Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
The Briar Creek Library Guide to Crafternoons
Readers Guide for
LINDSEY’S KNITTING PATTERN FOR A ROLLED HAT
Recipes
MARY’S CLAM CHOWDER
Teaser chapter
PRAISE FOR
Books Can Be Deceiving
“A sparkling setting, lovely characters, books, knitting, and chowder! What more could any reader ask?”
—Lorna Barrett, New York Times bestselling author of
Sentenced to Death and the Booktown Mysteries
“With a remote coastal setting as memorable as Manderley and a kindhearted, loyal librarian as the novel’s heroine, Books Can Be Deceiving is sure to charm cozy readers everywhere.”
—Ellery Adams, author of the Books by the Bay Mysteries
“Fast-paced and fun, Books Can Be Deceiving is the first in Jenn McKinlay’s appealing new mystery series featuring an endearing protagonist, delightful characters, a lovely New England setting, and a fascinating murder. Don’t miss this charming new addition to the world of traditional mysteries.”
—Kate Carlisle, author of the Bibliophile Mysteries
Sprinkle with Murder
“A tender cozy full of warm and likable characters and a refreshingly sympathetic murder victim. Readers will look forward to more of McKinlay’s tasty concoctions.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“McKinlay’s debut mystery flows as smoothly as Melanie Cooper’s buttercream frosting. Her characters are delicious, and the dash of romance is just the icing on the cake.”
—Sheila Connolly, author of Fundraising the Dead
“Jenn McKinlay delivers all the ingredients for a winning read. Frost me another!”
—Cleo Coyle, national bestselling author of the Coffeehouse Mysteries
“A delicious new series featuring a spirited heroine, luscious cupcakes, and a clever murder. Jenn McKinlay has baked a sweet read.”
—Krista Davis, author of the Domestic Diva Mysteries
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Jenn McKinlay
Library Lover’s Mysteries
BOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING
Cupcake Bakery Mysteries
SPRINKLE WITH MURDER
BUTTERCREAM BUMP OFF
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
BOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / July 2011
Copyright © 2011 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.
“Readers Guide” by Lynn Sheene copyright © 2011 by Hawkeye Sheene. Excerpt from Due or Die by Jenn McKinlay copyright © by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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ISBN : 978-1-101-53809-8
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
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For my brilliant agent, Jessica Faust
Acknowledgments
Perhaps no place in any community is so totally democratic
as the town library. The only entrance requirement
is interest.
—LADY BIRD JOHNSON
I have been very fortunate to spend my formative years and my adult years working in a variety of positions in many different libraries. There is no way to acknowledge every person I’ve worked with, so I just want to give a nod to the places I’ve worked and the people within them: East Lyme Public Library, Cromwell Belden Public Library, Phoenix Public Library, Maricopa County Library, Desert Botanical Garden Library and Scottsdale Healthcare Library. The librarians and staff in these libraries are truly some of the most brilliant and dedicated people I’ve ever met. The world is a better place because you all make a difference in people’s lives every single day!
And now to thank those people who helped to make this book shine. I want to thank my manuscript readers: Sheila Levine, Jan Buckwalter, Carole Towles, Wendy Resnik, Sue McKinlay and Susie Matazzoni. Thanks for catching the details in the library world that I missed. And to my amazing editors: Kate Seaver, Katherine Pelz and Eloise L. Kinney; wow, you really made this book tight. Well done! Also, I have to thank the cover creators, Rita Frangie for design and Julia Green for art, for making the most spectacular cover ever. I really want to work in that library. I wonder if they’re hiring . . .
Finally, to my families, the McKinlays and the Orfs, thanks for always cheering me on. It means the world to me! And for my men, Chris, Wyatt and Beckett, thanks for all the hu
gs and unwavering belief that I could do this. I love that we are a book-loving, library-loitering family!
CHAPTER 1
“Oh, I just love that Maxim de Winter,” Violet La Rue said, her knitting needles clicking together as if to emphasize her words. “He gives me the shivers.”
