Proof of Murder

Book 4: Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery

by Lauren Elliott

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Bookshop owner Addie Greyborne must solve a locked-room murder in a supposedly haunted mansion to recover a priceless Sherlock Holmes original . . .



The seaside New England town of Greyborne Harbor is home to many grand estates, including the Queen Anne Victorian Addie inherited from her great aunt. Now one of those mansions is holding an estate sale, which is just what the bookshop owner needs to replenish her supply of rare editions—even if the house is rumored to be haunted. Assisting an overwhelmed insurance appraiser with the inventory, Addie discovers an 1887 magazine containing Arthur Conan Doyle's first Sherlock Holmes novel, A Study in Scarlet, which she estimates to be worth over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

But when Addie later finds the appraiser dead in the estate's private library, with the door bolted from the inside, and the priceless edition missing, it's a mystery worthy of the Great Detective himself. She's certain the death and the robbery are connected—but who, other than a ghost who can walk through walls, could have gotten in to do the deed? It's up to Addie to find the key to the crime—before she's the next one cornered by a killer . . .

Release date: April 28, 2020

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Addison Greyborne stepped into the warm, New England morning, closing the front door of Beyond the Page, her book and curio shop, behind her. Her heart skipped a beat when the scent of the briny tang of the sea niggled at her nose. She licked her lips, savoring the taste of the tiny salt crystals on the tip of her tongue. The added aroma of fresh-baked bread from the bakery next door made—in her mind—the perfect start to a day.

In spite of the elation this moment brought her, she couldn’t escape the twang of guilt that tugged at her chest. She had left her shop assistant, Paige Stringer, to sort through and catalogue a large bin of books a customer brought in to be sold on consignment, while she herself went out on this beautiful summer morning for a little adventure. However, one look at Paige’s face through the bay window alleviated Addie’s guilt. It wasn’t often she met another person who matched her own love of books, especially unearthed treasures. At last, someone else she knew who giggled with glee on every new find.

Leaving Paige to dive into the books with Christmas-morning gusto, Addie pressed the papers in her hand close to her chest and critiqued her window displays. The new summer dioramas were starting to come together, but she needed to make certain nothing was overlooked. Since the town council first announced that Greyborne Harbor was going to become a regular port of call for one of the small East Coast cruise ship lines, the whole town was abuzz. Addie’s displays had always been eye-catching but now, with this new onslaught of summer tourism, she needed to step up her game.

The additions of a Barbie beach blanket, umbrella, bicycle, and picnic basket that Paige had borrowed from her daughter Emma’s doll collection were perfect. Now Addie only needed an assortment of classic romance and mystery novels to showcase around the sand-and-water display to complete the scene. Her brief glance into the bin Paige was sorting confirmed she’d have plenty of quick summer beach reads that tourists flocked to, but the stockpile in her aunt’s attic was running low on the classics. She needed to shore up her supply. Crossing her fingers, she hoped her recent run with Lady Luck hadn’t run dry. The yard sale and auction flyer clutched in her hand gave her confidence. That’s it, girl. Stay positive. You’re going to find some wonderful treasures today. She approached the curb and headed toward her red-and-white Mini Cooper parked across the narrow street.

“Stop! Wait right there!”

With her foot hovering over the curb edge, Addie winced and slowly turned toward the one woman she knew was capable of unleashing that ear-splitting screech. “Serena, good morning. I see you’re out and about early today. It’s only nine thirty. Is your morning rush over already?”

“Why?” Serena Chandler, her best friend and local tea merchant, stood on the sidewalk, hands on hips, her big brown, not-so-innocent eyes locked with Addie’s. “Were you hoping to make the great escape without me finding out?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been standing by your window waiting to pounce on me for the last half hour?”

“No, of course not,” Serena shot back. “But I know you, Missy.” She wagged a finger in Addie’s direction. “So I got my eye on you.”

“I was just . . . never mind.” Addie tossed her long-ponytailed head back and gave her best imitation of a heartfelt laugh, which, judging by the look on Serena’s face, was completely unconvincing.

“Is that why you have that girl-gone-crazy look in your eyes right now?” Serena tapped her fingers on her crossed arms.

