Lethal Letters

Book 6: A Books by the Bay Mystery

by Ellery Adams

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Everyone's got their hands full in Oyster Bay, North Carolina. Aside from two upcoming weddings, there's also the historical society's annual fund-raiser: the Secret Garden Party and Candlelit Ball. Adding to the excitement, Olivia witnesses the discovery of a time capsule in the foundation of a local church. The historical society president hopes to display its contents at their party, but when the items are finally revealed to the public, Olivia notices that one of them has vanished.



After a frightening find beneath the pier-the body of Ruthie Holcomb-Olivia is certain that there's a connection between the young woman's death and the missing piece from the time capsule. With the help of her fellow Bayside Book Writers, Olivia sets out to uncover some clues and ensure that a killer has no reason to celebrate . . .

Release date: November 4, 2014

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 304

Sample

Chapter 1

Time will bring to light whatever is hidden; it will cover up and conceal whatever is now shining in splendor.

—HORACE

Olivia Limoges rolled the newest edition of Bride magazine into a tight cylinder and brought it down onto the counter with a resounding thwack!

“Enough! I don’t want to hear another detail about your upcoming nuptials. You’ve turned into a groomzilla, Michel. Your obsession over the venue and your tux and the guest list is driving everyone in this kitchen insane.” She pointed at a sous chef, who’d paused in the act of chopping onions to wipe his eyes with a dish towel. “That man is weeping, for heaven’s sake.”

“He always cries when he—” the head chef of The Boot Top Bistro began.

“It started with the tulips, right?” Olivia directed her remark at the sous chef. “Michel’s supposed to be creating the finest cuisine of coastal North Carolina, but his soufflés are falling and his sauces are burning while he frets over whether to have blush-colored tulips, hot pink tulips, or lavender tulips at his reception.” She turned back to Michel. “I will take a meat cleaver to the next tulip you bring into this restaurant, do you hear me?”

Michel opened his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “I want everything to be perfect!”

“Last summer you said that you wanted a simple, intimate affair. But your plans have grown grander and more absurd by the month. I wouldn’t be surprised if Shelley was ready to call off the whole thing.”

At the mention of his fiancée’s name, Michel’s petulant look instantly vanished, and he smiled widely. “She told me that I could have all the pomp and circumstance I wanted. Unlike you, she understands that I’ve waited my whole life for this day and I want—”

“White doves and stretch limos?” Olivia sighed. “This is about you and Shelley. It’s a joining of two lives. A chance for the people who love you to share in your happiness. You don’t need a chocolate fountain for a wedding to be beautiful. You only need you, the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with, and a few carefully chosen words.”

Michel swiveled to face the rest of the kitchen staff. “Have I gone off the deep end?”

They nodded in unison.

“Has my food suffered?”

The line cook exchanged a nervous glance with the sous chef. Michel had a fiery temper and it was clear that no one wanted to say that his cooking hadn’t been up to its usual standards. But Michel caught the furtive glance and instantly hid his face in his hands. “Mon Dieu! I have betrayed my art. And for what? Monogrammed napkins? Embossed invitations?”

“And tulips,” Olivia added. She put a hand on Michel’s forearm and gave it an affectionate squeeze. She was used to his theatrics, but this wasn’t a good time for one of his meltdowns. They needed to review the possible menus for the historical society benefit dinner before showing them to the president. “You can stop looking around for the perfect venue. The Boot Top is your kingdom, Michel. Its kitchen is your beating heart. Have the reception here. I’m sure your colleagues would be delighted to prepare the food for your wedding feast.”

Everyone wearing a chef’s jacket or apron murmured his or her agreement.

Michel looked at them and sniffed. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course we would,” Olivia answered on behalf of her staff. “That just leaves the cake.”

Michel brightened. “Shelley and I always planned on making our own cake. I’ll do the baking and she’ll do the decorating. After all, no one can hold a candle to her when it comes to sweet confections.”

