by Tessa Kelly
Sandie James Mysteries Box Set, Books 1 - 3
A Sandie James Mystery
Tessa Kelly
Published by Tessa Kelly, 2020.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Copyright @ 2020 by Tessa Kelly.
No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system — except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web — without expressed written permission from Tessa Kelly.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
FIRST EDITION MURDER | A Sandie James Mystery | Book 1
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
THE DEADLY ART | A Sandie James Mystery | Book 2
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
DON’T ROCK THE BOAT! | A Sandie James Mystery | Book 3
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
Thank You for Reading!
Also by Tessa Kelly | A Sandie James Mystery Series
About the Author
To my mom, who is my biggest cheerleader. Thank you for believing in me!
With special thanks to Anne Raven, Debbie Hunter, Joni Pope, and Laney Kaye for their amazing advice, ongoing support, and inspiration.
Cover Design: Black Bird Book Covers
FIRST EDITION MURDER
A Sandie James Mystery
Book 1
Chapter 1
Whoever said weddings are a joyous occasion never catered one in high heels and an evening gown.
Wincing in my silver stilettos behind the extravagant buffet table, I threw a cheerless glance across Luce della Vita's main dining room. The newlywed Mrs. David Sorrento, and the reason for my current suffering, wore a strapless white sequin lace ball gown with a daring neckline and a lengthy train.
Married for the second time at forty-one, Angela's first wedding took place at City Hall when she was three months pregnant with her daughter Kimberly. In Angela's own words, this was her first "real" wedding. Her opportunity to sparkle. The only thing that stopped her from taking the reception out of Cobble Hill, our cozy little corner of Brooklyn, and ritzing it up at the Manhattan's Four Seasons, was her fiancé's insistence on setting a budget. David saw no excuse for wasting a fortune on going elsewhere when his own restaurant provided the perfect venue.
Forced to settle for a more humble location, Angela was still adamant that everything should be as "fancy-schmancy" as she could make it, and that included the wait staff. Over the course of a week, the entire first floor and rooftop of Luce della Vita had been scrubbed clean of its laid-back neighborhood vibe and transformed into something barely recognizable. Hanging installations of white flower garlands with twinkling lights covered every inch of wall space and hundreds of pillar candles in tall glass cylinders accentuated the lavish centerpieces on every table.
At any other time, I wouldn't begrudge Angela her dream wedding or grumble about having to wear heels and the flowy dark-blue halter dress another caterer lent me on short notice. After three hours of dashing up and down the restaurant stairs with wine bottles, I wanted to say Addio forever to all evening wear. Still, the reception wasn't likely to wind up anytime soon. I had to resign myself to another two to three hours of glamorous misery. At least, I could give my feet a small break.
The guests, drinks in hand, milled around by the champagne fountain, the bruschetta and crab cakes I was serving less of a lure than they had been an hour ago. Satisfied that no one was paying attention to me, I slipped out of my stilettos and wiggled my aching toes on the cool floor. What a relief. The polished wood felt like heaven under my feet.
“Sandie, it's almost time to cut the cake!” My older sister nudged me as she hurried past in her slim black gown, carrying a tray of prosciutto, and goat cheese stuffed figs. “Go around the room and see that everyone has a dessert plate. And please, put your shoes back on! The last thing I need is a fight with Angela.” She dashed into the kitchen in the back, and I stifled a groan.
At thirty-eight, petite and dark-haired, Katherine was as tireless as she'd been at twenty. And with feet made of steel, apparently. Her heels, even higher than mine, didn't stop her from flying around the place all evening.
Of course, Kathy was used to being on her feet. She must've given up sitting fifteen years ago when she opened her bakery down the street. These days, she was a well-known baker, with clients all over the neighborhood, and even several in Manhattan. She didn’t usually cater weddings but agreed to help out as a favor to Angela and David after two of Luce della Vita's waiters fell sick at the last minute.
The carrot that had roped me in was Angela's promise of double pay. As a recent Master's in English graduate with the rent looming in five days, and zero news from the ninety-eight job applications I'd sent out, I couldn't afford to be picky about work.
All things considered, I was lucky. Not all my classmates had sisters with successful businesses who could take them on board. But baking and catering was a far cry from what I really wanted to do with my life.
"Hey, Sandie-rella! You heard your sister. Get those glass slippers back on."
Startled, I whirled round to face Sonny, Angela's ex-husband, and the only guest who hadn't bothered to put on a tie, or shave for the occasion. In his fifties and looking not a day younger, Sonny's sloppy appearance was nothing new. But, given the special occasion, I wondered if his scruffy cheeks and the missing tie were a silent protest against the wedding.
