Proof of Murder

by Lauren Elliott

  “Okay,” Serena heaved out a breath. “Anything to make you stop that pitiful begging. Also, under no circumstances am I going in that house. Do. You. Understand?” She set the towel on the counter. “I was kind of curious to see what deals I could find anyway, but didn’t dare go by myself.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Addie grinned. “What time can you get away?”

  “Elli will be in anytime now. So whenever.”

  “Great, I’ll let Paige know, and then I’ll meet you out back.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Addie paused, her hand on the doorknob. “Martha just told me parking is at a premium around the house. Do you trust Paige or Elli to drive your jeep so one of them can drop us off?”

  “What’s wrong with your car?”

  “I don’t have it. Simon drove this morning.”

  Serena’s eyes popped wide open, and a grin covered her freckled face. “You finally had a sleepover with him?”

  “No.” Addie’s cheeks burned. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later. But could one of them drive your jeep, please?”

  “Yeah, sure. Elli drives it for deliveries all the time.” She cupped her hand in her chin and leaned across the counter. “But I want the full details of last night in exchange for this.”

  Addie ignored her friend’s remark and hustled next door to tell Paige her plan for the day. Her young assistant was seated at the counter reading the morning newspaper. Addie glanced around the empty shop and waved off her employee’s jump to action. “It looks the same in here as the street does.”

  Paige stared at her blankly.

  “Like a ghost town,” Addie said with a chuckle. “And speaking of ghosts, since it’s so quiet around here today, Serena and I are going to head over to the yard sale at Hill Road House for a while.”

  “You actually convinced her to go with you?”

  “Yes, she’s adamant about not going inside, but I won her over when I promised she could stay in the yard.”

  “Yeah, I guess the yard is probably free of wandering spirits.”

  Addie muttered to herself about foolishness all the way to the back of the shop, and stopped short as she passed the last row. From here she had a clear view to the local history book section on the back corner of the far wall. “Paige, why are all these books on the floor?”

  “What?” Paige skittered up to her side and peered down the row. “I . . . well . . . I don’t really know.”

  “We were both pretty exhausted when we closed up yesterday. I guess we just missed seeing this before we left.”

  “But usually I do a quick store inspection after I come in.” Paige frowned at the books scattered on the floor.

  “Did you this morning?”

  “I did what I do every day: I came in, went to the back, turned off the alarm, hung up my sweater, if I have a lunch I put it in the fridge, and went to the bathroom. Then I head out front and set up the sandwich board on the sidewalk, pick up the newspaper from beside the door . . . darn it!”

  “What?”

  “This morning the front-page headline caught my eye. It was about Hill Road House, and I started reading the article and didn’t do my inspection.” Her gaze dropped. “I won’t let it happen again.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I just can’t believe that someone threw books on the floor.” Addie bent down to retrieve one and then stopped. “Paige, look at this.” Her cheeks burned with righteous anger. “All the books down this aisle in the supernatural mystery section have been tossed, too!”

  “It looks like someone ran down here with their arm out in order to fling all the books to the floor.” Paige picked up a copy of The Ghosts and Mysteries of Greyborne Harbor. “Who would be so disrespectful to books?”

  “I don’t know. None of our usual customers would do something like this.” Addie picked up a book and re-shelved it. “Sometimes they’re not interested in it after reading the cover blurb or reading the first few pages and leave them in a pile beside the reading chairs, but to just throw them on the floor? This is a new one.”

  “I think with all the new tourists coming in, we’re going to have to keep a closer watch on things.”

  “You’re right. All books, but especially some of the older, rarer ones need to be treated with respect.” Addie slid another book into place. “And when I get my hands on the person who did this . . .” A pounding resonated from the back room. “That must be Serena.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll finish cleaning this up.” Paige struggled to stand under the load of books in her arms.

  “Are you sure?” Addie helped her to her feet.

  “Yeah.” She glanced down the aisle. “I’ll get the cart. It won’t take long.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Addie squeezed Paige’s hand and trotted out the back door.

  * * *

  As they approached number 555 Hill Road, Addie bounced excitedly on the backseat. “Look at the floor lamp that woman is leaving with.” She flung her arm out between Elli and Serena. “That would be perfect in the back corner of my shop. I wonder if there’s another one?”

  Elli pulled over at the front entrance. “I hope the best deals haven’t gone already.” Serena cast a leery gaze at the haunted monstrosity.

  “I know. It’s nearly eleven, and the sign said it started at nine.” Addie joined her on the sidewalk.

  Serena spoke to Elli through the open car window as Addie made her way toward the gate. She relaxed her shoulders. Today it was propped open so there’d be no eerie responses from it. Serena joined her, and they made their way around the house, following the signs and the noise to the back garden. Addie whistled. “I think Martha got it wrong this morning.”

  “Why? What did she say?”

  “She said half the town was here. I’d say it’s more like the whole town.” Addie looped her arm through Serena’s, and they navigated through the crowd to the closest table set out under a large tent.

