“Yes, thanks again. See you later.”
Addie leaned against the counter waiting for her cup of coffee to finish brewing. She gnawed on her lower lip as the events of the morning ran through her mind like a slow-motion movie reel.
Why didn’t the bells chime?
She strode toward the front door and opened it inch by inch. When it was ajar by about a foot, the bells rang out. “That’s it,” she said aloud. Addie grabbed her purse and keys, locked the door behind her, and dashed next door into SerenaTEA.
Breathless, she bolted into the small, empty tea shop. “Serena,” she called, “are you here?”
“I’m back here.” Serena’s red head appeared around the doorjamb leading to the storeroom. “You okay? You’re flushed.”
“I’m fine, but I think I just figured something out.”
Serena stepped out and tossed the kitchen towel she’d been holding into the room behind her before walking over to a kettle steaming on a side table. “Really? What? Take a seat.” She motioned to a counter stool. “I was just going to make a pot of Heavenly Delight tea. Want some?”
“Please, sounds perfect,” Addie, said glancing at the variety of large, wooden storage bins behind the counter. She noted the sidewall shelves held silver bags in varying sizes, all bearing the red SerenaTEA label. “Do you make all your own tea blends?” Addie inhaled the heady scents of spices and herbs that enveloped her. “It smells wonderful in here,” she said as she settled onto a high counter stool.
“Yes, as you can see, the prepackaged ones of my most popular blends come in small, medium, or large bags, but custom blends are my trademark. It’s what makes me different from other tea shops around here.” Serena smiled as she poured hot water into a stoneware teapot. “So what’s up? Have you figured out what he was after?”
“No, not yet. But I’m certain now someone must have been watching me, or us, enter the shop this morning to know about the door chimes. Unless you heard them jingling when we ran into the alley?”
“No, I don’t remember hearing anything.”
“I don’t either, and I know I didn’t hear them when I went back in to get the garbage bags, which must have been when he slipped out the front door.” Addie took the teacup from Serena’s outstretched hand. “Which means whoever was out front must have been tall.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m nearly five nine, and I can’t reach the chimes well enough to silence them. But when he came in he knew he’d have to reach up and grasp them while he slipped in and out. The ceiling height is at least fourteen feet, and the chimes hang down over the top of the seven-and-a-half-foot door. It only makes sense that whoever ransacked the place was tall enough to reach them. Like I said before, I don’t think it was one person, but we’ll need a full description of the fellow Martha ran off to see if my hunch is right.”
Serena laughed. “Whoa, slow down, take a breath.” She reached for the phone on the counter.
“Are you calling Martha?”
“No, I’m calling Marc. I’d rather he question her than us. She’s in a real mood today.”
“I don’t think involving your brother at this point’s a great idea. We need proof, not just theories. I know because I’ve been down this road before. Trust me. The police won’t act on hunches.” Addie swirled the tea in her cup and knocked back a gulp.
Serena cringed. “It’s hot.”
“Yeah, I see that.” Addie grimaced. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“You look like you need a stiff drink, not a cup of tea.”
Addie shook her head. “A bit too early for that, but I might have one later. Until then, hit me with another one, tea-tender.” She held up her empty cup.
Serena went to the side table and poured a refill. “I’m guessing you’ve been through something like this before?”
“Um, sort of, a few times.” Addie sighed.
“Wanna talk about it?” Serena handed her the cup.
“Not much to say other than I’ve had my share of botched police investigations and dead ends this past year.”
“That doesn’t sound good. No wonder you don’t want to involve Marc right now.” Serena frowned but kept her eyes fixed on Addie’s.
Addie squirmed in her seat, but Serena’s eyes didn’t waver. Her sweet face and big, round, innocent eyes tugged at the painful recess of Addie’s heart, and she felt a sense of trust. “Okay. I’ll talk.” She laughed nervously and shifted on her stool. “But you’re in the wrong profession, Serena. That look would break down the most notorious mobster in any interrogation.”
