by Essie Lang
“Why? Because you think he’s a suspect?”
Shelby wondered at the sharpness of Edie’s voice. Had she hit some sort of sore spot?
Edie must have noticed Shelby’s reaction, because she sighed and started talking. “Well, it seems most people have been wary of Matthew ever since day one. How about putting on some fresh tea and I’ll tell you about him, although it’s really not my story to be telling. So, don’t let on to him that you know, okay?”
Shelby nodded, now thoroughly intrigued. She was relieved to have a different focus to try to calm the chaos in her mind. She busied herself with plugging in the kettle and rinsing out the teapot, then poured the near-boiling water over the tea leaves, waited four minutes, and poured the tea into their cups. She pulled out a tray and then carried them to the table along with a small plate of chocolate chip cookies that always sat on the counter and was replenished daily.
Edie blew on her drink and took a small sip. “Mm, I’m glad to see you know how to brew proper tea.”
“Well, tea according to Dad, anyway. So, what’s the scoop on Matthew?”
Edie batted away a long unruly strand of red curly hair. It had taken Shelby several days to get used to her aunt’s appearance. The obviously dyed red patch of hair that framed the left side of her face seemed a beacon next to the remaining gray locks. However, it did match the brightly colored long skirts and tie-dyed tops she favored. Shelby had easily guessed that Edie was somewhat stuck in her hippie days. She hadn’t dared ask just how far that extended, though she hadn’t yet detected any telltale odors of pot around the house.
Edie hesitated a moment, and Shelby wondered if she’d changed her mind; then she pushed herself out of the chair and started pacing, as well as she could with a long skirt and a walker.
“Sorry, I have to get moving every now and then. Anyway, Matthew came to Alexandria Bay around seven years ago and right away got the job as caretaker on Blye Island. Old Hank Harvey had just retired and we were about to start the summer season, so Matthew was a godsend. He moved into the cottage on the island and was off and running. However, Matthew kept pretty much to himself, nodding to folks on the street but rarely saying anything. That didn’t really go over too well. It turns out—and I heard this from one of the publishing sales reps—that he was a very well-known true crime writer, not exactly my forte, but I did carry a couple of his books over the years. I just didn’t connect the name. It seems he gave up the writing when his wife was murdered.”
“Murdered?”
Edie eased herself back into the chair. “Uh-huh. And he was the prime suspect, but they never got enough evidence to charge him. That’s about when he moved here. I guess he liked what he found, and so he’s still here.”
“That’s so sad. Was the murderer ever caught?”
“Not according to anything I’ve heard, even though Matthew spent a lot of time and money doing his own investigating. Unfortunately, our police chief always did think the worst of everyone. And even more unfortunately, her opinions carry some weight here in the village. She’s convinced he’s still a person of interest, or so I’ve heard said, so he hasn’t had a very warm reception.”
“How did you hear about him investigating and all?’
“I hear things. That’s something you’ll learn about the bookselling business. People love to talk. Sometimes I even feel like a bartender when the customers start sharing their problems.”
Shelby sat back, knocking her elbow on the edge of the table and spilling some tea on her pant leg. “Drat.” She righted the cup and blotted up the spill with a napkin. “I can’t imagine first losing the person you love in a violent crime and then being accused of it. No wonder he’s nearly a recluse. Today was really the first time we’ve carried on a conversation since I’ve been going over to the castle. He sure doesn’t strike me as being the violent type.”
“Love can make one do strange things,” Edie said, adding quickly, “Not that I’m accusing him or even believe he did it. But I’m sure it adds up in Police Chief Tekla Stone’s book, and this just proves what she’s said all along, that he’s a killer. So I’ll bet he’s the prime suspect in Loreena’s death. And it doesn’t help that they didn’t get along at all.”
“He didn’t threaten her at any time, did he?”
“Not that I know of, but he looked even gloomier than usual whenever she was around and would only grunt out answers.” She brightened. “So, you see how far you’ve come in such a short while? I understand he’s communicating in full sentences with you.”