“Him?” Nancy Peyton asked. “He’s not nearly as scary as Mrs. Danvers.”
Lindsey Norris glanced up from her knitting at the two ladies sitting across the circle from her. It was crafternoon Thursday, where members of the crafternoon club gathered at the Briar Creek Library to do a craft—currently, they were knitting—and discuss the assigned book of the week.
Lindsey was the director of the library, and this group had been one of her ideas to make the Briar Creek Library the place to be in the small town. Unfortunately, she had discovered that her ability to knit and talk at the same time was about as good as her ability to pat her head and rub her tummy at the same time. Which meant it took great effort, and the results were not pretty.
“Oh, that Mrs. Danvers,” Violet clucked. “Someone should push her out of a window.”
Violet was a tall, thin black woman with warm brown eyes and gray hair that she wore pulled back from her face in a tight bun at the back of her head. She dressed in colorful, flowing caftans that whispered around her when she walked. She was a retired actress, having starred on the Broadway stage most of her life, who now volunteered her time at the Briar Creek Community Theater.
She was an expert knitter, and it irked Lindsey to note that she wasn’t even looking at her needles while she spoke.
“I read that Mrs. Danvers is one of the most infamous female characters in literature,” Nancy said, also not looking at her needles. She was Lindsey’s landlord and Violet’s best friend.
Lindsey dumped her knitting into her lap and said, “Rebecca is Daphne du Maurier’s greatest work and frequently draws comparisons to Jane Eyre.”
“Oh, she’s getting irritated with her knitting again,” Violet whispered to Nancy.
“I am not,” Lindsey protested.
“It’s all right, dear,” Nancy said. “You always put on that scholarly voice when you’re frustrated with your knitting.”
“I do not,” Lindsey protested.
A widow in her midsixties, Nancy was a delightful landlady. With her short gray hair and sparkling blue eyes, she didn’t miss much that went on around her. She liked to bake cookies, she was teaching Lindsey to knit, and she never nagged about the rent, but sometimes she mothered Lindsey, and at thirty-five, Lindsey wasn’t really sure how to tell her to knock it off, especially when it was kind of nice to have that maternal softness in her life.
“Do not what?” a voice asked from behind her.
Lindsey glanced over her shoulder to see a giant teapot standing behind her. A few months ago, she would have found this odd but not now.
“How was story time?” she asked.
“Full house,” Beth said. “The kids loved my Mrs. Potts outfit, and of course I taught them all to sing ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’ ”
“Naturally,” Lindsey said.
If Beth weren’t a librarian, Lindsey was pretty sure she would have been a circus performer. She could just see her balanced on a pony, riding around the ring in a tutu with a feather on her head. Beth brought that over-the-top energy to her role as a children’s librarian and in fact to her whole life.
Lindsey had met Beth Stanley more than ten years before when they both were attending Southern Connecticut State University to get their master’s degree in library science. They had ended up rooming together in a small second-floor apartment on the Boulevard in New Haven.
It had never been dull living with Beth. Lindsey still remembered the day she had come home from class and found Beth painting a life-size mural of a rabbit warren on the living room wall. She had just read Watership Down and was inspired to get a pet bunny, which she named Blackberry after her favorite character in the book, and was decorating the living room to look like a rabbit’s habitat so that Blackberry would feel more at home.
Upon graduation, Beth had come right here to Briar Creek to be the children’s librarian, while Lindsey had pursued a more academic career path, becoming an archivist at the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale. Her undergraduate work had been in literature, and she had originally thought that she’d go on to pursue a degree and position to become a museum curator, but she’d found the library world to be a better fit. It wasn’t hard for her to guess why. She’d been a nerd to the tenth power as a kid. A bookworm, who played the flute in the band, wore thick glasses and kept her blonde hair cut short in a frizzy bob, she was a bit of a loner, preferring the company of the characters in her books to actual people, the only exception being her brother Jack.
