Reserved for Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “I’ve noticed that too,” I said, glancing at the table where Julie had piled colorful stacks of picture and chapter books. “Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. I know the police have probably questioned you as well as Scott about this latest murder.”

  “Not me, not yet, although I got a call that someone would be by later today.” Julie fiddled with the rubber band tying off her long braid. “They asked Scott to come into the station, which is where he is now.”

  I studied her face for any signs of concern. Finding none, I decided to ask some blunt questions. “Scott went to dinner without you last night, didn’t he?”

  “He was supposed to meet Roger at a restaurant in Morehead City. The cool one we went to once, in the old house, a few blocks back from the waterfront. Remember that?”

  “Oh right, the one that had great cocktails along with good food.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, Scott went there to meet Roger. But apparently”—Julie snapped the rubber band so hard that it broke—“Roger never showed.”

  “Really? Did he call or text?”

  “Nope. At least not until much later.” Julie used her fingers to unravel the plait, fanning her hair over her shoulders. “Scott got back around ten. He’d run into someone else he knew and ended up joining their party for dinner. I was upstairs in the apartment by the time he returned, of course. I closed down shop at seven, like I usually do on summer Saturdays. I was by myself at that point, because I sent Dayna home early.”

  “I’m guessing Dayna covered for you yesterday.”

  “Thank goodness she was able to work most of the day.” Julie combed her fingers through her hair. “Anyway, I was upstairs, reading, when I heard Scott come in. He was pretty upset over Roger’s disappearing act, even after Roger finally called around eleven with some bogus reason why he didn’t show. I mean, maybe it wasn’t bogus, but Scott sure felt it was a lame excuse.”

  “So no one’s sure where Roger was all evening?”

  “I don’t know about that, but what he told Scott didn’t really sound believable. Something about his car battery dying and he had to get someone from his auto service to replace it.” Julie shrugged. “Maybe that’s true, but it doesn’t really clarify why he didn’t call to explain the situation to Scott earlier.”

  “No,” I said, my mind processing this information about another suspect in Lisette’s murder. “It certainly doesn’t.”

  “Fortunately, there are several people at the restaurant, the staff as well as Scott’s other friend and his guests, who can vouch for Scott’s whereabouts during the time that Lisette was probably killed.”

  “That is good,” I said, striking his name from my mental list. “I guess Scott’s telling the authorities about the weird situation involving Roger Warren? I bet he hates having to do that.”

  “He was definitely upset about it. But you know Scott—he isn’t one to lie.”

  “True. He’s always struck me as an honest person.”

  Julie absently shuffled a few of the books on the table. “He is. Even when it’s difficult, like today. I know he doesn’t want to cast any suspicion on Roger, but he has to tell the police what really happened.”

  “Of course he does. I’m just glad he has a solid alibi.” I held up my hands as Julie shot me a sharp look. “Not that I ever really suspected him. But it’s great that he’s been quickly cleared, so neither he nor you have to worry about that anymore.”

  “That’s definitely a relief.” Julie picked up a thin paperback and fanned her face. “What about the rest of your guests. How are they handling things?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure. Most of them have stayed hidden away in their rooms today.” I considered what I’d heard from Detective Johnson and Harper. Since they’d both shared information willingly, I didn’t think it would hurt to fill Julie in on the problematic restaurant conversation, what little I knew about it, as well as the fan club dispute.

  “Wow,” she said, when I’d finished speaking. “I wonder what those other restaurant goers overheard to put Amanda and the rest of that crew on the police radar?”

  “I don’t know, but it must’ve been an argument of some kind. Maybe even threats?” I started as the bell attached to Julie’s front door jangled. “You have a customer. I should get out of the way.”

  “No need to rush off, but I guess we should watch what we say.” Julie looked over my shoulder, flashing a professional smile. “Hello there. Can I help you find something?”

  “Just browsing,” said the woman.