Olivia thought of the Saint Patrick’s Day display she’d seen in the front window of Decadence, Shelley’s desserterie. Candy coins wrapped in gold foil spilled from a cauldron of solid chocolate. There was a forest of four-leaf-clover lollipops, marshmallow clouds, and a rainbow of candy fruit slices. Fondant leprechauns perched atop grasshopper cupcakes or cartwheeled across the frosted surfaces of crème de menthe brownies. “Shelley is truly gifted,” Olivia said. “And so are you. Can we talk about the menu for the benefit now?”

“Only if you promise to come with me to the First Presbyterian Church before I get started on the dinner service,” Michel said. “I promised to swing by with a copy of our program.”

“I thought you didn’t want a church wedding.”

Michel shrugged. “Maman does. And since I am her only son, I did what she asked.” Straightening, Michel barked out orders to the kitchen staff and they jumped to obey. Scooping the bridal magazine off the counter, he held it aloft as if it were a torch. “I am back, my friends. And I apologize for being so distracted. That’s over now. You have my word as a gentleman and a chef. Spring is upon us and we will be busier than ever. We must uphold the reputation of The Boot Top Bistro. We must dazzle every diner!”

Smiling, Olivia grabbed her head chef by the elbow. “Let’s talk in the bar and then we’ll stop by the church. Which Saturday did you book?”

“I chose a Monday,” Michel said. “The Boot Top is closed on Mondays. You won’t lose any business and neither will Shelley. She and I will take Tuesday off and be back in the kitchen on Wednesday.”

Olivia poked her head into her office and saw that her standard poodle, Captain Haviland, was fast asleep. She smiled indulgently and then led Michel through the dining room into the bar. “Why rush back to work?” Olivia asked. “What about your honeymoon?”

Michel sank into one of the leather club chairs. “We’ll go when the tourist season is over. Mid-October maybe. I want to bring Shelley to Paris. We can visit our old haunts from culinary school and then travel to the Riviera, visiting vineyards as we make our way south. It’s past time we updated The Boot Top’s wine list.” Michel gestured at the polished wood bar. “Not that Gabe isn’t the finest tender in town, but his palate isn’t sophisticated enough to be the restaurant’s sommelier.”

“Ah, the sacrifices you make for your job,” Olivia said teasingly and placed a folder on the small table dividing her chair from Michel’s.

Michel reached out and grabbed her hand. He tapped the platinum band embedded with dark sapphires on her ring finger, and said, “I’m not the only person in the room who should be making wedding plans. And yet I hear nothing of yours. Why not? What are you waiting for, ma chérie?”

Pulling her hand free, Olivia straightened the printed menus in the folder. “Mine will be a very quiet affair. Justice of the peace and a champagne toast. That’s all. There’s not much to organize.”

Michel fixed her with an intent stare. “Then why aren’t you already married? Are you cohabiting, or is the chief still living out of a drawer? I know how much you treasure your independence, Olivia. But when you said ‘yes,’ you gave up your old life.”

Olivia felt her cheeks grow warm. “It’s complicated. When he’s on duty, the chief needs to be close to town, so he stays at his place. My house is too far out. If there’s a police emergency . . .” She shrugged, letting Michel reach his own conclusions. “And I don’t like to spend the night in his house. His wife still has a presence there. She picked out the wallpaper and the towels, the dishes and the furniture. It’s her home. It’s a monument of their life together. Not to mention that it’s too far from the water.”

“We can’t have our resident mermaid living away from the beach. Your scales would dry out.” He gazed at her fondly.

Olivia shoved a printed menu under Michel’s nose. “Let’s focus on these menus now, shall we?”

An hour later, Olivia pulled her Range Rover into a private lot belonging to the First Presbyterian Church and opened the car door for Haviland. As he jumped out of the backseat and Michel alighted from the front, Olivia studied the Gothic Revival architecture, taking in its blocks of somber gray stone, pointed arches, and towering spire. It was one of the most imposing buildings in all of Oyster Bay.

A jarring mechanical noise erupted from inside the church. Michel winced and Haviland started barking.

“Is that a jackhammer?” Michel shouted.

“Maybe they’re tuning the organ,” Olivia yelled.

