Due or Die
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PRAISE FOR
Books Can Be Deceiving
“A sparkling setting, lovely characters, books, knitting, and chowder! What more could any reader ask?”
—Lorna Barrett, New York Times bestselling author of
Sentenced to Death and the Booktown Mysteries
“With a remote coastal setting as memorable as Manderley and a kindhearted, loyal librarian as the novel’s heroine, Books Can Be Deceiving is sure to charm cozy readers everywhere.”
—Ellery Adams, author of the Books by the Bay Mysteries
“Fast-paced and fun, Books Can Be Deceiving is the first in Jenn McKinlay’s appealing new mystery series featuring an endearing protagonist, delightful characters, a lovely New England setting, and a fascinating murder. Don’t miss this charming new addition to the world of traditional mysteries.”
—Kate Carlisle, author of the Bibliophile Mysteries
PRAISE FOR
JENN MCKINLAY’S CUPCAKE BAKERY MYSTERIES
Buttercream Bump Off
“A charmingly entertaining story paired with a luscious assortment of cupcake recipes that, when combined, made for a deliciously thrilling mystery.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Another tasty entry, complete with cupcake recipes, into what is sure to grow into a perennial favorite series.”
—The Mystery Reader
“McKinlay’s descriptions of the cupcakes in Mel and Angie’s shop are guaranteed to make the reader salivate—fortunately, the recipes are included in the back of the book. Engaging characters, hilarious situations, old movie quotes, and, oh yes, a dead body in a hot tub make this a great read.”
—RT Book Reviews
Sprinkle with Murder
“A tender cozy full of warm and likable characters and a refreshingly sympathetic murder victim. Readers will look forward to more of McKinlay’s tasty concoctions.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Sprinkle with Murder is one of the better recent cozy debuts, and a few cupcake recipes in the back are, well, icing on the cake.”
—The Mystery Reader
“McKinlay’s debut mystery flows as smoothly as Melanie Cooper’s buttercream frosting. Her characters are delicious, and the dash of romance is just the icing on the cake.”
—Sheila Connolly, author of Fire Engine Dead
“Jenn McKinlay delivers all the ingredients for a winning read. Frost me another!”
—Cleo Coyle, national bestselling author of
the Coffeehouse Mysteries
“A delicious new series featuring a spirited heroine, luscious cupcakes, and a clever murder. Jenn McKinlay has baked a sweet read.”
—Krista Davis, author of the Domestic Diva Mysteries
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jenn McKinlay
Cupcake Bakery Mysteries
SPRINKLE WITH MURDER
BUTTERCREAM BUMP OFF
DEATH BY THE DOZEN
Library Lover’s Mysteries
BOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING
DUE OR DIE
DUE OR DIE
Jenn McKinlay
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
DUE OR DIE
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.
“Readers Guide” by Jenn McKinlay copyright © 2012 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.
Excerpt from Book, Line, and Sinker by Jenn McKinlay copyright © 2012 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.
Cover illustration by Julia Green.
Cover design by Rita Frangie.
Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-56067-9
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
For my dudes, Wyatt and Beckett,
I’m so glad I get to be your mom.
I love you to infinity and back.
Acknowledgments
Your library is your paradise.
—DESIDERIUS ERASMUS
Writing is a very solitary venture. Hours are spent alone, hunched over a keyboard, creating a reality that becomes so absolute it’s hard to remember that it’s actually fiction. To that end, I tend to get lost in my manuscripts while I write them, so I need a talented and reliable crew to help me find my way out. I am fortunate to have such a team in Kate Seaver, my amazing editor; Katherine Pelz, her lovely editorial assistant; and Jessica Faust, my fabulous agent. Thank you, ladies, for always shining the light where I can see it.
Because I do judge books by their covers, I have to give my most awed thanks to Julia Green, the illustrator of this amazing cover, and Rita Frangie, the cover designer. Truly, it is a work of art. Brilliant!
Lastly, I want to acknowledge my family (the McKinlays and the Orfs) and my friends and fans, who have bought the books and shared the books and encouraged me every step of the way. Thank you!