Sensing Serena’s impatience, Addie confessed. “Yes. I’ll admit it.” She ignored the self-satisfied smile creeping across Serena’s face. “I’m heading out to the same place you warned me not to go to last night.”

“And . . . that’s because you—what? Can’t stay away from a murder scene?”

“Give me a break, Serena. It’s not like those murders at Hill Road House happened yesterday.”

Serena’s mouth dropped. “Did you not hear anything else I said last night?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But you’re forgetting one thing, my friend.” Addie waved off the look of concern written across Serena’s face and started across the road for her car. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” she called back over her shoulder.

A gasp escaped Serena’s lips. “Just don’t call me in the middle of the night when you have nightmares,” she shouted over the engine roar of a passing car.

“Don’t worry about me. It’s you I have concerns about. You seem to be taking this tall tale a little too seriously.” Addie turned and mischievously grinned at a now blotchy, freckle-faced Serena. “Besides, if it’s so haunted, why wasn’t it included in the annual Ghost Walk tour that was held in the spring?” She chuckled softly as she fit her key in the lock and flung her car door open. “While I’m there,” she called over her shoulder, “I’ll be sure to pick up a copy of The Haunting of Hill House. After all, if the estate is as riddled with ghosts as you say it is, I’m confident I’ll find a copy of it there somewhere.”

“Nice try, but I’m a classic film nut, remember.” Serena’s voice rose in pitch to a warbled quiver. “So I know that’s a movie not a book.”

“Yes . . . and it was based on the book by Shirley Jackson.” Addie grinned over her shoulder at her friend whose face now matched her flaming red hair. Serena’s freckles popped out as they did any time her emotions ran high. Addie wondered if she should tell Serena that it was happening again but had second thoughts about that when Serena snorted and flared her nostrils. It was probably best not to poke the bear anymore this morning, so she bit her tongue, tossed the flyer and her bag—a straw satchel—on the passenger seat of her car, and slid into her seat to the thwack of Serena TEA’s door banging shut.

Addie shook her head at her theatrical friend and inched out of her parking space—and slammed down hard on the brake as a white Lexus LS passed mere inches from her side panel. Her purse flew off the seat and smacked against the console, the contents tumbling haphazardly to the floor. Her hands still tight around the steering wheel, she glared at the car, then took a calming breath and did a double shoulder check. She was certain she’d done that on her first attempt to pull out, but maybe she hadn’t. Sucking in a breath, she tried again.

At the corner of Main Street, she turned right and headed toward Hill Road. When she reached the top, Addie couldn’t miss the large ESTATE SALE and AUCTION sign on the corner of the lot. The red banner placed diagonally across it promised FOUR DAYS ONLY! As she continued driving, she grumbled at the lack of parking. Bentleys, Hondas, and the occasional moped took up every nook and cranny on the street. It wasn’t even 10 a.m. yet, the advertised start of the broker’s preview. She’d had no idea that an auction in little old Greyborne Harbor would be this well attended. Spying a gap in the parking spaces in front of the main gate to the estate that was just the right size for her Mini, she turned on her blinker to claim the spot.

The same white Lexus that had nearly side-swiped her earlier flew past her and maneuvered into the spot she’d already claimed with her blinker! Addie gritted her teeth and growled, sending a dagger glare to the driver as she passed. It was unfortunate that the car’s tinted windows shielded her ability to garner any sense of self-satisfaction from the act.

Addie drove to the end of the street, slipped into a space, and made her way back on foot to number 555 Hill Road. She fleetingly glowered at the Lexus as she walked past and then paused at the imposing front wrought-iron gate. When she forced the rusted gate to open, the air around her seemed to crackle and moan in defiance. She halted briefly at the bottom of the path and scanned the house, which was very much in the style of her own Queen Anne Victorian. She shivered at the faded paint peeling in swaths, the shutters hanging by one hinge, and the overgrown shrubbery clutching at the rotting porch. Dark storm clouds were beginning to move in and the dilapidated three-story, set against the backdrop of the turbulent sky, caused quivers to race up and down her bare arms. She hugged herself tightly as an unexpected icy windblast sucked at her lungs—the wind’s cold hands twisted at her chest, ensnaring her. This certainly hadn’t turned into a day when no jacket was required. Blowing out a sharp breath, she trotted toward the porch steps.

