“Uh, maybe after I finish the show.” Chloe’s eyes sought escape from a task that didn’t involve live streaming. “So what’s this room right here? Do you own all these books?”
I leaned against the counter. “That’s the Shelf. It’s the Moorehaven bookstore. We sell select published books that have been written here in Moorehaven. Partly written, in most cases, but it still counts. In fact, that’s what I wanted to show you this morning. You said you had experience in shops. Was any of that cashiering?”
“Yeah, most of it. That, and handing sticky food to sandy little tourist kids.”
“Well, you already did that last night. This should be easier. Less sandy, too.” I walked around my counter and led Chloe into the Shelf. “In case somebody needs help finding a book, there’s an inventory in the computer at the hostess station, or you can just come in here with them and look for it. As you can see, they’re organized by subgenre.”
“Got it. Oh, you have Gert de Voit’s Asgard’s End series.” She gestured to several books with clandestine imagery and lots of red on their covers. “This must be where my dad bought them all. World War Two spy rings aren’t my thing, but whatever.”
I waved my hand like a game-show girl at the large rack that hung from the inside of the Shelf’s open door, showcasing its wares in the hallway to catch potential buyers’ eyes. “This is the front rack, for featured books and sale items. And book club orders.”
Chloe studied the gorgeous covers with new interest. “Do they do that? Buy all your books for a book club?”
“Absolutely. Because Raymond Moore lived in this town almost all his life and became wildly famous, Seacrest has several book clubs that read only mystery books. One club reads—and rereads—his books exclusively. And we always get tourists from Seven Vistas wandering over. I once had a rabid fan track down her favorite author while he was here writing his next book. She bought a copy of every book he’d ever written and made him sign them for her. It was kind of hilarious and kind of terrifying.”
Chloe had picked a book off of the front rack while I was lost in my anecdote. She studied the dark roses on the cover and carefully slid it back into its place. If the look on her face was any indication, live streaming had just dropped a notch.
“So this place is half tourist trap, half bookstore, half writers’ retreat, and half bed and breakfast.”
“That’s about right. We cram more into our business than should be allowed by the laws of physics.”
Chloe cracked a rare smile. “You should put that on your business cards. You’re basically a writers’ TARDIS.”
“That’s probably what draws Al Daulton here over and over. He writes time-travel mystery novels. Come back to the hostess station, and let me show you the inventory system.”
Twenty minutes later, Chloe was getting a handle on the basics of the Moorehaven book inventory when a collection of thuds and scuffs swiftly crossed my porch. Chloe and I looked up in surprise as the front door burst open.
Lake stumbled in first, hands behind his back, followed closely by Chief Craig, whose face was nearly purple.
“What’s going on?” I blurted.
Chief Craig made a small twisting motion behind Lake’s back, and Lake grimaced and bent forward. I realized with horror that the chief had my handsome guest in handcuffs.
“You wanna tell her?” the chief asked Lake in a booming voice. He maneuvered Lake ahead of him, holding the handcuff chain in one hand. “Or should I?” His voice took on a sinister growl. “You’re right. You’ll just lie again.”
“I didn’t lie! I didn’t—ow!” Lake yelped as the chief twisted the handcuffs.
Chief Craig’s color improved a little as he pasted a smug smile on his face and addressed me. “I caught this fella here breaking and entering. He was crouched down behind Cecil’s desk, in the dead man’s house! Seems he wasn’t as injured as he pretended.”
“Lake, what were you—?” I began.
“I never pretended to be any more hurt than I am,” Lake protested. His eyes locked onto me. “I didn’t break in, Pippa. Honest. I know where Cecil keeps his extra house key in the office.”Chief Craig twisted Lake’s cuff chain again, eliciting a sound from Lake that was one part moan and three parts growl. Chloe eased back against the wall and tried to act like a painting.
“I was already on my way to the jail to lock him up,” the chief said, “when he started insisting that you could explain everything, Miss Winterbourne. So I thought I might swing by to see if he had, in fact, previously incriminated himself to you. What do you have to say?”
