Murder in the Book Lover's Loft

Book 9: Book Retreat Mystery

by Ellery Adams

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery

Synopsis

For bibliophiles who love Rita Mae Brown and Alexander McCall Smith, New York Times bestselling author Ellery Adams is sure to delight with her newest novel set at Virginia's book-themed resort, Storyton Hall. It's the perfect getaway for book lovers, but when resort manager Jane Steward tries to take a quick break of her own, it leads to a real-life mystery that's far from relaxing . . .



Jane and her fiancé, Edwin, are headed to the North Carolina coast for a much-needed vacation. Their harborside loft has floor-to-ceiling bookcases and breathtaking views, but Jane's hopes of exploring the town with her man are stymied when Edwin steps on a stingray. Things take an even less romantic turn when Jane stumbles across a dead body . . .



Instead of taking leisurely beach strolls, Jane is suddenly on a literary chase through time, unearthing a dark secret in her family tree that threatens all she holds dear back in Storyton. And it'll take a whole village to help her make amends for the past—and stop a madman bent on exacting justice in the present.

Release date: July 25, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

Jane Steward stood in a small, secret room in the attic turret of a sprawling manor house called Storyton Hall, a world-famous resort catering to readers, and tried to come to a decision.

The old mansion was a repository of books. Thousands of them. Entire rooms were dedicated to books. They lined the walls and filled the shelves. They marched across mantelpieces and were stacked on tables.

A guest of Storyton Hall could spend a lazy morning cocooned in one of the soft chairs of the Daphne du Maurier Drawing Room, sipping coffee and nibbling a buttery croissant while they turned the pages of a well-loved paperback. They could while away a rainy afternoon reading by the fire in the Isak Dinesen Safari Room or borrow a book from the Henry James Library and carry it outside to the Anne of Green Gables Gazebo.

When it was time for a reading break, guests could swim in the Jules Verne Pool or take a long walk on Tennyson’s Trail. There was almost always a croquet game in progress on the Lewis Carroll Court or one could sign up for a falconry or archery lesson.

Such activity was bound to rouse an appetite, but no one stayed hungry for long at Storyton Hall. There was casual dining in the Rudyard Kipling Café, formal dining in the Madame Bovary Dining Room, and afternoon tea was served daily in the Agatha Christie Tea Room.

In this attic space high above those public areas, Jane knew that the tea service had already started, and she was unlikely to make it in time to savor a cup of Earl Grey and one of Mrs. Hubbard’s pumpkin scones. As much as she’d liked to take a break, she had important work to do first.

Her current task was to review the inventory list of what the literati would surely dub the Eighth Wonder of the World, and to select several items to sell, donate, or, if possible, return to the descendants of the original owner.

Hundreds of priceless literary treasures were housed in this fireproof, climate-controlled vault. There were drawers of manuscripts, scrolls, maps, and books. Works of fiction and nonfiction by some of the best-known authors of the ages were wrapped in layers of white paper and tucked into archival boxes like babies in their cradles.

The drawers also contained obscure and frightening propaganda by authors whose sole purpose was to negatively impact humankind’s future. The goal of their work was to twist the truth and transform the sacred into the profane. These materials had been handed over to the Stewards to be forever hidden.

The Steward family had served as Guardians to this strange and wonderful collection for centuries, and the august role often came with a steep price. Ever since Uncle Aloysius had passed the mantle on to her, Jane’s life had been marked by violence and strife.

Like all Guardians before her, Jane had sworn to protect and preserve the contents of the secret library. Fortunately, she was not alone in this endeavor. She had her Fins to keep her safe. Named after the fletching on an arrow, the Fins were four men of unwavering loyalty and specialized skill sets who worked as employees at Storyton Hall. They were as much a part of Jane’s family as were her twin sons, Fitzgerald and Hemingway.

Not long ago, Jane had decided it was time to put an end to her guardianship and to empty the secret library. Without it, there would be no reason for thieves and other miscreants to come to her resort. After hundreds of years, the Stewards would finally be safe, and Jane could focus her energy on her family, friends, and business.

However, the process of selling or donating the collection was proving to be a slow one. Some of the most incredible items, like an undiscovered Shakespeare play and the sequel to Jane Eyre, had already been rehomed, but a king’s fortune of literary treasures still remained.

