Murder by the Book

by Lauren Elliott

  A police cap appeared around the doorframe. “Marc?” Her arm dropped to her side. “Thank God it’s you.”

  “Addie. You okay?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  “Have you checked upstairs?”

  She shook her head.

  He signaled behind him, and two more officers carrying guns slipped through the doorway. “Don’t worry. I’ve got more men at the front door. Is it locked?”

  She nodded.

  He whispered to the men behind him. “We’ll make our way to the front door and unlock it. Go.” He motioned. “Stay here and don’t move,” he murmured as he slid past her into the hallway.

  She took another deep breath and clenched her jaw to keep her tears in check.

  “Clear. . . . Clear. . . . Clear.” Their voices rang out one by one as they scanned each room along the corridor to the front entrance.

  Addie heard shuffling on the stairway, and then the hardwood floors above her creaked.

  A few minutes later, Marc returned. “All clear on the second and third floors.”

  “Thank you. Oh God, when you came in you scared the life out of me. I hadn’t heard any sirens.”

  “Nope, didn’t use them. Hoped to catch the perpetrator in the act, but looks like we’re too late.”

  “Yeah, I spotted the car racing off. I guess that’s what woke me.”

  “So you were upstairs in bed?”

  “No. I fell asleep on the living room sofa.”

  She glanced over at the splintered doorjamb, biting her lip.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll secure that before I go.”

  She nodded with relief.

  He cleared his throat. “Twice in one day to the same person. That’s not something that usually happens around these parts.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “Were you involved in anything criminal in Boston?”

  “No. Of course not,” she snapped. Her eyes flashed. “I worked at the library.”

  He rubbed the day-old growth on his chin, a wave of chestnut-brown hair dangling over his forehead, holding his dark eyes steadfast on hers.

  She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, huffed, and planted her feet. “Why? Do you think I brought this with me from some sordid past I have?”

  “No, no, just trying to figure out why you’re a target in this sleepy little town.”

  “All clear, sir,” said an officer from the doorway. “I’ve checked the cellar, too, and nothing, but thought I’d bring these two-by-fours up to fix the door with.”

  “Thanks, Steve but I’ll take care of that. You can just leave them there for now. You guys can head back to the station. I’m going to stay with Miss Greyborne while she does an initial check of her property to see if anything’s missing.”

  “Very good, sir.” He nodded and tipped his cap at Addie as he left.

  “Look. I know you’re tired, but we need to do a quick inspection tonight to see if your intruder made off with anything.” He nodded toward the door and stepped back as she passed.

  She paused and looked at him. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

  “Don’t know you well enough to form an opinion, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. His lips arched into a half smile.

  She huffed and strode down the hall to the dining room.

  They explored the rooms on the main floor, and although drawers and cupboards were opened and appeared to have been searched, nothing seemed to be missing. Nothing on the top two floors even looked like it had been touched.

  “I suspect since you were dozing right here”—he motioned to the living room—“the intruder didn’t have time to check upstairs. Afraid you’d wake up and all. Probably just looking for quick grabs that would sell easily.”

  “But it doesn’t look like anything’s missing, so it doesn’t make sense.”

  “Tells me it was probably a kid, not a professional. Didn’t know the value of some of this stuff, I guess.”

  “Or someone who is looking for something very specific, like whoever ransacked my shop?”

  “I doubt they’re related.” He jotted something down in his notebook. “These types of break and enters are usually just a quick in and out before the homeowner wakes up. So in future, if you are a heavy sleeper and someone can break in, and you wouldn’t hear—”

  “I’m not normally,” she snapped, “but I was exhausted. It was a trying day. You know how it started off, and besides, the kitchen door, and any noise he might have made, is a long way from the living room. There’s a lot of house between them.” She tapped her foot. “I feel like you’re back to suspecting me of doing something wrong, so are we almost done here?”

  “Yup.” He nodded, still writing. “But . . . as I was going to say, if you are a heavy sleeper, and since this house is the size that it is, then I’d suggest you make sure your security system is turned on even when you’re in the house.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Her cheeks grew warm, and she glanced down at the floor. “I don’t think there is one.”

  He shook his head and jotted another note into his book.

  They went to the kitchen. Addie felt the awkward tension she had created with her sometimes-too-quick-to-respond tongue. While he proceeded to secure the damaged door with the two-by-fours, she busied herself cleaning nonexistent smudges off the large center island, grateful that the kitchen had been updated with all the modern conveniences.

  When Marc finished securing the original mahogany door, they returned to the entry foyer. He advised her in a very matter-of-fact tone to call the local handyman and locksmith first thing in the morning, and then he handed her his official police business card. “I wrote his name and number on the back. The number on the bottom is my cell.”

  “Chief Marc Chandler? I didn’t know you were the chief of police. Your name tag says ‘Lieutenant.’”

  “Yeah, need to get that changed.” He glanced down at it. “I was promoted by the mayor last month when Chief Ryan retired.”

  “Well then, belated congratulations.” She smiled, noting his square jaw and sharp cheekbones.

  He nodded. “If you think of anything else, just call the dispatcher, or . . . maybe my cell number.” A flush swept across his cheeks.