Haviland’s barking increased in volume, and he retreated several steps. Olivia laid her hand on the poodle’s head and tried to calm him, but he was clearly discomfited by the noise.

“I’m putting Haviland back in the car,” she told Michel. “Go on. I’ll catch up.”

As soon as Haviland was safely inside the Range Rover, he stopped barking and stretched across the backseat. Olivia gave him a chew stick, promised she wouldn’t be long, and crossed the parking lot. Drawing closer to the church, she noticed several commercial vans and a pickup parked near the building. A man in a hard hat came out of a door in the church’s west wall and began rummaging through an aluminum toolbox in the bed of the pickup. After retrieving a pair of safety goggles and a crowbar, he disappeared into the church again.

Olivia found Michel in the sanctuary, standing next to a man wearing khakis and a blue dress shirt. Mercifully, the hammering sound had stopped.

Michel introduced her to Pastor Jeffries.

“Please call me Jon,” the man said, offering Olivia his hand. His grip was warm and firm. Olivia liked both his handshake and his friendly brown eyes. They reminded her of Haviland’s. “I can’t believe we haven’t met before,” the pastor said. “Ours is a small town, but our paths have yet to cross.” He smiled. “I guess I’m surprised because you’re very active in community projects. Your name pops up all the time in the paper.”

Michel put an arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “My boss wrangles money from Oyster Bay’s upper crust. You work in the trenches, Pastor. You probably aren’t involved with the same charities.”

“I suspect you’re right,” the pastor said amiably. “Until now. Miss Limoges and I are both supporting the upcoming historical society benefit. Not only is the historical society our next-door neighbor, but the society’s founding family, the Drummonds, have been devoted patrons of this church for the past century.”

Olivia let her gaze wander up the center aisle to the altar, and then over the polished pews to the stained glass windows. The colored glass was cracked in places and coated with a film of grime, making it hard for the light to pass through. Watery yellows and dull oranges spotted the sanctuary’s red carpet, and Olivia wondered if the windows could withstand the force of the work being done in the room to the left of the vestibule.

Pastor Jeffries followed the direction of her gaze. “I was just telling Michel that we’re in the middle of a minor construction project. At least, it started out as a minor project. The plan was to turn the cloakroom into a comfortable space for prayer and counseling, but as often happens during a renovation, the contractor and his crew encountered problems. Water damage, rotted floorboards, issues with the wiring. They’ve dug right down to the foundation stone.” His eyes slid toward the large brass cross on the altar. “I spent half the morning praying that there wouldn’t be any more surprises.”

“Pastor Jeffries!” a man called from the doorway dividing the vestibule from the chapel. “You’d better come look at this. We found something buried in the wall.”

“And people think the Lord lacks a sense of humor.” The pastor winked, told his guests he’d return in a moment, and strode down the center aisle.

Michel sighed. “I hadn’t pictured drop cloths and plaster dust as part of my wedding day décor.”

“I’m sure the job will be completed by then.” Olivia ran her fingers along the back of a polished pew. The sanctuary smelled of beeswax and lilies. Overall, it was a pleasant space. The walls were a soft white, velvet cushions in a deep cranberry hue covered the pews, and the entire room was illuminated by rows of brass chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling. Olivia swiveled, taking in the second-floor balcony and the gleaming organ pipes. Everything was simple, elegant, and clean. Aside from the Easter lilies grouped around the altar, the only adornment in the entire sanctuary was the windows. “This is the oldest church in Oyster Bay,” she told Michel. “Think of all the couples that have walked up this aisle. All the music that’s been played. How many secret hopes and fears have been whispered into folded hands. This place is redolent with history.”

Sinking into a pew, Michel frowned. “I think it’s gloomy, but my mother will love it. It speaks of Old World Europe.”

“That’s not gloom. It’s patina.” Olivia wandered over to the windows on the east wall and studied the Biblical scenes. Though she’d attended only a handful of church services throughout her life, she recognized most of the scenes. She didn’t tarry long before Mary and Joseph, the nativity, or Christ cradling a lamb. After noting more cracked glass and sagging lead in the John the Baptist window, she moved to the west wall. She liked the Daniel in the lion’s den window and paused to take in the detailed faces of the slumbering felines. Again, she saw damage to the glass, lead, and putty.