Jane selected a notebook filled with prose written by Nathaniel Hawthorne. A tag on the archival box described how, in this unseen draft of The Scarlet Letter, Hester Prynne had had an affair with a freed Black man named Jacob Strong instead of the Reverend Arthur Dimmesdale. A member of the Hawthorne family had asked Jane’s ancestor to hide the notebook. This individual had offered no explanation but had paid a hefty storage fee.

“What should I do with you?” she said out loud, addressing the box containing the notebook.

Hawthorne’s work could be found in the archives at Yale, Harvard, the Library of Congress, and in three museums. He had dozens of living descendants, and Jane could hardly pull a name out of a hat and surprise one family member with a piece of literary history that was not only worth a king’s ransom but would also invite a torrent of media attention.

In the end, she decided to reach out to her contact at the Library of Congress. Through this contact, she could donate Hawthorne’s notebook, as well as a poem attributed to William Cullen Bryant. Not only would Jane’s anonymity be guaranteed but the library would share its new acquisitions with the world.

“Books are meant to be shared,” she told the room at large. When she paused to consider a slim volume in the bottom drawer that touted the attributes of eugenics, she amended her comment to, “Most books are meant to be shared.”

As for a folio of studies by Mary Cassatt she’d found in a case near the door, this would be sold. The trio of unfinished drawings of a young mother bathing in a river with her children—all in the nude—would bring in enough money to pay for the new furnace and steam boilers.

Storyton Hall was a five-star resort, and if Jane wanted it to stay that way, she had to continuously improve its facilities. The funds from the sale of the Cassatt folio would go toward finishing the work on the new folly, the sculpture Uncle Aloysius had commissioned for the reflection pool, and, most importantly, a pay raise for the groundskeeping crew.

Jane carefully placed the Hawthorne notebook, the poem, and the Cassatt folio into a padded box and left the library. She locked the door, descended the narrow spiral staircase, and slipped through the gap in the wall behind her great-aunt’s china cabinet.

Aunt Octavia had already gone down for tea and was no doubt drifting through the kitchens in search of treats and new tidbits of gossip, so Jane returned the cabinet to its proper place and exited the apartment.

She’d just pressed the button to call the service elevator when her phone buzzed.

“Ms. Steward, it’s Abby at the rec desk. I have a guest here who signed up for a trail ride at Hilltop Stables that starts in fifteen minutes. She didn’t think she wanted to go but just changed her mind. The problem is there’s no one to drive her to the stables. Mr. Lachlan is running a falconry lesson and my archery class starts in ten minutes. All the drivers are either at the train station or with other guests.”

“I’ll drop her off. I’m going to town anyway, and I don’t want her to miss her ride. It’s so beautiful on the trails right now. Can you ask her to meet me on the front steps?”

Forgoing the elevator, Jane took the stairs to the ground floor and walked briskly to her office. After depositing the box on her desk, she locked the office and headed for the garages.

Storyton Hall owned a fleet of vintage Rolls-Royce sedans, which were all in use. The only available vehicle was a mud-splattered pickup.

“Sorry about the dirt,” Jane said to her guest as she pulled up in front of the main doors.

Her guest, a lovely young woman with a corona of blond hair and a winsome smile, didn’t mind one bit. After telling Jane that she was grateful for the ride, she chatted amiably the whole way to Hilltop Stables.

When Jane turned onto the road leading to the stables, the woman confessed that she was incredibly nervous, and that her desire to impress her boyfriend had taken precedence over her fear of horses.

“Don’t worry. Sam is used to beginners,” Jane assured her. “He’s been taking people on trail rides for years. His horses are so gentle and calm that my sons have been riding them since they were knee-high. Try to relax and concentrate on the foliage. It’s peak leaf-peeping season around here, and the woods are putting on quite a show.”

Jane pulled into the dirt lot in front of the smaller of Sam’s two barns and turned to the young woman. “Sam is probably giving your group a quick orientation in that building with the green roof. Let’s see if we can get you there before it’s over.”

Inside the building, one of Sam’s assistants was addressing the group.

Jane waited until the young woman had joined her boyfriend before heading back outside. She was a few feet from her pickup when a Sheriff’s Department SUV crested the top of the hill.