She tried to clear her mind of the tale Serena had shared with her last night of the infamous house. After all, Serena’s creative imagination made for embellished tall tales. Even so, with every step Addie took to the front door, her heart thudded harder and the tale replayed over and over in her mind. Three people had suffered untimely deaths behind the very walls of this house. The same house she was about to enter. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so flippant in dismissing Serena’s concerns.

Addie bit her quivering bottom lip . . . her right foot alighted on the first porch stair . . . then her left. With each groan of the wooden boards under her feet, another shiver surged through her. The crows cawing at her from the treetops did nothing to ease her mounting fears. Every ghost story she’d read and every horror movie she’d seen flashed like lightning strikes through her mind. She wondered if this was how Lila Crane felt when she was about to enter the Bates house in Alfred Hitchcock’s movie Psycho. Perhaps she was letting her imagination get the best of her. She swallowed. But what if the rumors are actually true?

Addie faced the neglected mahogany door, grasped the weathered handle, heaved out a pent-up breath, and stepped into the foyer. She blinked in the gloominess. The major light sources came from a flickering overhead chandelier and the intermittent beams of sunlight streaming through the open front door. Dust particles shimmered around her, floating in the sporadic sunrays of the growing storm clouds outside. The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled as the musty air closed in around her.

“Good morning,” a gravelly voice whispered from the shadows. “Have you registered?”

Goose bumps erupted on Addie’s arms. She jerked and squinted at the robust woman sitting behind a long, French Provincial table. “Umm, no. I guess I’d better do that.” Addie forced a smile, handing the woman her business card, and wrote her name on the registration sheet. She noted the sign on the desk and stopped. “This sale is being conducted by the Edwards Auction House?” Addie looked up at the dimple-pitted, pudgy-cheeked woman from under her creased brow.

“Yes, it is.” The woman tapped her pen on the registration line. “Have you attended one of the company auctions in the past?” She smiled with satisfaction as Addie took her cue and completed the registration procedure.

“Yes, I have. Blake and I are actually old friends.” Addie’s mood lifted at the prospect of seeing a friendly face from her past in Boston.

She took her nametag and registration number from the woman’s outstretched hand and headed toward the double French doors into the front living room. Not a living room in the sense of her own comfy retreat but a foreboding, formal parlor. There was nothing warm and inviting about this mausoleum of a room currently set up with a hodgepodge of antique tables to display the auction items on.

She eyed some of the other eager bidders as they made their way around the small room, ticking off inventory they found to be acceptable to bid on tomorrow, and smiled to herself. She recognized some from when she had worked at the Boston Library; a few she knew through her late father’s and fiancé’s antiquities retrieval work. She’d had no idea that a small-town auction would attract dealers from as far away as New York. This might prove to be an interesting crowd to bid against.

Addie crossed the foyer, zigzagging around a group of brokers she knew. She made small talk before moving back through the crowd to snag a variety of pamphlets and the auction catalogue she’d missed on her arrival. Even though she’d viewed the catalogue online, she gave the print ones a quick once-over. They appeared to contain the same information as her flyer. Wednesday, today, was the preview for the Private Bidders Auction, which was scheduled to be held the following day. Friday was the Public Silent Auction, and Saturday and Sunday were the Public Outdoor Yard Sale—leftover inventory permitted.

She tossed the material into her oversized straw satchel and headed for the study, across the foyer and opposite the parlor. Inside the small room two keen brokers were discussing the merits of a pedestal-based antique globe that they slowly spun in their hands while examining the etched surface with a magnifying glass. She glanced around the room, noting nothing of interest to her as most of the books on the shelves appeared to be reference journals and encyclopedias. Then her gaze landed on a green-shaded, antique banker’s lamp displayed on a side table alongside a rare Georgian Irish decanter marked WATERLOO CO. CORK, circa 1815.

She blinked. Twice. This was tempting. Even though she knew they would be pricey, she hesitated, but then . . . Nope, she was on a quest and couldn’t allow herself to be sidetracked by all the bright, shiny objects around her. She had another goal on her mind. Addie excused her way through a logjam of people to the library. For her that was where the real treasures would be found.

