Proof of Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  Frantic, she flipped up books and scanned spine titles, sorted through the stacks, and stopped when she spotted the cover for The Hound of the Baskervilles on the far back corner of the table. Her heart thudded as she opened the cover to the title page. It was just as she feared when the aged but still glossy cover caught her eye. This was a book-club replica. A few years back a publisher had released a series of classic novels reprinted to look like the originals. She had this same set in her store and knew they weren’t worth much more than the publisher’s suggested retail price. She flipped open the cover of the next book in the pile. The Sign of the Four. It was the same. As were the copies of A Study in Scarlet and The Valley of Fear.

  Realization struck her like a lightning bolt. She threw her hands up, as not to touch anything else, and danced a step backward from the table. Addie looked over at Charlotte’s body slumped in the chair and then back at the Holmes books. This was a crime scene after all.

  Chapter 7

  Addie couldn’t shake the sensation that she was being watched. It was as though the walls in the library had eyes of their own. In her logical mind, she knew that she was completely alone in the room—well, except for poor Charlotte—so she tried to tell herself the feeling was simply her overactive imagination playing tricks. After all, whose nerves wouldn’t be on edge when trapped in a room over thirty minutes with a dead body, right?

  Her phone vibrated in her front pocket. Her arms flailed, sending an antique Tiffany lamp crashing to the floor. The glass shade exploded into shimmering rainbow shards around her feet. “Oh no!”

  Somewhere in the horror of what had just happened, she knew someone was speaking to her, but the words were shrouded in fog and floated in and out of her mind until a calloused hand gripped hers. “I said, are you okay, Addie? You’re as white as a ghost. Maybe you should sit down?”

  “No . . . I’m . . . I’m fine, Jerry, but boy, am I glad to see you. You aren’t going to believe what I found out.”

  “You mean there’s more than a dead body and this broken lamp? Or are you saying the body is dead because of this lamp?”

  “Well, no, I broke the lamp and as far as I know it has nothing to do with the body—I don’t think—but there’s more. There’s also a set of rare Sherlock Holmes books missing from this room.”

  “Of course, there is.” Jerry, a burly, broad-chested man, fidgeted with the handcuffs on his utility belt. “But tell me, how is it whenever you’re involved, a book is missing and a body is discovered?”

  “Coincidence?” She winced.

  Jerry slid her a look and yanked his notebook from his chest pocket as he concentrated on the desk chair. “I’ll get the details later about the books. Right now, I’m pretty sure the chief would want me to focus on the most obvious mystery in this room.”

  “The chief? But isn’t that still you?” He shook his head. “Okay then, he’s going to love this, because not only are the books missing but they were replaced with copies. Is that mysterious enough?”

  “Miss Greyborne.” Marc Chandler, Chief of Police, bellowed his greeting over the noise of the eruption of the police presence in the library. “Why am I not surprised to see you in a room with a dead body?”

  “I . . . umm . . .” Addie was torn by his clipped tone and the breathtaking sight of the lock of sun-kissed chestnut hair dangling over his tanned forehead. “I was just telling Jerry here that—”

  “Save it. I’ll get back to your statement later. In the meantime, have a seat.” He pointed at two reading chairs in the far back corner of the room. “Stay there until I’m ready to question you, and,” he added mumbling, “in heaven’s name, please don’t interfere.”

  A hot flush spread up her neck to her cheeks. She swallowed to dislodge a lump forming in the back of her throat and scowled at the chairs Marc had indicated. This was humiliating and far too reminiscent of when she was a child, and her grandmother would send her to the corner for a time out.

  Without even as much as another glance in her direction, Marc waved his arm toward the door. “Mr. Edwards, now that we’re in the room and not in the hallway, run me through again exactly what transpired when you and Miss Greyborne first entered?”

  Addie marched over to where Marc stood speaking with Jerry and Blake, his back turned to her. “Excuse me, Chief, but I have new evidence to add to the investigation of this scene.”