My mouth made desperate fish motions. “Me? I have no idea what he was doing in Cecil’s house. He certainly didn’t tell me he was going there this morning.” Which is he? Guilty and trying to destroy clues at Cecil’s house? Or innocent and looking for those very clues to clear his name?
The chief swatted Lake’s shoulder. “Are you just stalling, Ivens? Think the pretty lady will somehow manage to save you? Cecil wasn’t exactly my friend, but he was a citizen under my protection. And when I have proof that you killed him, you’re going down.”
That struck a memory. “Wait, Jimmy. Lake told me yesterday that he’s not used to staying put. If he’d wanted to run, he’d have done it yesterday, and you’d be halfway to Astoria in pursuit. Shouldn’t the fact that he’s still here prove he has good intentions?” I’d known a few authors who had used the “guilty by circumstance” trope in their novels. Lake was about to get hauled off in handcuffs, so I had nothing to lose by seeing if it would work in real life.
Lake blinked, digesting my version of his motive, then nodded. “Honest, Chief. I was only trying to help. If you’d just asked, I’d have told you I was looking for proof that someone else wanted Cecil dead. Letters, emails, you know. Evidence. It’s not my fault you found me before I found anything, and it doesn’t mean it’s not there. Ask Al. He encouraged me to go looking for clues in Cecil’s house before he bailed on me and took off to find ‘inspiration.’”
The chief’s face pinked dangerously. “I’ll need a strong word with that guy.”
“Innocent until proven guilty, Chief?” I asked with a winning smile. “If you’re still worried about him running, you could confiscate his wallet.”
Chief Craig made a thoughtful pout. “Hard to run without ID or cash.”
Lake shot me a hurt look before addressing the chief. “No way. You have no right to seize my assets. My wallet is literally the only thing I have to my name right now. You’re holding all my clothes and stuff from the Mazu as evidence.”
The chief’s face began to redden again, and his lips puckered into a furious knot. He really was going to have that heart attack someday, and with Lake aggravating him, it was looking more and more likely every minute.
“But,” Lake quickly added, “I would willingly surrender those things to Pippa. She can take care of them for me. You trust her, don’t you?” Lake tried a winning smile.
I winced, half amused, half exasperated. This guy’s certainly got a pair. “I do have a safe, Chief. You can put Lake’s belongings in there yourself if you’d like.”
Chloe finally piped up. “And I can hold Lake’s handcuff chain while you do it.” She shot Lake a cool smile, and he swallowed nervously. He’d probably seen as many teen goth horror flicks as I had.
Chief Craig took a minute to think about that, cutting his stare between Lake and me. All the while, his face got closer to a normal, healthy shade, so I tried a charming smile. Anything that kept him from suffering a fatal coronary had to be a good thing.
“All right, fine. We’ll do it this way for now. But any funny business—and I do mean literally anything you do that catches my eye, Ivens—and you’ll find yourself locked securely in my cell so quick it’ll make your head spin faster than that concussion of yours.”
He fished Lake’s worn black leather wallet from his back pocket with practiced efficiency.
Chief Craig finally let go of the handcuffs, and Lake spun his hands out of the chief’s reach like a child hiding a cookie behind his back. “You’re still a flight risk, Mr. Ivens. You have no home address here in Seacrest or in Pebble Cove, where you claim you came from before arriving here. Let’s say I do believe you. I can’t just let you go again. Whether you’re telling the truth or not, you look mighty suspicious. The townsfolk won’t stand for that. They’d rather the killer be you, an outsider, than one of their own.”
I butted in. “Wait a minute, Chief. Do you have another suspect? Someone here in town?”
He nodded wearily. “Seems there was some chronic disagreement on the town council between Cecil and Roddy. Of course, Cecil disagreed with almost everyone on the council, except for Mr. Vanderveer. So that’s nothing new, and Roddy doesn’t seem the type to murder anyone over an unpopular resolution. But I’ll look into it, just to be thorough.”