Luce della Vita's landlord and David's silent partner in the business, Sonny was the one who introduced David and Angela to each other. According to Kathy's nosier customers, it came as a shock to him when David and his ex-wife suddenly became an item. This, and the fact that David was the new father to Angela and Sonny's nineteen-year-old daughter, had been the subject of much gossip at the bakery lately. Gossip, of which Angela seemed blissfully unaware as she floated among her tipsy guests through the candle
lit fairyland she'd worked so hard to create.
Sonny leaned toward me, dangerously on the verge of invading my comfort zone. "I've got an idea, Sandie-rella. Why don't I make like Prince Charming and put those babies on for ya?"
I rolled my eyes. "Try that, and you'll find yourself very un-charming with a black eye."
"Ahh, you're breaking an old man's heart. I'm only trying to help!"
He made a pouting face, though his eyes expressed a sentiment that was anything but heartbreak.
"Thanks, Sonny. I think I'll manage."
I slipped into my shoes again, instantly growing two inches taller than him. My eyes fell on his wife, alone at a table by the wall. Lauren hadn't moved from her spot all evening. The plate in front of her looked untouched and she was nursing the same glass of wine I'd poured her at the start of dinner.
"I have a better idea," I said. Taking a plate off a stack on the side table, I piled it with Gorgonzola and strawberries and handed it to Sonny, along with a sparkling flute of bubbly. "Instead of playing Prince Charming, why don't you take these to your wife? She doesn't seem to enjoy what she's having."
A little smile played on Sonny's lips and he cocked his head at me. Had I overstepped my boundaries implying he was neglecting his wife? I simply felt sorry for her, forlorn in her corner. But, after all, Sonny's marriage was his business, and not my place to interfere.
He waved his hand, dismissing the plate and the champagne. "Don't worry about Lauren. She's fine, just keeps complaining of a headache. I told her to go upstairs and lie down, but she won't."
“Probably doesn't want to miss out on the fun.” Or to leave Sonny alone in proximity with his ex. The latter explanation was more likely, but I didn’t want to say it aloud.
I put the plate down and adjusted my dress, wishing the hem had been a few inches shorter. Not that I considered myself a klutz, but the thought of tripping and sprawling out on the floor in front of everyone had been haunting me all evening. I touched my fingers to the Connemara marble pendant around my neck, as was my habit when feeling anxious. In a delicate silver setting of swirly shamrocks, the rare green marble stone, found only in Ireland, was thought to bring luck. I hadn’t taken it off since I picked it up in Dublin four years ago.
The clicking of heels accompanied by loud laughter announced the approach of several young women. Kim, looking like the younger and taller version of Angela, broke away from the other girls. She waltzed over to us, her sleek, dark hair swinging behind her back.
"Dad, didn't you hear? They're going to cut the cake. Let's go!"
Sonny appraised his daughter with a proud grin. Putting an arm around her, he kissed her forehead and beamed at me.
"Just look at her. Isn't she gorgeous?"
"She sure is." I returned Kim's bright smile. How did she feel about this wedding? Her mother, marrying her father's business partner. The bakery's rumor mill had been strangely silent on that count.
"Come on, kiddo." Sonny squeezed Kim's shoulder. "You can stand next to your old man when they cut the cake."
They walked off toward the champagne fountain where Kathy and her long-time employee, Valeria, wheeled out the cart with the five-tier chocolate cake my sister decorated with white roses. I started after them when the entrance to the restaurant banged open and my dad stormed in. His shaggy salt-and-pepper hair stuck up in all directions as if he'd been running. Heads followed him as he marched straight into the bar.
From across the room, Kathy shot me a look of alarm. I nodded and hurried after him.
"Dad, what are you doing here?" I kept my voice low. "Can't you see there's a private event going on?"
He slammed a twenty on the polished counter. "A brandy. Keep the change."
Liam, the bartender, poured Dad's drink with a deadpan expression as if this was totally normal.
Dad picked up his brandy, the muscles in his jaw twitching. I couldn't imagine what had made him so angry.
“I want to have it out with that weasel,” he muttered.
Before I could stop him, he stormed past me into the main room where everyone was watching the newlyweds feed each other forkfuls of my sister's chocolate creation.
Kathy tried to bar his way. Her loud whisper carried over to me. “Dad, what are you doing?”
Nudging her aside, Dad got into Sonny's face and waved the drink in front of his nose.
"See what I have here? You philistine! Bet you don't even know the meaning of this drink. Do you?" Sonny's eyebrows shot up and he quickly took a step back. Everyone else stared.
"Take it easy, old man! What's your problem?"
"How could you snatch a Chandler book from under me again?" Dad yelled. "That's the second time now. Second! Haven't even read it, have you? I know you haven't!"
Kathy sidled up to me, her forehead riddled with deep frown lines. A few paces away, her husband Jeff was shaking his head in disapproval. Unsurprisingly, he made no attempt to intervene.