  She flipped the card over and smiled up at him. “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

  His eyes held hers. The corners of his mouth twitched with a slight suggestion of a smile, but then he tipped his cap, turned sharply on his boot heel, and left.

  She stood alone in the foyer and began shaking. She wished there was someone she could call to come and sit with her while she processed the day’s and evening’s events. She looked down at the scrawled phone number on the back of the card and turned it over a few times before stuffing it in her pocket.

  With a deep breath, she marched into the living room, picked up a crystal decanter from the cart, took a whiff of the contents, poured a tall glass of the scotch and took a gulp. Out of past experience, she winced and waited for the burning in her throat to start, but to her amazement, it didn’t. The drink went down as smooth as silk. A warm glow coursed through her veins. She flopped onto the sofa, swirled the amber liquid in the glass and took another gulp. Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket.

  She tapped the speaker button. “Hello?”

  “Addie? It’s Serena. Marc just called me and told me what happened. I can’t believe it. I’m on my way over now.”

  “You have no idea how much I need the company.”

  “Yes, Marc said you looked a little shaken up when he left. How about if we have a sleepover? You shouldn’t be there alone tonight.”

  “You don’t even know me that well. Why would you want to put yourself out like that?”

  “Don’t argue with me. I insist. Besides, I feel like I do know you well enough, and if my brother calls me and tells me anything about a case, then I know I should listen.”

  “He’s worried?” Addie’s brow rose.

  “Not worried, but concerned. Twice
in a day is enough to rattle anyone. So I’ll see you soon.”

  Addie took another sip of her drink and laid her head against the back of the sofa. The events of the day replayed through her mind. She hadn’t been robbed either time, so it made no sense. She bolted straight up. Was someone trying to scare her out of town? But why?

  Chapter Four

  Addie’s head pounded as morning light streamed through her shop’s windows. Her stomach pitched. Even the faint pungent odor wafting off the recently varnished countertop seemed sharper today. A spasm of pain shot through her temple. She cringed and downed a couple of painkillers in hopes that this would all subside before any customers wandered in.

  Serena informed her last night that the scotch she had consumed like water was a very rare old blend. Although smooth, it had a real kick to it. So today, she had no one to blame but herself and her own stupidity.

  Despite her foolishness, it had been a good night. They had chatted until late, starting to develop a real friendship. Addie smiled. It had been a long time since she had a close female friend, and she missed that camaraderie. In the working world, she found many of her woman colleagues to be so professionally driven that they ignored any overtures of friendship. Even Sheila, whom Addie vaguely remembered this morning having told Serena about last night and who was the junior curator she had worked with side by side five days a week at the British Museum, had shown little interest in developing a friendship until it was too late and was time for Addie to return to Boston.

  The door chimes rang. Addie squeezed her eyes shut and pasted a smile on her face.

  “Hi.” A mound of tousled red hair appeared around the corner of a bookshelf.

  Addie let out a deep breath. “Thank God, it’s only you.”

  “Only me?” Serena stepped forward, a sardonic twinkle in her eye. “Thanks. That makes me feel great.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know. I figured you could use a cup of this, and I see I wasn’t wrong.” She grinned and waved a steaming paper cup under Addie’s nose. “An old family remedy for what ails you.”

  “Mmm, smells like . . . I’m not sure. What is it?”

  “Family secret,” she whispered. “If I told you, I’d have to—never mind. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s okay, Serena.” She smiled over her cup and took a sip. “Mmm, this is good, and exactly what I needed.”

  “I thought so. Just remember the next time that I have the cure so you won’t have to suffer. I’d better run. I see a woman pacing the sidewalk in front of my store.” Serena called over her shoulder, “Cheers, till later.”

  “Cheers.”

  The morning flew by, and come lunchtime, when her stomach growled, she knew she needed something to eat, so she went off in search of food and to distribute her advertising flyers to some of the area merchants.

  Addie hadn’t been back in the shop for two minutes when Serena bounced through the door. She took one look at Addie’s sandwich sitting on the counter, and her face dropped. “Oh, I see you have lunch already. I just picked these up from Martha’s. I thought we could eat together.”

  “We still can,” smiled Addie, eyeing Serena’s sandwich wrapper. “I’m surprised you bought something from her now that you know she’s selling lunches. Doesn’t that conflict with your shop?”

  “No, I only sell a few organic-made and gluten-free rolls and pastries. She doesn’t . . . at least not yet. Her food is typical bakery stuff, but I’m sure the new restaurant and coffee shop won’t be too happy with her. There’s kind of an unwritten noncompetition clause we all follow. You know, ’cause it’s not a big town.”

  “I see. I’ll have to keep that in mind. I wouldn’t want to step on any toes. Come on, let’s go over there, sit in the reading chairs, and relax. I don’t know about you, but my feet are killing me.”

  Serena stuffed one of the sandwiches into her large hobo bag and followed Addie to the chairs by the window. “It was crazy busy this morning. I think everyone was out and about. Speaking of crazy”—she swallowed a bite of her bun—“I had the weirdest customer this morning.”

