Reserved for Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  Gavin gallantly thanked her and chose a wooden chair placed beside her while Bernadette selected one of the other upholstered chairs.

  Ellen hurried across the room and plunked down in the dining room chair on the other side of the leather armchair, almost knocking Pete out of the way. “Sorry,” she told the plump café owner. “Didn’t see you there.”

  Pete mumbled something about being hard to miss before ambling over to one of the folding chairs I’d used to complete a circle on the rug.

  “We should leave this one for Amanda, don’t you think?” Julie motioned to the library’s remaining leather armchair. “And the seat beside it for Tony,” she added, as she sat in a folding chair a few seats away.

  “He does seem to want to monitor her every move,” Scott said, sitting beside Julie.

  “That makes sense, though. Isn’t he her personal assistant?” Bernadette scooted so far back in her deep chair that her short legs didn’t touch the floor.

  “No. He’s a marketing and publicity specialist who works for her publisher.” Julie shrugged. “There might be some divided loyalties there.”

  Ophelia leaned across one arm of her chair to address Gavin. “Now, tell me, what do you think about this murder in Beaufort? It’s the second in as many years, you know.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Gavin’s expression, while pleasant, gave no hint of his feelings on the matter.

  “At least we aren’t discussing a murder mystery book this time,” Sandy said with a dramatic shudder. “That would be too spooky.”

  “I think it was that Billy Bradford character.” Pete cast his wife an amused glance. “You know they always say that the husband, or in this case, the ex-husband, did it.”

  “I hope that’s not a warning,” Sandy replied, widening her eyes in mock horror.

  Pete grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips for a brief kiss. “Never, my love. How could I manage without you?”

  “Not well, I imagine,” Bernadette said dryly. “And as for this latest murder, my money is on Roger Warren.”

  “Now wait a minute.” Scott slid to the edge of his chair as if preparing to jump to his feet, but sat back when Julie laid a hand on his arm.

  “I overheard Ms. Bradford threaten to rally Amanda Nobel’s fans to downgrade the review rating on his books on that Goodbooks site and elsewhere.” Bernadette met Scott’s perturbed gaze without faltering. “You must’ve heard it too, since you were standing right there.”

  “It’s Goodreads,” he said. “And yes, both Roger and I were threatened by Ms. Bradford, but you can’t imagine either of us would kill someone over negative book ratings.” He shifted his elastic features from anger to amusement. “I’d have to become a serial killer if that were the case.”

  “Anyway, Scott’s been cleared by the police,” Julie said, her fingers tightening on his arm. “He was seen by several people in a restaurant during the time the murder likely occurred.”

  Bernadette raised her eyebrows. “And Roger?”

  “Come on, Bernie,” Ophelia said. “We’ve known Roger Warren for years. Even though he does have a temper, he’s no more a killer than we are.”

  “Honestly, Fee, are you sure I haven’t knocked off someone in the past?” Bernadette crossed her arms over her chest and flashed a wicked grin.

  “I’m sure we’d never find out if you had,” Ellen said. “But getting back to the discussion at hand, had any of you read Amanda Nobel’s books before this?”

  Sandy raised her hand and waved it above her head. “Me. I love the entire series.”

  “First for me,” Pete said. “Sandy’s been hounding me for years to try the first one, but it took this book club pick to convince me.”

  “I’ve read all the books too.” Julie cast a questioning glance at Scott. “Even if I don’t think Scott approves.”

  “It’s not for me to approve or disapprove of your reading material,” Scott said. “But this is the first one of her books I’ve tried.” His lips twitched. “And I think you know my opinion.”

  “Everyone knows that.” Ophelia offered him a smile before turning to Gavin. “What did you think? Was the research a little too weak for you as well?”

  “I must confess I haven’t read the book,” Gavin said. “Ellen brought me along as a kindness. Just so I wouldn’t be left at her house all alone.”

  Just so you wouldn’t snoop through her things. Of course, I didn’t voice this thought aloud, choosing to sneak a glance at Ellen’s face instead. As I expected, her expression was as bland as milk.

