Murder at Pirate's Cove

by Josh Lanyon

  “And in any case, between you and me, you’re not the only suspect.” Jones winked. “Do you have a sense of humor?”

  “I hope so.”

  “People all over the village are making bets on who the most likely suspect is. You’re not the only person Trevor rubbed the wrong way.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t all that humorous really, but Ellery tried not to let his dismay show.

  “Who’s the current odds-on favorite?” He couldn’t help recalling that Dylan had considered Jones a potential suspect, given that Trevor had been beating him in the mayoral race. Yesterday Trevor had been beating Jones and Tommy Rider both.

  “It’s a four-way tie.” The mayor laughed cheerfully and dropped his blunderbuss again.

  This time Ellery moved his foot in time.

  The mayor muttered something that sounded like, “Boil it in oil.” He once more picked up his gun, shoved it in his overly tight bandolier—where it nearly popped out again.

  “Uh, that’s not loaded, is it?” Ellery asked. The stares other shoppers were throwing them indicated a shared concern.

  “No, no,” the mayor said breezily. “It hasn’t been fired in years.”

  Ellery swallowed.

  “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, a four-way tie. That’s right. True, yours is the most practical motive.”

  “Is it? It is?”

  “Of course. Scuttlebutt has it that Trevor wanted to buy your store, and so you took out the competition before he could take you out.”

  “What about the other suspects’ motives?”

  The mayor looked thoughtful. “As ambitious as Thomasina is, she’s smart enough to know that in the end, I’m going to be reelected. And though Janet is still bitter about the divorce settlement, it’s hard to imagine her waiting five years to exact her revenge. Besides, they say poison is a woman’s weapon, and that seems right to me. If Janet had been going to murder Trevor, she’d have told him she was ready to sell her share in the bookstore, invite him over to discuss terms, and make him a nice cup of poisoned tea.” Jones’s warm eyes twinkled with amusement.

  Ellery? Not so much.

  “I didn’t realize Trevor shared ownership of Gimcrack Antiques.”

  “They don’t share ownership. Didn’t.” Jones seemed puzzled. “Oh, you mean the bookstore? Entirely different enterprise. It’s one reason Trevor wanted your shop so badly. He couldn’t get Janet to hand over Old Salt Stationery. She owned the store before they married, you see.”

  “You mean, the woman who owns the place on Mizzen Street is Trevor’s ex-wife? I never made the connection.” He also hadn’t considered that shop to be anything but a stationery store, though now that he thought about it, they did sell magazines and current paperback bestsellers. His eyes widened at the idea of that tall, very thin, very severe-looking woman ever being married to someone as loud and vulgar as Trevor.

  “That’s right,” Jones said. “But my money is on your neighbor, Dylan Carter. Carter is dead set on buying the old theater on Wallace Street and so was Trevor. And neither of those two were ever good losers.”

  “That’s… Well, at least I’m not the only person of interest.” Ellery didn’t know if this wealth of gossipy information made him feel better or worse, but at least he had a more solid starting point for his own inquiry.

  Jones said, “Not by a long shot, my boy. Don’t let the gossips and naysayers get you down. The truth will come out. The truth always comes out.” He smiled and patted Ellery on the shoulder as he moved past with his basket of purple paint.

  Ellery returned a weak smile and went back to perusing color samples.

  After picking out an elegant ivory he thought would work for the dining room, he left the hardware store.

  He was loading cans of paint and other supplies into his VW when a deep and vaguely familiar voice called out, “Avast there, me bucko!”

  A throbbing pain sliced through his head, but he fastened a smile to his face, turned and saw Tommy Rider coming his way.

  “Hey there. Long time, no see!”

  Tommy grinned. Today’s ensemble was full-on pirate drag: a pink brocade coat, tightly fitted black breeches, lacy white shirt, and tall black boots. Her hair was a mass of wild curls. She held a box of chandelier light bulbs, though he hadn’t noticed her in the hardware store.

  “Are you out on bail or on the lam?”

