by Sara Rosett
“So she wasn’t in Chicago,” I said, thinking of those few crazy moments when I suspected that Zara might have flown to England.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing important.” I nestled my ivy plant in a corner of the box, as I asked, “How are you doing?”
“Surprisingly okay. I’m still upset over what happened to Kevin, but the reality of him being gone has sunk in. I’m sorry they wouldn’t hold the funeral for another day so you could attend.”
“It’s all right. I said goodbye to him in England,” I said, thinking about my last visit to the bridge. Kevin’s funeral had been held on the day I flew back.
“A distant cousin of Kevin’s showed up and his two ex-wives.” Marci disappeared into Kevin’s office for more boxes. “Everyone else was a work associate. TMZ sent some cameramen, who hovered outside the funeral home in hopes of getting a shot of Mr. O’Leery, but he sent flowers instead.”
“Sounds like it was a bit of a circus.”
“Yes. Kevin would have loved it.” She dropped the box on the stack by the door. “I’m going to work for Karen James,” Marci said, naming one of our top competitors.
“That’s great. I’m glad you’ve found something.” I put my glass paperweight and the brass clock I’d picked up on a scouting trip to San Francisco in the box, then wound my extra phone charging cord into a circle. “You don’t sound excited, though.”
“Well, it’s that—I feel bad. Karen said she could take me on. Her office manager quit two months ago, and she’s had a series of temps who have apparently been atrocious. It will probably take me until Thanksgiving just to straighten out the receivables, but she doesn’t need another location scout right now. She said if they expand, she might need someone else after the New Year.”
“Marci, under that prickly exterior you are such a softie. It’s not up to you to find me a job, too. Just take care of yourself. I’ll find something.”
She half grinned. “Don’t let on to anyone who works for Karen. I have a whole new group of people to whip into shape and that’s a lot easier to do if everyone is afraid of me.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Marci carried out another box, and I cleared out my top drawer. How had I missed the three tubes of Smarties? If I’d known those were in there, they would have been eaten long ago.
“Oh.” Marci appeared in Kevin’s doorway, a box weighing down her arms. “I forgot. Leon called when he heard we were shutting down. He said he’d be interested in talking to you. So that’s a lead, you know. A possibility,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically tentative. “He’s doing well. He’s landed several feature film projects recently. It could be a good move for you. He’d hire you in a heartbeat. I know that.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Lip-licking Leon? No thanks.” For some reason, our colleague Leon Bettis found my collarbones fascinating. Every time I ran into him, he couldn’t seem to keep his gaze above my chin, and he had a habit of frequent lip licking.
“That’s what I thought you’d say. I told him you already had some leads.”
“Thanks.”
It didn’t take long to finish boxing my personal things and transfer them to my car, then I spent the rest of the afternoon helping Marci with Kevin’s office. It was close to five by the time we finished. We made one final sweep, and that’s when I saw Kevin’s antique camera sitting on the window ledge tucked behind the vertical blinds. He had kept it on the credenza behind his desk. “Marci, don’t forget Kevin’s Brownie camera.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you saw that. He wanted you to have it.”
“What?”
“I found a copy of his will in the legal paperwork. He wanted you to have the Brownie camera.”
I turned the camera over in my hands. “That’s so…”
“Unlike him? Sentimental?” Marci said.
“I was going to say it was so nice of him.”
“Yeah, it was.” Marci dusted her hands on her hips. “I think we’re done here.”
She locked the door, and we walked to the parking garage together, making plans to meet for lunch. I slid into the car, started it up, and sat there a moment, letting the air conditioner blast me with cool air as I ran my fingers over the worn corners of the boxy camera.
My phone buzzed with a text from Beatrice. As promised. The photo of Alex and me on the bridge was attached. As I studied the photo, a call came in. It was Alex.
I put the Brownie camera carefully in the cardboard box between the gargoyle replica I’d picked up in Paris and pile of Moleskines, and considered letting the call go to voicemail, but at the last moment, I answered.
“Hey, you made it back. How was your flight?” Alex asked.
“Long and boring.”
“Ah. Well, that’s better than short and exciting, I guess.”
“I’ve never thought of it that way, but that’s true. I do have some bad news.”
“The movie’s off,” Alex said unemotionally.
“You guessed it. You don’t sound too upset.”
“No. I’m sorry that it’s fallen through.”
“It’s not unexpected though,” I summed up. “Right. Well, I hope you’re not left high and dry.”
“No. No, I’m not. In fact—remember that project I mentioned? The one I had to cancel our lunch for? It’s a go.”
“That’s great.” I managed not to say that I was currently jobless.
“Yeah, the work is great, but the thing is…” his voice trailed off, and I thought we’d lost the connection, but then his voice came back stronger. He hurried through his next words as if he wanted to get them out there. “I need someone else. It’s a huge project with a short timeline, and I know you work in L.A. and all, but I was wondering if you’d consider coming out here for a month or two and working with me. I know I’m asking you to return to a place with sad memories, but I’d hoped that…”
“Not all my memories of Nether Woodsmoor are sad,” I said slowly.
