Murder by the Bookend

by Laura Gail Black

  Dragging myself back to my current wardrobe, I slid my hand past the jeans I preferred to wear most days and pulled a pair of slacks out of the closet. I laid them across the bed and pulled open a drawer to remove a mauve sweater. “What about this, Eddy?” I gestured to the outfit.

  Eddy, ever helpful, thumped his tail once and closed his eyes.

  I showered and dressed, walked Eddy once more, and took him downstairs to the store.

  A low whistle met me. “Wow, you look great.” Mason stood on a ladder, placing books on the overstock shelf. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I’m surprising Rita at the Inn for lunch.” I reached down and ruffled Eddy’s fur. “Can you watch Eddy while I’m gone? I’ve already walked him, and he shouldn’t need anything before I get back, but he gets stressed when he’s left alone.”

  Mason deftly jumped to the floor. “Sure thing, boss.” He strode across the room, knelt in front of the dog, and scratched him under the chin. “It’ll be just us guys, boy. You up for that?”

  Eddy swept his tail back and forth and gave Mason’s face a quick lick.

  Mason stood, wiping his cheek. “Yeah, I think we’ve got this covered. Have fun.”

  As I walked down the sidewalk outside the store, I glanced back in, catching Mason playing a rousing game of chase with Eddy. I stopped and watched, smiling at the boyish antics, which ended with Mason on the floor cuddling the dog, whose tongue hung out of a goofy grin.

  With a light heart, I drove toward the historic estate. After parking in the lot near the inn, I accepted a footman’s help into one of the horse-drawn carriages. To give guests an experience as immersive as possible, the inn required all cars to park in a gated and guarded lot a couple of miles from the inn. Guests were then driven to the estate in horse-drawn carriages that were replicas from the first few years of the 1900s.

  Enjoying the carriage ride down the tree-lined drive, I let time and stress slip away. Sun dappled through the leaves overhead, and the crisp, clean air invigorated me. As I slipped from the carriage at the inn’s steps, I tipped my driver and pulled two carrots from my pocket, which I had grabbed before I left my apartment, giving one each to the horses who had brought me up the lane. Their whuffing sniffs and velvety lips tickled my palms as they took my offered tip, and I left them happily munching as I strode up the steps and entered the building.

  Built in the last few years of the 1800s, the inn was a veritable museum to life at the turn of the twentieth century. Designed to compete with George Vanderbilt’s estate, Biltmore, in Asheville, the mansion that had, almost two centuries later, become Hokes Bluff Inn had been designed to be a fully self-sustaining estate. The soaring architecture and the intricate woodwork took my breath away every time I entered the vast entry-hall-cum-lobby.

  I strode to the front desk and asked for Rita to be paged. While I waited, I explored the expensive paintings, originals, hung in ornate frames at intervals down the long entry hall. Steps approaching and the rustle of skirts caught my attention, and I turned.

  “Hi! What brings you here today?” Rita approached, arms outstretched for a hug.

  “Hi, yourself.” I took in her gorgeous green day dress patterned after those in the early twentieth century. The long skirt, piped in darker green in several horizontal rows near the bottom, belled out below the knee, and her button-up boots peeked out from underneath the hem. A white ruffled shirt with a high collar, buttoned to the top of her throat, and a green long-sleeved jacket with velvet lapels completed the ensemble. As she was indoors, she wore no hat, but her red hair was piled on her head in delicate waves.

  Careful not to muss her, I leaned in for the hug. “I’m here to take you to lunch in the dining room. I know you’re swamped with the upcoming event, but you do have to eat.”

  Rita linked her arm through mine. “Invitation accepted.”

  As we entered the dining hall, a long room that had once housed a massive table but was now scattered with smaller tables, a shrill voice hit my ears, and I turned.

  “I don’t care if you have someone else scheduled for the dining hall that night.” Selina March leaned in toward Elliot Burke, the inn’s manager. “Cancel them. I’m paying you good money to host this ball.”