Table of Con
tents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
The Briar Creek Library Guide to Crafternoons
Readers Guide for Wuthering Heights
Recipes
Book, Line, and Sinker
CHAPTER
1
BRIAR CREEK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
“I could not believe that Lucy agreed to marry Cecil when she was so obviously in love with George,” Violet La Rue declared.
Lindsey Norris glanced up from the lace scarf she was attempting to crochet. What had she been thinking when she thought she could do anything with this cobweb-like yarn? It was maddening.
Violet’s crochet hook was swooping away, row after row, on a lace pillow cover that she was making for her niece, who was getting married in the spring. Violet was using a perle cotton thread that gave the star pattern a subtle luster when it caught the light just right. It was to be the ring bearer’s pillow, and it was sure to be lovely.
“She was expected to marry within her station,” Nancy Peyton said.
Nancy was Lindsey’s landlord and had been teaching her a variety of needlecrafts for almost nine months now. Currently, their crafternoon club was working on crochet projects. It wasn’t going well for Lindsey.
As if sensing her annoyance, Nancy put aside the handbag she was working on and took Lindsey’s mangled sea foam green mohair and cotton cashmere skeins out of her hands and began to fix them. For that alone, Lindsey was pretty sure Nancy was setting herself up for sainthood.
Both women had about twenty years on Lindsey, and she tried not to take it personally that they could manage to have an in-depth discussion about E. M. Forster’s A Room with a View and crochet at the same time.
“Don’t tell me you’ve started already,” Charlene said as she entered the room. “You always do that.”
“That’s because you’re always late,” Violet said.
“No, I’m not,” Charlene argued. She took off her coat and hat and hung them on the rack. She glanced at the three women looking at her. “Am I?”
“Uh, yeah, you are,” Lindsey said.
Charlene huffed out a breath. She was wearing a stunning red turtleneck sweater, which complemented the rich brown hue of her skin, over tailored black corduroys and black boots.
“Well, as Oscar Wilde said, ‘He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time,’” Charlene said as she took the cushy seat beside Lindsey.
“Very clever, but you might want to go for ‘better never than late,’” Violet said. “George Bernard Shaw.”
Lindsey and Nancy glanced between the mother and daughter. Charlene was the image of her mother, Violet; in other words, she was gorgeous, but even more than that, she shared her mother’s formidable intelligence and love of literature.
Violet had been a stage actress in New York in her youth, while Charlene was currently a local newscaster in New Haven, but both women had the ability to command the attention of any room they entered. Lindsey figured it must be in their genetic code.
“Nicely played, Mom.” Charlene laughed and Violet bowed her head in acknowledgment. “But I thought we were discussing E. M. Forster today. What have I missed?”
“Not much,” Nancy said. Her blue eyes twinkled as she added, “Just Violet being testy because Lucy didn’t go off with George right away.”
“Not much of a book if Lucy picked the right man at the start,” Charlene said. She pulled the ripple afghan she was working on out of her project bag. It was the perfect weather to work on a blanket, and hers was coming together nicely in rows of black, gray and country blue.
The small room boasted cushy chairs and a toasty fire in the gas fireplace. Recently, Lindsey had added a couple of short bookshelves where she kept extra copies of crafting books for the club to peruse during meetings.
The lone large window in the room looked out over the town park and offered a picturesque view of the bay beyond. Today the sea was a deep gray, reflecting the steely cold January skies that loomed above.
The crafternoon club met every Thursday in this small room in the Briar Creek Public Library, of which Lindsey was the director, to work on a craft, discuss their latest book and eat. This week it had been Lindsey’s turn to provide the food, so she had baked apple cinnamon muffins, brought a large block of Brie with wheat crackers and made both coffee and tea.
“Who picked the right man at the start?” Beth Stanley asked from the doorway. She was dressed as a giant spider, and the other women watched as she turned sideways to fit her eight limbs, four of which were add-ons suspended by fishing wire from her arms, through the doorway.