Serena sat down on a stool behind the sales counter and propped her chin in her hands, but remained silent.
Addie swirled her teacup, set it down, drummed her fingers on the counter, and took a deep breath. “The first incident was almost a year ago. My fiancé, David, was murdered in our apartment in Boston.”
Serena gasped and placed her hand over Addie’s and gently clasped it.
Addie bit her lip. “It was ruled a crime of opportunity, and the police never found out who did it. The case is still open, I guess, but they’re not investigating anymore. Even though I had a few theories of my own, they wouldn’t look into them. They just walked away, writing him off as another victim of the current crime wave sweeping the neighborhood.”
“Oh my God. What a horrible thing to have gone through.” Serena’s slight frame shuddered.
“Oh, it gets better.” Addie sighed. “About six months ago, my father was killed in a car crash, not far from here, actually. Pen Hollow, just down the coast.”
“Yes, I know that drive. There’s a switchback curve at the top of the cliff—pretty scary at times.”
Addie nodded.
“You don’t mean . . . ? Oh jeez. I’m so sorry.” Serena squeezed her hand.
Addie’s eyes moistened. “There were too many unanswered questions about his accident, and the state police just brushed me off and closed the case, ruling it an accident. They said he was driving too fast for the heavy fog conditions at the time. I thought there had to be more to it—maybe a brake malfunction or a heart attack or something. I knew my dad. He was always a cautious driver. But they just wouldn’t listen to me.”
“That must have been horrible. Did you ever get any answers?”
Addie shook her head. “And then—”
“There’s more?” Serena leaned closer, gripping Addie’s hand even tighter.
“Yes. Three months ago, I got a call from a lawyer, informing me my great-aunt had passed away. They’d done an extensive family search and discovered I was the only surviving relative, so I was to inherit her entire estate.”
Serena’s eye widened.
“My old supervisor from the Boston Public Library, who is an extremely logical person, and who became my rock through a very dark time in my life”—she cleared her throat—“advised me to put the whole estate up for auction, take the money, and retire.”
“Obviously by opening up your own store, you didn’t retire.”
“No, I’m not one who enjoys being idle. I get bored easily,” she said, tapping her fingers on the counter.
“Judging from all the books you have, I’m guessing you were a librarian?” Serena’s brow rose. “Isn’t that kind of boring anyway?”
Addie laughed. “No, lots of people love that work, but I was the assistant to the curator of acquisitions.”
“Oooh, sounds fancy and important.”
“Not really.” Addie shook her head. “I researched and cataloged old and rare books. Well, that is, until I did a six-month work exchange at the British Museum.”
Serena leaned closer. “London? Wow, what did you do there?”
“Same thing, but with some museum artifacts, too, not just books—although really it was anything crated up in storage that hadn’t been appraised yet. Now that I think about it, it was kind of grunt work.”
“But living in London must have been fantastic. I’d love to travel .
. . anywhere . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“I loved being there even though David couldn’t go with me because of his work and I missed him so much. When my term was over, I couldn’t wait to get home to him. But he was murdered right after I came back, and that’s when my world fell apart.” Addie sighed.
Serena bit her lip.
“After the whole David thing and then my dad passing, I knew there was nothing left for me in Boston. I needed to get out of that city, and with my aunt’s inheritance, it became possible. And that’s how I ended up here. To move on and start a new life.” She gulped down a mouthful of tea. “But taking in this morning, trouble seems to be never far behind me lately.”
Serena shook her head. “So much tragedy for such a young woman.” She clasped both of Addie’s hands in hers and gently squeezed them.
“Young?” She winced. “I’m thirty . . . something.”
“Okay, but you haven’t turned gray yet, and that’s a good sign. I know I would be after all that, and I’m only twenty-seven.”
Addie turned up her chin, smiled demurely and fluttered her eyelashes. “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispered. “But it’s the honey-brown color with salon-enhanced golden streaks. It hides the gray.”