  “How so?” Addie covered her mouth. “Sorry, don’t mean to be rude, but I’m starving.”

  “Remember the lady pacing, waiting for me to open? Well, she wanted something to put her husband to sleep with. At least, she said it was for her husband, who hadn’t slept well lately and needed some ‘knockout’ tea, but she said it had to be odorless and tasteless.”

  “What?”

  “I know! Well, my mouth must have dropped open, because she jumped in quick and said he’d tried some herbal mixes that were all flowery or tasted like dirt and hated them, so he wanted something that tasted like water.”

  “Is there such a thing?”

  She shook her head. “Not in my business—at least nothing that’s legal.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I blend tea. That I don’t concoct potions, and if that’s what she was looking for, she should try an herbalist or a naturopathic doctor, or even a witch, but not a tea merchant.”

  “You didn’t tell her to consult a witch. You’re joking, right?”

  “No kidding, I did. I have a mind to call Marc and report her. I got a really weird vibe from her. You know, kind of snooty and hoity-toity. I wouldn’t put it past her to be trying to knock off her husband or someone else.”

  “Wow. That is strange. Have you ever seen her around town before?”

  “No, and I know most people living here. She would have to be an outsider, because everyone knows I don’t practice herbology or do magic hocus-pocus potions—just teas.” She got up, putting her sandwich wrapper in the garbage can by the counter. “That’s that, I guess. Lunch break over. I’ll let you know if she comes back so you can come in and check her out and tell me if I’m nuts or if there’s really something off with the woman.”

  “Sounds good.” Addie wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Yes, I guess that was lunch. See ya.” She waved.

  Her brow furrowed. She thought about Serena’s customer and her odd request, and then decided Serena probably had an even more vivid imagination than she did. After all, Serena had mentioned she loved to read murder mysteries, and Agatha Christie’s trademark was—Addie bit on her lip—murder by poison.

  * * *

  As Addie pulled her newer red Mini Cooper into her driveway, her thoughts were focused on her evening ahead. Tonight she had dinner to make and a couple of hours of sorting through boxes ahead of her. Fifteen minutes later, the spaghetti sauce was simmering on the stove, and fresh coffee was steaming in her cup. She slipped into the living room to check her emails on her laptop, which she’d forgotten in her rush out the door this morning. She sat on the sofa, her legs drawn up, her laptop across her knees, sipping her coffee—but one look at her empty inbox, and her heart sank. It had been over three weeks since she sent some of the books she’d discovered in the attic to the library in Boston, for Jeremy to appraise.

  She gnawed on her bottom lip and scrolled through all her past messages in case there was one she’d missed, but found nothing from him. She snapped her laptop closed and set it on the coffee table, shook her head, and got up to close the curtains, but stopped short when she reached the window. A car with its lights off sat parked at the dead-end loop that led into her driveway. There was no reason for anyone to stop there, as the loop only led down to her house. She squinted in the dim light, but couldn’t work out the make or model, only that it appeared to be a dark color. She reached for her cell phone in her jacket pocket and tried to enter her pass code, but only got a black screen before realizing the phone was dead.

  She wished now she’d had the landline connected. She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think what to do. Her charger was upstairs in her bedroom. Dashing up the steps, she snatched the charger and stumbled back down the stairs, charger dangling by its cord. Breathless, she plugged it in and laid her hand over her heart, which was d
rumming an erratic rhythm. She glanced up repeatedly to keep an eye on the car and to scan the dusky yard for signs of an intruder.

  An alarm screamed. She jumped. “Shoot.” She’d forgotten about the sauce cooking on the stove. She ran through the smoky hallway to the kitchen, seized a towel from the rack, wrapped it around her hand, grabbed the red, hot handle and tossed the blackened, smoking pot into the sink. She waved the towel under the smoke detector, but it wouldn’t turn off. Frantic, she tossed the towel on the counter, grabbed a chair, climbed up and pulled the cover off the smoke alarm to yank the battery out, only to discover there wasn’t one. It was hardwired in and there was no off button.

  The kitchen filled with heavy black smoke, she glanced at the pot still smoldering in the sink and saw the towel she’d tossed aside had landed on the hot burner and was consumed in flames. She jumped off the chair, grabbed a knife from the counter top and pushed what was left of the towel into the sink dousing it with water. Against her better judgment, she forced open a window. Aware that at any time the trespasser from the car might be out there waiting for just this opportunity to get in, but she knew there wasn’t a choice. It was either face the intruder in the house or be struck down by toxic fumes and smoke. Besides, maybe a neighbor would hear the incessant screeching and call the fire department.

  Sirens wailed in the distance. They grew louder, and she dashed back to the living room window just in time to see two fire trucks barrel down her driveway.

  To her relief, the dark car was gone, and she was grateful to her small-town neighbors.

  The firefighters stormed the house and told her to go outside and wait. Addie stood shivering in the cool fall evening. Her eyes focused on the commotion she could see through the open front door as firefighters made their way from room to room, checking for signs of a blaze. Someone placed a jacket across her shoulders. She snuggled into its warmth.

  “You do know how to cause a commotion, don’t you?” Marc looked down at her, an amused glint in his eye.