“Huh. How long has Loreena been in charge of the castle?”
“Not ‘of’ but rather ‘at.’ Her job with the society is director of outreach, which is a fancy way of saying, ‘Keep an eye on the volunteers and make sure the brochures are all on display.’ She’s also curator of the exhibits, but that’s just another title, because our executive director does the real work. Chrissie Halstead is the PR person, and she’s done all the creative stuff. The board is comprised of some of our most prominent citizens, including moi, and did include the previous owner of Blye Castle, who sold it to the society for one dollar. His grandson is still active in board business. The executive director is paid an honorarium, but all other positions are volunteer.”
Shelby nodded and chose another chocolate chip cookie, closing her eyes as she chewed it. She could never get enough chocolate. “With all the politics involved and hoops to jump through, what made you want to expand with a second location in the castle?”
“Romance.”
Shelby opened her eyes. “All right. You’ve got my attention.”
Edie smiled. “The romance of the castle. Who wouldn’t want a chance to spend time there, and so much the better if I made some money while doing so. You know its history by now.”
“About Thomas and Millicent Blye emigrating from England, buying the island, and building the castle? I haven’t read that book about the history of the castle yet, but when I took the boat tour of the islands recently on the day they did special trips for the locals, I heard a lot about them.”
“That’s the start of the story. They weren’t spring chickens when they moved, unfortunately, so they only had about fifteen years there before it was too much upkeep for them. Luckily, they found a buyer.”
“The gangster?”
“Exactly. Joseph Cabana. He found the island to be the perfect spot for his rum-running operation during Prohibition.”
“But he died there, didn’t he?”
Edie nodded. “His body was found in the grotto also. They thought at the time it was gang related and that’s why his ghost hangs around.”
“You don’t believe in ghosts, do you, Edie?”
She shrugged. “I haven’t had the opportunity to test it out. He’s seldom seen haunting it, but then again, it’s been closed half the year. Who knows what he does when he’s there by himself. I wonder if he was a reader. Maybe he’ll pop by the bookstore.” She gave Shelby a wink.
Chapter Six
The next morning, Shelby turned a bleary eye to her clock radio. Yes, it was time to get up. No, she didn’t want to. She was usually an early riser, but today was different. She hadn’t slept much due to a very active imagination that danced between bodies in the water and ghosts. Her worst fear was that Loreena Swan would come back to haunt her. She shook her head. That was way too flippant a thought at such an unnerving time. Besides, she had to be at the shuttle by nine if she wanted to have the bookstore open and inviting for the grand opening at ten.
She heard a scratching at the door as she walked into the kitchen after enjoying a long but reviving shower. That cat again. She hesitated. Did she really want to start something? Well, okay, she guessed she already had, since she’d fed the thing twice already that week. However, in her book, that did not translate to an open invitation to move in. But she had bought a few tins of a no-name tuna cat food, and she also had some pouches of dry food on hand. She sighed as she opened the door to
the imposing amber-colored feline. He sure didn’t look underfed. She’d had no idea he came with the territory, although perhaps he didn’t. She peeked out the door to make sure he hadn’t invited any friends.
Her rental was a two-story thirty-six-foot houseboat moored at the docks reserved for pleasure craft. She loved the feel of the water gently lapping away and the sounds of fish jumping and seagulls crying. The owner, whom she had met just once, was a local guy who worked for the forest service. He had bought the boat two years earlier, hoping to make it his home until he’d learned, too late, that all boats went into dry dock over the winter months. So he’d opted instead to rent it out for the summers and recoup his investment.