She stood openmouthed in the double-wide doorway. Now this was a bibliophile’s paradise. Her eyes widened as they took in the splendor of the room. It was everything her own library wasn’t, and she could see now why the front study was half the size of hers. The missing square footage in the other room had been added to this one. This was exactly what she’d always dreamed a home library should be, starting with the large, ornately carved desk set in front of an inglenook fireplace that was flanked on either side by built-in bookshelves that extended floor to ceiling around the perimeter of the massive room. In front of each of the three, lead-pained windows were six leather armchairs placed in groups of twos, each pair snuggled up into cozy reading nooks created by their placement on Oriental throw rugs laid over the polished wooden-planked floor. This was her Disneyland, and her heart danced like that of a ten-year-old girl who had just entered the library in Beauty and the Beast.

She inhaled the stale, dusty, aged-leather scents hovering in the air and stepped inside. An icy chill wrapped around her. Glancing at the large closed windows, she rubbed her hands over her arms and took stock of the bookshelves. In the light of the room—growing muted by the increasing storm clouds outside—she spied a woman crouched down in front of a barrister’s bookcase. The woman shook the unyielding door latch and stood up, her long, wavy, auburn hair swinging across her back. She straightened her embroidered suede bomber jacket and adjusted the sunglasses propped on top of her head, then tapped her bloodred manicured fingernails on the glass door.

Addie squinted. It can’t be. “Kalea Hudson? Is that you?”

The woman swung around. Her face lit up with recognition. “Hi, cuz.”

“What on earth are you doing here?” Addie dashed toward her and flung her arms around Kalea’s neck, squeezing her in a tight hug.

“I was just in the neighborhood.” Kalea squealed, returning her embrace.

“I’m not buying that.” Addie eyed her. “Greyborne Harbor is hardly on a direct route to anywhere, and an auction preview is the last place I’d expect to find you lurking about.”

“What? Can’t a cousin drop into town unannounced?” She shifted her weight onto one beige, skinny-panted hip and fluttered her long false lashes. “And, I’ll have you know”—she flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes—“that I’m not the same party-girl you once knew. I have expanded my horizons.”

“I always did hold out hope that you’d come to your senses.” Addie smiled and held her by the shoulders. “But it’s been years. Since college, if I remember correctly. Why didn’t you call and tell me you were coming to town?”

Kalea’s cheeks rosied against her porcelain complexion. She draped an arm around Addie’s shoulders and squeezed. “I was going to drop in on you after I finished here. You know, a surprise, but it looks like you’ve found me out. So, surprise!”

“Aw, I’ve missed you. Ten years is way too long.”

“I totally agree.” Kalea grinned at her cousin. “But I promise now to keep in better touch since I’ve settled down in Cape Cod—”

“What are you doing in here?” a voice shrieked from the doorway.

Addie spun around and looked at the enraged birdlike woman looming in the door.

“Didn’t you see the door sign?” The woman’s beaked mouth set firm-lipped. “This area is not prepared for viewing.”

Addie glanced at the open door. A NO ENTRY sign was taped on what would have been the exterior side. She could tell by the set of the woman’s jaw that she expected an answer. “I’m terribly sorry. It was open when I came in and I didn’t see—”

“Yes . . . me . . . me, too.” Kalea’s voice faltered.

The woman crossed her long, slender arms in front of her navy two-piece, pencil-skirted suit that cried Saks Fifth Avenue, and flipped her brown, up-swept haired head, tapping her foot, glaring at them. Addie studied the hawkish woman, who peered back at her just as intently—except in the woman’s case, she appeared to be ready to swoop in on her prey. This, and something in her mannerism struck a familiar chord with Addie. She flipped through her mental files but came up empty. Nothing in her recent memories could help her place this woman.

“Addie, I can’t believe it!” A tall, middle-aged man with hair graying at the temples swept past the bird creature in the doorway. “I had no idea you were in Greyborne Harbor,” he said as he rushed over to plant a light kiss on her cheek. “As soon as I saw your name on the registration sheet, I had to come and find you.”

“Blake, it’s great to see you.” Still struggling to place the woman hovering in the door, Addie took one more glance at her before refocusing her attention on her old family friend. “I don’t think it’s been since my father’s funeral, right?”