  Elliot’s soft voice, too low to make out, wafted across the room, but apparently his comments didn’t soothe the savage beast.

  “I. Don’t. Care.” Selina’s voice rose in volume with each word. “Find a way and fix it.” She turned on her heel and stalked across the room.

  Before she’d taken more than a few steps, Elliot caught her elbow, this time close enough for his words to carry to us. “Mrs. March, I’m sure we can find a way to accommodate both events. We do have a secondary dining hall, which sits very near the great hall where the ball will be held. We prefer to reserve it for exclusive events, but we would be willing to open it up for your event. Shall we go view the room?”

  I had to hand it to him, he knew how to smooth ruffled feathers.

  Selina almost purred at the term “exclusive,” and she looped her hand through his offered elbow. “Darling, why didn’t you tell me about this secret room earlier? It sounds like exactly what I need.”

  They crossed the room toward the door, which would take them past our table. I tried to duck behind the menu, not wanting another conversation with the irritating woman. However, Selina had already caught sight of us.

  “You.” Selina’s tone now sounded a bit accusatory, and her face formed into a sneer. “Trying to see how a real event should be handled?”

  “Oh, hello, Selina. I didn’t realize you were here.” I carefully closed my menu and laid it on the table.

  Selina’s raised brows implied she didn’t believe me. “If you really want to snoop about it, I can try to get you a position on the serving staff. If you learn how they should be done, maybe your little events won’t be so boring in the future.” A nasty grin slid across her face. “You shouldn’t have to resort to providing a murder weapon for a guest’s death to spice things up.”

  My mouth opened, and my shin felt a sharp pain. I looked across at Rita, whose pursed lips and narrowed gaze told me she’d kick me under the table again if I angered Selina enough that Elliot lost the business.

  Chagrined, I took a deep breath and plastered a fake smile on my face, not really caring if she could tell it wasn’t real. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be busy that night.”

  Elliot tugged gently on her arm, turning her away from our table. “Mrs. March, we’d better hurry before someone else manages to book the private room.”

  Flashing a blazingly white-toothed grin at her escort, Selina let herself be led away. “Do tell me more about this room.”

  When she was out of earshot, I leaned in toward Rita. “At least I won’t have to threaten to divorce someone to force him to pay for my ego trip of an event.”

  Rita picked up her menu and flipped it open. “I can’t believe she fell for the ‘secret and private exclusive room’ schtick.”

  I laughed and looked up from my own menu. “You guys don’t really have one?”

  The server approached, and we quickly ordered before Rita answered.

  “Oh, there is a room.” Rita handed her menu to the server, who turned and left. “But there’s nothing secret or exclusive about it. We use it to hold the overflow of the main dining hall. If an event is big enough, it’s generally used to feed and entertain the kids while the adults are in the main dining hall.”

  A burst of laughter erupted from my throat, which drew a couple of stares from across the room. “She’s basically being put at the kids’ table?”

  Rita smiled and primly rearranged her skirts. “Don’t you think that’s where she belongs?”

  This time I kept my laughter at a lower volume, but tears leaked from my eyes before I could contain my mirth again. “Do you guys think you’ll be able to get everything ready in time for her ball? I heard it was supposed to be on Friday. That’s only four days away
.”

  Our food arrived, and Rita unwrapped her flatware and placed her napkin in her lap. “We’ll make it. With how everyone has pitched in, plus a bit of sheer luck in finding an available florist over in Asheville, who will deliver arrangements to us on short notice, we’ll be ready with time to spare.”

  I swallowed a bite of crisp salad greens. “Will you work the night of the event?”

  “Nope. Everyone will show up already dressed. Nothing for me to do.” She sipped her iced tea. “I’ll leave a few of my people available to help the staff with their clothing, but I’ve done about all I can with my department to help prep for the event.”

