Hardback Homicide: A Shelf Indulgence Cozy Mystery

by S. E. Babin

  "I'm Dakota Adair. I own Tattered Pages over in Silverwood Hollow, just a little way down the road. May I ask if one of those books was a C. S. Lewis?"

  Her mouth dropped open. "Well," she exclaimed. "It certainly was!"

  Detective Cavanaugh might be right. It was looking more and more like Marcy was the victim of foul play.

  "He said those books were going to be put up for sale and he was interested in turning a profit on them." She stuck out her hand. "I'm Harriet Tulle. I own Binders down the road. I sell used books only, but I don't often dabble in the collectables. Just a few." She fanned herself. "I don't have ten grand to plunk down on an original and neither do most of my clientele."

  "The woman who owned those books passed away a little while ago. Her sister is a collector, so maybe that's where he heard it from." I shook my head. There was no accounting for taste.

  "Not even cold in the grave yet!" The woman exclaimed, though her eyes were still bright. This was a woman who loved to talk.

  "Do you happen to remember the man's name?" I asked. Maybe I could give it to Hardy and he could investigate it.

  She shook her head. "I could probably point him out if I saw him again, but he didn't leave any contact information once I told him I wasn't the right person to sell to."

  Darn. "Thanks anyway," I said. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

  "You as well, Dakota." The woman smiled again and turned back to her companion.

  It was terrible form to immediately seek out a buyer when the will hadn't even been settled. If I could find out more about those books and how Marcy had obtained them, maybe that would help me figure this out. She didn't seem like the kind of woman who would drop that kind of money. If I had to guess, I'd say someone gave them to her or it was some kind of inheritance and her sister was jealous.

  I turned my attention back to my clam chowder, intent on eating it before it got cold. Few things were worse than cold chowder.

  When I got back home, I'd give Hardy a call to see if he'd heard anything about the next of kin or a will. Not that he would have. Those kinds of things were usually handled by lawyers. But ... if there was a murder involved, maybe who got those books would have some bearing on the case.

  I finished eating, put my plate away, and rushed out the door. I'd already been gone too much today and needed to write down some questions for Hardy when I got back. I knew this case was none of my business, but if it involved books, and this one did, my expertise could only help them.

  I drove back to the store with a sense of purpose. It had been awhile since I'd been so excited about something. I just wish there hadn't been a crime involved.

  7

  I had a handwritten list of questions in my hand, and I frowned down at it as I realized how presumptuous it sounded. Hardy had no reason to give me any of the information I planned to ask for. He’d already been tight-lipped beforehand. I couldn’t imagine why he’d open up now.

  But now I had more information. Maybe if I dangled that like a carrot, I could get him to give me some more info. The guy asking about selling those books really bothered me. I really wish Harriet had gotten some more info from him. I could only assume he planned to undercut Carrie and try to get the books for a much cheaper price than they were worth. I didn’t think she’d go for that, especially since, for all her faults, she seemed to know what she was talking about when it came to book values.

  I dialed the detective's number from my cell and chewed the edge of my thumb in nervousness.

  "Cavanaugh," he barked into the line

  "This is Dakota," I said. "I have some information for you."

  "Dakota!" His voice warmed with what seemed like genuine pleasure. A flush came over me. "Give me a sec and I'll grab a notepad."

  The sound of papers shuffling came through the line. "Okay. What do you have?"

  "I was across town eating lunch and overheard this woman talking about a man who came into her shop looking to sell used books. She said the man claimed they were extremely rare."

  Hardy's office was so quiet I could hear the pen scratching across the paper. "Let me guess. These were Marcy's books?"

  "Yup. I can only assume Carrie believes she's the next to inherit those books and is already looking to sell them."

  Hardy sighed over the line. "Let's not jump to conclusions. There's no evidence Carrie is set to inherit and we're still looking into the property angle. Do you have information for the guy who came in?"

  I bristled with annoyance. It didn't seem like a giant leap to assume Carrie was the one who contacted the guy to sell those books. Who else would have known about them?