“Um…yeah. Well, before you turn me down flat, let me tell you about the project. It’s for a cable network, a biographical look at Jane Austen. The producer heard about my link to Mr. Dunn’s project, and thought I might be able to help her move quickly because of all the preliminary work I’ve done.”
“It’s about Jane Austen, but it’s not an adaptation of one of her books,” I said to make sure I understood.
“Right. It’s more of an overview, a look at her life and her novels. The producer wants actors recreating scenes from Austen’s life and from some of the books. Interviews with literary experts will be interspersed throughout the piece, and it will have an analysis of the pop culture aspect of her fame. So you see, it would be helpful to have someone with a good knowledge of Jane Austen’s novels and the Regency. I know it would mean more travel for you and more time away from home, but I hope you’ll consider it.” He paused, then said in a quieter voice, “I’d like to work with you again.”
I was parked on the top deck of the parking garage at the very edge and had a view of a slice of grayish sky between two office towers. I studied their sleek monolithic glassed sides reflecting images of each other as I thought about his offer. I could turn him down, stay here. Search out a new position as a location scout or go freelance.
“You don’t have to decide right now. Take some time. Think about it.”
My gaze dropped down to the ground floor of the buildings where office workers streamed out of the revolving doors, briskly striding in ant-like lines to the crosswalk or the parking garages, their briefcases swinging, phones pressed to their ears. I thought of the stop-and-go drive home, the barbed wire twisted around the freeway signs to discourage graffiti and the dry hills covered in scrub and manzanita that I couldn’t see beyond the gray wall of haze.
Smog, traffic, and no job versus golden stone cottages, rolling green fields, and a paycheck. “No, I don’t have to think about it. It sounds excessively diverting.”
“I
hoped you’d say that.”
THE END
A Note From The Author
Kate and Alex will return in another adventure. Let me know if you’d like to read more of their stories. You can sign up for my newsletter. I will only email you to notify you of a new release, and I will never share or sell your info. If you’ve enjoyed Death in the English Countryside and feel inclined to post an on-line review, I’d appreciate it. Posting an honest reader review is one of the best ways to help authors. Thanks!
I am neither a Jane Austen scholar nor a location scout, so the research for this book was both interesting and challenging.
Like Kate, I adore Pride and Prejudice. I reread it as I wrote Death in the English Countryside, and found Pride and Prejudice to be even more delightful than I remembered it—indeed, I did.
Viewing the recent adaptions of P & P was hard work, but I absolutely had to do it. Jane Austen’s World: The Life and Times of England’s Most Popular Novelist by Maggie Lane and Jane Austen: The World of Her Novels by Deirdre Le Fay provided a fascinating insight into Austen’s life, times, and writings.
I traveled to Derbyshire and experienced the green sheep-dotted hills and stunning country homes, loving every minute of it. Take a look at my Death in the English Countryside pinboard to see places that inspired me.
Hannah Dennison graciously clued me in on custards, puddings, and gave me tips on UK police procedure. I also spent quite a bit of time curled up with The Crime Writer's Guide to Police Practice and Procedure by Michael O'Byrne.
Because Death in the English Countryside is first and foremost a mystery, I’ve streamlined some of the location scouting details for the sake of story and plot. For an in-depth look at how a period drama is made, I highly recommend Sue Birtwistle and Susie Conklin’s book, The Making of Pride and Prejudice.
About the Author
A native Texan, Sara is the author of the Ellie Avery mystery series and the On The Run suspense series. As a military spouse, Sara has moved around the country (frequently!) and traveled internationally, which inspired her latest suspense novels. Publishers Weekly called Sara’s books, "satisfying," "well-executed," and "sparkling."
Sara loves all things bookish, considers dark chocolate a daily requirement, and is on a quest for the best bruschetta. Connect with Sara at www.SaraRosett.com or sign up for her newsletter, but don't worry, your info won't be shared with anyone else. Sara will only contact you when she has a new release. You can also find her on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, or Goodreads.
Other Books by Sara Rosett
This is Sara Rosett’s complete library at the time of publication, but Sara has new books coming out all the time. Sign up for her newsletter to stay up to date on new releases.
Murder on Location series (cozy mystery)
Death in the English Countryside
Death in an English Cottage
Death in a Stately Home (coming soon)
On the Run series (suspense)
Elusive
Secretive
Deceptive
Suspicious
Ellie Avery series (cozy mystery)
Moving is Murder
Staying Home is a Killer
Getting Away is Deadly
Magnolias, Moonlight, and Murder
Mint Juleps, Mayhem, and Murder
Mimosas, Mischief, and Murder
Mistletoe, Merriment and Murder
Milkshakes, Mermaids, and Murder
Marriage, Monsters-in-law, and Murder (coming soon)
Continue reading for an excerpt of Elusive, the first book in the On the Run series by Sara Rosett.
Excerpt from Elusive
Book One in the On the Run series
Dallas, Tuesday, Noon
It was supposed to be an easy job.
“Cake,” Rick had said.