“I’d think these would be more important than the cloakroom renovation,” she murmured to herself and walked by a window featuring a young boy holding a harp. In the next scene, she admired how the glass artist had used pieces of green, orange, and red glass to create a burning bush. But she didn’t linger, finding that she was inexplicably drawn to the last window.

This one, which was in the worst condition of all, portrayed a woman and child. The child, a girl with an ageless face, gazed forward. Her expression was both hopeful and serene. Most of her body was enfolded in the woman’s gown, and as Olivia edged closer, she realized that it wasn’t a gown but a feathered wing curving protectively around the girl. The angel was in profile, her eye closed and her cheek pressed against the girl’s cheek. Olivia could almost hear her whispering words of comfort into the child’s ear. The more she stood and stared, the more the angel looked like her mother.

Hesitantly, Olivia placed her fingers against the glass and traced one of the white flowers hanging near the angel’s outstretched hand. The girl’s small hand rested in the angel’s cupped palm, and Olivia had the urge to lay her own hand on top of theirs. She wanted to go where they were going, to see what lay beyond the curtain of dogwood blossoms.

“She’s a guiding angel,” Pastor Jeffries said from behind Olivia, causing her to start. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to creep up on you.” He flashed her a sheepish smile. “This is my favorite window.”

Olivia pointed at the angel. “Her face is completely two-dimensional, and yet she reminds me so much of my mother.”

The pastor nodded. “Everyone recognizes a special woman in her. A mother, sister, daughter, wife, nurse, teacher.”

“Can the windows be restored?”

“At great cost, yes. We’ll have to raise more funds, but I have faith that we’ll get the money. The capital campaign has been eaten up by all the problems we’ve run across with our current project, so it’s fortunate that we have a devoted benefactor.” Pastor Jeffries didn’t seem overly bothered by the setbacks. In fact, he looked quite cheerful. “It seems we were meant to dig deeper than we’d originally intended. The men have just discovered a large lead box buried above the foundation stone.”

Olivia was immediately intrigued. “How big is it?”

“About the length of my arm. Let’s just hope the first pastor didn’t bury his faithful hound inside.” With a boyish grin, he waved Michel over and explained what was happening. “The men have asked me to open the box. It could be empty, and I don’t want to interrupt the staff unless there’s something worth seeing, so I’ll grab the digital camera from my office and let them finish Sunday’s program. You two are welcome to watch if you’d like.”

Michel’s eyes were shining. “I’ll serve as your photojournalist, but if you unearth a cache of gold, I might have to charge a hefty fee for my services. Weddings are ridiculously expensive.”

Pastor Jeffries laughed and then gestured at the stained glass angel and child. “If there’s anything of value inside that box, I’ll use it to save our real treasures. I’m not supposed to put much stock in worldly goods, but I love these windows. I want to make sure the next generation can enjoy them as much as I do.” He rubbed his hands together, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. “Be right back.”

Too curious to wait for his return, Olivia and Michel headed for the vestibule. In the cloakroom, two workmen wearing hard hats and gloves stood, hands on hips, staring down at a battered lead box. A third was on his knees, scraping pieces of mortar from the surface of the box with his fingers. The men looked up when Olivia and Michel entered.

“Is it marked anywhere?” Olivia asked the man on the floor.

“I think there’s a date stamped into the lid.” He turned to one of his coworkers. “Hand me a flathead screwdriver, will you?”

With the tool in hand, he carefully worked its edge under the mortar. It gave way, coming off in large pieces. Brushing a chunk aside, the man maneuvered the screwdriver head until two numbers became clear.

“Looks like a one and a nine so far,” the man said. “And the next number looks like a seven. No, it’s another one.”

At that moment, Pastor Jeffries returned. He crouched down next to the man with the screwdriver and watched, fascinated, as the last digit was revealed. “Nineteen seventeen. Wow.”