  Marc’s shoulders sagged. “I’m certain you do, Miss Greyborne, and when I’m ready for your statement, I will call on you. Now please sit down.”

  Addie opened her mouth to retort but then snapped it shut. What’s the point? Nothing so far about his reaction to seeing her for the first time in three months, since late February, was how she had envisioned it would be. The fact that he was back in town and hadn’t even contacted her probably meant things were in far more of a mess than she realized.

  Her heart felt as if it would explode like the lamp shade. He probably wouldn’t even care enough to pick up the shattered pieces. They as a couple and, apparently, as friends were too broken by their last conversation.

  Addie flopped into her time-out chair. Her eyes held steadfast on Marc as Blake walked him through the movements leading up to when he and Addie found Charlotte dead. Addie kept her ears perked for the slightest variation in the story, but Blake did well. She shifted in her seat. She hated feeling useless. Finally, by the table, they were close enough for her to hear more clearly what was being said about the missing books.

  “Sorry, I can’t help with that one,” Blake said. “I never saw the originals. They were something that Addie and her cousin Kalea came across yesterday when they were cataloguing the books we found earlier this week in the attic.”

  “So then you can’t verify the original books actually existed?”

  How dare he dispute my claim! Addie narrowed her gaze, hoping that every last imaginary dart she could conjure in her mind found its way to Marc’s cold, cold heart. Blake glanced over at Addie, a look of helplessness in his eyes. “No, I can’t, but they would have been put into Charlotte’s cataloguing system after they were appraised.”

  “And where might I find this system?”

  “It would be in her computer files on her laptop.”

  “Do you know where her laptop is?”

  Blake glanced over to the desk and shrugged.

  “Where was Charlotte staying while she was in town?”

  “The Grey Gull Inn.”

  “Is that where her assistant,” Marc said, flipping back through his notes, “Robert Peters, is also staying?”

  “Yes, we all are.”

  “Have you seen Mr. Peters today?”

  “No. His car is here on the front street, but I haven’t seen him around.”

  “Could it be possible that he has Charlotte’s laptop?”

  “I suppose so.” Tiny beads of perspiration formed on Blake’s brow. “But it’s hard to say. I don’t recall him ever working on it before. He generally did his work on his own and then would e-mail his reports to Charlotte. She never really trusted him with her personal laptop.”

  “Do you know why? He was her assistant, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, but Charlotte was like that. I was surprised to hear that she gave Addie access to it yesterday, but maybe she felt she didn’t have a choice, given the rush job to get this room ready for today’s auction.”

  Marc’s eyes narrowed in on Blake’s face. Droplets of perspiration now dripped from Blake’s brow. He took a hankie out of his breast pocket, dabbed his forehead, and stuffed it back into his pocket.

  “Mr. Edwards, why do I have the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”

  Blake glanced around the room and leaned closer to Marc. “It’s just that,” his voice dropped, “if there are books missing, it’s not the first time things have disappeared from this house.”

  “Have you reported this to the police?”

  “No.” Blake plucked his hankie from his pocket and wiped under his
collar.

  Addie nearly slipped off the edge of her chair as she leaned closer to the two men. This was news to her, and she didn’t want to miss a word.

  “May I ask why you haven’t reported these thefts?”

  Blake’s knuckles shone white from the death grip he had on the hankie. “I was afraid that the culprit was one of my staff, and I wanted to find out who it was before it got out of hand. News of the thefts could have destroyed the reputation of my company.”

  “Did you discover who was stealing from the estate?”

  “No. I tried everything. I even submitted the staff to bag checks before they left for the day, but things still disappeared.”

  “How did your staff take to being searched?”

  “Not well at first, but I showed them news articles about some of the larger retail businesses that had adopted the same procedures to help them with loss prevention. I told them it was just a good precaution considering the value of some of the items they were working with.”

  “Did that stop the thefts?”

  Blake shook his head. “No, and then they started reporting other strange occurrences.”