  “Ha,” Ellery said. “Neither.” If people could joke about your guilt, did that mean they didn’t really suspect you? Maybe? Hopefully?

  Tommy reached him. “Why aren’t you in costume?”

  Ellery glanced down at his jeans and T-shirt. “I just came into town to pick up a few things.”

  Tommy wiggled her eyebrows. “Tight breeches. Bare chest. Pirate hat. You’d have more business than you’d know what to do with.”

  “Yeah, I really don’t—”

  “I’m just teasing you. Seriously, how are you holding up, kiddo?”

  Kiddo? She was at most ten years older than him. But the concern in her eyes seemed genuine, and Ellery felt some of his tension ease. It was not a lot of fun feeling like Public Enemy Number One. Though no one in the hardware store other than Mayor Jones had accosted him, he had been uncomfortably aware of the stares and whispers that followed him down every aisle.

  “I’m okay. A little shell-shocked,” he admitted.

  “You and everyone else. Though if anyone in this town had to be eliminated, I guess Trevor was a good first draft pick.” She shrugged at Ellery’s expression. “One thing I’m not is a hypocrite.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I think the police department is really dragging their butts on this one,” Tommy said. “There should have been an arrest by now.”

  “I can’t say I mind, since I’m probably the person most likely to be arrested.”

  Tommy laughed. “You? Why would you think that? Janet Maples is who Chief Carson ought to throw behind bars. But she used to work for the police department, so of course they want to look the other way.”

  “Janet Maples? The ex-wife? Why do you think she would kill Trevor? Didn’t they divorce a long time ago?”

  “It’s always the wife. Don’t you watch Law and Order?”

  “I’m not a fan of mysteries.”

  Tommy looked taken aback at this admission, and then burst out laughing. “Then why the h-e-double-toothpick are you running a mystery bookstore?”

  “Because I inherited it.”

  “You mean if you’d inherited a bakery, you’d be making cupcakes right now?”

  “I love cupcakes,” Ellery admitted.

  Tommy laughed. “Oh my God, that’s so funny. Well, here’s the scoop, matey. Janet and Trevor had a tumultuous relationship, and things have remained tense ever since their split. In fact, I’ve never known a nastier divorce, and I work in real estate!”

  “But why would Janet wait years to get even?”

  “That’s what the police need to find out. Janet should be brought in for questioning and arrested. It’s an open-and-shut case, if you ask me. As potential future mayor, I plan on lighting a fire under the police department when it comes to investigations like this.” Tommy offered a charming smile with her impromptu campaign pitch.

  “Do you think there’ll be a lot of future cases like this?”

  Tommy shrugged. “Er, no. But that’s not the point.”

  Ellery gave an unwilling laugh. “Good. I’d hate to think I’d moved to Cabot Cove by mistake.”

  “See, you do like mysteries!”

  “Nope. But my mother loves Angela Lansbury. Anyway, I appreciate the kind words. I just hope the killer is brought to justice soon. I think everyone forgets that while their attention is focused on me, a murderer is walking around Pirate’s Cove.” Ellery slammed shut the trunk and moved toward the driver’s door.

  Tommy looked thoughtful. “Good point. Leave it to an innocent person to think of that.”

  Ellery tried to look appropriately inn
ocent.

  Tommy said, “I think I’m going to go have a chat with Chief Carson. This situation really needs to be taken seriously.”

  He could have told her Carson took it plenty seriously, but he was tired and ready to head home—while he was still free to do so.

  He unlocked the door, opened it, and a thought occurred. “Tommy?”

  She was already halfway down the sidewalk, but she glanced back. “Yes?”

  “You emailed me a while back that Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had given a spare key to the Crow’s Nest to someone. Do you remember who?”

  Tommy’s light eyes widened. He saw her processing his question, saw a flicker of wariness cross her face, but then she smiled. “Sure. Dylan Carter had a spare key. I don’t know if he still does. Probably.” She winked. “Enjoy your day, Ellery.” She sauntered off, hips swaying, dark curls bouncing in the sea breeze.

