Murder by the Book

by Lauren Elliott

  “Because things like this are better left to professionals—and besides, what are you going to do with the information?”

  “Give it to you, of course . . . if anything turns up, that is.”

  “Addie, this could be dangerous. There’s already been two—”

  Paige popped her curly head around the door of the back room. “Sorry to interrupt, Addie, but Brian’s here to see you.”

  Addie looked at Marc, exasperation across her face. “Okay, thanks. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

  “Will do.” She disappeared back into the store.

  “I hope he’s got good news for me.” She looked back excitedly at Marc and Serena. “Not that the hotel is horrible, but it would be nice to get home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Addie swept into the storage room. “Fantastic, the alarm system will be installed in the morning, so that means I should be sleeping in my own bed by tomorrow night.” She stopped short. Her eyes darted between Marc and Serena. “What is it? Why do you both look so glum?”

  “How about angry?” Serena glared at Marc.

  Addie winced. “Okay . . . ‘angry’ is a good word for it. What’s up?”

  Marc turned away. Serena’s eyes bored into his back. “He was just playing big brother again.”

  He spun around on his boot heel. “I am worried, Serena, that’s all.”

  “I’m a big girl now, Marc. I’m twenty-seven and don’t need you anymore to protect me or tell me what to do.”

  “In this matter you do.” His eyes fixed, unwavering, on hers. “You are still the only suspect in Blain’s murder. The charge has been stayed for now, not dropped, and going off and getting yourself involved with some half-baked amateur investigation is going to do nothing but put the spotlight back on you in the eyes of the DA’s office.”

  “I would never do anything to put Serena in jeopardy.” Addie stepped between them. “And that’s exactly why I need to start looking at all the possibilities here and how there might be connections.”

  “Then let the truth come out the way it’s supposed to, Addie. Let the system do its job.”

  “And what happens if the system doesn’t come up with another suspect, or it takes years until it does, and the attention stays on Serena?”

  Marc’s face fell with exasperation. “It won’t. The truth will eventually come out.”

  “‘Eventually’? That’s the problem. What happens in the meantime? She remains a prime suspect the rest of her life?”

  “That won’t happen. Something will turn up soon.”

  “Good, but in the meantime . . .” Addie picked up a piece of chalk and stepped up to the board.

  He shook his head. “You’re determined to do this, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” She planted her feet firmly. “I promise no investigating on my own, and I won’t involve Serena for anything other than an extra set of eyes and ideas.” A sly smile curved the corners of her lips, and she peered at him through her lashes. “I swear. And we’ll report anything we figure out directly to you.”

  The tension on Marc’s face softened, and he nodded. “Promise, no actual investigating. Keep it to the blackboard?” His eyes pleaded with her. “After all, it’s one thing if I share something with you at a crime scene, off the record, but completely another if you run off on your own to investigate it.”

  Addie held her fingers up in a Scout salute and nodded. “I promise, just looking at suspects, means, motives, and links.”

  He heaved a heavy sigh. “Then I guess I can see no harm in this. Carry on.” He shook his head and chuckled. He sat down on one of the boxes of books and stared up at her attentively.

  She straightened her shoulders and beamed at Serena.

  “Well, go on.” He motioned to the board. “I’m curious to see what pieces you’ve got and how you’ve put them together.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Who knows, maybe you can teach the police how to do their job.”

  She ignored him and turned to the board, pointing at the name written there. “First question: why is someone I knew in London here in Greyborne Harbor?”

  “Maybe she came to see you. After all, you said you worked together for six months and she started to get friendly with you just before you left. Maybe she missed you?” Serena piped in.

  “But why wouldn’t she have checked with me before booking a flight across the Atlantic Ocean?” Addie pursed her lips and studied the name. “And why is she traveling in the same car that’s been stalking me and tried to run me over?” She shook her head. “Next question: who are the two women from the shop and why were they having dinner with Catherine Lewis, and how are they related to each other?” She wrote on the board, then turned to look at Marc and Serena.

  Marc shrugged. “It’s a small world, and it’s probably not related.”

  “Okay, but they stay on the board until we can prove otherwise.”

  “Don’t forget to put Blain down as a victim.” Serena covered another yawn.

  Marc stroked his chin in thought. “Well, I think Andrew is a person of interest, even though the DA has refused to follow that lead so far.”

  “Yes, and what about Martha?” Serena pointed at the board. “Add her; she seems to have it in for you.”

  “Well, we can put her name here as a suspect for the break-ins, maybe, but there’s no way she killed Blain. She was at her store.” The chalk squeaked as Addie added Martha’s name to the growing list.

  “But if we add Martha,” Marc said, frowning, “we’ll have to add half the townspeople who have had any dealings with Addie since she’s been here. She can probably come off.”

  Addie nodded and erased Martha’s name. “This doesn’t give us much in the way of suspects so far. We have Andrew and the mysterious Sheila, and no connection.” Addie tapped the board and added, thinking out loud, “Except Andrew did spend the last ten years in Europe.”

  “Maybe there is a connection we just don’t know about.” Serena jumped up, took the chalk from Addie’s fingers, and drew a line between Sheila and Andrew’s names.

