Reserved for Murder

by Victoria Gilbert

  “I’ll do that. Meanwhile, please feel free to scope out the store. If there’s anything you’d like, I’m happy to gift you a copy.”

  “I do want to peruse the shelves, but of course I’ll happily pay.” Amanda stood and stretched her arms above her head.

  “I should move along,” I told Julie, who was checking through the signed copies of Amanda’s books. “I’m not really getting any exercise standing here, and besides, I need to head back to Chapters before too long.” I met Amanda’s curiously intent gaze with a smile. “Alicia has the day off, so my neighbor, Ellen, who you met last night, is holding down the fort. But I don’t want to force her to cover for me for hours.” I shrugged. “If you’re here, the other guests might start showing up at Chapters soon, and someone needs to let them in.”

  “I doubt that,” Amanda said as she examined some shelves. “Harper and Molly trotted off to explore the shops, and Tony claimed he was going to visit the Maritime Museum.” She cast an amused glance over her shoulder. “Honestly, I suspect he’s grabbing a drink at the tavern down the street. And making business calls. That’s more his speed.”

  “I should still head home sooner rather than later. But definitely enjoy your chance to wander through a bookstore without being accosted by fans,” I said to Amanda. “Talk to you soon,” I told Julie before wishing them both a good afternoon.

  I exited the store to the merry jingling of the bell. Staring at a boat pulling into a slip, I decided I wasn’t quite ready to return to Chapters. I’d walk to the end of the boardwalk first.

  Reaching the end of the wooden plank walkway, I walked a little farther, to a small park that featured a wooden gazebo overlooking the water. The open-sided, covered structure had brick flooring and bench seating along five of its six sides. It offered a lovely vantage spot, where one could gaze across Taylor’s Creek to the nature preserves of Carrot Island and Bird Shoal.

  My reverie was broken by a voice calling out my name.

  “Charlotte, so glad I could catch up with you,” Amanda said breathlessly. She motioned toward the gazebo. “Could we sit and talk for a moment?”

  “I do need to get back to Chapters,” I said, but something in Amanda’s eyes made me add, “but sure, we can chat for a bit.” Taking a seat that allowed me a view of the water, I waited until Amanda sat down on the bench beside me before asking her what was on her mind.

  “You overheard Tony and me arguing the other night, didn’t you?” She held up her hand to stop me when I opened my mouth to explain my presence in the hallway. “It’s all right, I don’t mind. I know you were just making sure the house was secured against any intruders.”

  I flashed her an apologetic smile. “I shouldn’t have lingered, though.”

  Amanda waved off this comment as if it were one of the gnats buzzing around our heads. “Don’t worry about that. We were loud enough to catch your attention. And that’s not the reason I wanted to speak with you in private. The thing is”—she glanced around the gazebo and surrounding area—“I’m truly concerned that Tony had something to do with Lisette’s death.”

  “He was accusing you.” As I studied her elegant profile, I reminded myself that I didn’t know Amanda well. As nice as she seemed, I had no way of proving her trustworthiness. She could be a practiced liar, for all I knew.

  “As a deflection, I think.” Amanda frowned. “A way to focus a spotlight of suspicion on me so he could remain in the shadows.”

  “He said you were jealous.” I stared at a white skiff sailing like a feather over the water. “I think I know what that might be about.” Turning back to Amanda, I pressed my palms against the weathered boards of the bench seat. “I recently heard a rumor that Lisette Bradford had ghostwritten your upcoming book.”

  “It’s true.” Amanda shifted, leaning her shoulder against one of the posts supporting the gazebo’s roof. “She did write book thirteen.”

  “And you approved that?”

  “Yes, because I just couldn’t bring myself …” Amanda dug her fingernails into the wood of the post. “You have to understand my state of mind. I was so tired of writing the series when I would’ve needed to start that book. Perhaps if my publisher had allowed me to take a year or two off”—she tossed back her golden mane of hair—“but they didn’t. I mean, it isn’t their fault, really. There’s a lot of pressure to pump out books on a regular basis. The fear is that if too much time elapses between releases, readers may become disillusioned with the author, or even abandon them and move on to the next bestseller.” She met my gaze with a sad smile. “It’s a tough business for publishers too. Not just authors.”

