Murder Turns the Page

by Thea Cambert

“But Lawrence also claimed other people did the same,” said Franny.

  “And besides, he’d apparently been claiming that for years,” said Owen. “So why kill him over it now?”

  “But just imagine . . .” Alice said slowly. “Lawrence and Blanche were a close couple back in the early days of their writing. What if she really did steal his work? What if she built her career on a lie?”

  “Even if that’s true, Owen’s right: it still doesn’t explain the timing of the murder,” said Luke. “Let’s just say Blanche killed Lawrence. What did he do yesterday that made her lose it so completely?”

  “It wouldn’t hurt to get a warrant—do a quick search of her room at the Valley Inn,” said Ben.

  “I hate to be late for the shindig,” said Luke. “But we’d better do that right now.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Alice. “We’ll meet you at the Valley Inn.”

  “No you go ahead to the park,” said Ben. “I don’t want you in any danger.”

  “Blanche is our keynote speaker,” said Alice. “She’s actually opening the gala tonight as well. She’s already at the park. Besides, she’d be no match for the three of us.”

  “One of you is very pregnant,” Ben reminded her.

  “We’ll find Samuel and Eve,” said Franny. “We can tell them you’re coming, and they can be ready with the key to Cadbury Cottage.”

  Ben and Luke rushed off in one direction, and Alice, Franny, and Owen hopped into Owen’s SUV to drive over to the Valley Inn.

  Within minutes, they were entering the tree-lined drive, pulling up in front of the inn, and hurrying through the gate in the picket fence. Samuel and Eve Berkley, who lived on-site, were always glad to see them and ready to help in any way they could.

  Alice and Owen helped Franny up the inn’s front steps and onto the wide porch, which was strewn with swags of huge sunflowers and twinkle lights. It wasn’t dark yet, but dusk had set in, and the place looked warm and inviting, as it always did.

  Samuel welcomed them at the front door. “Don’t you three look fancy,” he said with a smile. “I’ll bet you’re here to see Franny’s mom and dad. But I believe they’re off with your parents, Alice. Said something about dinner at the Parkview Café, and an important meeting of some kind.”

  “Meeting?” said Franny. “What kind of meeting?”

  “No idea,” said Samuel. “I can ask Eve if she knows anything about it—”

  “No that’s okay,” said Alice. “We’re actually here for another reason. Luke and Ben are stopping by the station to secure a warrant. They’ll be here shortly to search Cadbury Cottage.”

  Samuel’s eyes widened at this. “They will, will they?” He lowered his voice. “Is this about that business with the author getting killed?”

  “Yep,” said Owen.

  “You know, I sometimes think that if we didn’t get so many tourists, we’d never have any crime at all in Blue Valley,” Samuel observed.

  They all pondered this for a beat.

  “He’s right,” said Owen, looking at Alice and Franny.

  “Then again, if we didn’t get so many tourists, Eve and I’d be out of business.” Samuel chuckled at himself. “I’ll grab the key to the cottage and meet you over there.”

  “Thank you, Samuel,” said Alice, turning to go back outside.

  “By the way,” said Owen, stopping at the door. “Did you notice whether Blanche Miller—the lady in Cadbury Cottage—has left for the evening?”

  “Yep. She left a while ago. She was all dressed up, like you three.”

  “Good,” said Alice.

  They walked out of the main inn house and around back to the cottages, which were scattered among the trees, with little stone paths connecting them and leading back to the inn. Cadbury Cottage was set a bit further out than the others.

  “This is adorable,” said Franny. “Looks like Blanche left the lights on. Let’s take a peek inside.”

  The cottage’s little living room looked cozy, with its cushy chairs and couch, stone fireplace, and lots of lamps, all lit.

  “Looks like Blanche doesn’t like coming home to a dark house,” said Owen.

  “I love the—ouch,” said Franny.

  “The—” Alice started to say.

  “Ouch!” said Franny again, wrapping her arms around her belly.

  “Franny, are you—” Owen took a step closer and started to reach out to Franny.

  “Ow! Ouch!” Franny grabbed Owen’s arm in a vice grip.

  “Ouch!” shrieked Owen.