  Chapter Nine

  “You still here? I thought you were closed on Sundays,” Dylan greeted as Ellery walked into the Toy Chest.

  “I’m just about to head home.” Ellery had been trying to think of a tactful way to ask about the spare key, but since nothing had come to him, he just went for it. “Hey, I wanted to ask if you still have a key to the Crow’s Nest?”

  Dylan had been tying price tags to the masts of a small fleet of fiberglass sailboats. He froze for an instant and his expression went blank. “A key?”

  “Right.”

  Dylan hesitated. “I don’t think…” he began.

  Ellery cut in, “When Tommy and I were first communicating about the property, she mentioned Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had given you a spare key.”

  “Oh, right!” Dylan said with false heartiness. The alarm in his eyes was plain even across the room. “I’d forgotten all about that key. Yes. Eudora did give me a key ages ago. I don’t think I’ve seen it in years.” As if in afterthought, he asked, “Why? Did you want it back?”

  Ellery understood Dylan’s dilemma. Even if he was perfectly innocent—and Ellery wanted to believe he was—Dylan knew having that key in his possession upped his standing as a suspect in Trevor’s murder. Of course it did! Because one of the things that made Ellery’s own position so perilous was the location of the crime scene. The fact that Trevor had been found in Ellery’s closed store was one of the biggest counts against him.

  But with a flimsy front-door lock and spare keys floating around, that particular indicator of guilt carried a lot less weight. Reasonable doubt. That was the name of the game, and the fact that the Crow’s Nest was more easily accessible than it might appear at first glance, certainly created reasonable doubt. At least on that score.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m having the place rekeyed tomorrow.”

  “Ah,” Dylan said. “Of course.”

  Ellery wasn’t enjoying this. He liked Dylan. He’d liked Dylan from the moment Dylan had first strolled into the bookstore to tell him that the local theater was doing an adaptation of Peter Pan and would he like complimentary tickets.

  Through the cold and wet spring they had bonded over a mutual love of theater, the New Yorker, cocktails, and kitsch. Dylan had made Ellery feel welcome. He had made him feel he could add value to the community. While most of the village might whisper behind Ellery’s back, he had known Dylan would never join in. It was painful to realize Dylan was lying to him.

  And it wasn’t like he could challenge him on it.

  Awkwardly, Ellery said, “Okay. I just wondered.”

  Dylan was equally uncomfortable. “No need to worry. That key’s safe in the back of a drawer somewhere.” He was still smiling that stiff, strained smile.

  “See you tomorrow,” Ellery said, and practically backed out of the store.

  * * * * *

  MURDER HE WROUGHT!

  Ellery spat his morning coffee all over the front page of the Scuttlebutt Weekly as he read the Monday morning headline.

  Failed actor, failed screenwriter, and now failed bookseller Ellery Page may have finally succeeded at one thing. The New York transplant is the prime suspect in the murder of one of Pirate’s Cove leading citizens, according to a source at PCPD.

  What had he ever done to Sue Lewis—to anyone, for that matter—to deserve this treatment?

  His disbelieving gaze raked over each malicious sentence, pausing only to goggle in outrage at the very unflattering photo of himself looking half-crazed—with bits of linoleum in his hair, no less—taken yesterday morning when he’d snarled at Sue Lewis to get out of his face—and doorway.

  What a-a…piece of work! Lewis and her paper. This wasn’t journalism, it was a hatchet job. It was a hit piece. It was character assassination. And, by the way, wasn’t it illegal to publish a photo of someone without their consent? He would have to ask his lawyer. Did he have a lawyer? Did Mr. Landry count as his lawyer, or had his responsibilities ended with Great-great-great-aunt Eudora? Anyway, he would have to ask a lawyer about this and about other things, because the article made it sound like he was about to be arrested any second.

  Was he?

  Ellery’s heart sank. He had actually been feeling almost cheerful when he arrived at work that morning. When Chief Carson had phoned late last night to tell him he could reopen the shop, Ellery had assumed that was a good sign. Not that Carson had put it that way, but he had said the final survey of the bookshop had been conducted and the Crow’s Nest was being released as a crime scene.