The chief made no mention of the rumors regarding Cecil and Roddy, but the rumor mill didn’t power the Seacrest police department—facts did. Those rumors were decades older than my arrival in Seacrest, running like an undertow, rarely pointed out except to newcomers. One night, Jordan and I had drunk too much wine while watching a chick flick where the love interest discovered who his real father was, and she raised her wine glass to toast Roddy and Cecil. I was delightfully scandalized until she sobered enough to tell me that no one had ever proven the rumor to be true.
I walked the chief back to my office, through the kitchen, and opened the safe, all the while struggling to picture social-butterfly Roddy as a killer. I agreed with the chief’s estimation of his character, but at the same time, someone had to be the murderer. Once Lake’s wallet was secured inside, we returned to the hallway. Chloe had opted not to make Lake suffer any further from his handcuffs, but Lake kept her in the corner of his eye from the other side of the corridor, just in case.
The chief unlocked Lake’s cuffs and tucked them into their pouch on his belt. He grabbed the door handle to let himself out, then turned. “Pippa may have a soft spot for you, Mr. Ivens, but I’ve got a brand-new officer coming into town day after tomorrow, hails from the same neck of the woods as you. I’m going to put her on your case. We’ll see if she’s swayed by your pretty blue eyes or not. And this would normally go without saying, but I’m afraid you might have a little more brain damage than you’re letting on, so let me be plain. Do not leave town, or I will hunt you down. Miss Winterbourne, you and Chloe have a good day, now.”
The door shut gently behind Chief Craig, and stillness settled in Moorehaven once again. I admit, I was stewing a little bit over Lake’s manipulation of the chief and me. On the other hand, my belief in his innocence still held a majority over my doubts, so I was glad the chief hadn’t locked him up. Then I caught the expression on his face. I had no idea which of the chief’s parting words had affected him so, but Lake stood frozen and wide-eyed, as if he had just seen his own doom.
9
“The world is run by liars and beautiful women. Who are often one and the same.”
Raymond Moore, 1922
“Good morning, Moorehaven Bed and Breakfast Inn.” I beat Chloe to the phone only because she was six feet up on a ladder in the hallway, dusting the peacock-pane chandelier with a long-handled, fluffy Swiffer. She shot me a wistful look. She’d probably give anything to be off the ladder and on the phone. Better quick than dead, kiddo.
But the call was from Jordan, so I didn’t feel too bad for Chloe. She’d have had to fetch me anyway.
“Pippa,” Jordan said in a strangely hushed tone of voice, “meet me at Glazin’ in ten minutes. It’s important.”
I checked my watch. “Okay.”
I glanced out through a circle of clear glass in the stained-glass arch around the front door. Alas, my porch railing was wet and dripping. I reached for my waterproof jacket.
Hilt peeked his head out of the front parlor. “Bit early for the lunch order, isn’t it?” Even he’d had to admit that Lake’s presence in Cecil’s house appeared a lot less suspicious once we knew Al had put him up to it.
“It’s Jordan. She needs to meet me right away for something. She’s been acting funny for a couple of days, so I don’t know how long I’ll be. If I’m not back…”
His grizzled chin jerked down in the affirmative. “I’ll handle lunch. Asian today?”
I nodded and waved goodbye. I didn’t want to spend any more time in the rain than I had to, but Glazin’ West didn’t have a covered bike rack, so I speed walked down the block, heading toward the distant lighthouse ruin until I rounded the corner, hugging the edge of the kitschy strip mall as closely as I could to avoid the worst of the weather. The ocean thrummed contentedly at the base of the cliff across the street, and the raucous seagulls cruised the gusts, on the lookout for handouts and scraps. My shoulder grazed the bright-red wooden lobster on the wall at the corner of the kitschy strip mall, and I shot the impossible creature a glare. No lobster ever came out of the ocean already cooked.
As I reached the door to Glazin’ West, Emily yanked open the door herself and conspiratorially gestured for me to follow. She headed toward the counter, where Grant, her part-time assistant and on-again, off-again college student, was helping a customer. She led me through to the bakery room. Crammed between a shelf laden with spices and a rolling cooling rack, a handful of women sat around two tiny tables that had been pushed together. One of them was Jordan, her bright-red hair in an updo that would do a 1940s Russian spy proud.