Shelby had fallen in love with the place the minute she’d stepped on board, even though it meant that she’d have to find new digs at the end of summer. She knew her aunt had originally hoped she’d moved in with her, into the large family house that had belonged to Edie’s parents. That was always a possibility, but Shelby was so used to living on her own. It had taken a lot of finesse to smooth Edie’s ruffled feathers after Shelby had first arrived and declined the offer of a room. Thanks to Trudy Bryant, who had declared she would move in for as long as Edie needed care, Shelby was able to rent the houseboat, which seemed to be working out for everyone. And, since Trudy was in charge of the main bookstore while Edie was laid up, it meant that although Edie was housebound, she wasn’t out of the loop.
The cat sat thumping its tail. She got it. Time to get the food going. After dishing out both types along with a bowl of water, Shelby set about making her own coffee. She glanced back at the cat, and a smile formed on her face. She really didn’t want a cat, but what would it hurt to name it, even if it just stopped by occasionally? Its coloring was that of a tabby, but its size hinted at an unlikely coupling, maybe with a Maine coon or something. Now, what would be a proper name? A nonhuman name for sure. Boots. Whiskers? Too common. Oh, well, it would come to her.
Her Keurig delivered a cup of dark roast coffee quickly, and she leaned back against the counter as she sipped. She didn’t even know what sex the thing was, and she wasn’t in any hurry to check. The first time they’d met, she’d tried to pat him and retrieved her hand just in time to miss being scratched. Ingrate. Claws might be an appropriate name, but that didn’t feel right.
“What do you want to be called?” Shelby asked, not expecting a reply. “Better still, what is your name and where do you come from? Do you have a home already and are just a greedy gut hanging around begging for food? Because you sure don’t look like you’re starving.”
The cat stopped eating and eyed her indignantly, its green eyes framed by a bushy mane of golden fur. You look like a lion. That thought made Shelby feel slightly unsettled. She shook off the feeling and poured some granola into a dish, covering it with fresh blueberries and sliced strawberries. Fresh but not local. Not yet, but soon.
She had to get going. She ushered the cat outside and stood for a couple of minutes enjoying the scenery. Living on a houseboat had been a whim, but she’d discovered she really enjoyed looking out on the water and the islands beyond. She wondered if she’d get some more neighbors during the summer. She acknowledged the houseboat tied up between her own and the shore, still unoccupied. As part of her plan to become more outgoing, she’d decided to start saying good morning each day and would keep it up when there were actually people living on it.
One of the great things about Alexandria Bay was that everything was close to everything else in the town. Shelby could walk over to the boat shuttle in minutes, and she could also get to almost any place in the center of town in the same amount of time. The bookstore was even closer than that. She’d checked the weather already, and it promised to be a clear although not overly warm day. That’s what jackets were made for. She went back inside and grabbed a lined red windbreaker from the coat rack next to the door, locking up behind her.
Shelby reached the boat dock at the same time as the store’s part-time employee, Taylor Fortune. She’d been working at the main store for a couple of years but had asked to switch to the castle bookstore for the summers. Shelby had at first been uptight about meeting new colleagues and going through the whole bonding routine. But she had been relieved when she realized after the first couple of weeks working side by side in the main store that she and Taylor worked well together. Shelby even had great hopes they might become good friends.
“Good morning, Taylor. Ready for the rush?” Shelby said it jokingly, but deep down she was hopeful. “What are the flowers for?” she asked with a nod toward the two wrapped packages in Taylor’s arms, obviously bouquets.
Taylor laughed. “I am excited and then some. Opening day is always busy, with a lot of the village people coming over for the celebrations. And the flowers are for the store, to bring the celebration inside.”
“That’s a great idea. I should have thought of it.”
“Edie usually does, but I wasn’t sure if that info had been passed along. I thought even if you had some, the more the merrier.”
Shelby nodded. “Thanks. She surprisingly didn’t mention it, although she did try to fill me in on every last possibility for today, or so it seemed. A really busy day is what I most remember her stressing.”
“That’s not surprising. The shuttle is free, thanks to the Heritage Society, in addition to the regular boat tours. And, you never know, with a fresh murder on the island, people might come in droves.”
Shelby caught her breath. “You know that it really was a murder? Your husband is a police officer, isn’t he? Is that what he told you? Have they done an autopsy already?”