  “But why couldn’t you write the book? Did you develop writer’s block or something?” I asked.

  “Not really. My problem wasn’t with writing in general. It was with writing another one of those books.” Amanda released her grip on the post and dropped her hands into her lap. “Please understand that I’m very grateful to my agent and editor and publisher. They’ve always been good to me. Their promotion and support are why my books are bestsellers and why there are extras like a TV show. I’ve made a lot of money off the Tides series, and I couldn’t have done that without them. So when they asked for another book in the series, I didn’t want to say no. I wanted them to have their share of the profit from a new book, sooner rather than later. I just knew I couldn’t write it.”

  “Which is why you agreed to allow someone else to write it for you. Understandable.” I brushed a dusting of sand from the hems of my slacks. “Did you know it would be Lisette Bradford?”

  “No, definitely not, and I wouldn’t have agreed if I had known. Anyway, I didn’t get involved in that discussion. I was required to create a general outline and jot down a few notes to guide whoever was writing the manuscript. After that, except for a final read-through of the draft, my work was done. Of course, I thought they’d hire an experienced ghostwriter; someone who’d done it many times before. A professional.” Amanda grimaced. “Not someone like Lisette.”

  “Who chose her then?”

  “The editorial team, of course. But I did hear a rumor that Tony suggested her. Which really wasn’t any of his business, since he’s in publicity, but I suppose he did have enough clout with the publisher to put forward her name for the applicant pool.”

  “Because of the fan fiction she’d written based on your books?”

  “I see you know about that too.” Amanda shot me a side-eyed glance. “You’re quite the little amateur investigator, aren’t you?”

  “I have my sources,” I said, keeping my tone light. “What I don’t really understand is why Tony would choose Lisette, especially if she didn’t have a professional writing résumé.”

  “I didn’t understand it at first either, until I found out that he and Lisette had engaged in a brief affair. One that ended badly, I’m afraid.” Amanda shook her head. “I heard she totally humiliated him, in public too. But apparently it was still going on when he suggested her name to the publisher. He shared some of her fan fiction with them as well, according to one of my sources at the publishing house. I hear they were particularly swayed by her most popular story.” Amanda exhaled a gusty sigh. “I understand it was quite good. Not that I’ve read any of her fan fiction. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t read anything based on my own books. Too weird.”

  “But if Tony championed Lisette as the ghostwriter, why would he kill her? Surely that would be counterproductive.”

  Amanda pursed her lips. “My guess is that he only did that because they were involved in a relationship and he wanted to please her. Once she broke it off with him—after securing the ghostwriting deal—I imagine he felt used. Don’t you?”

  “I’m sure I would, especially since she did it in such an ugly fashion,” I said, processing this new theory. If Tony had felt truly humiliated by Lisette, it was possible he’d planned to kill her as revenge. He had said something that suggested he was responsible for her being one of the contest winn
ers. Or perhaps he’d simply confronted her after dinner and an argument had escalated. I tugged my fingers through a knot in my windblown hair. “Detective Johnson told me some restaurant patrons heard your group arguing on Saturday evening. Was Lisette antagonizing Tony or vice versa?”

  Amanda shifted her gaze, staring out over the water rather than looking at me. “Yes, but only obliquely. I imagine she didn’t want Harper and Molly to know what was going on.”

  “You don’t think Molly and Harper were aware of the rumors?”

  Amanda shook her head. “I don’t believe so, although they may have become suspicious after the conversation Saturday night. But Tony had no doubts as to Lisette’s intentions, and he was furious. He kept warning her to keep quiet or else. Which is why I think he’s the one who killed her.”

  “Have you told the police anything about your suspicions?”