“You really are something else,” Serena said, and she poured them more tea. “After all you’ve been through, you’ve still managed to keep a sense of humor.”
Addie sighed and stared down into her cup. “Funny thing is, if there is anything funny about all this, I didn’t even know I had a great-aunt, and here I am living in her house.”
Serena’s brows shot up. “Which house is it? I grew up here, and I know everyone. I probably knew your aunt, too.”
“It’s the big one on the hilltop overlooking the harbor at the end of the road.”
Serena grasped the counter edge and stood up. “You mean Greyborne Manor?” she whispered.
“Yes, that’s it. Why? Do you know it?”
“Who doesn’t around here? You’re a Greyborne?” Serena’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t anyone know someone had moved in?”
Addie chuckled at the stunned expression on Serena’s face. “I kept mainly to myself because I had so much to do with the move and sorting out the house, and then when I decided to open a shop, there were renovations and . . . well, the list goes on.”
“I understand that.” Serena’s face reddened. Addie noted that when she flushed, freckles burst out across her cheeks. “But another Greyborne back in Greyborne Harbor? That’s big news. We all thought the family line had ended with your aunt.”
“It’s not that big of a deal, is it? You know, that I’m a Greyborne?”
“This town was named after the Greybornes, who founded it back in the early seventeen hundreds.”
“I know. I read that, but it can’t mean that much today, can it?” Addie sipped her tea, looking over the rim of her cup at Serena. “After all, it’s grown into so much more than its pilgrim beginnings over the years, hasn’t it? The tourist sites say it’s a booming, to quote, ‘quaint little seaside town.’ From what I can tell by the tour buses I’ve seen, I can understand why. It looks interesting. It’s picturesque, and I’ve seen lots of posters up advertising art and entertainment events. The name didn’t seem like that big of a deal these days.” She set her cup down.
Serena choked on her mouthful, sputtering tea down her chin. “You really have no idea of the legacy that’s been left, do you?”
Chapter Three
Addie plopped onto her aunt’s old sofa. She could feel the prickle of the horsehair stuffing where the fabric had been worn thin in places as she ran her palm across the ancient surface. Exhausted, she put her feet on the eighteenth-century marquetry coffee table, not caring whether her aunt would have approved or not. This was her house now, and she was going to be comfortable living in it. Her eyes closed for a moment, and she breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly, her limbs finally relaxing. Each time she closed her eyes, she could see the constant stream of curious locals who had filled her shop this afternoon. She’d made a few small sales, but for the most part, it was nosy tire-kickers who had come in to assess her. Word seemed to have spread quickly about her links to the place and her ancestry. Serena would be the one she’d have to thank for that. In spite of her good intentions, the chaos her spreading the word had caused only added to what already had started out as a most bizarre day. Right now, Addie was nothing more than a bowl of jelly.
Perhaps a drink would rejuvenate her. She eyed the walnut bar trolley across the room, guessing it to be of American 1920s vintage. It reminded her that there was still work to be done around the house, sorting and appraising, but the thought was too daunting right now.
She sniffed her jacket lapel—and cringed. A bath was definitely needed after the fiasco with the garbage this morning. She decided a glass of something, anything, with a long hot soak in the tub, would be perfect, if she could only will her body to move.
Her heavy eyelids fluttered. She rested her head on the overstuffed sofa back, peering through her long, thick lashes and surveyed the somewhat updated living room. She smiled and recalled the feeling she’d had when she first arrived at the three-story Queen Anne Victorian called Greyborne Manor. She’d pulled down the driveway, and her mouth had dropped open. The sheer size of it, with the wide wraparound porch, gabled roofline, two tall brick chimneys and a second-floor, glassed-in sleeping porch, took her breath away, sending her mind reeling.