  "So, Carrie isn't set to inherit?" I inquired. "That's an awful lot of money and Marcy didn't have any children."

  "Maybe she left it to a charity," Hardy said, dodging the question.

  "Do you know the name of the investment company who bought up all those houses?" I asked, scratching off the inheritance question from my list. If he'd avoided the question twice now, he wasn't going to answer it.

  A sigh escaped him. "Dakota, I can't give you any of the information you're asking for. This is an active police investigation and all of this information is sensitive."

  I huffed. "Even though I helped?"

  "Especially because you helped. I didn't exactly get that cleared through the right channels."

  Dakota heard the sound of shuffling. What in the world was he doing? Erasing the lead she'd just given him?

  "I appreciate you calling me with this, and I promise we'll check it out."

  I rolled my eyes. "You're welcome," I said, though I sounded sullen. "Look," I said after a moment once I realized how I sounded. "I'm just trying to help."

  "I know you are. But it's time to let us do our job." His voice was gentle, but I still felt dismissed.

  Hurt, I swallowed hard. "Any time," I said before I hung up. I didn't wait for him to say goodbye. I slapped my cell phone down on the counter and groaned with relief when I realized it was closing time. I got off the seat, grabbed my belongings, and did a quick walk-through of the shop to make sure I'd unplugged the coffee machine and nothing was too out of place.

  When I came back to the counter, I realized I forgot to cash out the register. I blew out a breath, set everything down and took care of that.

  Twenty minutes later, I nudged Poppy with a toe and called for her to hop up on the counter so I could grab her before I locked up the store and set off home. When I stepped out of the store, I hugged Poppy and tugged my jacket closer around me. It was positively freezing this evening!

  I gently set Poppy in the front seat as she voiced her displeasure. Snorting with amusement, I hurried around to the other side of the car so I could turn the heater on. In the past, I would put Poppy in a carrier and drive her home that way. One day she abruptly decided she wanted absolutely nothing to do with a carrier anymore and would fight me tooth and claw when I would try to put her in one. I let her ride without it in the car for short drives and since she ended up doing just fine, I'd installed a cat hammock in the back. Most of the time she chose to ride in that, even though I looked ridiculous driving around town with a cat lounging in the back without a care in the world. Some days when it got too cold, she'd choose to ride in the front seat with me, yowling until I got the air vents to point at her just right. Then she'd soak up all the heat and curl in the front seat, content with me doing all the work.

  "You're a mess, cat," I said as I started the vehicle and cranked up the heat. She turned her head as if to say, "So," before she faced the vents again.

  I chuckled as I pulled out of my space. I never wanted a cat, but I'm grateful she came along.

  Even if she was high maintenance.

  * * *

  I dished Poppy out her food, her voicing her displeasure the entire time. I'd never seen a noisier cat. She could creep up to you and scare the mess out of you, but on days like today I couldn't seem to keep her quiet. When I finally set the dish down, her tail went
straight up, and she sashayed to it like she hadn't just made a fool of herself two seconds prior.

  "Uh huh. You little drama queen," I muttered.

  I was streaming indie folk through my Bluetooth speaker. Harper was due over any second. We had to discuss the upcoming festival, and we were already behind. I was still leaning toward just pies, but people would really want something to drink, too. It would be a good chance for me to check out some offerings from the store.

  The doorbell rang just as I was putting the final touches on the cheese and cracker tray. Harper and I never had a meeting or get together when there weren’t any crackers and cheese. Over the months, the trays had gotten more and more elaborate with the selection. Tonight, I had gluten-free smoked paprika nut crackers, rice crackers, and buttermilk ranch pita crisps with Havarti, Smoked Gouda, and Irish Cheddar. A bottle of wine was open and breathing on the dining room table.

  "Coming!" I called and rushed over to the door.

  Harper stood there; her cheeks flushed from the cold weather. "Hey!" she chirped and held up a wine bottle like a trophy. "I brought sustenance!" she said and walked into the apartment.