  “Hello, so glad you all decided to attend, especially after the terrible news about Ms. Bradford,” Amanda Nobel said as she sailed into the room, trailed by Tony Lott.

  “Is Molly coming?” I whispered to Harper, who slipped into the library behind Tony and then crossed the room to sit in a folding chair next to me.

  Harper shook her head. “Got a text from her saying she couldn’t make it.”

  “Too bad,” I said, adding this information to my mental checklist of items casting Molly as a likely suspect.

  “We’re impressed that you were still willing to participate, Ms. Nobel.” Sandy, her eyes bright with excitement, clasped her hands together at her breast. “It’s such an honor to get to speak directly with any author, but especially you, because you’re one of my all-time favorites.”

  “Why, thank you,” Amanda said, glancing at me.

  I realized I hadn’t made any introductions and leapt to my feet.

  “Please, call me Amanda,” the author replied, after I rectified my failings as a hostess by introducing everyone else. “And feel free to ask me any questions. I really don’t mind. I can even take criticism, if you want to share it.” She flashed Scott a warm smile.

  Color rising in his cheeks, Scott pressed a hand to his heart. “Forgive me for Saturday. I was defending my friend, Roger, and got carried away.”

  “No problem at all.” Amanda’s emerald and sapphire studded rings glittered as she waved her hand through the air. “I know my books aren’t to everyone’s taste. Heavens, sometimes even I don’t like them,” she added with a throaty laugh.

  “Of course she’s kidding.” Tony rubbed his bald pate with one hand as he swept his gaze over the assembled group. “She loves all her books. How else could she write so many so quickly?”

  “How indeed?” murmured Amanda, before straightening in her chair. “Seriously, I really do want to know what you all think. Be honest. And, again, ask me anything.”

  The conversation took off after that, with everyone freely offering their opinions, most of which were positive. I was impressed that even the few criticisms were met with gracious smiles from Amanda.

  “What I really want to know,” Sandy said, “is how you create the original idea. I just don’t understand how you writers come up with all these amazing concepts. I couldn’t do it.”

  Amanda settled back against the soft leather upholstery of her chair, allowing her gaze to wander over the shelves full of books that filled the library. “It is astonishing, isn’t it? Books, I mean. All the books by so many authors. You’d think all the ideas would be used up, but somehow they’re not.” She turned to Sandy with a smile. “Actually, it was the reading I did when I was young. I loved all books but was particularly fond of the classic adventure novels. Especially the epic ones, like The Count of Monte Cristo or The Scarlet Pimpernel. I fell in love with all those gallant heroes who had to overcome such odds to achieve their happy endings.”

  “I can see that,” Julie said. “I think that comes through in your own books.”

  “I hope so.” Amanda gazed upward, as if seeking inspiration in the varnished beadboard ceiling. “I adore tales of intrigue and grand adventure. I guess I’ve always been entranced by the swashbuckling deeds of handsome but dangerous men.”

  “Oh, so am I!” Ophelia said, clapping her hands together.

  Bernadette side-eyed her sister. “Maybe a little too much so in the past.�
�

  At these words, Gavin leaned back, lifting up the front legs of his chair. “Really, Ms. Sandburg? Sounds intriguing. Perhaps you should elaborate.”

  Ellen shot him a sharp look. “Getting back to Amanda’s books, I’m sure we can all agree that Adrian is quite the heroic main character, even if he is a pirate by trade. What made you decide on that profession for your protagonist, Amanda?”

  “I don’t know. The mysterious enchantment of the sea, I suppose. And I expect I was influenced by the legend of the Flying Dutchman, in a way.”

  Julie held up one finger. “Ah, there it is. I knew I felt the hint of some other legend haunting the story, but couldn’t quite place it.”

  “The cursed man redeemed by love,” Scott said thoughtfully. “I see it now too.”

  “Yes, poor Adrian. Cast back and forth through time, continually separated from his beloved Katarina.” Amanda’s smile, while bright, appeared to me to be a little strained. “I must admit it’s difficult to keep that seesaw in motion. All that back and forth—will they get their lasting happy ever after or not? It can be a bit tricky to maintain the balance.”