His lips tightened and he dropped his darkening gaze, nodding. “Well,” he said, apparently shaking off his melancholy, “I see you’ve had the pleasure”—he cleared his throat—“of meeting Charlotte McAdams, co-owner of McAdams Insurance. Our appraisers on this contract.”

A light switch flipped on in Addie’s head, and a smile tickled the corners of her lips. “We never got as far as formal introductions.” Now she knew who the woman was—at least by reputation and observation of her sometimes testy encounters with Addie’s old supervisor at the Boston Library. Part of Charlotte’s reputation was how disagreeable she could be to work with, but no one ever negated her abilities as a topnotch appraiser. Addie couldn’t help but feel a little starstruck and awed in her presence.

“You know these two?” Charlotte glared at Blake.

“Yes, this is Addie Greyborne, the daughter of my dearest and oldest”—he crossed his heart—“friend. And, if I’m not mistaken”—he looked at a silent Kalea—“this is her cousin Kalea Hudson.”

“I’m surprised you remember me, it’s been years.” Kalea blinked in surprise.

“It’s the big hazel-green eyes—they’re the same as Addie’s. One of the many wonderful features she inherited from her beautiful mother, as I’m sure you did from her equally beautiful sister.”

“Umm, thank you.” Kalea hesitantly smiled, glancing from Blake’s beaming face to the piercing birdlike eyes scrutinizing them from the doorway.

Charlotte’s nostrils flared. She stomped her clickity-clack, gray high-heeled shoes across the wooden flooring to the leather chair behind the desk, and noisily began to shuffle a stack of papers. “Well,” her voice sliced the air. “This reunion is touching. However, I have work to finish before the auction tomorrow, so if you don’t mind . . .” She waved her hand. “Take this somewhere else and let me finish up here.”

Blake’s jaw tensed. “Charlotte,” he said, his voice straining to remain level. “My company has used the services of McAdams for over thirty-five years. At no time under the direction of your father were either I or any of my clients ever subjected to such contemptuous treatment. Now apologize to these young women and don’t ever let it happen again.”

Charlotte rose to her feet to meet his narrowed glare as she leaned on the desk toward him. “You do realize, Blake, that we would not be in this mess if you had listened to me a month ago, when I informed you that there wasn’t enough time to appraise and catalogue the contents of this entire property in time for the premature auction date you set.”

“You’ve had well over four months to do a job that would have taken any other insurance team two months to complete. What am I paying you for? The wasted time you’ve spent driving back and forth to Boston to check up on your incompetent brother and so-called partner, Duane?”

“How dare you speak about incompetency, when just this week your crew discovered that”—she pointed to the barrister’s bookcase—“in a storage space in the attic. Something they should have found months ago.”

“And they would have,” Blake’s eyes flashed, “had it not been for all the distractions you and your brother created with the inconsistencies between your appraisals and inventory lists.” The explosion of hatred in Charlotte’s eyes matched Blake’s as his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Remember, my dear, your father is not dead. He’s retired, and he’s only one phone call away. How do you think he will react when I tell him what I suspect the two of you have been up to? Especially when it’s not only his company’s good name you’ve placed in jeopardy, but also mine. And I won’t let you take it down!” He spat out his last words standing tall and formidable. “Since it appears you’ll have a long night of work ahead of you appraising the books in the barrister’s case, I’ll leave you to get started. Just make certain that all of the inventory found in it is accounted for.” He pushed past Addie, without even a glance in her direction, and strode out of the room.

Addie jumped as he slammed the doors behind him.

The tension in the room was stifling. Addie tilted her head toward the red-faced Charlotte, who appeared on the verge of bursting into tears. Addie couldn’t really blame her. Obviously, everyone’s nerves here were on edge as the auction loomed closer but based on what Addie had just witnessed between Charlotte and Blake, she sensed their conflict ran deeper than pre-auction jitters. Her Curious George ears had perked up with a few things that had been said, but meddling in Blake’s private business affairs wasn’t something she could allow herself to get mixed up with. However, ensuring the success of the auction for her old family friend was something she could involve herself in.

She glanced over at the barrister’s case. All her instincts told her that she should help Blake’s auction house retain its sterling reputation, but something gnawed at her and she couldn’t say the w. . .