  "I have real sustenance," I said and pointed over to the tray.

  "Ooh." Harper's fingers moved into claws. "Gimme." She unwound her scarf and unbuttoned her jacket, tossing it up on the stand by the door before she rushed over to fill a plate. I smiled as I poured her a glass of Malbec.

  She moaned as she took a bite of the smoked Gouda. "Oh my word. What is this?" She peered down at the tray. "I know you didn't get that down at the town grocery store." Her green eyes glittered with envy as she looked up at me. "You little cheat," she accused with no heat. We'd previously agreed to eat cheese only bought from Shaw's as a way to save money.

  "I couldn't help it," I said. "I have a cheese problem."

  "Well, maybe we could bend the rules a little bit," she said, picking up another piece. "As long as I can have some more of the gouda."

  "Deal," I said and poured myself a glass of wine, too. I motioned for her to sit down.

  Pulling my pad and paper over, I took a sip and wrote Harvest Festival at the top of the paper. "I'm still thinking pies only. I can't decide if we should do drinks, too."

  Harper crunched into one of the nut crackers and chewed, a thoughtful look on her face. "I think it would be cool. No one has ever had a drink contest. Maybe we could do hot only because it's going to be pretty cool out there, especially for the tourists, depending on where they're from."

  I nodded. "I like that idea. Fall drinks only, must be hot. We'll have to make sure we have plenty of plugs for the inevitable crockpot set up."

  "I can take that on," she volunteered. "Don't forget the best use of cinnamon and cloves. We can open that up to either category."

  I glanced up. "Are you going to make something?"

  Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "I can't win," she pouted, "but I still might make something just to keep at the table."

  I tapped my pen on the table as a smile curled onto my lips. "Please, please, please make that mulled wine recipe. It's to die for."

  A dimple peeked out from her cheek. "I think I could do that. But you have to promise not to let Corky get into it again."

  Last year Harper brought her mulled wine to the bookstore for a harvest event. My aunt had found her thermos, gotten into it, and proceeded to have a dance off in the main area of Tattered Pages. The only reason I'd let it go is because everyone was having so much fun. "Maybe we can put a lock on your thermos?" I suggested.

  Harper laughed, a merry sound. "Maybe we should just make sure it doesn't get out of our sight. I'm sure Corky will find a way, though."

  I'm sure she would. The entire town loved her, but her antics were sometimes out of control. No one was ever harmed, but I found Aunt Corky exhausting sometimes. Mom grew up with the woman, so all she did was sigh and roll her eyes when things got especially outrageous.

  I scratched a couple more ideas on to the paper, but I paused when a thought occurred to me. "Harper, have you heard anything about anyone selling any rare books?" The odds were low especially since the man went to the town over to try to sell them, but you never knew what you might overhear in a town this size.

  She shook her head. "Not that, but I did overhear Jeff saying something really weird the other day. I stopped into the bank down the road and Jeff was there. He was talking to one of the loan officers, I think, and I heard the name of Marcy's street come up. Whatever they were talking about did not sound good. Jeff was furious."

  My heart was pounding. That no good little weasel. If he was the one responsible for what happened to Marcy, regardless of if he wasn't directly responsible, I was going to fry him up for dinner and put him on top of my chowder.

  "Jeff huh?" A breath of frustrated air escaped me. "Why am I not surprised?" I grumbled.

  "What's going on?" Harper nibbled on another cracker as she waited.

  "Some investors bought all the houses on Marcy's street. Apparently, she was the only holdout."

  Harper's mouth dropped, but fortunately she'd swallowed her cracker. "You think Jeff might be involved?"

  "If he was involved in trying to get her to sell, then yes, I definitely think he might be involved." I scooped a few pieces of cheese onto my plate and nibbled on one as my thoughts spun furiously. I didn't like Jeff, but I sometimes found him tolerable. I knew he was just trying to do a job, but it was a job that wasn't town friendly. He wasn't a well-liked person around Silverwood Hollow, but he hadn't made an effort either. Mostly he was all give me your property without even trying to form a relationship with anyone.