  “Well, you’re missing a lot of fun at the bookstore. We’re sure to have a lot more customers after today’s article in the paper.” I shoved a cherry tomato around on my plate.

  A crease slid across Rita’s brow. “Article?”

  I sighed and leaned back, dropping my fork on my plate. “Remember that day when I went to talk to the reporter that Linus was supposed to meet?”

  Rita nodded and chewed.

  “Seems she wrote an article that implies Twice Upon a Time is murder central.”

  “No!” gasped Rita. “She didn’t!”

  “She did.” I shook my head. “I should’ve known better. I, of all people, know how they can twist innocent comments into sensationalism in order to sell papers.”

  Rita reached across the table and patted my hand. “Honey, the folks in this town know you’re a good one. They loved and trusted Paul, and they love you too. This will blow over, and things will be fine.”

  Later, on the carriage ride back to the parking lot and the drive back to the historic district, my mind spun with worry over the bad publicity sparked by the newspaper article. And after Selina March’s insulting comments and her hateful selfishness, I could easily see her jumping on this latest way to make my store look bad.

  When I entered the store, Mason shoved something under the counter and greeted me with a huge smile that looked a little forced. “Hi! Welcome back. I have everything ready for the remaining two days of the grand reopening sale.”

  “Was that today’s paper?” I didn’t feel like dancing around the issue, and I was pretty sure I knew what he was hiding under the counter.

  Mason’s smile slipped a little. “Today’s paper?” His voice squeaked a bit.

  Man, this kid was a really bad liar. I chuckled as I plopped my purse on the counter. My hand groped underneath and came up with a wad of thin paper, which I dragged into the light.

  “Yes, this paper.” I placed the offending paper, offending article facing up, on the counter. “It’s okay, I’ve already seen it.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Mason visibly relaxed. “I’ve been getting calls all day from reporters asking for quotes, so I went to buy the paper to see what the big deal was.”

  “I hope you had the good sense to say, ‘No comment.’” I smoothed the wrinkles from the paper, this time noticing what a nice photo they’d used of the store. Of course, it was marred by the adjoining picture, a shot of the crime scene with tape surrounding it and investigators kneeling next to the body’s former location, dried blood still in place.

  “Duh.” Mason shrugged. “Everyone knows reporters will twist your words.”

  I winced. Everyone but me, it seemed. “It won’t matter. They’ll spin what’s here and turn us into the little shop of murder before it’s all said and done.”

  Mason gestured at the photo spread below the article’s title. “With shots like that, it’s pretty much a definite. But at least folks will come in.”

  I propped my elbows on the counter and leaned my forehead in my hands, glaring at the article, wishing I could go back in time and undo that conversation. “Yes, they’ll come in, but traffic of that type doesn’t equate to book sales.”

  Mason shoved my shoulder. “Hey, we’ll survive this. We did fine after Paul’s and Norman Childers’s deaths.”

  Straightening my spine, I took a deep breath. “Mason, you’re absolutely right. We’ll figure it out.” I smiled, forcing myself to relax. Just how we’d figure it out, I wasn’t quite sure.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tuesday morning, I overslept, having tossed and turned throughout the night, churning through guilt over Linus’s death and Eddy’s grief. Selina’s spiteful words haunted me. “You shouldn’t have to resort to providing a murder weapon for a guest’s death to spice things up.” She had been right. I had not only invited him, but I’d given the killer the weapon.

  In the light of morning, as I showered to wake myself up, I wondered how Selina had known what the weapon was. I tried to mentally replay the news blurb about the murder, but I’d been so wrapped up in how to do damage control after the way the reporter had made my store seem like murder paradise that I couldn’t remember if the bookends had been mentioned or not.

  As I gobbled down my breakfast of cereal and coffee—I needed to expand my repertoire—I scanned the article. Yep, it had indeed mentioned the bookends. Stumped again. It would’ve been a great telltale sign that Selina might have killed him if the article hadn’t been so forthcoming.