Sheriff Evans parked in an empty spot and exited the vehicle. He waved at Jane and said, “I didn’t expect to bump into you here.”

Jane smiled at the man she’d come to think of as a friend. “The last time I saw you, you said you’d been binge reading Westerns. Are you here for a ride? And did you bring your spurs and your lasso?”

“I’m not a horse guy. I like to keep my feet planted firmly on the ground.” Adjusting his utility belt so it rested more comfortably on his hips, he glanced around. “Do you know where Sam is?”

“No. I was just dropping off a guest and didn’t look for him. Is everything okay?”

The sheriff rubbed the salt-and-pepper bristle on his chin. “Sam found a body in the woods, not far from that rental cabin with the view of the river. Sam thinks the guy’s been outside for a while.”

Startled by the news, all Jane could think to say was, “That’s awful.”

At that moment, Sam appeared from around the corner of the barn. He jogged over to Jane and the sheriff and pointed to one of the trail heads. “He’s that way. Is Doc Charles coming?”

“Should be here any minute now,” said the sheriff.

Sam pushed a wave of sandy brown hair off his forehead and looked between Jane and the sheriff. “I don’t think the guy’s local. I don’t recognize him.”

A knot formed in Jane’s stomach. “We’re not missing any guests. At least, no one’s reported someone as missing.”

Hearing the growl of an engine, all three of them turned to watch a yellow Bronco emerge from around a bend in the road. The sheriff signaled to the driver, and Doc Charles parked his dust-coated car.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he grabbed his field kit from the back seat. “There’s a nasty bug going around, and half of the third grade was in my office today. If you haven’t had your flu shot yet, you should get it.”

Sheriff Evans said, “I’ve had mine, but my wife hasn’t. I’ll remind her when I get home. Sam? Can you show us the way?”

“Sure.”

When Sam began walking, Jane fell into step beside him. When an unusual death occurred within the town limits, Storyton Hall always seemed to be involved, which was why Jane didn’t think twice about accompanying the men.

“I thought Edwin might come for a ride this morning,” Sam said as they headed for the north trail.

Jane’s partner, Edwin Alcott, was Sam’s best friend, and she often referred to them as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. Sam was blue-eyed and fair-haired, while Edwin had dark hair and eyes, but they had similarly wide shoulders and square jaws. Both men were lean, muscular, and heartstoppingly handsome.

“He had to meet a repairman at the restaurant,” Jane replied. “The oven’s acting up again.”

Sam shook his head. “Ah, the joys of being a small business owner. I’m glad you two are finally taking some time off. I can’t remember the last time I saw the ocean. What’s it like? This place on the coast?”

Jane sensed that Sam wanted to be distracted from thoughts of a dead body, so as they climbed the uphill trail, she told Sam what little she knew about Oyster Bay, North Carolina. She was in the middle of describing a museum she wanted to visit when Sam put a hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry to interrupt, but we’re almost there,” he said. “This guy’s been exposed to the elements for hours, so it’s not a pretty sight. You might want to hang back.”

Though Jane wasn’t squeamish, she’d seen what a day or two in the woods could do to an animal carcass and decided to heed Sam’s advice.

Sam pointed to a group of five boulders so similar in size and shape that they reminded Jane of Yahtzee dice. “He’s behind these rocks.”

“One sec.” Doc Charles opened his kit and removed a disposable mask and nitrile gloves. He then passed out masks to the rest of the party before following after Sam as he left the trail.

The men disappeared behind the boulders, which were easily twenty feet tall, but Jane could hear them speaking in low murmurs.

Why do we whisper in the presence of the dead? Jane thought. Is it because their voices have been silenced and it feels wrong to speak when they can’t?

From farther down the hill, she heard a bark of laughter and assumed that the guided trail ride had gotten underway.

The riders were lucky. They had sunshine, a forest ablaze with fall colors, and crisp air that smelled of pine trees and woodsmoke. Their horses would carry them at a leisurely pace for an hour, and when their peaceful walk was over, the guests would dismount, say goodbye to their well-behaved animals, and be treated to hot cider and apple doughnuts.

For some reason, the disparity of their experience compared to that of the man lying on the other side of the boulders compelled Jane to pull up her mask and step off the trail.