  “This is it!” said Franny. “The baby is coming!”

  “Did you say—are you—oh my gosh,” said Samuel, running up. “My truck is just a few steps away. Let’s get you to the hospital! Here, Alice!” He thrust the key to Cadbury Cottage into Alice’s hand.

  “Hurry!” said Franny.

  “For the love of all that is holy, Franny, loosen your grip on my arm!” cried Owen.

  “Aaaaah!” yelled Franny, who, if anything, had tightened her grip on Owen’s arm.

  “I’ll call Ben!” said Alice, whipping out her cell phone.

  “Get my car and meet us at the hospital!” said Owen, tossing his keys to Alice. “Franny won’t release my arm!”

  At that moment, Franny grabbed Owen’s hair with her free hand and let out a blood-curdling scream. Samuel hurried them into his truck and sped away in a cloud of dust.

  Alice stood dazed for a split second, then dialed Ben’s phone. Ben answered on the first ring, yelled something like, “I’m on the way, Franny!” into the phone, and hung up. Alice started off toward Owen’s SUV when her phone rang. It was Luke, telling her that he was dropping Ben at the hospital, and would come straightaway to pick Alice up at the inn.

  Alice took a deep breath and smiled to herself. “You’re about to be an aunt,” she whispered.

  Then she looked at the keys in her hand. And back at Cadbury Cottage. She looked around the quiet stand of trees and listened. Nothing but the songs of crickets.

  Alice ambled back over to the cottage and peered into the windowed front door. Before she knew it, she’d slipped the key into the lock and opened the door. She stepped inside and looked around. Blanche was a tidy guest. Everything looked to be in its place.

  “What are you hiding in here, Blanche?” Alice said quietly as she walked around. She slid open drawers and peeked into cabinets. She checked under the bed. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  The commemorative Shakespeare bust Alice had given Blanche sat on the little dining table next to the front windows, with what appeared to be Blanche’s notecards from her keynote speech lying next to it.

  Alice peered into the fireplace and attempted to open the glass doors, which turned out to be fixed in place. “A gas fireplace,” Alice surmised, noticing the switch on the wall marked ‘fireplace.’

  She spotted a notebook and pen, along with a pair of reading glasses, next to a comfortable-looking chair. This would be where Blanche probably sat to read and write when she was in the cottage. Alice took a seat. She was surprised when the cushions didn’t give as they should’ve for a chair that appeared to be so soft and comfortable. She wiggled a little, then stood and lifted the seat cushion.

  And there it was.

  A thick sheaf of papers had been tucked into the chair. Alice took it out and marveled at the faded type-written pages, with scribblings in the margins and editorial marks between the lines—all in a distinct magenta ink. The pages were stapled together along the left-hand edge. Alice flipped the cover sheet back to the front.

  “Zeus’s Gods by Lawrence Spraggins,” Alice whispered.

  She set the manuscript on the seat of the chair, grabbed her phone, and dialed the Lodge. Chad answered. “Chad, this is Alice. Is Phillip Bennett or Saladin Raeve still there?”

  Chad told her they’d already gone to the gala. Thankfully, Alice never left home without her messenger bag—and inside was her planning binder. She flipped through the pages and foun
d the featured authors’ cell numbers. She dialed Phillip Bennet’s number first, and he answered on the second ring.

  “Phillip! Thank goodness! I need to ask you a quick question: Yesterday, when you went to lunch in the park, did Blanche go with you?”

  At first, Phillip said yes, that Blanche had gone with him and Saladin from the pub. But then, he remembered she’d turned back because she’d forgotten her notebook. She’d run back to the Smiling Hound, and then met them at the park a little while later.

  “Hold on a sec, Alice. What’s that?” he said to someone nearby. “Addy remembers.” After a brief pause, Phillip came back to the line. “Alice? Addy says she was in the room arguing with Lawrence when Blanche came back for her notebook.”

  “Ask Addy if Blanche was still in the room when she left to go to the park,” said Alice.

  There was another pause, and muffled voices over the line.