Sammy Dovitz tossed his binoculars onto the passenger seat then shifted restlessly within the confines of the black KIA. It should have been an easy job—no dog and no sign of an alarm installed. The large cottonwood in the front yard hid some of the two-story house and made it difficult to see what was going on upstairs, but that situation also worked to his advantage—he’d take mature landscaping over barren new lots any day. High hedges, shrubs, and towering trees made it possible to move around unnoticed.
But for it to be an easy job, the woman had to leave.
Sammy pulled a small hand towel from below the binoculars and wiped his sweaty forehead. He’d been sitting in the car for five and a half hours. It hadn’t been too bad at six-thirty in the morning, but now the windshield acted as a magnifying glass for the sun. The dark clouds of the approaching early spring thunderstorm were sliding across the sky, but they were still far enough away that they didn’t block the sun. He’d moved the car three times already, to stay in the shade—and he didn’t want to remain in one place too long.
He threw the soaked towel onto the passenger seat. Rick hadn’t told him the woman worked from home. Sammy hated work-from-home people. His line of work depended on empty houses, not that this was business as usual. This job was some sort of special case. Sammy usually worked alone, but when Rick offered to let him in on this job, the payoff had been too big to pass up.
Sammy’s phone vibrated. Rick didn’t bother to say hello. “He’s left the office. You got it yet?”
“No. The woman’s still there. Is he coming here?”
There was a muttered curse, then Rick’s scratchy voice, pitched higher than usual and with a layer of nervousness vibrating through his words, came back on the line. “Doesn’t look like it. He was still in his suit. He’s driving to the Tollway. Sammy, man, you’ve got to make this happen. Get on it, right now. Did you hear me? Right now.”
“Yeah, I got you.” Thunder rumbled, and Sammy looked at the approaching mass of clouds. Another half hour and they would be directly overhead. The bottom of the cloudbank was dark, nearly black, and flat as if sliced with a knife, but the top was bumpy with bloated white columns. Not good. A downpour would only complicate things.
“Do it now,” Rick said. “My part is done. I’m out of here.”
“Half an hour,” Sammy said and turned off his phone.
Looking at the house again, he sighed. It was going to be the hard way. Instead of a quick and dirty, in and out, he’d have to do the job with the woman in the house—not impossible, but time consuming and riskier. He wasn’t worried about a confrontation with her. He knew he could take care of her, but it would be better if she never knew he was there, which meant slow and careful and quiet.
Sammy pulled a gray shirt over his white T-shirt. He fastened the buttons, making sure the collar covered the chain link tattoo on his neck. He removed his diamond earring, dropped it in the console, and then picked up a small clipboard and black baseball cap. The name of the game was blending in—that was key. You couldn’t stand out. Tattoos and diamonds were memorable. Sammy wanted to be practically invisible. Both the shirt and the cap had the logo of a local cable company, a multi-colored starburst. He pulled the baseball cap low over his eyes and strolled across the street to the gate that opened into the backyard of the two-story house. Despite the large tree in the front, he couldn’t risk being seen picking the lock on the front door. It would be too chancy in this neighborhood of occasional walkers and joggers. He could leave through the front door, but he wasn’t going inside that way.
The gate was unlocked, so he slipped inside the fence after a quick glance up and down the empty street. He moved to the back of the house and eased up to the small window placed high on the wall over the kitchen sink. His hand tightened on the rough brick. She was still there, all right, motionless except for the movement of her fingers as she bent over a laptop, which was a useless piece of trash. He’d hoped to do a little business on the side during this job—something Rick didn’t need to know about—but if that was the type of merchandise in the house, he wouldn’t even bother. It wasn’t worth his time.
Sammy in
ched his head away from the window. No sudden movements. When he was clear, he went to one of the windows on the opposite side of the house, an extra bedroom filled with boxes. He sighed with satisfaction. Finally, something was breaking his way. Sammy tucked the clipboard into his waistband at the small of his back then slipped his knife out of his pants pocket. After examining the screen and window for an alarm, he used the knife to pry the screen out of its track.
He set it on the ground then slid the knife into the thin space where the upper and lower window casement met. With a flick, the thumb lock released, and he pushed the window up. A cool, air-conditioned breeze from inside the house engulfed him.
***
Zoe stopped typing and stared at the exposed rafter of her kitchen ceiling, listening.
It was too quiet.
The air conditioner whirred and there was the faint plink from the leaky faucet in the hall bath, but there should have been noise from upstairs. A quick glance at the digital clock on the oven confirmed that it was almost twelve-thirty. Jack should have finished his daily run and be in the shower by now. She had heard him come inside, hadn’t she? She must have. He moved through his schedule with a precise, unwavering regularity. Despite their best efforts to steer clear of each other, their daily lives crossed at certain points. They couldn’t completely avoid each other. Even divorced, non-communicative ex-spouses tended to run into each other when they shared a house.
It wasn’t an ideal situation, but because the bottom fell out of the housing market right about the time they divorced, they didn’t have a choice. The house was underwater, meaning they owed more on it than they could sell it for, so they were stuck—with the house and with each other.