  “Such as?”

  Blake glanced at Addie. “Such as things like . . .”

  “Like what?”

  Blake squashed the balled-up hankie in his fist. “After they had finished setting up the displays in a room and came back the next day, everything had been moved back to its original place, and they had to start all over again.”

  Marc tapped his pen on the spiral coil of his notepad. “These missing books that Miss Greyborne mentioned to one of my officers could be part of this same ongoing heist.”

  “More than likely.”

  “Tell you what, Mr. Edwards. See that officer over by the door? Before you leave, I want you to give him a detailed list of everything you’ve discovered to be missing from the estate collection.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yeah, we’ll need a full report so we can start investigating.”

  “This whole thing about the ongoing thefts won’t become public knowledge, I trust?” Blake whispered.

  “I can’t promise that, but I will do my best.”

  “I understand.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Edwards, you’ve been very helpful.” Marc flicked a glance at Addie and then drew a card from his police-issue jacket. “I may have more questions for you, but in the meantime, if you think of anything else, please call me. That’s my cell number on the bottom.”

  “I will. Thank you, Chief.” Blake trudged toward the young officer by the door.

  Addie’s phone vibrated in her front pocket. She jerked it out fumbling it like a football in the air. Six missed text messages. All from Serena:

  What do you mean it’s too late?

  What’s going on?

  Are you ok?

  Why aren’t you answering?

  I’m on my way to Hill Road House!

  And the last one:

  I’m outside, they won’t let anyone in. Are you ok?

  Knowing Serena would storm the gates and probably get arrested, by her brother, again, Addie swiped out a text.

  I’m fine, just a bit of an issue here. The police are looking into it. Don’t worry. Go back to SerenaTEA. I’ll come by later.

  There, that should calm things down for a while. Addie looked up and glanced around the room for Marc. Surely he’s ready to take my statement now? Her shoulders sagged when she spotted him over by the doorway talking to another officer. She quickly scrolled through her texts and calls but there was still nothing from Kalea. Now she was concerned. Her cousin might be a bit of a flake, but she generally had never been outright rude. Addie held on to the hope that Kalea had been caught in whatever excitement the police presence at the house had caused, and was waiting outside for Addie. She shoved the phone back into her pocket.

  When Simon Emerson walked into the library, wearing his coroner’s green hospital scrubs, Addie’s heart leapt in response to his friendly face, and she grinned when his gaze locked with hers. His blue eyes lit up, and he flashed her that dazzling smile that highlighted the slight dimples in his cheeks. Marc greeted his previous rival for her attentions with a hearty laugh and handshake as if they were old buddies—a far cry from the type of greeting they had exchanged at Christmas, which was the last time they’d seen each other. Or was it? Did Simon know Marc was back in town and didn’t tell me? It was clear to her that something had changed between the two of them.

  Addie tilted forward in her seat, hoping to hear what they were saying. But it was no use. Marc had told her to sit in one of the chairs farthest from the action, and there were so many people milling around the room now it was impossible to hear much of anything. Then Simon nodded at something Marc said, glanced over at Addie, a slight smile twitching at the corners of his lips. He tugged on some blue rubber gloves and joined Jerry, who stood beside the body.

  Addie drummed her fingers on the arms of the chair. This waiting-her-turn nonsense was excruciating. After overhearing the conversation between Blake and Marc, she was dying to add her perspective on what happened. Plus, she needed to speak with Blake to try to find out more about the thefts he’d mentioned. As far as she was concerned, that was big news, but Marc didn’t appear to be all over it. Her gaze flitted from Marc to the door as she mentally tried to will him to see the significance of what Blake disclosed and go after him. Then a smile touched the corners of his mouth as he headed toward the door.