  “Alice, Addy says Blanche must’ve still been in the room when she left, because she never saw her go out. She must’ve been behind the curtain they’d put in the middle of the room—you know, to separate Blanche’s area from Lawrence’s. What does this mean?”

  “Phillip, look around. Is Blanche there?”

  “I saw her a while ago . . . She opened the gala. Let’s see . . .”

  Alice suddenly thought of another question. “Phillip, remember when you and Blanche saw Michael, the concierge, leaving Lawrence’s room?”

  “Oh, I felt so bad about that,” said Phillip. “I’d completely forgotten that Lawrence and I had switched rooms. See, we had adjoining rooms, and after we checked in, Lawrence knocked on the door between our rooms and asked to switch. He said he had to sleep in a bed that faced west, of all the silly things. Anyway, I don’t care which way my bed faces, so I was glad to change rooms with him. That poor concierge didn’t know.”

  “And did you ever leave Blanche alone in your room that morning?”

  “Just for a few minutes while I grabbed a quick shower. Blanche said she’d sit out on the balcony and read.”

  Alice thanked Phillip and hung up the phone, feeling her heart pounding in her throat.

  “So that was when she went into Lawrence’s room and snagged this,” she said, looking at the manuscript.

  “Seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

  Alice looked up to see Blanche, standing in the doorway.

  Chapter 16

  “I came back for my notebook. I’m always forgetting it,” said Blanche, pointing at the notebook on the table beside the chair. She took a few deliberate steps forward. “What are you doing here, Alice?”

  Blanche’s eyes moved to the seat of the chair where the manuscript lay.

  “I came by . . . to see you,” said Alice. “The lights were on and the door was unlocked, and when you didn’t answer, I got worried.”

  Blanche looked around, a hint of uncharacteristic wildness in her eyes. She let out a long sigh, and moved slowly over to the little dining table. She picked up the Shakespeare bust and walked closer to Alice.

  “I found your manuscript, by the way,” said Alice quickly, pointing at the chair. “Wow. An early copy of your international bestseller. What a treasure.”

  Blanche froze, a look of confusion briefly crossing her expression.

  “What made you decide to change the title from Zeus’s Gods to Gods of Zeus?” Alice forced a chuckle. “Good choice, by the way. I like Gods of Zeus better.”

  Blanche looked at the manuscript again, then leveled a steady gaze at Alice. “Nice try, Alice,” she said in a voice that sounded too calm. She took another step forward, and Alice took another step backward.

  Luke would arrive at any moment. Alice knew that all she had to do was stay calm and buy time. She pushed her fear down and tried to control the tremor in her voice as she spoke. “So you dated Lawrence Spraggins?”

  “Biggest mistake of my life.”

  “And those accusations he always made—that you’d stolen his idea . . . That was true?”

  Blanche looked as though she’d just tasted something bitter. “We floated a million ideas in that writers group,” she said. “It might’ve been his idea. It might’ve been mine. It was at least in part mine.” She sniffed. “We were going to write the book together, the two of us. But that vile monster locked himself into a room for two weeks and came out with a manuscript.” She looked at Alice again. “We were supposed to write it together!” she yelled, taking another step toward Alice and gripping the bust so hard her knuckles had turned white.

  “That must’ve made you furious,” said Alice. “What did you do?”

  “I grabbed the manuscript and left him.” She looked sadly down at her costume. “I left him,” she said, almost in a whisper.

  “But if you grabbed the manuscript, then what’s this?” Alice pointed at the papers.

  “That’s the original,” said Blanche. “That man had printed this one out, made his editing notes on it, then gone back and printed a second, clean copy.”

  “And that was the copy you grabbed.”

  Blanche nodded. “I would’ve burned it if that stupid fireplace opened,” she spat, pointing at the fixed glass doors. “I never knew about the original—and Lawrence always said everybody had stolen his ideas. I knew no one would believe him. Until we arrived in Blue Valley, and he told me he’d been digging through his piles and piles of old manuscripts and had located this copy.” She looked at Alice. “I couldn’t let him ruin my reputation. Everything I’ve worked for. All of the stories I’ve told.” Blanche looked at the bust in her hands then began to raise it into the air. “And I can’t let you ruin me either, Alice. I’m sorry about this.”