“Here let me help you,” Mary Murphy offered as she followed Beth into the room and held the back of Beth’s story time costume so she could wiggle out of it.
“Thanks. I have a new respect for spiders,” Beth said. “I had a heck of a time getting all my legs to go in the right direction while I read Mrs. Spider’s Tea Party to the kids. I whacked poor Lily Dawson on the bum with one of them.”
Lindsey exchanged a smile with Charlene. Beth was the children’s librarian and the kids adored her. Mostly because she was a big kid herself. When she did the hokey pokey, her enthusiasm made everyone in the library feel the need to put their left foot in, as it were.
Beth hung her spider outfit on the coat rack by the door, which was already straining under the weight of all their winter coats and hats, and plopped into one of the available seats.
Mary hung up her coat as well, sat beside Beth and pulled out the tea cozy she was working on for her mother. It was white with retro aqua starbursts on it. She thought it would match her mother’s vintage 1950s kitchen perfectly.
Mary was a native of Briar Creek and had grown up on one of the Thumb Islands out in the bay. Currently, she ran the Blue Anchor Café with her husband, Ian, and was known for making the best clam chowder in the state.
Her parents still lived out on Bell Island, and Lindsey wished she could see what their vintage kitchen looked like. As she watched the cozy take shape in Mary’s skilled hands, Lindsey couldn’t help but feel the teensiest bit jealous. She had a feeling if she attempted a tea cozy, it would turn out looking like a muffler for an elephant.
“How far have you gotten in the discussion?” Mary asked.
“Not very. We were talking about how short A Room with a View would have been if Lucy had picked the right man from the start,” Lindsey said. She glanced at her watch. It was only fifteen minutes past the hour, which gave them plenty of time to finish their discussion. Being employees of the library, both Lindsey and Beth had to confine their crafternoon club time to their lunch hours.
Beth glanced around the group. “Well, I for one am relieved that she picked the clunker first and stayed with him. It made me feel like less of an idiot.”
Violet reached over and patted Beth’s knee in sympathy. “It happens to all of us, hon.”
“Which is why sometimes it is easier to fall in love within the safety of a book,” Nancy agreed.
“I hear that,” Charlene said.
This was one of the many reasons Lindsey loved her crafternoon friends. They were made up of all different ages, ethniciti
es and socioeconomic backgrounds, but the one thing they had in common was a deep and abiding love of books. Yeah, basically, they were all nerds.
“Well, the only man I plan to date for a while is Austen’s Mr. Darcy,” Beth said. “He always makes such a nice transitional man between boyfriends. Honestly, neither Cecil nor George is really doing it for me.”
Beth had recently gotten out of an unfortunate relationship, and Lindsey was sure it had clouded her reading of the novel.
She knew her own recent breakup had changed her take on the story. Her former fiancé, John, had taken up with one of his graduate students while she was in the midst of being downsized from her archivist job. John was a law professor at Yale and he had never seemed the type to be interested in chasing the cute, young coed, but obviously a good education was no buffer against the male midlife crisis.
Lindsey knew she was better off without him, but still it chafed to be tossed aside after five years of thinking she had found the one, especially when her career had been on the skids as well. She shook her head, refusing to dwell in the past. She had a good job in a nice town where she was surrounded by friends. Where was the down?
“Here you are, dear.” Nancy handed back Lindsey’s scarf, and it was all perfectly tidy with the extra mohair rolled into a neat little ball. How very kind and annoying.
There was a sharp knock on the door frame, and Lindsey turned, expecting to see Ms. Cole, one of her crankier library employees, standing there with her usual scowl of disapproval, but, no, it was Carrie Rushton.
Carrie was a nurse at the local hospital and an über volunteer in the community of Briar Creek. She was on several boards and committees and always seemed to be busy doing something for someone.
“Hi, Lindsey, I hate to interrupt,” she said. “But could I talk to you?”
“Absolutely.” Happy to put her crochet aside so as to not risk tangling what Nancy had untangled, Lindsey carefully tucked it into her canvas tote bag.
She rose to her feet and crossed the room in a few strides. “What can I do for you?”