Another was my neighbor, Tyleen Pliczek. Tyleen called 9-1-1 about once a week to report some kind of suspicious activity within binocular-shot of her peaches-and-cream-colored historic home. She also volunteered to cook at public events held on the Green, Seacrest’s public square. And I often heard her blaring her favorite Bollywood or Arabian pop songs while she cleaned her house from top to bottom, something she seemed to do every other day. But despite all I knew about her, I hadn’t known she was part of… whatever was happening in Glazin’ West.
“What’s going on, Emily?”
Emily smiled mysteriously. “You’re being inducted into Seacrest’s worst-kept secret society. We are at the heart of Seacrest’s small-town information network. Welcome to Glaze and Gossip.” She made a broad gesture that invited me to sit with the others.
I settled in the open chair beside Jordan and gave her a befuddled look.
She merely gave me a smug smile. “Told you, you passed your audition.”
Emily sat across from me in the other empty seat. “I think you know everyone here, but we’ll do formal introductions for the sake of ceremony. Jordan Harper, our contact at Seven Vistas Resort. Wallis Callendine, our contact in the floral shop. Naoma Jassley, our journalism contact. Tyleen Pliczek, our neighborhood watch contact. And Lori Carruthers, our healthcare contact from the urgent care clinic. And I, of course, am Emily Scott, head honcho and food service contact. We would like to formally welcome you, Pippa Winterbourne, as our literary tourism contact. Do you accept this nomination?”
I couldn’t decide whether this little gossipy group was hilarious or just plain awesome. Why shouldn’t I, also a busy woman, have a fun outlet separate from work? I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice. “I accept.”
Smiles all around. “Welcome, Pippa,” the group intoned.
“Excellent. And now for some snacks.” Emily popped up from her seat and brought back a platter in one hand and a stack of cute little plates in the other. “These are from a new recipe I’m trying out for the summer menu. Peaches-and-cream scones. Let me know what you think.”
Everyone immediately helped herself, so I nabbed a plate and a scone for myself and took a small bite. Still warm, sweet, and just the right blend of crunchy and chewy. �
��Oh, my God, this is perfect,” I blurted.
Jordan giggled and swallowed her own first bite. “Yeah, she can stay. Now, on to our unofficial welcome ritual. I nominated Pippa, so let me invite her to toot my horn for me and tell you all the story of how we met here in Seacrest.”
Everyone looked at me expectantly.
I raised my eyebrows at Jordan, but she nodded and smiled encouragingly. With her silent reassurance that everything was on the level, I took a deep breath, gathered my memories, and began. “When I was eleven years old, my family took a vacation to the California Coast. My sister, Trudie, and I were walking along some cliffs near our hotel, and she slipped. She fell down too far for me to reach her. My mom had given me her Motorola flip phone while we were out, in case I needed to call her. It was our family’s first cell phone, and I’d never used it before. It was right there in my pocket, but I forgot all about it, panicked, and ran back to the hotel to get my parents. I ran all the way up to our room, but my parents weren’t there. I’d forgotten that my mom said they were going to the pool. So I ran back down to the lobby, a mess of panic and tears, and the concierge ran over and asked if he could help me. I blubbered out the whole situation, and he called the local firehouse. The firefighters rushed over and rescued my sister from the bottom of the cliff.”
The group smiled warmly, and I continued, “On my first day here in Seacrest, Chloe’s mom, Variety, took me to see Seven Vistas, and I got such a warm, fuzzy feeling when I saw that concierge desk that I zoomed right over and introduced myself to the lovely Jordan Harper.” My bestie had placed her hand on her chest and was smiling with damp eyes. “I told her this story, with a lot more detail and how ever since that day, hotel concierges have been right up there with firefighters on my list of heroes.”
“And how could we not be BFFs after that?” Jordan squeezed my hand, and the others clapped appreciatively.
Smugglers & Scones Page 9