  “But that’s just it, Blanche,” Alice said quickly. “You’re a brilliant storyteller. Even if people had found out Gods of Zeus was only part your idea, all of your other books would have stood up to the test. You didn’t have to kill Lawrence. You don’t have to—”

  “Kill you? Sorry, Alice. I disagree.” Blanche raised the bust over her head, tears glinting on her cheeks. “It’s too late to turn back now.”

  Alice screamed just as the cottage door flew open and Luke rushed in, Dewey close behind. Blanche spun around, confused, and in one swift move, Luke lunged for the bust, yanked it away from Blanche, and pinned her hands behind her back.

  “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this, Hermia, my love,” Luke said as Dewey hurried forward and cuffed Blanche’s wrists.

  “I knew you’d come for me, Lysander,” said Alice, rushing into Luke’s arms the moment Dewey had read Blanche her rights and escorted her out of the room.

  “I would’ve been here sooner, but had to stop by the station to pick up Dewey. Did you get my text message?”

  “No. I was kind of busy, though.” Alice felt warm tears roll down her cheeks even though she was smiling now.

  “You held her off, didn’t you?” Luke wrapped Alice in his arms and kissed her. “My future wife, the mediator. And a soon-to-be aunt, too.”

  “Oh, my gosh!” said Alice. “We’ve got to get to the hospital!”

  Chapter 17

  Sunday morning dawned warm and sunny, and even though the Maguire and Brown families had been up late into Saturday night, the joy of the occasion of Granny and Chester’s wedding was enough to revive everyone.

  Having missed the gala the night before, Alice was glad to see how gorgeous the decorations at the park had turned out. And true to their word, the team of volunteers assembled by Helen and the rest of the library staff had cleaned the place up so that it was fresh and tidy for the wedding reception. Town Park’s gazebo was festooned with garlands of flowers in reds, oranges, golds, and purples as were the park benches, and Chinese paper lanterns hung from the trees and lent a magical air to the scene, even in the daylight.

  Family and friends had gathered at St. Helena’s on Phlox Street, then walked down Main to the park to celebrate. Alice and Owen, along with Bea and Martin, had gone to the park early th
at morning to set up the cake table, and Owen had left the church a bit early to set out the cake—a whimsical, tiered confection scattered with rose petals, tiny blossoms, and small fruits. On a separate table were urns made of bubbled glass with spigots—a self-serve punch station. The full effect was somewhere between beautifully simple and fabulously ornate, which suited Granny to a tee.

  Alice and Bea had served as maid and matron of honor at the ceremony, and Alice loved the dress Granny had chosen for her—a simple, knee-length sundress in a sunflower-colored chiffon. To this, she’d added a wreath of sunflowers to Alice’s red hair, which she wore in long, loose curls, since Franny hadn’t been around to help her with an up-do.

  The best surprise of the morning came when the wedding party and guests arrived at the park to find Ben and Franny seated on a bench, their brand new stroller parked next to them.

  Owen, who, with Hilda’s help, had set out the cake without any trouble, was holding the youngest Maguire in his arms, cooing and lightly bouncing him.

  “Franny! You’re here?” Alice said, letting go of Luke’s hand and running to her friend.

  “They discharged me an hour ago,” said Franny with a grin. “Doc Howard said that as long as I take it easy, I could come and sit in the park awhile. And I can go to Bea and Martin’s when it’s time to feed the baby.”

  Bea and Martin still lived in the cozy house Alice and Ben had grown up in, which was directly across Trout Lily Street from the park, just a few steps away.

  “Come here, Auntie Alice,” Owen said with a smile. “Come hold your nephew.”

  Alice took a seat next to her brother on the bench and Owen carefully passed the baby to her. “And how are you on this fine day, Theodore Owen Maguire?” she said, planting a kiss on the baby’s fuzzy head.

  “I still can’t get over that name,” said Owen, his voice cracking a little. “I thought they were naming him Oscar or Sarah.” He sniffled. “I need a tissue!”

  “We have every intention of spoiling our little Theo rotten!” said Bea, linking arms with Pippa.