  “After twelve books, I guess so,” Bernadette said. “That’s a lot of will they or won’t they. I suppose there’ll be a thirteenth book?”

  “Of course.” Tony jumped in before Amanda could reply. “It’s undergoing final proofing as we speak, and the ARCs are already available. Should be out early next year.”

  “Something to look forward to,” Sandy said.

  “Yet another book to add to my towering TBR.” Julie gave Amanda a broad smile. “But I promise to bump it to the top of my list.”

  “Don’t feel compelled to do that,” Amanda said, ignoring an acrid glance from Tony. “I would hate for my book to displace many other, undoubtedly more worthy, titles.”

  “Not more worthy in my eyes.” Julie grabbed one of Scott’s hands and squeezed it. “Despite the love of my life being such a stickler for facts, there’s nothing I like better than an exciting story, true or not. I love a great escape.”

  Amanda gazed down at her own hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap. “I’m glad my books can give you that.”

  “And will, for many more years to come,” Tony said.

  Sandy scooted to edge of her chair. “Okay, so what I really want to know now is how you deal with working with the people running the TV show. Do you get much say in it, or not?”

  As the conversation veered off into a discussion of the perils and rewards of media adaptions, I allowed my gaze to wander over the colorful spines of the books that filled the library. My Great-Aunt Isabella, who’d built a personal collection that rivaled some small public libraries, probably would’ve loved Amanda Nobel’s books. She was certainly no stranger to adventure. Although, come to think of it, perhaps Amanda’s books wouldn’t offer a real escape to someone who was a spy, I thought, a smile twitching my lips. Maybe she preferred a heartfelt romance. My smile faded. Which was sadly not something she was likely to have experienced in her real life.

  Isabella, I’d recently learned, had worked as an agent for U.S. intelligence for much of her life, getting involved in a relationship with a Soviet spy named Paul Peters, whose upbringing in England had allowed him to successfully pose as a British academic. Based on things Ellen had said, as well as my own remembrances, I suspected that my great-aunt had never loved Peters and had just used the relationship to keep tabs on his activities and feed him disinformation. Whether she’d ever found love elsewhere, I didn’t know, but it was clear that she hadn’t been able to openly enjoy a true love, since she’d had to pretend to be loyal to Peters for years.

  I glanced over at Ellen, idly wondering if she’d ever known any true, uncomplicated love of her own. She’d never spoken about such a thing, which didn’t necessarily mean it hadn’t happened. But, I realized, I don’t even know her preferences. She’s never talked about anyone in that way, male or female. I shook my head. I couldn’t allow such fancies to distract me from my hosting duties. Besides, I thought, as I rose to my feet, it’s none of my business.

  “You’ve been talking for quite some time; you must be parched. Can I get you something to drink?” I asked Amanda as I crossed to the desk. “Or you, Tony? Or anyone else?”

  “Water would be great,” Amanda said.

  Tony echoed her, adding, “And maybe it’s time to wrap things up? It’s been a difficult couple of days for Amanda. She’s always so gracious with her fans, but I do like to make sure she doesn’t become exhausted.”

  “I think I’m the best judge of that,” Amanda’s words cut sharp as razor blades, but she immediately adjusted her tone to offer me a pleasant thanks when I handed her a tumbler of ice water.

  “We have taken advantage of a good deal of your time,” Harper said as she stood to face Amanda. She glanced at me. “Maybe we should switch to a social hour?”

  “I vote for that. Those snacks are definitely calling my name,” Pete said, standing and offering a hand to pull Sandy to her feet.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” I agreed. “We can mingle and chat among ourselves while still giving everyone a chance to talk to Amanda one-on-one.” I held up one hand. “After she gets a little break, I mean.”

  “Really, I’m fine,” Amanda said. “And before everyone digs too deeply into the food, I would like to share an announcement about a new book.”

  Tony coughed and sputtered. “Sorry, just swallowed wrong,” he said, when asked if he was okay.