Peering around the rough edge of the formidable rock, she took in the scene. Sam stood off to the side, his hands plunged deep into his pockets. Sheriff Evans was in a catcher’s squat and Doc Charles was on his knees, next to the body.

Because the dead man’s face was turned away from Jane, all she could see was the curve of a moon-pale cheek. As for the rest of him, her initial impression was of the color brown. His head was covered in thick, shaggy brown hair that merged into an equally shaggy brown beard. Leaf and pine needle fragments clung to his heavy brows and mustache, the legs of his brown work pants, and the soles of his tan boots. His coat, the only thing that wasn’t brown, was shale gray.

“No sign of trauma,” Doc Charles told the sheriff.

“I wonder if he’s staying in the Shaws’ rental cabin.” Sheriff Evans straightened and gestured at the hill rising behind him. “It’s the only reason I can think of why he’d be out here without ID or a phone. I’ll give Jimmy a call as soon as I’m back in the office.”

Doc Charles was examining the man’s fingers. Without looking up, he said, “He’s been dead for a couple of days. His clothes and the drop in temps at night have kept him fairly well-preserved.”

“He’s dressed for a hike. His boots are worn. He’s no tourist from the city who got lost out here. Maybe he popped back here to relieve himself and, I don’t know, had a stroke or his heart gave out.” Taking notice of Jane, Sheriff Evans said, “Do you recognize him?”

“I can’t see his face very clearly, but I don’t think so.”

Sam turned to her. “Don’t get any closer. His body might look okay, but his face isn’t pretty.”

Jane stayed where she was.

“I’ll call the EMTs.” Sheriff Evans put his phone to his ear and locked eyes with Sam. “Would you walk Ms. Steward back to the stables? There’s nothing else you can do for this gentleman. I’ll let you know when he’s been moved, and when you can use this trail again.”

Sam and Jane made their way back to the parking lot in silence. When they reached her pickup, Jane said, “If you learn his name, would you let me know? I want to think of him as Bill or Hank or whoever he really was, instead of the dead man behind the boulders. As long as someone speaks his name, he won’t be forgotten.”

Inside the big barn, a horse whinnied. This was immediately followed by another, louder whinny.

Sam smiled. “That’s Honey. She knows I left a bag of carrots in the tack room. They’re her favorite.”

“You’d better give her one before she starts a rebellion.” Jane got into the car and rolled down her window. “What can we bring you from the beach? A T-shirt, or some saltwater taffy?”

“No, thanks. I have way too many T-shirts, and I like my candy salt-free. Just forget about everyone else and focus on yourself for once in your life. Okay?” As he walked away, he called back over his shoulder, “But if you see any mermaids, put in a good word for me!”

Jane drove to La Grande Dame, the clothing boutique owned by her friend, Mabel Wimberley. She pushed open the door and paused in astonishment. It looked like a bomb had gone off, scattering skeins of yarn and bolts of fabric over every surface.

The stack of shopper’s baskets Mabel kept by the door had toppled over, creating a domino effect by striking the spinner displays of ribbon. All three of these had fallen, causing ribbon rolls in every color to launch across the shop like confetti from a cannon.

Picking up a roll of red ribbon whose loose end made it look like it was sticking its tongue out at her, Jane laid the roll on top of a bolt of blue silk.

“Mabel?” she yelled over the whir of a sewing machine. “Are you alive back there?”

The machine didn’t stop. “Barely!”

Jane wanted to tell her friend about the dead man. Seeing his body in the woods had unsettled her, and it would be a comfort to confide her feelings to a friend. However, the mess in Mabel’s shop made it clear that her friend had enough on her mind as it was, so Jane decided to keep the incident to herself.

“May I pass through the curtain, Oh Great and Powerful Oz?”

“Get in here, woman. I don’t have the energy to shout.”

Jane parted the purple velvet curtains leading to Mabel’s sewing room. If the shop was untidy, this space was utter chaos. Several clothes racks stuffed with costumes had been shoved to one side of the room, while Mabel’s sewing table and a three-way mirror occupied the other side. Her worktable, which hugged the back wall, was covered with an assortment of paper patterns, scissors, pincushions, and spools of thread. Tape measures were coiled like snakes at Mabel’s feet and the floor was littered with fabric scraps.