  “Look at those teapots.” Serena made a beeline over to a table of kitchen goods. “Aren’t they precious?” She examined a delft blue porcelain one. “This would be perfect in my shop. And look at this Chinese stoneware one.” She set down the blue-and-white-flowered one and picked up a beige pot with Oriental markings on the sides. “This is beautiful and would be perfect in my store.”

  “If I’m not mistaken,” Addie said as she inspected the pot, “that’s either a nineteenth-century or early-twentieth-century Chinese Yixing teapot. You can probably get it for a decent price since it’s out here on the sale tables.”

  Serena went full-seasoned garage-sale shopper on her, gathering items together and group-price bartering with the young woman working the table. It was clear that Serena was no stranger to haggling, and from what Addie overheard from the nearby booths and tables, the townspeople of Greyborne Harbor matched Serena’s vigor in demanding the best deals they could, too.

  As entertaining as watching haggling was, Addie wasn’t interested in accumulating more stuff for herself and tugged her phone out to check messages from Simon. Nothing. There were still no missed calls or texts from or about her cousin, either. She shook her head. The police had showed their incompetency in investigating the footprints; she wondered if that was also the reason they were still unable to locate Kalea.

  It made her question Ryley’s involvement in all this even more. She’d set her sights on Addie and didn’t appear to be considering any other suspects. This brought Addie’s thoughts back to her cousin, the second name on her blackboard. She had pretty much become a ghost, but Addie wasn’t thinking of the apparition type; more of the change-your-identity-and-disappear-forever type. Something Kalea could well achieve by living off the hundreds of thousands of dollars from the sale of the Beeton edition of A Study in Scarlet and the other original copies of the Holmes books.

  She meandered around the tables, noting the crowd expanding with people only looking for later-day leftovers at a reduced price. The professional early-bird shoppers knew wh
at they wanted when they came to these events, when they wanted it, and had the cash to make that happen, but by what she overheard they were long gone by now. As she made her way from one table to the next, her eyes peeled for a floor lamp, she became aware that along with the tagalongs and lookie-loos, there also appeared to be a large police presence. She counted six officers weaving through the hordes of people. At first she thought they were doing crowd control, but then she realized half of them were holding what looked like lists in their hands. They’d check the list, scan the items on a table, and refer back to the list.

  Ethan, a young officer she’d come to know, wasn’t scanning a list. He was scanning the faces of people. This wasn’t normal security, not even for a yard sale with slightly above-average garage sale items. Something else was going on.

  Serena slid up to her side, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and nudged Addie. “Look.” She opened the large tote bag she’d brought with her as she juggled two more hemp-handled shopping bags. “I can’t believe the deals I found. How did you do?” She glanced at Addie’s hand that only held her cell phone. “Nothing?”

  “No, I’m only on the lookout for a floor lamp,” she replied absently as she continued to scan the crowd over Serena’s shoulder. There was something about how the officers were walking a grid pattern that disturbed her. Something was wrong. “You know what? I’m going to go inside and find Blake.”

  “You’re what? You told me we wouldn’t go in that house today.”

  “I said you didn’t have to. It’s okay. You stay out here and shop. I want to find out about the books I saw on Wednesday.”

  “Addie, don’t go back in there. Something bad always happens when you do.”

  “I’ll be fine. I won’t be long.” What was that people said about famous last words? She shivered as she strode toward the back porch.

  Chapter 18

  As Addie reached the bottom step, the door flew open and a flustered Art stomped down the stairs. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but it’s not looking like the auction house is going to have everything cleared out before my first buyer arrives next week.”

  “Is there still lots left over?”

  He slapped his white fedora on his head. “The police have the library still cordoned off, so it’s not empty and, apparently, there’s another issue, but Mr. Edwards didn’t elaborate.”

  “What are you going to do if they’re not out of here soon?”

  “Not much I can do. Who knew I’d have an eager buyer in the first place? I’ll just get Vera to work her magic on the staging around what’s left when I conduct the showing.” He tipped his hat and hustled off through the crowd.

  Addie wished she had Art’s positive attitude, the ability to make the best of a bad situation. She took the steps two at a time and excused her way through throngs of people only to come to a traffic jam at the bottom of the haunted staircase. She could just make out Blake and Jerry, heads together, obviously discussing something in the study. Probably not the best time to ask Blake about the police being here.

  Sick of waiting for the slowpokes in front of her to get a move on, she spun around to leave and caught sight of a wispy cloud drifting over the top step. The image floated upward, hovering for a moment, and drifted toward the wall, vanishing in a puff of vapor. Addie’s chest squeezed, forcing her breath out of her burning lungs. Her quick intake of air congealed into a sob-scream. She clasped her hand to her mouth and glanced at the crowd before her. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice her. Or the ghost.

  Addie attempted to think logically about what she’d seen. Smoke and hot air rise, therefore what she’d witnessed was a result of smoke coming from somewhere in the house. Someone had burnt something in the kitchen or had lit a fireplace without checking the damper first. Don’t be an idiot. No one in his right mind would light a fire on a hot summer day. She circled her fingers on her temples, conjuring another explanation that didn’t scream moron.