She had arranged for the lawyer, Raymond James, to meet her at the house, and when she arrived, he was sitting in one of the white wicker chairs on the porch. He rose when she dashed up the wide porch staircase. She was surprised to see his tall stature, as it didn’t seem to match his meek telephone voice. She had guessed him to be middle to late sixties, and she saw that she’d been right. He introduced himself, bowed slightly, and with a wave of his hand directed her through the front door.
She remembered vividly how she had felt as she walked into the entry hall. It was as though she’d stepped back into the eighteen hundreds. He proceeded to conduct her tour, guiding her from one room to another. He had seemed pleasant enough, although he remained aloof and lawyer-like as he answered the million questions she had about the antique furniture, the ornately carved doorframes and staircase banister, the custom tile work around the four fireplaces, and the beautifully restored Walter Crane wallpaper. She knew her head was spinning and suspected that, with her nonstop babbling, his was, too.
Little did she know then that the real treasures were yet to be found. A few days later, she climbed the narrow back staircase to the top of the house, an area Raymond hadn’t included in the initial tour. When her foot hit the top step, she knew she’d stumbled onto a significant find. She’d plopped down on an old crate completely lost for words.
Perched on the dusty mahogany shelves were her aunt’s journals, first-edition books, and relics from her years spent traveling the world. When she caught her breath and began to explore, she discovered that every shelf and box contained one fantastic prize after another. Her training and work experience made her very aware of the importance and value of such a collection.
But some of the books she discovered were just old and well loved, so she began to separate them all into three piles. One for the books she recognized as being of library or museum quality—she would call the head curator at the British Museum for those. The second pile was for books she knew were valuable but had no idea of their worth in today’s market. Those she’d send to her former supervisor, Jeremy, in Boston for value appraisal, as soon as she could find the time. The third was for the leftovers. When she looked at that pile, her heart had sunk. There were so many; what a shame. She bit her bottom lip, staring at them. Then she jumped to her feet and twirled around, clapping her hands.
“I’ll open my own used and rare book shop.” She danced around the mountain of books and stopped short. She shuddered at the thought of still having to sort through the rest o
f the stacks piled floor to ceiling. Even so, it was too late. The seed had been planted, and her mind raced with ideas.
Here she was, three months later. Her store had opened, and she wasn’t half done with the sorting. She shook her head. “All that work still to do, and now a day job, too.” What was I thinking? Heavy-eyed, her gaze wandered back to the liquor cart. She urged her shoulders forward but instead fell back and snuggled deeper into the sofa, eyes closed.
A noise echoed through the house and Addie jerked. Dazed, she rubbed her stiff neck. She must have drifted off. The sound had probably only been in a dream, because the living room was dark now. She got up to turn on the Tiffany lamp by the window, but stopped short when there was another thud. She peered outside just in time to see the taillights of a dark-colored car speeding up her driveway to the main road. Her mouth was arid and her heart raced. It looked like the same car that had tried to run her over in the street this morning.
She grabbed a silver candlestick from the side table. Armed now, she entered the foyer. She checked the front door, but it was secure, and nothing appeared out of place. She made her way toward the back kitchen, glancing in the study, library, and dining room as she passed.
When she neared the kitchen entrance at the end of the long, wide corridor, a cool breeze drifted across her hot cheeks. She took a deep breath, reached her hand around the doorjamb, and flipped on the light. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Pearls of perspiration trickled down her brow, stinging her eyes. She squeezed them tight, counted—seven . . . eight . . . nine . . . ten—and peeked into the large room. The back door was ajar. Addie slid her hand into her jacket’s side pocket. With trembling fingers, she took out her cell phone and dialed 911.
Her eyes remained fixed on the door. Her breaths came short and fast. The only sound she heard was the clock on the wall ticking off the minutes. Five minutes. Eight minutes. Then she heard a creaking on the back step. A gun barrel appeared through the door crack. She sucked in and pressed her back hard against the wall. Her hand gripped the candlestick. She raised it.
Murder by the Book Page 2