at me for talking to him at dinner.”

  Serena relaxed her arms and crinkled up her nose. “I remember.”

  “Okay, well, I thought he was being rude to you when he ignored you and only spoke to me, and I let him know it when he showed up at my place later. He explained why, and I guess it made sense, but at the time I thought it was just an excuse and not a heartfelt apology for him having caused friction between you and me.”

  “What did he say? What did you say?”

  “He said he was tired of meeting women who were only interested in him because he was a doctor and knew he could give them a, well . . . a certain lifestyle, and he thought you came across as one of those.”

  “Me?” Her eyes bulged. “Me?” She stabbed her finger into her chest. “Well, that conceited—”

  “I know, I know.” Addie waved both hands. “That’s exactly what I said, but then he pointed out that you appeared to be more focused on the fact that he was a doctor, and that was clear right from the start when you introduced me to him.” Her shoulders sagged. “I couldn’t say much after that because it was true.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Yes, you did. The first thing you said when you introduced me to him was this is Dr. Emerson”—her fingers wagged quotation marks in the air—“and then your eyelashes did that crazed butterfly thingy.”

  Serena slumped down on her crate. “Zach’s going to be a doctor, too.” She leaned her elbow on her knee and cupped her chin in her hands. “Maybe I do have an issue, like this Courtney.”

  “No, sweetie.” Addie sat down beside her. “You never introduced Zach as a doctor and barely talk about him like that. To you, he’s just your Zach, and you love him for who he is, not what he is.” She squeezed Serena’s shoulder. “Simon just wasn’t the one for you, and it didn’t take you long to figure that out because then you met Zach.”

  “Now, I get your reaction. Are you going to tell him what I overheard?”

  “I’d love to, but no.” Addie gnawed on her lip. “If I do, then I come across as being jealous, and he might just dig his heels in with her, so I have no choice but for him to figure her out on his own.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then it was meant to be. Not much I can do about it. I already pushed him away, so he is bound to find someone else . . . sometime. I just didn’t think it would be this soon.”

  “But if you had it to do all over again, would you still push him away? Look what just seeing him with her did to you last night. It must mean that you care more than you’re letting on.”

  Addie stood up and stretched out her neck and shoulders.

  “You do, don’t you?” Serena spun Addie toward her. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t.”

  Addie closed her eyes. “I can’t because I don’t know yet. I feel the same about Marc when I see him talking to another woman.”

  “Did I hear my name?”

  Addie spun around and shrank under Marc’s gaze. “How long have you been standing there?”

  Addie noted something that she’d never seen from him before, color creeping from under his collar to his cheeks. “I . . . ah . . .”

  Both her hands raked over her forehead. “You heard every word, didn’t you?”

  Marc adjusted his police belt and looked at the covered crime board. “Nice to see for once that you guys aren’t back here playing detective.”

  Serena raised her hands in a helpless gesture. Addie just shook her head. “What brings you in today?” She studied the tips of her boots, not certain she would ever be able to look him in the eye again. She was mortified. Her mind replayed over and over the conversation they’d just had, but it all blurred together, and now she couldn’t remember a word she or Serena had said. God, she just wanted the ground to open under her feet and swallow her.

  “I was in the neighborhood—”

  “Like you are most every day.” Serena gave him an exaggerated eye roll.

  “Yes, but I was just speaking with Catherine and her sister. Joyce, isn’t it?” He rocked back on his heels. “She asked me an interesting question, so I thought I’d drop in and see if either of you knew the answer.”

  “Riddle me that?” Addie asked her cuticles, which were sadly in a state of disrepair.

  A beat of silence, then an exasperated breath from Marc. “She asked me if I’d seen Jonathan today.”

  “Why?” Her cuticles really needed some work.

  “Because when she got up this morning, he wasn’t there. She went into his room—”

  “They don’t share a room?” Addie dropped her hand to her side and met Marc’s gaze. “But I thought—”

  “See”—Serena poked her elbow in Addie’s ribs—“you don’t know everything, Sherlock.”

  Addie’s face screwed up, and she responded with a playful elbow jab of her own.