  Harper, balancing a plate of hors d’oeuvres on her lap, looked up and fixed an inquiring gaze on Amanda. “A new book that isn’t in the Tides series?”

  “That’s right. Something completely different,” Amanda said.

  “Ooo, that sounds fabulous.” Sandy paused with a bite-sized cucumber sandwich halfway between her plate and her mouth. “Another romantic saga, I hope.”

  “Well …” was all Amanda managed to say before Tony cut her off again.

  “I don’t think we should be discussing that yet, Mandy,” he said, shooting her a side-eyed glare. “Might jeopardize things, you know.”

  Amanda took a long swallow of her water before replying. “If you say so. And please, for the hundredth time, don’t call me that.”

  “Whatever you say.” Tony stood and headed toward the desk holding the snacks and drinks. “Now, let me see—what can I get you?”

  “Nothing,” Amanda said, also rising to her feet. “I am perfectly capable of getting my own food. And anything else,” she added, in a quiet tone I could hear only because she’d moved close to me.

  After she placed a few hors d’oeuvres on her plate, Amanda wandered off to talk to Harper, Sandy, the Sandburg sisters, and Julie, while Pete tried his best to chat up Gavin, who replied with noncommittal answers that I could tell frustrated the congenial café owner.

  “A man of mystery,” Scott said, as he refilled Julie’s wine glass before pouring a drink of his own.

  “Which one?” I asked, motioning surreptitiously toward Tony, who was examining the bookshelves.

  “Not him. Ellen’s cousin. Looks like an accountant but, somehow, I don’t think that’s the sort of thing he does. Researcher, my …”

  I cut him off with a swift slicing motion at my neck. “Hey, Ellen. Ready to read more of the Tides series now?”

  “We’ll see,” she replied without looking at me.

  Scott gave her a wink before carrying the wine glass over to Julie.

  I glanced at Ellen out of the corner of my eye. Her gaze was still fixed on Gavin.

  “Did you at least enjoy the discussion?” I asked, keeping my tone as innocent as possible.

  “It was very illuminating. As was the entire evening,” she said.

  I took a sip from my own glass of wine. “That’s good.”

  But I wasn’t fooled. I didn’t think she was referring to anything related to Amanda Nobel or her books.

  Chapter Ten

  After the
book club meeting ended, I helped Alicia clean up the library and kitchen.

  “They barely made a dent in the food,” she said as she plopped one of the trays of hors d’oeuvres on top of the kitchen island. “We’re going to be swimming in this stuff for days yet.”

  “I think they were too busy fangirling over Amanda,” I replied with a smile. “Even the guys. Although not so much Scott, of course. And it’s hard to tell with Gavin.”

  Alicia thrust her yellow latex gloves into the soapy water filling the sink and pulled out a pewter tray. “There it is. I knew there was one more.” She rinsed the small platter and stacked it in the dish rack before turning to face me. “About that fellow …”

  “Who, Gavin Howard?”

  “Yeah, or whatever his name is.” Alicia yanked off her gloves and flapped them through the air. “There’s a reason I steered clear of the library tonight. The truth is, I’ve seen him here before.”

  I paused in my tidying to stare at her. “What? When?”

  “A few years ago, not long before Isabella died.” Alicia slapped one of the gloves against her bare palm. “Even though I admit he’s something of an average Joe, I remember him all right. We didn’t get too many visitors in those days, other than the paying guests, and he sure wasn’t one of those.”

  “Did he say his name was Gavin Howard?”

  Alicia shrugged. “Didn’t introduce himself. Not to me, anyway.” She tossed the gloves on the counter. “Truth is, I was out that morning. I always used to go to the farmers market once or twice a week, like you do now, because Isabella couldn’t handle that task anymore. It was a week where we didn’t have any guests. Sometime in November I think it was. Anyway, it was cold.”

  “He was here when you came back from the market?”

  “Yep. I don’t think he ever saw me, ’cause I slipped in through the back porch. I crept in pretty quietly, thinking Isabella might be napping. That’s what she said she was going to do before I left, so I just assumed she’d be asleep in her bedroom.”