"Dad," I touched his forearm. "Settle down. Please."
He shook me off without taking his eyes off Sonny. "Well, go ahead. This is brandy I'm holding. What's it mean?"
Sonny's expression darkened. "You're off your head, old man. Get out of my face!"
Dad's voice went quiet, though it carried clearly across the hushed restaurant. “Is it for you at least? The book? Tell me it's for you. Your father was a collector, right?”
A deep crease appeared between Sonny's eyebrows as if the question pained him. "I've got no more use for collecting," he said. "I sold off my dad's collections and put the money in the restaurant."
Dad took a step closer to him, holding the drink up at eye level. “Brandy," he said. "Philip Marlowe drank it at General Sternwood's in chapter one of that book you snatched from me."
"How interesting." Sonny rolled his eyes. "So what?"
"So you don't deserve that first edition! You've got as much use for it as a dog has for French tips."
Sonny shrugged. "It's not for me. You know I have a collector client. He commissioned me to bid on it. I won it fair and square, so quit acting like a lunatic!"
To dramatic gasps, Dad threw the contents of his glass in Sonny's face.
Sonny went livid. "What the—?" He swung at Dad, but David caught his fist, stopping it in mid-swing. He pushed Sonny away, and he and his brother Alex forced Dad out of the room.
I hurried after them, while Kathy and Angela assured the guests the incident was over.
At the bar, Alex had Dad by the shirt collar. Next to them, David stood glaring. I hated the idea of Dad being thrown out of the restaurant in front of everyone.
"Please, guys, let me handle this," I said. "Go back and enjoy the party."
"Okay." Making a visible effort to control himself, Alex released Dad. He stepped back, smoothed his tuxedo front, and nodded at Liam. "Give us another brandy." He put the drink on the counter between him and Dad. "Look, Nicolas, I don't care what you're doing here. Only reason I'm not kicking you out is you're Katherine's dad. But if you stay, you keep quiet. And keep away from Sonny. Do you understand? I won't have anything spoil my brother's wedding."
Dad's expression was still dark, but he nodded.
I stepped closer, catching Alex's gaze. "It's alright. I'll stay with him until he's calm."
"Fine." Alex pointed a finger at me. "But you better keep him in check." He and his brother returned to the party.
I leaned on the bar and looked at Dad, waiting. He emptied his glass and stared into it for several moments, flexing and relaxing his fist.
"The Big Sleep," he muttered finally. "First edition, signed by Raymond Chandler. That weasel outbid me for eight thousand."
I sighed. Since Mom died two years ago, I worried that Dad's enthusiasm for collecting everything Raymond Chandler related had turned into an obsession. It haunted Dad that The Big Sleep, Chandler's first Philip Marlowe mystery, was the only title missing. He'd searched for months for a signed first edition.
“When did th
is auction even take place?” I asked, incredulous.
“This afternoon,” Dad growled. “The bastard got out of there so fast I never even had a chance to confront him.”
“Of course he did. He was in a hurry to get to the reception,” I said.
Which explained Sonny’s rumpled appearance. It was a wonder Angela hadn’t given him hell, the way she would the rest of us for showing up looking like that.
“I'm sorry, Dad.” I signaled to Liam. “Would you get us a ginger ale, please?”
Liam set the glass on the coaster in front of me, and I slid it toward Dad. “I really am sorry. But please don't make another scene. Don't embarrass Kathy and me. Drink this and try to cool off.”
Looking up, I noticed Dora Novak nursing a red wine at the other end of the counter, a lovely cream-colored shawl draped over her shoulders. Single in her late fifties, Dora had been cozying up to Dad over the past year. She was friendly and funny, and my siblings and I wished Dad would take the chance and ask her out. Hard as it was to admit, Mom was never coming back, and none of us liked seeing Dad alone. I nudged him in the side.
"Go over and chat with her. You know you'll make her night."
"Don't know about that. She's been kind of frosty with me lately."
"What do you expect? She's been dropping hints all over the place for like a year and you've ignored them. You've made her feel rejected, and no woman likes that. Make it up to her, go buy her another wine."
He stared into his glass. I wasn't sure he even heard me.
"It eats at me," he said after a pause. "A fool like Sonny getting that first edition. He doesn't even read Chandler."
"His client probably does." I wasn't sure my words would go down as a consolation.
Dad sniffed. "Shouldn't you be handing out cannolis to that crowd in there?"
"Yes. Can I leave you alone?"
"I don't need babysitting."
"That's not what I'm talking about."
"I won't start any more fights."
He gulped down half of his ginger ale and slammed it on the counter in a way that was not at all reassuring. But in the other room, the party was in full swing again and Valeria was signaling that they needed more champagne flutes. With a last worried glance at Dad, I left him at the bar.