Taylor had a look on her thirty-six-year-old face like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Oops, wasn’t supposed to say that. Please don’t tell Chuck that I mentioned murder. He’ll stop telling me what’s happening, and I do so enjoy getting the lowdown on everything.”
Shelby chuckled. “No problem. He won’t hear it from me. But do you think you could find out about that autopsy? I’m dying to know what killed her. Oops, wrong choice of words, but you get the picture.”
Taylor gave an exaggerated sigh, like she felt put upon, but her expression quickly changed to a conspiratorial one. “I’ll try and find out. I’m really curious, too. I can’t believe there’s been a murder. It’s just like in one of our mystery books, although I prefer the murder being on the pages, not in our backyard.”
The sun caught and reflected off her short blonde hair. The pixie cut suited her. In fact, Shelby thought she’d make an ideal pixie in a stage production of Peter Pan. She thought back briefly to the version her dad had taken her to at Jordan Hall in Boston. That had been a very long time ago.
“Do you ever get in trouble at home saying things like that?” Shelby wanted to know. She was trying to imagine the dinner table talk in their home.
“We haven’t had a murder before, not since I moved here, anyway.”
“And when was that?” Shelby waited for Taylor to lead the way onto the boat.
“I guess I’ve been here about six years. I moved here one year before I met Chuck, and we got married one year after we met.” She grinned.
“Wow. Sounds like a good move on your part.”
“Was it ever. I also like to remind him that marrying me was a good move on his part,” she said with a laugh, which tapered off as she looked past Shelby at the dock.
Shelby turned and followed her gaze. The State Police officer, Lieutenant Guthrie, was stepping onto the boat. He looked over at them and touched the brim of his cap, then followed one of the crew members into the wheelhouse.
“I wonder what the lieutenant is doing here this morning.” Shelby said. “I wonder who’s in charge, him or Chief Stone? I read a lot of mysteries, and there’s always tension between the different forces when it comes to investigating a case.” She looked expectantly at Taylor, hoping for some more intel.
Taylor whispered, “He’s going to do some more snooping
around on the island. Chuck said he’d also probably be questioning everyone again.”
Shelby grimaced. What more could she tell him? She hoped he didn’t have more questions about when and where she’d seen Matthew, or rather, the patch of red. She shook her head. She’d have to stop assuming it had been him. But who else could it have been?
They were pulling up to the dock at Blye Island when Lieutenant Guthrie reappeared. He made no attempt to talk to either of them as they left the boat, but she was aware that he was in the group of volunteers and staff as they followed the stone stairwell to the castle.
She looked around for Matthew as they entered through the front door and was a little disappointed not to see him. She did take a moment to enjoy the grandeur of the entrance hall. The bottom halves of the walls were red oak and gleamed in the sunlight shining through the stained-glass windows. The matching cornices and trim added that regal touch. Castle indeed. Shelby wondered what it would have been like to live there, but her imagination didn’t stretch that far. No matter how hard she tried, she could not picture herself doing an elegant stroll down the curved formal stairway, the gracious mistress of the mansion. Standing at the bottom, holding the cloak for the mistress of the manor, waiting to drape it over her elegant shoulders would have been more like it.
Shelby shook her head to focus. No time for daydreams. Not today when there was so much happening. She’d have to be alert and, even more important, cheerful and welcoming, if she wanted the bookstore to make a good impression on the hundreds of visitors expected for the grand opening day. She just hoped she was up to the task. Her people skills were sometimes lacking.
By the time she had unlocked the door to the store and Taylor had started the coffee brewing, she’d forgotten about everything except the bookstore. She wandered around the shelves trying to picture what the shoppers would see. Everything looked in its place and maybe even enticing.
She had just started sorting out the cash drawer when Lieutenant Guthrie walked in. Shelby glanced at the antique-looking clock on the back wall above the windows. Twenty minutes until opening. She hoped he’d be brief.