  With no other less-stupid idea, she sniffed her way to the kitchen. Nothing but stale old house and mixed scents of people. She peeked into the library, gave a tentative sniff. Nothing. If she couldn’t scientifically prove the vapor’s presence that left two options: one, ghosts—or this one at least existed; two, she was going crazy. Not a fan of either one of those, she slipped under the yellow crime-scene tape across the door, ducked inside, and then softly closed the door behind her.

  Breathing hard, she rested her back against the door, ears perked for any footsteps. No signs of freshly burned logs in the fireplace. Shoot! It definitely wasn’t the cause for the smoke she’d seen in the upper hallway.

  She edged away from the door and surveyed the room. This was the first time she’d been inside here since that day . . . the day that sent her life careening sideways. She had changed but on first glance nothing in this room had. It was as though time stood still. The books were still packed in lot sale boxes. The center table was still a hodgepodge of first-edition novels. The chair was in the exact same position she had left it when she turned it toward her and discovered Charlotte dead. But something was different.

  She narrowed her eyes and scanned over every detail she could remember from that day. What was it that niggled at her now? She couldn’t put her finger on it. She focused on the desk, her mind replaying Thursday morning.

  The teacup was gone. Naturally it had been taken to the lab for testing. However, the stains caused by the spilled contents were visible across the desktop and over the edge. The letter opener and antique inkwell were just as they had been, but the feather pen wasn’t there. She tried to remember if there was anything about it that seemed odd or out of place when she discovered the body, but nothing came to mind. It was a regular feather dip quill pen that had sat in the crystal inkpot. What reason would the police have to take it? The well was dried out and hadn’t been used for years.

  “Addie?” A red-faced Jerry loomed in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I was just . . . just looking for signs of smoke. I’d seen some in the hallway and—”

  “There’s no way you didn’t see the crime tape.”

  “No.” She smiled weakly, wringing her hands. “I—”

  “Out.” He pointed to the door.

  She didn’t move. “Jerry, I’m not touching anything, I promise. I only had to see the room one more time, besides, there might have been a fire—”

  “Out!”

  “Please, Jerry. My future depends on me being able to put some of this together. I promise I won’t touch a thing. You can stay in here with me to make sure I don’t if it makes you feel better. Please.”

  “What am I supposed to tell the chief when he finds out?”

  “We can tell him I saw smoke in the hallway, and we came in to check for signs of a fire.” She gave him a shaky smile.

  “That might be the reason you say you came in here, but we both know that’s not why you want to stay and look around, is it?”

  She bit her lip, shaking her head. “But now that we are in here . . . please. I’m pleading with you. I’ve been arrested, and I need to find out what happened because none of it makes sense. You can stay in here with me.”

  “Why do I let you talk me into things?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, but I stay, and you don’t touch anything while we check for a source of the smoke. Fifteen minutes and that’s it.”

  “Thank you.” She crossed her heart and inspected the center table.

  “What do you hope to see that we haven’t already considered?”

  “I don’t know. There are just too many things that don’t add up.”

  “Like what?”

  “First, the room was locked. Whoever stole the books must have done it earlier in the evening. It makes me wonder if that’s the reason Charlotte was working that late and stayed on after Robert left. She’d discovered the replacements, and did this”—she waved her hand over the table—“to see if any others were repli
cas.”

  “You know what has stumped me since the start of this?” He moved to her side.

  “What’s that?”

  “Why would someone go to the trouble of replacing the rare books with fakes anyway? Why didn’t they just steal them and be done with it?”

  “Well, I have a couple of theories about that, but with me being the number-one suspect”—she gave him a sidelong glance and teasing grin—“you probably don’t want to hear them.”

  Jerry glanced at the door. “Yeah, I do. I have questions, too, and the chief sure doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay, then try this on for size. Because the replica books aren’t sold anywhere in or around Greyborne Harbor, and the only bookstore I know that carries this new reproduction collection is in Boston, that means the books—”

  “Would have been pre-purchased.”

  “Exactly, and I didn’t discover the set or the original Beeton’s copy of A Study in Scarlet until Wednesday. As far as I know, Charlotte wasn’t aware of their existence until then, either, because I think she was genuinely shocked when I told her what I found in the old bookcase.”

  “And she died that night. The same night the books were replaced.” Jerry stroked his stubbled chin.

  “Yes, so even though the books in the barrister’s case weren’t appraised until Wednesday, someone who had a good understanding of book appraisals had already been through the bookcase and knew of their existence before I or she did. Charlotte couldn’t have pulled this off.” Jerry nodded slowly, seemingly following her thought process. “The police need to focus on the staff and find out what their backgrounds are. They’re the only ones I can think of who would have had access to the library earlier in the week.”

  “What makes you think it was earlier in the week and not before that?”

  “I overheard a conversation between Charlotte and Blake, and she distinctly said that Blake’s crew had only discovered the barrister’s bookcase this week in a storage space in the attic.”

  “That means it was sitting in here unopened for almost a week before you worked on it.”