“I know, I know. It’s bad. But you’re the one who decided to host a masquerade party on Halloween, and all of my customers want to be the belle of the ball.” She paused to examine her stitching. “I’d prefer to have more beasts.”

“Finish what you’re doing. I’m going to make you a cup of tea.”

Mabel nodded tiredly and resumed her work.

Jane entered Mabel’s kitchen, which was in a similar state to her workroom, and put the kettle on. She didn’t have time to tidy this space and the shop, so she settled for transferring the dirty mugs and plates from the sink to the dishwasher and starting a wash cycle. She then wiped off the counters and emptied the overflowing garbage into a can in the alley.

When she came back inside, the kettle was singing. She used the last clean mug and the last bit of milk for Mabel’s tea. She was carrying the steaming mug into the workroom when two ladies entered the shop.

“Hello!” Jane greeted them with a friendly smile. “Come on in. I just need to give Rumpelstiltskin his tea and then I’ll be back out to straighten up and assist you if I can. It’s been a wild couple of weeks for La Grande Dame.”

“I prefer the Oz reference,” grumbled Mabel.

Jane placed the cup next to the sewing machine and gave Mabel’s shoulders a squeeze. Her friend’s muscles were tight as bowstrings, and though she groaned, she continued to change the thread in her sewing machine from white to gold.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” Jane said. “For now, I’ll see if these ladies need any help.”

The ladies in question had gravitated over to the wall of yarn. While they handled a skein, comparing its type, weight, and shade to another skein, Jane righted the shoppers’ backets and returned all the ribbon rolls to the spinner rack. By the time she’d finished scooping bolts of fabric off the floor, the women had selected four skeins and a beechwood yarn bowl and put them down on the checkout counter.

Luckily, Jane knew how to use Mabel’s register, so she punched in her friend’s password to unlock the screen. She then aimed the handheld barcode scanner at the yarn bowl and said, “Are you visiting Storyton?”

“Just for the day,” replied the first woman. “We live in Lexington, but we like to pop over here to have lunch and do a little shopping. We love your little market.”

The second woman grinned. “I just adore the name. The Pickled Pig! But I miss seeing their precious mascot. That tiny, spotted pig has to be the cutest animal on God’s green earth.”

Jane grinned. “He sure is. But he was getting overwhelmed by so much attention, which is why Tobias and Barbara keep him at home now.”

“Tobias is such a sweet man. He signed copies of his book for me. I’m going to give them to my grandchildren for Christmas.”

The other woman handed Jane her credit card. “Even though we’ve spent enough money today, we might get some coffee from the Canvas Creamery. But only if that annoying whistling person isn’t there.”

Jane gave her a quizzical look. “Whistling person?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Someone with a song stuck in their head. We’ve heard them whistling the same tune over and over all over town. It’s gotten under my skin.”

“We heard them in the market, and again on the street after lunch,” her companion added.

Her friend uttered a self-deprecating laugh and said, “We’re just old and cranky. The silliest things can set us off, which is why we should go get a coffee and a nice gelato. We could both use a little sweetening. Right, Vera?”

Vera grudgingly agreed, and the two women thanked Jane and left.

A few minutes later, Mabel parted the purple curtains and shuffled into the shop, her hands pressed against her lower back. “Thanks for being patient. And for the tea. And for taking care of this mess. Are you ready to try on your costume?”

Jane rose to her tiptoes in excitement, and for the moment, the dead man was forgotten. “I can’t wait!”

In the workroom, Mabel wheeled the clothes rack to the side to reveal a second rack. The items hanging on here were secured in garment bags and labeled with each customer’s name and phone number.

Mabel removed one of the garment bags and laid it down on the worktable. She then gathered up the fabric bolts piled on an empty chair and said, “Slip into that while I put these away.”

When Jane eased the garment bag off and caught sight of her costume, she gasped. “Mabel! This is . . . it’s incredible!”

“Not gonna lie—I’m mighty pleased with how it came out. Don’t try to zip it by yourself. Let me know when you’ve got it on and I’ll zip you up.”

A few minutes later, Jane said, “I’m ready.”

Mabel found Jane. . .