Things had been going just as she’d planned right up until six months ago. Suddenly her personal life had imploded, and the economy tanked. Budgets had been slashed at the university and positions eliminated, one of which had been Lindsey’s.
When Beth heard that she had been let go, she encouraged her to apply for the open position of library director in Briar Creek, a quaint town perched on the shore of Connecticut. Lindsey had been charmed by the library and the town, and when they’d offered her the job, she had agreed and had been the director of the small public library for the past several months.
“So, what is it that you don’t do?” Beth asked.
“I do not put on my scholarly voice when I get frustrated with my knitting,” Lindsey said.
“Yeah, you do,” Beth said as she shimmied out of the enormous teapot. She was short and curvy. Her cropped black hair was arranged in wispy spikes, a disarray-on-purpose sort of hairdo. The spray of freckles across her upturned nose made her seem younger than she was, but it was her childlike exuberance that really rolled the years back from her true age of thirty-two. Lindsey knew whenever she heard laughter in the library, it was usually because Beth was in the building.
“Where’s Mary?” Beth asked.
“She said she was shorthanded at the café and would be running a little late. I hope she brings some chowder with her,” Violet said.
“That would be perfect on a cold, rainy day like today,” Beth agreed as she plopped into the cushy seat beside Lindsey and pulled her knitting out of her Friends of the Library tote bag. She was working on a sapphire blue cardigan that just begged to be snuggled in.
“Honey, what exactly is that?” Violet asked Lindsey as she leaned forward to get a better look at the pile of heather-blue yarn on her lap.
Lindsey held up her knitting. “Socks. Well, a sock.”
Violet and Nancy exchanged a look, and Beth glanced at her out of the corner of her eye.
“What?” she asked. “Come on, spill it.”
“Nothing,” Violet said. “But . . . um . . . who are you knitting it for?”
“My dad.”
“Oh, so he is real,” Nancy said. There was a twinkle in her blue eyes that should have warned Lindsey, but she missed it.
“Of course my father’s real,” she said.
“Wow, so how does it feel to be a descendent of Bigfoot?” Beth asked. She muffled her laugh with her knitting.
“What?” Lindsey asked and then looked at the sock on her two circular needles and frowned. “Oh, you. It’s not that big.”
All three of them stared at her.
“Did you check your gauge?” Nancy asked. To her credit, she didn’t add “duh” to the question.
“I . . . um . . . no,” Lindsey admitted.
All three of the other ladies shook their heads.
“You have to check your gauge,” Nancy said.
“Swatching; it’s a rule,” Violet said.
“Like not wearing white shoes before Memorial Day,” Beth added.
“Amen,” Violet and Nancy said together.
Lindsey heaved a sigh. She’d been planning to have these socks done for the holidays, and given that it was October, the
holidays were rapidly approaching, but the way it was going she wouldn’t get them finished until spring. She reminded herself that she was as new to knitting as she was to Briar Creek, but still.
She considered the sock from all angles and an idea struck. She continued knitting.
“You’re really going to keep going with that?” Beth asked.
“Yes, because now it’s a hat,” she said. She chuckled, and the others joined her.
Their laughter was interrupted when the door to the crafternoon room opened. They all glanced up, expecting to see Mary. Instead, it was Ms. Cole. She sniffed in disapproval at the copies of Rebecca on the table, the knitting needles, and the small fire roaring in the fireplace.
Ms. Cole was in charge of circulation at the library. She was what Lindsey considered an old-school librarian who had been miffed ever since the card catalog went the way of the dinosaur.
“Can I help you, Ms. Cole?” she asked.
“If you can tear yourself away from your knitting,” Ms. Cole said. Her voice was sharp with disapproval even though Lindsey made sure to participate only during her lunch hour.
“Talk about perfect casting for Mrs. Danvers,” Violet whispered to Nancy, who turned her laugh into a cough.
Just then a dripping-wet Mary pushed through the door around Ms. Cole.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “But I come with chowder.”
Mary put a large paper sack down and shrugged off her raincoat, hanging it on the coat stand by the fireplace.
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