  “Not yet.” Amanda touched my shoulder. “It’s really all secondhand information. I believe Tony did put forward Lisette’s name as a possible ghostwriter because of their affair, and then was furious when he was publicly humiliated. But honestly, as much as I dislike Tony, I can also see how Lisette Bradford could drive someone to murder.” Amanda clenched her fingers. “She was so manipulative and conniving …”

  Curious about this comment, I shifted on the bench so I could see her face. “Oh? In what way?”

  “I can’t say too much. But early on, right after she started the fan club, I’m afraid I shared some confidences with her over email. Things I shouldn’t have told anyone, especially not Lisette. But never mind that; I refuse to speak ill of the dead.” Amanda once again averted her gaze, making me question whether she was telling me the whole story.

  Tony had accused Amanda of being jealous, which didn’t make much sense to me. But I had the strong sense that something else was going on. Like Tony, Amanda had tried to avoid Lisette at the meet-and-greet reception. There had to be a reason for her obvious dislike, even if it wasn’t jealousy. Perhaps Lisette had stabbed her in the back in some way, like she had with Tony?

  Although I liked Amanda, I had to remind myself that she could simply be trying to offload her own guilt onto Tony Lott. While she appeared sincere, I knew that was no guarantee of innocence. Anyone can be bamboozled if the person doing the lying is good enough, I thought, recalling a few instances where I’d been totally conned by a sweet demeanor or charming words from students or their parents.

  “I think you’ll feel better once you share your concerns with Detective Johnson or someone on her team,” I said. “I appreciate you telling me, if your intent was to warn me to be careful around Tony …”

  “It was,” Amanda said in a rush.

  “But I can’t really do anything. I mean, I can talk to Detective Johnson, but my information will still be secondhand. Or even thirdhand, I guess. You’re a much better source, so you should talk to the police, as soon as you can. That’s my best advice.”

  Amanda slid a little farther away from me. “I will.”

  “Good. Now, tell me—what’s this new book that Tony doesn’t want you to talk about? I noticed how swiftly he cut you off, and that made me curious.”

  This change of topic seemed to relieve Amanda, who dropped her hunched shoulders and smiled. “Oh, that. It’s just something I’m working on. Very different than the Tides series, which means it may never be published. But I don’t really care about that at this point.”

  “A passion project?”

  Joy illuminated Amanda’s face. “Definitely. It’s the book of my heart. Something that actually speaks to the truth of my own life.”

  “Swashbuckling, time-traveling pirates don’t do that?” I asked with a little grin.

  “No.” Amanda stood to face me. “I really can’t say any more about the new book. It’s not that I’m under the control of Tony Lott or my publisher or anyone else, I just don’t want to jinx it.”

  I studied her serious expression. “I’ve heard other authors mention that. They don’t like discussing much about a new project before writing it. It’s like too much talk can turn it stale.”

  “It’s true. I mentioned it the other night because I’m so excited about the idea, but I really shouldn’t do that in the future, with or without Tony present. It’s better to do some of the exploration and discovery before sharing all the details.” Amanda offered me a bright smile. “At least, for me.”

  “I won’t press you on that, then.” I motioned toward the boardwalk, and its row of restaurants and shops. “Do you want to walk back with me?”

  “I think I’ll stay here for a while,” Amanda said, shading her eyes as she looked out over the water. “It’s a good spot for contemplation.”

  “It’s definitely that. Well, goodbye for now, then.” As I turned away, I heard a noise, almost like a little sob, but when I glanced back, Amanda was standing by the edge of the gazebo, looking perfectly composed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Later, I called Ellen to thank her again for “babysitting” the B and B while I took my walk.

  “It was no problem at all,” she said. “As I mentioned when I left, I even found a few new books to read, so that was a bonus.”

  “You know you’re welcome to borrow anything any time.”

  “I appreciate that.” There was a pause before Ellen continued. “Is Alicia back yet? I wondered if you might pop over for a face-to-face chat. Only if you feel like it, of course. I know it’s a little late.”