  If he slowed down some and got to know us, maybe he would even like the town and the people in it. I hoped he wasn't involved. It would crush his family. His mom was a saint who came into Tattered Pages at least twice a week. I had no idea how she put up with him for all those years. Maybe this was one of those things where he was a completely different person around his family.

  I hoped for his sake he was because I couldn't imagine going through life when everyone disliked you.

  "That would be a shame," she said. Her face lit up. "Oh! I forgot to tell you. I ran into Jeff's brother today. He'd just gotten to town today and Jeff was trying to hurry him along, but he was stopping at all the window displays in awe." A smile quirked her lips. "He seems like a nice guy," she said. "Way unlike his brother."

  I laughed at that. "Maybe he'll soften Jeff up some. Give him a personality."

  Harper shuddered. "I don't know. Jeff has never been especially nice to me. If he started all of a sudden, I'd be suspicious."

  "He isn't nice to anyone," I agreed. I chewed on a piece of Irish cheddar, delighting in the bite of salt on my tongue as I bit down. The Irish knew their dairy, that was for sure.

  "I heard his brother is starting his first shift at the library next week," Harper said, her voice sly.

  My head came up sharply at her teasing tone. "No," I said. "Do not try to play matchmaker. It will end terribly for everyone."

  "Oh, come on, Dakota," Harper wheedled. Her hands clasped in front of her chest. "He is so cute! All dark haired and nerdy." She practically swooned. "His hair is just a touch too long, and he's got this five o'clock shadow." She batted her eyelashes. "He's super dreamy."

  I shook my head. "I don't care if he's a rich supermodel and thinks I'm his soulmate. I'm not interested." I took a sip of my wine. "Plus, you can't have two bookworms in one home cohabitating. That's a cleaning disaster waiting to happen."

  Harper snorted as she looked around my house. "Please. Your house is spotless."

  "I know." I glared at her. "And I want to keep it that way. I clean it because I have to. I've never known a man good at the distribution of chores."

  "That's because they take care of all the manly stuff," Harper claimed. She grinned at me.

  "Like taking out the trash?" I offered. "I do that already."

  "Like killing spiders." Harper shuddered. "
I'd love to have a boyfriend who kills the creepy crawly things for me."

  "It's going to be so cold here soon you won't have to worry about that until at least spring." I topped off my wine glass and waved the bottle at her. She declined.

  "Still. Someone to keep me warm during the winter would be nice, too."

  I snorted at that. "This is Virginia. We have big jackets and even bigger blankets."

  "Oh Dakota," Harper chided. "I wouldn't mind someone. I just have a particular list." Her eyes were downcast. "That no one will probably ever meet."

  "I'm addicted to book boyfriends," I admitted. "No one will ever come close to measuring up to one of those."

  "True," Harper said with a sigh. "Book boyfriends are the best."

  I picked up my pen and tapped it. "We have to focus on this or it's going to pass us right on by. Let's make a list of people who wouldn't mind donating tables and such."

  Harper grinned, though I knew she wasn't fooled by me wanting to change the subject. I had to go to the library all the time. Well ... maybe didn't have to. I wanted to. I got a lot of the books I wanted being the owner of a store, but if I wanted something special and I didn't have it, I tended to go to the library to save some money. I certainly wasn't interested in hitting up the local librarian for a date.

  Silverwood Hollow was a small town. He was going to have to practically beat the women off of him, anyway. I wouldn't stand a chance with him even if I wanted it.

  The thought bothered me more than I liked to admit. I thought I was passably attractive, but I didn't have anything on some of the socialites living around here. Women close to ten years younger than me and made up to the nines. I liked scarves, boots, and hats. Wearing heels all the time did not appeal to me at all. Nor did a face full of makeup or showing up constantly at social functions. The men in this town could have those girls if they wanted them. I wanted warm clothes, a hot drink, and a ton of books around me.

  That was all.

  So why wasn't that weird feeling going away then?