  “Okay, let me know if you have any questions,” Julie said brightly, before turning her focus back on me. “I tell you what—I have some contacts in the publishing world, from back when I was interning and thinking I might want to become an agent. Maybe I could pick their brains and see if there are any rumors concerning Amanda or Tony or anyone related to Lisette’s online group. I mean, if there was a fan war, a few of my friends might’ve heard something, if only because it was tied to a big name like Amanda.”

  “That would be interesting. Thanks.” I gave Julie’s arm a pat. “I’m just glad Scott is out of it.”

  “Me too. Except for giving evidence against his friend.” Julie made a face but adjusted her expression when the customer asked about books written by authors from the area. “We have quite a few. Fiction and nonfiction,” she said, as she bustled toward the woman.

  I mouthed a goodbye before I left Julie with her customer.

  Outside, I strolled over to the railing that separated the boardwalk from the boat slips and harbor. Planters that straddled the wooden top were filled with a vivid mixture of summer flowers and greenery, while masts rose like slender trees from the decks of gleaming sailboats. Of course, there were regular powerboats too, and even a handful of yachts whose size and elegance told a tale of wealth. A few of these were so massive that they loomed over the more modest vessels like whales dwarfing a school of fish.

  One of the smaller cabin cruisers, while well-maintained, harkened back to an earlier era. It had a white-painted wooden hull, varnished wood decking and cabin, and gleaming chrome fittings. I shaded my eyes as I admired this vintage craft, then dropped my hand in surprise when I recognized the figure cleaning the windows on the covered portion of the deck.

  It was Gavin Howard. He moved like an experienced sailor, and looked the part too, in a brilliant white shirt and khaki shorts, with a navy canvas cap pulled down low over his forehead. I opened my mouth to call out a greeting but shut it again when I remembered how tense Ellen seemed around this man.

  There is something strange going on there, I thought, turning aside before he could catch a glimpse of me. I hurried home, staying on Front Street until the shops and restaurants were replaced with stately old homes. Some of the larger ones facing the water had once been boarding houses for sailors, but were now pricey private homes.

  I turned up one of the side streets that led away from the waterfront. Before I reached the turn onto Ann Street, I passed by the charming home owned by Bernadette and Ophelia Sandburg. It was a one-story bungalow with white clapboard siding and a covered porch. Aqua-blue shutters framed the tall windows that flanked the cobalt-blue front door, and white wicker chairs and tables, along with planters overflowing with flowers, filled the wide front porch. Not seeing either of the sisters in the yard or on the porch, I didn’t stop. I would’ve chatted with them, just to be hospitable, but was secretly glad I could head directly to Chapters. I needed to know what was going on with my guests, especially after the police interviews.

  Still, after turning on Ann Street and walking a few blocks, I paused in front of Ellen’s house. A quick glance over at Chapters showed no signs of police vehicles, so I assumed the authorities had already left. I decided I had time to check in with Ellen before I returned home.

  After ringing her doorbell, I allowed my gaze to sweep over her front porch. The fans mounted in the beadboard ceiling spun lazily, barely stirring the fronds o
f the ferns hanging from purple enameled chains. With its white porch swing and brightly painted Adirondack chairs, the porch was a perfect setting. I was sure most people would imagine a Southern lady of a certain age gracefully lounging there, sipping sweet tea without a care in the world.

  They probably wouldn’t imagine that the same lady had once directed dangerous intelligence operations. But then, Ellen’s long-term cover had been her work as a location scout for film and television projects. I smiled. She did know how to use settings to create the proper atmosphere.

  “Charlotte, how nice to see you,” Ellen said, holding Shandy back with one foot as she opened the front door. “Do come in. I’m all alone right now and would welcome the company.”

  “I know. I saw Gavin on his boat down at the waterfront. It looked like he was preoccupied and not likely to head back here any time soon, which is one reason I decided to stop by.”