  Marc fidgeted with his cap in his hands. “Anyway, he didn’t come back and hasn’t called, and she just wondered if I’d seen him. I haven’t and thought maybe he’d been in here or your place, Serena?”

  “Nope, but we’ll let you know if he does,” Addie said.

  “That’s interesting,” Serena piped up.

  “What do you know, Serena?” Marc perched one hip on the edge of the desk.

  “This was the part of my story that I didn’t have a chance to tell you yet, Addie. When I found Patrick this morning, he was running around like a crazy person. Apparently, Crystal hadn’t shown up for work this morning, leaving him all the legwork.” She crossed her arms, a smug expression on her face as she rocked back on her heels, displaying a perfect impersonation of her brother.

  Any other time Addie would have busted out laughing, but Serena’s information reminded her of what she had written on the board before the message appeared. “And now Crystal is MIA, too.” She whipped the cover off the board.

  “No, no, no, don’t disappoint me now.” Marc’s fingers raked through his hair. “You two were doing so well at minding your own business and not meddling in police matters.”

  “Not really,” Serena giggled. “Before yesterday, this board looked exactly like the one at Addie’s house.”

  “It sounds like yesterday you came to your senses, so don’t start back up now.”

  “Too late.” Addie grabbed the chalk and wrote, Crystal—Jonathan.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Helping you with your job,” Serena said from her perch on the crate.

  Addie joined her and grinned. “We have a theory.”

  Marc groaned. “Of course, you do.”

  Chapter 28

  While Serena distracted her brother with a narration of past events that took on the flavor of an amateur stand-up comedy night routine, Addie copied the brown paper notes from home to the chalk crime board. She dusted off her hands and then settled onto a crate and enjoyed the remainder of her friend’s show.

  Serena’s song and dance routine about Jonathan and Crystal and their nebulous relationship morphed into a Broadway production displaying Amy Miller, ecoterrorist, aka Crystal’s maybe doctorate-educated sister from Australia. During the jazz hand scene, Serena explained that Jonathan, because he was suspicious and had been to Australia as well, could be in on it all. When all the information had been regaled, she flopped breathless onto the crate.

  Addie gave her a standing ovation. “Bravo! Encore!”

  Marc simply stared, blinked, and
then blinked again. “Those are honestly the most outlandish theories that you two have ever come up with. This isn’t a spy movie. It’s a simple, old-fashioned case of murder. We now know the where and when, so my job is to find out the who and why, now that we have the what and how figured out. It’s standard police procedure, not a freaking stage production.”

  “But that’s what we’ve done, and it makes perfect sense. Just look.” Serena pointed to the board.

  His gaze turned to Addie, his eyes twinkling with a hint of amusement, but they darkened when he glanced past her to the board. “I should have known.” He gestured over his shoulder. “She was just the front man for the real show going on behind my back.” He tucked his thumbs in his belt and scanned the board. “You really can’t be serious with all this, this . . .” He waved his hand across the blackboard. “Did you think me seeing it in black and white would convince me to believe it and take action on any part of these harebrained ideas the two of you have come up with while playing back-room detective?”

  Addie’s eyes flashed. “Yes, look at the names and the connections, and don’t try and tell me this all doesn’t mean something.” She stabbed her finger at the words murder weapon—blue-ringed octopus toxin, Amy Miller, Teresa falls to death. “How else do you explain it showing up in a sushi roll when it is far from being considered a delicacy in any culture except maybe a murderer’s?”

  “That’s not the point I’m disputing.” His voice quivered with pent-up frustration. “It’s this”—his finger pointed to the line linking Crystal, Jonathan, and Amy Miller—“you have implicated your own father-in-law in—”

  “He’s not actually . . .” Addie’s chin jutted out.

  “My apologies”—he pursed his lips—“almost father-in-law, and what for? There is no motive listed here for him to be involved in some great conspiracy. You’re better off looking closer at what you have written about the connection between Patrick and Marvin and the still-missing book because we do know, for a fact”—he stressed those last words, pinning her with a glare—“that Marvin, the known shady book broker, was seen arguing with Patrick the night before he was found in the closet. After getting the results back on Marvin’s rental car, the break lines were in fact cut, making Patrick the number-one suspect there.” The side of his fist struck the board.