  Yes! She edged forward in her seat. He’d finally gotten the message and was going to follow up with Blake himself and not leave the questioning to a young officer. She let out a deep sigh of relief and sank back in her chair. Unfortunately, her elation didn’t last long. An attractive, raven-haired woman had entered the library, and when her gaze met Marc’s she returned a smile that reached her smoky-dark eyes. By the look on Marc’s face as he approached the woman, it was clear to Addie that it was the sight of her and not a revelation about what Blake said earlier that was the reason behind the change in his previous, dour-police-chief demeanor.

  Addie studied the woman, trying to figure out who she was. She was fairly certain she wasn’t one of Blake’s employees, because even though her white, collared, sleeveless blouse and black, slim-fit capris were summer wear, as theirs was, there was nothing casual about their tailored cut. Her red open-toed sandals and matching tote bag even screamed totally put-together professional woman.

  When the woman leaned over and said something to Marc, Addie couldn’t help but notice how close they stood to each other. So close, in fact, their shoulders brushed, which didn’t appear to create that usual awkward moment for either of them, and then when she laid her hand on Marc’s forearm, Addie knew. Whoever she was, she and Marc were anything but strangers or casual acquaintances. Addie shifted and began to stand up again. Enough was enough. She needed to know what was going on. Then the woman looked across the room directly at Addie and nodded at something Marc said.

  Addie’s chest tightened as the raven-haired woman sauntered toward her and she plopped back into her seat. It appeared that at least one of her questions was about to be answered.

  “Miss Greyborne, do you mind if I have a seat”—the mystery woman motioned to the neighboring chair—“and ask you a few questions?”

  “Sure, and you are?”

  “Forgive me.” She held out her hand, “I’m Special Agent Ryley Brookes.”

  “Special agent? Like an FBI agent?”

  “Yes, and I must say how nice it is to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Special Agent Brookes perched on the edge of the other chair.

  “You’ve heard about me? From whom?”

  “The DA’s office, Chief Chandler.” She shrugged. “You’ve made quite the stir in the town from what I hear.”

  “Coming from the FBI, I’m not sure if that’s good news or bad.”

  Brookes shook her head with a soft chuckle, her dark, wavy, shoulder-length ha
ir swinging freely.

  “Can you tell me why the FBI is interested in Charlotte McAdams’s death?”

  “They’re not, officially. I’m here on leave and just helping a friend speed up the investigation process.” Agent Brookes removed a small notebook and pen from the tote at her side. “Now, Miss Greyborne. Can I call you Addie?”

  Addie nodded, the hold on her chest twisting. Marc had spent two of the last three months attending a series of FBI-sponsored training programs for law enforcement officers at Quantico. His last month, if Serena’s gossip was correct, had been spent in Italy taking some of his built-up vacation time at the strong urging of the mayor.

  Addie eyed her interrogator. Her skin shared the same sun-kissed glow of Marc’s. The cold hand twisting at Addie’s chest wrenched one more time. Marc had met this woman at the FBI Academy. And then took her with him on vacation.

  Chapter 8

  Addie’s mind reeled at the rapid-fire questions the agent launched at her. She relayed the sequence of events that occurred after she and Blake had entered the room leading up to them finding the body. Except she struggled to remember the exact steps she took after Blake left to speak with his staff. Everything she did after that, until the discovery of the fake books, was a bit fuzzy in her mind.

  After Brookes made Addie repeat every detail that she could remember, at least twice, she closed her notepad. “This is all very interesting. Can you wait here for a moment? I’ll be right back.” Agent Brookes sidled up next to Marc and Simon, who were talking as two paramedics closed the black body bag on a gurney and wheeled it out the door.

  The moment Brookes promised turned into five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. The group, now with the addition of Jerry, moved over to the center book table. Addie strained to hear what they were saying.

  “I tend to agree with you, Jerry.” Marc raked his hand through his hair. “Given the fact that so many people have come and gone through the house over the last few months, it’ll be too hard to determine who left what fingerprints and when, but I also agree with Agent Brookes: We can’t let that stop us from looking at all the evidence. Who knows, we might get lucky and find some fresh prints.”