“The beginning of World War One,” another workman said.

“But not the year the church was founded,” the pastor said, clearly perplexed. “This box was buried some sixty years after the original church was built.” He rubbed his chin, his gaze distant. “There was a fire about that time. A bad one. I wonder if this was placed inside the wall during the reconstruction. I’d have to check with the historical society, but if there are relics of our past inside this box, I’ll be calling Bellamy Drummond anyway. Let’s open it and find out.”

Olivia was thrilled that they wouldn’t have to postpone the event for Bellamy Drummond. While she certainly approved of the historical society’s president’s efforts to preserve Oyster Bay’s past, Olivia found Bellamy’s punctiliousness a bit overbearing. She was certain to ruin the excitement of the workmen’s discovery by lecturing them in her rich, languid drawl on the proper technique of opening an antique lead box.

“May I have the honors?” Pastor Jeffries asked the man with the screwdriver.

The man passed him the crowbar and backed away. “Sure thing. Hold this straight edge under the lid and I’ll hit the hooked end with a mallet. You want a pair of gloves? If that bar slips, you could get a nasty slice.”

The pastor shook his head with impatience. “I’ll be fine.” Handing Michel the digital camera, he lowered himself to his knees.

Olivia wondered if he felt less manly in his khakis and dress shirt than the workmen. With their tattooed forearms, dirt-encrusted jeans, and weathered faces, these men seemed a different breed than Pastor Jeffries. Next to them, he looked like a naïve and sheltered academic, though Olivia suspected that was far from the truth. Michel had told her that the pastor had led his flock for over twenty years, and Olivia could only imagine the things he’d seen and heard during that time.

Baptisms. Confirmations. Marriages, she thought as the workman struck the end of the crowbar with his mallet. Memorial services and funerals.

The sound of the mallet striking the metal curve of the crowbar reverberated around the empty room. Clang, clang, clang.

“Keep going,” Pastor Jeffries said, sounding a little winded. “It’s moving!”

The man hit the crowbar again. Without warning, the lid gave way and the crowbar shot sideways, causing the pastor to cry out in pain. Olivia could see a jagged line of red appear on his palm. He dropped the crowbar and stared at his hand as the blood flowed over his wrist and dripped onto the floor.

Michel pulled a blue bandanna from his pocket and offered it to the pastor. Having seen dozens of knife wounds over the years, he was unfazed by the injury. Pastor Jeffries fumbled with the cloth until Michel took it from him, wound it tightly around his palm, and tied it into a knot. “You’ll have to disinfect that and you may even need stitches. If not stitches, at least a few butterfly bandages.”

“I’ll take care of it later. After I see what’s inside.” Pastor Jeffries glanced up at the man with the mallet. “I should have used the gloves. Right, Kenny?”

Kenny gave a noncommittal shrug and picked up the crowbar again. He inserted the bloodied edge under the lid, pushed down on the opposite end, and gave a satisfied grunt when the box top separated from the base with a low groan.

No one spoke as the pastor raised the lid with his good hand. He reached in and pulled out a sheaf of paper. It had yellowed with age, but otherwise, looked to be in perfect shape.

“It’s a time capsule,” Pastor Jeffries whispered in awe. “This is an inventory of the contents as well as a list of the contributors.” He scanned the document. “Here’s the pastor—my grandfather, if you can believe it—and a deacon. Also a physician. The head of the local school. And—” Suddenly, he stopped. “I should get Bell—ah, Mrs. Drummond.” He hurriedly set the letter back into the box and then glanced at the bright drops of blood on the floor.

Olivia was confused by the pastor’s abrupt change of demeanor. He’d lost all traces of youthful anticipation. The pleasure and excitement had completely vanished from his face. It had been replaced by an emotion Olivia recognized all too well.

Pastor Jeffries’s eyes had gone glassy. His body was rigid. Olivia didn’t know why, but the pastor was suddenly, and very obviously, afraid.

And then he blinked. Pressing his injured hand to his chest, he forced his mouth into a tight smile, apologized to Michel for having to cut their visit short, and left the church.