  “So we could speak in confidence? Good thinking.” Ellen lifted Shandy up in her arms before ushering me inside. “Let’s sit in the parlor. It’s cooler in there.”

  I followed her into the adjacent room. She set a squirming Shandy down and smiled as he bounded off to jump up on the bench placed in front of a window. “He likes to keep an eye on things,” she said, before sitting in a wood-framed upholstered armchair. “Especially everything happening outside.”

  Like her fashion, Ellen’s décor was a blend of casual and modern styles, but unlike the vivid colors she preferred in her clothing, her furniture was a mix of muted tones accented by pale wood. This simple background set off vivid paintings and other works of art. Traveling the world in her role as a location scout, Ellen had amassed an eclectic collection of art pieces—everything from Indian wall hangings to Asian ceramics and German cuckoo clocks. Somehow it all blended with the Victorian features she’d retained in her home, including wainscoting, deep moldings, and hardwood floors.

  “By the way, you can take Scott off your suspect list. He has a solid alibi, with witnesses, or so Julie tells me,” I said as I sank into a suede-upholstered chair. “Unlike Roger Warren, unfortunately.”

  “Good for Scott, not so great for Roger.”

  “I find it hard to believe that a distinguished scholar would kill someone over bad reviews. Still …” I took a deep breath. I’d wanted to keep Ellen up-to-date on the investigation, but that wasn’t the real point of my visit. “I just have to ask—is Gavin Howard really your cousin? The sleuth in me is saying ‘no,’ if only because of the way you act around him. You’re not exactly the warm and welcoming hostess I would have expected.”

  Ellen surveyed me for a moment, approval shining in her blue eyes. “Very good deduction. You’re right to question me on that.”

  “So what is he, and why is he here? Can I ask that?”

  “You can, and I’ll tell you, even though I probably shouldn’t.” She tipped her head to study me more intently. “But I trust you, and his reason for coming to Beaufort touches on something, or should I say, someone, related to you.”

  I slid forward and rested my chin on my entwined fingers. “Isabella? But how in the world does she come into it? It’s been a few years since she passed away, and she wasn’t active in intelligence activities for a while before that, if what you’ve told me is true.”

  “It is, but”—Ellen lifted her hands—“there are always repercussions from the sort of work we did. Things that echo, even over decades.”

  I stretched out my legs over the neutral toned geometric rug covering the parlor’s polished floors. “Such as?”

  “Such as the reason Gavin is here. And yes, you have guessed correctly—he is a colleague, not a cousin.”

  “An agent?” I raised my eyebrows. Gavin Howard lacked the flash that matched my image of a secret agent. But then, I thought, Ellen doesn’t fit the mold either. And while Great-Aunt Isabella was a charmer, I never would’ve pegged her as a spy.

  “Exactly. I didn’t know him personally before he showed up here the other day, but I’d heard of him.”

  “Even though you’ve been retired for so many years?”

  Ellen waved her hand. “There’s retired and retired. You never really leave my former career. Not entirely.”

  “He’s here digging into Isabella’s past, then. Looking into some things she was involved in long ago?”

  Ellen shifted in her chair. “A specific operation I believe. And he isn’t only interested in Isabella. Me too. I was her handler for many years, you know.”

  I straightened, dropping my hands onto the arms of my chair. “Is he trying to implicate you? I mean, I’m guessing this is an operation that went wrong in some way.”

  “It didn’t go wrong, not if it’s related to what I think it is. It did what it was intended to do, so it went right, but”—Ellen’s lips twisted—“perhaps in a very wrong way.”

  I tightened my grip, digging my short nails into the soft arms of the chair. “Now I’m thoroughly confused.”

  “I’m sorry. I really can’t say more. I don’t have all the facts about why Gavin was sent here, to be honest. The main thing is that you need to be careful around him. He isn’t the man he’d like the world to think he is.”

  “I’d already figured that out.” I loosened my grip. “Maybe I do have a bit more super sleuth qualities than I thought.”