  Addie paused, nodded, and looked at Marc. “Do you think Sheila could be a link to the smuggling ring Blain was apparently part of?”

  “I think we need more evidence. At this point, we’re not even certain there is a smuggling ring.”

  “I know, but logically, just think about it.” Addie rubbed her chin. “How could a department store merchant like Blain Fielding in little old Greyborne Harbor have gotten his hands on so many rare books and antiquities?”

  Her eyes widened as Marc moved toward her. She held her breath as his thumb stroked just under her bottom lip.

  “You have a little bit of chalk right here.” His gaze seemed to penetrate her.

  “Guys, I’m still here,” Serena chirped from behind them.

  He jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned. Clearing his throat, he backed away and sat back down on a box. “I . . . ah . . . think it’s a possibility. No one knows what Andrew was up to in Europe all those years. Blain never talked about it.”

  Addie could still feel the pressure of his thumb. Ordering her heart to quit quivering, she continued as if nothing had happened. Because it hadn’t. “So we have a lot of unknowns: the two women from my shop, Catherine Lewis, Sheila, Andrew, the black Honda, the antiquities smuggling.” Addie tapped her foot, staring at the board. “Oh, and we can’t forget,” she said as she started writing, “three break-ins; one verified murder, Blain; my father’s suspicious death; my aunt’s death; and Raymond’s untimely death. Who”—she kept writing next to his name—“just happened to be executor of my estate. What are we missing so far?” She stood back and studied the names. “Oh, the fact that Raymond didn’t feel it was important to have a security system installed in my aunt’s house . . . which, looking at all this”—she stepped back, eyeing the board—“seems strange to me.”

  Serena wiggled excitedly on her crate. “What about the Alice in Wonderland book that
was stolen from your shop—you never did find it, did you?”

  Addie’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the board. “No, I didn’t.” She shook her head. “But I don’t think that’s important. It wasn’t worth much, a few dollars maybe; certainly not enough to justify breaking into my shop for. Besides, it might still be in one of those unpacked crates you guys are sitting on. No, there has to be something else we’re missing.”

  Marc’s phone rang. “Sorry, it’s the station; I’ve got to take this.” He stood and moved to the far side of the storage room.

  “What are you thinking?” Addie glanced sideways at Serena.

  “Besides the fact that you and my brother would make the cutest couple ever?” At Addie’s withering look, she wiped the grin off her face. “Well, add the strange tea request made by the tall woman and your keys being found mysteriously outside your shop.”

  “And Catherine Lewis buying the same tea as Raymond was drinking when he died.” Addie wrote excitedly. “And . . . her inviting me to come for tea today.”

  “What? When did she invite you?”

  “This morning. She came in when I was out and left a note with Paige.”

  Serena’s eyes widened. “Plus she knows the two women.” She pointed to the chalk writing. “So it could be something.”

  “And . . . she knows Raymond and would have easy access to him.” Addie examined the board. “Well, we don’t have much so far, do we?”

  “No, and Raymond’s death hasn’t been ruled a murder yet.” Serena’s eyes jumped from one name to the other. “But this is a start. At least we can keep everyone straight now.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking, too. We can add more when we think of it or something new develops.” She looked up when Marc rejoined them. His face looked strained. “What’s wrong?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the blackboard. “I think we have a few more things to add.”

  Addie’s eyes narrowed. “What’s happened? Your voice sounds ominous.”

  Marc plucked the piece of chalk out of Addie’s fingers.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Well, I guess”—he started writing, bits of chalk exploding with the pressure—“you can add . . .”

  Addie stared at the board as he wrote. “Request . . .”

  He paused and looked down at her, his face rigid, uncertainty in his eyes, then he let out a deep breath and started writing again.

  Over his arm, she read aloud. “A . . . court . . . order . . . to . . . exhume . . . aunt’s body?”

  She grabbed his jacket sleeve. “What did you find out?”

  “Another early report came back from the coroner’s office. It seems the coroner who attended Raymond’s crime scene also tested for organics and herbs, since the suspected poison, if there was one, might have been administered in the tea, and there was a hit.”

  “What was it?” Addie leaned closer.

  “Foxglove.” Marc and Serena replied in unison.

  Marc’s eyes bulged, and he looked at Serena.

  “I knew it,” she cried.

  “How would you know that?” He eyed her warily.

  “Because when the tall woman came into my shop, she was looking for something to help her husband sleep. She said he hated fruity-tasting teas and wanted something almost tasteless and odorless.”

  “Really.” Marc looked at the tall woman’s sparse profile on the blackboard.

  “And she did mention that he had a heart condition and couldn’t take regular sleeping pills.” Serena took a breath. “I told her about the usual—you know, chamomile, hops, and valerian—but she didn’t seem interested. The next thing, she was digging for information about belladonna and hemlock and stuff.” Serena’s gaze shifted from Addie to Marc. “I was shocked and told her those were poisonous and I’m not into that. I told her that I only blend teas and maybe she should talk to a witch.”

  Addie’s mouth dropped. “You never told me exactly what she said she was looking for, just that it was weird.”