  “Is Gavin still out?” I asked, curious as to whether we could actually talk without any fear of him walking in on us.

  “He’s spending the night on the boat. Or so he says.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right over.”

  I let Alicia know I could be reached at Ellen’s house, in an emergency.

  “I think I can handle most of those,” she said, shooing me off. “Anyway, the guests are already holed up in their rooms, so I don’t expect many demands this evening.”

  I gave her a little salute before grabbing my keys and dashing out the front door.

  Ellen met me at her own front door with Shandy in her arms. “He’s more perturbed over visitors after dark,” she said, as she led the way into the parlor. “He’ll want to dash outside to investigate, and I don’t want him running out into the street, especially the way some people drive around here.”

  “That’s the truth.” I settled in my favorite chair and waited until Ellen sat down with Shandy in her lap before asking about Gavin again.

  “I did think it was peculiar. He hasn’t slept on his boat since he arrived.” Ellen absently stroked Shandy’s silky fur. “But I suspect he had some late-night meeting with someone in the area he didn’t want me to know about.”

  “Who would that be? Don’t tell me there are more former spies skulking around Beaufort.”

  “No, but there are people who knew Isabella.” Ellen gave Shandy a final pat before setting him on the floor. “Go along and eat your supper, you rascal,” she told him. “He refused it earlier,” she added, meeting my gaze. “He got overheated from our evening walk, I guess.”

  Shandy yipped twice before trotting off into the hall. He was headed to the kitchen and his food bowl, no doubt.

  “It is almost too hot for anyone to want food,” I said, tracing a circle in the suede fabric of the arm of my chair with my forefinger. “But that isn’t why you called me over. Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

  Ellen drew in a deep breath. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  I raised my eyebrows as I looked up at her. “Afraid?”

  “It’s something I suspected, and hoped wasn’t true, but”—Ellen shrugged—“it’s pretty much a sure thing now.”

  “Let me guess—you’ve discovered the reason Gavin is snooping around?”

  “I have. At least, I think so.” Ellen rose to her feet and crossed to a built-in mahogany shelving unit that filled one wall of the parlor. Picking up a Dresden figurine of a young girl holding a bas
ket of flowers, she turned to face me. “It’s linked to a situation in the distant past. Something I thought would never come to light.”

  “Some sort of intelligence operation that involved you and Isabella?”

  Ellen nodded. “It was one of my first. Over fifty years ago now. I was only twenty-five at the time, and just assigned to be Isabella’s handler, among my other duties.”

  “She would’ve been”—I calculated quickly—“in her early forties at the time, I guess.”

  “Just the age you are now,” Ellen said, with a wry smile. “Still very much in her prime.”

  “Not sure I feel the same, but okay.” I studied Ellen’s face, noting the tension accenting her wrinkles. “She was still involved with Paul Peters at the time, I suppose.”

  “Yes, of course. As she was for most of her life.”

  I mulled this over, remembering that the majority of my great-aunt’s espionage work had involved Peters, who was born in Russia but raised in England. He’d been the perfect “sleeper spy,” educated to blend in with other academics and, hopefully, use his position as a gentleman and scholar to infiltrate both British and American upper-class society during the Cold War era. He thought he’d recruited Isabella as a spy, as well as his lover, while my great-aunt was actually working for U.S. intelligence. She’d not only kept tabs on his activities, preventing him from truly doing harm; she’d also fed him disinformation over the years. It was the reason Isabella had been given Chapters—then used as a private home and a setting for gatherings of the rich and powerful—as well as a healthy stipend to maintain her social butterfly façade. She hadn’t converted Chapters into a B and B until after Paul Peters’s death.

  “The operation Gavin is researching was closely tied to Peters.” Ellen held up the figurine and stared at it as if examining it for defects. “He introduced Isabella to a friend that summer; a younger man named Leo Evans. Or at least that’s what he called himself at the time.”

  “Was he also a Russian asset?”