  I stopped mid-chew. What a horrible thought. My mother would be ashamed. I could almost hear her now. “You should not wish for the downfall of another or be disappointed that someone may not be guilty.” But was I wishing for Selina to be guilty? Hmm … maybe. However, I tried to convince myself it was simply a desire to find the guilty party, so Linus’s memory could be laid to rest in peace.

  Forcing Selina’s greed and spiteful words out of my mind, I walked into the dining area to get Eddy’s vet folder. Here, at least, was something positive I could do for the dog. Maybe putting him on a medication temporarily would help in the long run. Wouldn’t hurt to ask. As I picked up the folder, papers slid from under it onto the floor.

  I bent to pick up several sets of stapled pages. It seemed I’d accidentally been given two folders when I’d gone to Linus’s house. The second folder, labeled “Inventory,” must have been in the cabinet right behind the Hokes Folly Veterinary Clinic folder they’d intended to give me. I restacked the printouts and slid them into the folder. No time to go through them, though. I didn’t want Mason to have to manage the store alone after that article. There was no telling what the day would bring.

  Instead, I finished feeding Eddy, walked him, and we headed to the store, both folders tucked under my arm. When we entered, the store had only been open ten minutes, but the phone was ringing, and I counted five customers already there. Mason had been cornered by three women, the oldest of whom seemed to be in her fifties, and he signaled me for help, a desperate look in his eyes. I shoved the folders under the counter and went to his rescue.

  As I approached, I heard him all but shout, “Look, here she is now. I’m sure she’ll be able to help you better than I can.” He race-walked back to the counter, where a legitimate customer seemed ready to buy.

  I turned to the ladies. “How may I help you?”

  “I’m Helen Grigby.” The oldest woman raised her chin a bit. “And this is Lavinia Scoddin and Elizabeth North.” She gestured to the other two women, each somewhere in their forties. “We’re from the Hokes Folly chapter of the Women’s League on Public Safety. We’d like to know what you’re doing about the repeated murders in your store. We’re prepared to stage a boycott if you don’t provide adequate safety for patrons.”

  I gritted my teeth, my mother’s voice ringing in my ear, demanding I be civil rather than bellow out the banshee scream that was rising from my depths. “I’m sorry you’ve been misinformed, ladies. There have not been multiple murders in my store.”

  Helen pursed her lips and clasped her purse tighter. “I read the article. I know a man was murdered here a few days ago.”

  I smiled sweetly. “Actually, he was murdered in the parking lot outside the historic district. I believe that would make it the Town Council’s responsibility to provide adequate security and lighting, not
mine. Now, if you ladies would like to discuss used or antique books, I can suggest a few you might like to purchase. If not, I need to assist other customers.” I ignored my inner Mom-voice chiding me for being a bit rude. There was a time for being nice, but sometimes you had to be firm.

  Helen harrumphed. “Well, I never. Come on, ladies.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the door, the other two ladies flowing in her wake.

  The phone was ringing again, and as Mason was helping a customer, I grabbed it off the cradle. I caught sight of Mason shaking his head and mouthing, No, don’t, as I raised the receiver to my ear and cheerfully said, “Twice Upon a Time. How can I help you?”

  “This is Jackie Lathan from WBGR in Charlotte. We’ve heard there’s been another murder linked to this store. Are you the owner?”

  Flabbergasted, I stammered, “What? I … yes—no comment!” I hung the phone up without giving the reporter a chance to respond. Instantly it rang again.

  Mason’s hand on my shoulder made me jump.

  “It’s been like that since I got here.” He picked up the phone base and unplugged it, silencing the ringing. “I think we should leave it unplugged for a few days.”

  Numbly I nodded, trying not to flash back to the hounding and beating I had taken from the press in Charlotte before I’d come to Hokes Folly. It had been a veritable nightmare.

  “My mom always said, ‘This, too, shall pass.’ I think she would have said that now too.” Mason turned at the sound of the front door chimes and went to greet an entering customer.