  “What does that mean?” Ellery had asked.

  “It means we’ve got everything we need from the crime scene,” Carson had replied.

  Maybe he’d meant they now had enough to charge Ellery?

  It sure sounded that way from Sue’s article.

  He sucked in a sharp breath. Was it possible they had searched the shop again and discovered the sword hidden somewhere?

  According to eyewitness accounts, Page repeatedly threatened Maples, the leading candidate in the closely contested race for mayor of Pirate’s Cove.

  That wasn’t even true. He hadn’t repeatedly threatened Trevor. He hadn’t threatened him at all. And what eyewitness accounts? There had been no eyewitnesses.

  Wait.

  Ellery stopped, thinking back. Come to think of it, there had been someone in the store during at least part of his argument with Trevor. That person had departed by the time Ellery rehung the cutlass over the door, because Ellery vaguely remembered glancing down the aisles of shelves for him. Or her.

  His heart began to pound with a mix of alarm and excitement. He needed to know who this “eyewitness” was because it seemed very possible to him that here was another suspect in Trevor’s murder.

  Or was he jumping to conclusions?

  He wasn’t sure. Just because you jumped to a conclusion didn’t mean your conclusion was wrong.

  Anyway, he needed to know who that unseen listener was. And he also wanted to know who the unnamed source was at Pirate’s Cove Police Department—and whether it was true he was about to be arrested.

  According to persons familiar with the case, Maples had offered to purchase the failing business on two separate occasions. Page, who inherited the store from lifelong PICO resident and local eccentric Eudora Page, became enraged and accused Maples of trying to drive him out of business.

  How could someone get away with printing such a pack of lies? And also—off-topic but true—man, he hated that kind of cutesy acronym. Just spell out the name of the village for heaven’s sake! Jeez.

  He finished the article and rested his face in his hands. Every time he thought things were getting better, they got worse. Every time he thought things were as bad as they could get, they got worse. Was he never going to catch a break? The hit piece in the Scuttlebutt Weekly felt like the last straw. According to Lewis’s reporting, Ellery was the only real suspect in Trevor’s murder—and that might even be true—but what was worse, much worse, was the unsubtle suggestion that Ellery was indeed guilty of the crime. Lewis wasn’t just accusing him, she pre
tty much had him already tried and convicted.

  The awful part was people would believe it. He’d believe it, if he were reading about someone else. He’d take it for granted the paper was unbiased. He was shocked that it wasn’t. Was this just a small-town thing? Someone had to be guilty and he was the outsider? Or was Lewis so desperate to boost circulation that she was willing to exaggerate the facts and slant the news? Or was it something else? Something personal.

  It felt personal, but that was likely because he was the target.

  Ellery lowered his hands. He couldn’t know Sue Lewis’s motivation, but one thing he could find out was how much truth there was to her story. If there was one person in PICO—er, Pirate’s Cove—who didn’t mind sharing unvarnished and painful truths, it was Jack Carson.

  Ellery rose from his desk, grabbed the paper, and headed for the front door of the Crow’s Nest. The bell jangled in warning as the door slammed shut behind him.

  Police Chief Carson was having his morning coffee and frowning over the Scuttlebutt Weekly when Ellery rapped sharply on his office doorframe.

  Carson’s frown only deepened at the sight of Ellery. He put down his blue coffee mug, laid aside the paper, and nodded at the chair in front of his cluttered desk.

  “Can I help you, Mr. Page?”

  “Can you?” Ellery retorted, taking the chair in front of Carson’s desk. “Because it looks to me like my fate is sealed.”

  “Your fate is sealed?” Carson repeated thoughtfully. “That’s a little dramatic.”

  “You read the paper. She’s all but publicly accused me of murdering Trevor. If people didn’t suspect me before, they sure will now.”

  “They did suspect you before.”

  Probably true, but not exactly conducive to defusing the situation.

  “That’s just great!” Ellery said hotly. “So that’s it? I’m being tried in the court of public opinion before I’m even arrested?”