  “Just like I’ve always told you.” Ellen stood and crossed to the bench where Shandy was perched, his front paws up on the windowsill and his nose pressed against the glass. “It’s good that you have a second sense about such things,” she added, as I swiveled in my chair to look at her. “Especially if you want to continue to be my friend.”

  “Of course I do. We’re sleuthing partners, after all.”

  Ellen shot me a humorless smile. “Yes, but this is a little different than just discussing crimes over tea. Or even helping the police now and then. Someone like Gavin Howard, and the people behind him …”

  I stood to face her. “We confronted a killer together, remember?”

  “I’m not questioning your bravery or your resolve. It’s just that I don’t want to drag you any deeper into these matters than I already have.”

  “What do you want me to do? Avoid Gavin, or try to get information out of him?”

  Ellen’s snort of derision made Shandy bark in response. “You won’t be able to do that, not unless he allows it. But no, you don’t need to avoid him. That might look peculiar. It would be better if you just treat him with casual friendliness. Act like you believe he’s my cousin. Definitely don’t let him know you’re aware of his deception. And”—Ellen’s eyes narrowed—“don’t invite him into Chapters. He has no business snooping around in Isabella’s old home.”

  “I think I can manage that,” I said, rubbing down the hair that had risen on my arms. “But if I do hear, or even overhear, him say anything I think you should know, I’ll definitely share it with you.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Ellen said, as she absently stroked Shandy’s silky back. “Now, I should let you get back to your guests. I saw the police cruiser leave earlier, so I imagine they’ve all been questioned.”

  “Along with me.” I crossed to the parlor door, but turned before heading into the hall. “This operation that Great-Aunt Isabella was involved in—she wouldn’t have documented it in that journal I found and gave you by any chance? I know you recently passed it along to some experts to see if they could break her secret code.”

  Ellen’s pained expression told me all I needed to know, but all she said was, “Good afternoon, Charlotte. I hope we can find a chance to speak again sometime soon.”

  Chapter Eight

  On Monday morning I stepped out of the dining room after breakfast and was greeted by Molly at the front door with her suitcase.

  “I’m checking out,” she said. “Since I live in Morehead City, the Beaufort police said I could go, as long as I stay close to home for a while. In case they need to question me again or anything.”

 
; I looked her over, noting the dark circles under her eyes. “I’m sorry for the circumstances. I know this tragedy has spoiled a special event you were looking forward to.”

  “Yeah, not much of a prize after all, was it?” Molly squinched up her face. “But at least I got to spend some one-on-one time with Amanda before everything went south. And, if Amanda stays on and you’re still holding some of the events this week …”

  “You’re welcome to come back for the book club discussion tonight if you wish. That’s not open to the public, so it will be a select group. As Tony told you, we’re trying to keep the information about these additional events limited. But of course, as a contest winner, you’re allowed to attend everything. There’s still the small tea party I arranged for Friday afternoon and the cocktail party that night,” I said, acknowledging that Amanda’s publisher had already paid for Molly’s stay. “And, I tell you what—since you’re losing out on several days lodging with us, why don’t I give you a voucher that you could use for another visit? We host many book-related events throughout the year, and since you live so close …”

  Molly cut me off with a wave of her hand. “That’s very nice, but while I don’t mind popping in for a few events while Amanda is around, I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like actually staying here again.” She grabbed her suitcase and opened the front door. “Too many bad associations. I know Lisette wasn’t killed here, but still …” She rolled her shoulders in a dramatic shudder.

  “I understand, but the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”

  Molly bobbed her head before rushing out onto the porch. It seemed she couldn’t leave Chapters fast enough.

  A little odd, I thought, as I walked back to my bedroom. Sure, she knew Lisette from the fan club and her brief time here, but they didn’t appear to be friends. Her reaction seems excessive. Of course, if she killed Lisette …