Chapter 2

Where there is a sea, there are pirates.

—GREEK PROVERB

Kenny was unfazed by the pastor’s abrupt departure. Turning to his coworkers, he said, “We might as well grab a smoke.”

The men nodded and followed him outside.

The moment they were gone, Olivia took out her phone, retrieved the letter from the time capsule, and took several photos of it.

“What are you doing?” Michel whispered nervously.

Olivia photographed the letter in sections, not wanting to miss a single word. “Didn’t you see Pastor Jeffries’s face? He was scared, and I want to know why.” She glanced into the box, disappointed to find that the contents were covered by a folded piece of fabric. “I doubt he’s easily spooked. After witnessing two decades of sicknesses, hospital vigils, loss, and brokenness. All those confessions and last breaths. What’s in here that could shake a man who’s seen what he’s seen?”

Michel peered into the box and frowned. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Laurel would. This would make a great article. People love time capsules.” After darting a look over her shoulder, Olivia handed Michel the letter. “Take this,” she commanded and then reached into the box and carefully picked up the piece of fabric. She gently unfolded it and felt a surge of pride when she recognized the horizontal bands of red and discolored white and the vertical field of blue. Embroidered into the wide stripe of blue were a white star, two historic dates commemorating independence from British rule, and the letters N and C. Olivia was holding the state flag of North Carolina.

“There’s nothing frightening about that,” Michel said, admiring the flag. “I wonder if the person who added this to the box would be pleased by the fact that the same flag still flies all over town.”

Olivia considered the question. “I’m sure they would. After all, it’s a symbol of freedom, and our country had just entered a world war to defend that freedom.” With the flag gently draped over her left forearm, she leaned forward and gazed at the bundles packed tightly inside the box. “Why did they have to wrap everything in paper and secure it with twine? That’s no fun. Now I’m really glad I took a picture of the inventory list.”

The only object that hadn’t been wrapped in paper was another box. This one was made of copper and was big enough to hold a pair of men’s shoes. “A box within a box,” Olivia said. “It’s been sealed with wax too.” She pointed at the blob of green candlewax. “Where have I seen that symbol before?” She frowned, trying to remember, and then slowly pivoted the box so that the seal caught the light. “I think it’s some kind of plant.”

“Someone’s coming,” Michel hissed. “Put everything back!”

Hearing voices on the other side of the main doors, Olivia quickly set the cooper box where she’d found it, folded the flag, and returned both the flag and the letter to the time capsule. She quickly shut the heavy lid and retreated several steps.

As Pastor Jeffries entered the vestibule with Bellamy Drummond in tow, Olivia and Michel exchanged guilt-ridden glances.

“Hello, Olivia. Michel.” Bellamy smiled regally. “Pastor Jeffries has informed me that a treasure of historical significance has been unearthed.” She scanned the room. “Where have the workmen gone?”

“They took a cigarette break,” Olivia said.

Bellamy nodded in approval. “Tobacco is the backbone of our agricultural heritage. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find a pack of Camels in our time capsule.” She clasped her hands together. “This is very exciting, isn’t it?”

Olivia couldn’t detect a trace of concern on Bellamy’s face. She was as composed and self-assured as always and had wasted no time laying claim to the discovery. She’d called it “our” time capsule. Olivia studied Pastor Jeffries to see if he seemed bothered by Bellamy’s taking charge, but his face was a mask of calm. He was either hiding his true feelings or was no longer frightened.

“I’m sorry I rushed out before,” he said to Olivia and Michel. “I decided that we needed an expert on hand before we examined such important artifacts. It was self-centered of me to open the time capsule in the first place.” He smiled sheepishly. “Mrs. Drummond and I have agreed that we should gather a quorum of church and historical society trustees before we reveal the contents.”

“One of my volunteers is sending a group e-mail as we speak,” Bellamy chimed in. “I’ve asked people to congregate this evening. These items have waited long enough to see that light of day.” She studied the box with a proprietary air. “We could create a special display just in time for the Secret Garden Party. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” She directed he