  Serena’s shoulders rose. “I didn’t know it would be important then. It was just creepy at the time. I know I never told her anything, because I don’t know a lot about poisonous herbs and plants, only enough to stay away from them.” She shivered.

  “Well, someone gave her some information, apparently.” Marc slammed his hand against the board. “There were high levels of foxglove in Raymond’s system. The coroner just told me it’s like digoxin, a heart medication, but in the wrong dose it can cause a heart attack that will easily be mistaken for natural causes unless you’re specifically looking for it. It’s virtually undetectable, especially if the victim already has heart issues and is on other medications, as Raymond was.”

  “Lucky thing you and the coroner clued in to the odd aroma in the tea, isn’t it?” Addie stepped back and surveyed the crime board, glanced at Marc, and stopped herself from rubbing her chalk-covered fingers across her chin. “And you think perhaps my aunt was killed the same way?”

  He nodded. “It’s possible. Her death was ruled to be from natural causes, since she was sick and on other heart medications. There’s only one way to tell.”

  Addie’s eyes narrowed, her mind reeling with the information. “But why kill a sick old woman?” She bit her lip. “The killer was looking for something, obviously, and thought my aunt had it. I guess the easiest way to search for it would have been to get rid of her. That way he could slip in and out of the house and not worry about being caught.” She sat down hard on one of the book crates and groaned.

  “It could be a she,” Serena whispered, looking at the list of names.

  Marc rubbed the back of his neck, stretching it out.

  Addie stared at the board. “You’re right. What do you think?” She glanced at Marc.

  His eyes creased around the edges. “Whoever it is thinks you now have what they are desperate to get their hands on, and they’re quite willing to kill to get it.” His gaze danced from Addie to Serena.

  Addie looked up at him from her perch and cocked her head to the side. Her brow rose. “Come on, Marc, spit it out.”

  He frowned, his lips tightening.

  Serena smirked. “Someone’s about to deliver another lecture.”

  “Can’t a guy just think? Jeez,” he muttered. “But since—”

  “Ah, here it comes.” Serena leaned forward, her chin resting in her hand.

  Marc shook his head and looked at the blackboard. “It’s just that . . .”

  “Yes. We’re waiting.” Addie tapped her foot. “What’s on your mind?” She rolled her eyes.

  He surveyed the blackboard, then turned and looked from one woman to the other, his face drawn.

  “Come on, just say it, Marc. You’re still worried this is too big for us amateurs to wrap our heads around.” Addie stood up and walked over to him. “And you’re afraid that with everything we have here, it might put us in danger from whoever the killer or killers are? Right?” She looked up at him and their eyes locked.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders. “If we can connect all these dots together in the back room of a bookshop, and the killer or killers find out, you two could be in danger, do you understand?”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. She wanted him to hold her close and make all this disappear. She opened her mouth to speak. He placed his finger over her lips.

  “Addie, I think this is big, really big—FBI and Interpol big. You have to be very careful.”

  “We will be.” Serena leapt to her feet. “Here, I saw this before when I was helping Addie clean up after the first break-in.” She pulled a painter’s drop cloth off the top shelf of the broom closet. “We can keep the board covered with this.” She held it up. “No one but us will ever see it.”

  Marc raked his hand through his hair. “I guess it’ll be a start.”

  “It’s perfect.” Addie took it from her. “And just the right size to keep away prying eyes.”

  “I want you both to
swear to me,” Marc said, looking steadily from Serena to Addie, “that you won’t tell anyone what you have here. No one, understand? Not even Paige. We aren’t certain who else could be involved and can’t take any chances.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “I’d better get back to the station and call the coroner and get the court order for the exhumation.” He smiled and turned to leave. “I almost forgot.” He looked back at her, his brow creased. “Why was it so important for you to take one of Raymond’s sticky notes?”

  She slapped her hand to her forehead. “I’ll be right back.” She dashed to the storefront and returned waving a postcard. “This!” she announced smugly, grinning and handing it to Marc.

  Marc glanced at it and looked up at her. “What’s this besides a nice picture of a key?”

  “Look at the back.”

  He flipped it over. “‘Be careful’?” His eyes narrowed. “What does it mean?”

  “Look at this.” She retrieved the evidence bag from behind her back. “A perfect handwriting match.”

  Marc studied the sample against the note on the postcard and looked at her. “I need to get this analyzed by our handwriting expert.”

  “I am a handwriting expert.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since college. Part of the job as a researcher is to analyze the authenticity not only of old and rare books but also of ancient manuscripts, which are all handwritten. You have to be able to tell the clever copies from originals.”

  “Well, well, Miss Greyborne.” His head bobbed as he studied her face. “You and your many talents never cease to surprise me.”

  “I told you I could be useful.” She winked. “And”—she pointed to the sticky note and the postcard—“this is an exact match. Raymond knew something and was trying to warn me.”

  Serena peered over Marc’s shoulder at the picture of a key in a red silk-lined box. “Wow, I wonder what the key means?”

  “That’s what we have to find out now.” Addie wrote the word key on the blackboard and drew a line to Raymond’s name. “There.” She stood back, looked at the scribbles and lines, and crossed her arms.