To the Tome of Murder
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Synopsis
Three weeks before Thanksgiving, bookshop owner Addie Greyborne already has a full plate—and a killer on her case . . .
Addie's determined to turn a seemingly ordinary November in coastal Greyborne Harbor into one for the books. The windows of her shop display carefully curated works by American writers, including a rare selection of traditional holiday recipes from the influential nineteenth-century publication Godey's Ladies Magazine. And then there's the town's Civil War-era themed cooking and baking competition, with a hefty cash prize and free publicity going to the winning dish . . .
But when she finds her cousin's boyfriend murdered, a stunned Addie reluctantly realizes she may be the only person who can blow the cover off a grisly crime. With so many unanswered questions surrounding the victim's death, Addie must figure out the strange connection between a mysterious vintage briefcase, the disappearance of a first edition copy of Sarah Josepha Hale's famous nursery rhyme, "Mary Had a Little Lamb," and a dangerously well-read culprit . . .
Release date: October 26, 2021
Publisher: Kensington Cozies
Print pages: 291
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To the Tome of Murder
Lauren Elliott
Addie Greyborne swiped at the condensation on the window and pressed her nose against the cold glass. Her face lit up when Paige Stringer, her assistant manager—who had been following her hand directions—placed the last copy of Louisa May Alcott’s Aunt Jo’s Scrap Bag six-volume set of short stories front and center of the Thanksgiving display. Addie gave her an excited two-thumbs up, clasped the collar of her bulky tunic sweater to halt the biting, damp wind from snaking down her back, and dashed toward the door.
“Brr.” She shivered as she bolted into Beyond the Page, her book and curio shop. The door bells tinkled merrily above her. “It’s really nippy out there.”
“It seems awfully early in the year for all this, doesn’t it?” said Paige, gazing beyond the bay window they were decorating. “It’s still three weeks until Thanksgiving.”
“I know. I was stunned when I woke up this morning to see all that covering Greyborne Harbor.” Addie waved her hand toward the white landscape beyond the door. “And I’m afraid the air smells like we might be in for more snow before the day is done.”
She stamped her numbed feet on the doormat and gazed down past her skinny-legged jeans at her little black booties. “I think it’s time for the winter boots to come out of the closet, too, because these aren’t going to cut it if this is the kind of winter we’re in for.”
A blast of frigid air swirled around Addie as the door opened behind her, and a Yorkipoo scampered in, dragging a tousled redhead through the door. “Slow down,” Serena squealed. “There’s your mommy. See, I didn’t lie to you. Now, you can relax.”
“Where have you two been all this time?” Addie bent down to sweep the excited little fur ball into her arms. She warded off an over-exuberant pink tongue as it lapped at her face. “When you offered to take Pippi for a walk, I had no idea you meant around the entire town.” She chuckled and pushed the little Yorkipoo’s head away from her mouth.
“Well”—Serena unclipped the leash from Pippi’s collar and handed it to Addie—“Auntie Serena took our little friend here shopping. Look at her new booties. Aren’t they just the dearest?” Serena’s weather-mottled face turned a deeper shade of red as she eyed the pink, laced, knee-high leather boots on the little dog’s wriggling paws. “I knew they’d be perfect for her.” She gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. “After all, we have to keep those little tootsies warm and snuggly, don’t we?” she cooed.
“She already had some on, plus she has three more sets at home,” Addie said with a soft laugh, as she fingered the supple leather and slipped them off her little friend’s feet. “But I do admit they are nice ones, so thank you.” She grinned and admired the laced boots in her free hand as she stepped back into the shop to let Serena pass. “Now, tell me something, Mrs. Ludlow.” She eyed her friend warily. “Since your mothering instincts seem to be working on overdrive right now, is there something you want to share with us?”
Serena’s freckles stood out against the rosy blush that made an appearance when her emotions got the best of her and she tried to hide her feelings. Addie knew all her friend’s tells well after the past couple of years. “Is there”—Addie fixed her steadfast gaze on her—“something we should know?”
Serena’s face turned from a winter-chilled ruddy to a piqued shade of crimson. “I . . . um . . . am not sure yet?” She bit her lip and cast her glance downward. “Maybe?” she mumbled, wincing.
“Really?” The booties dropped from Addie’s hand as she seized Serena’s jacket sleeve. “Fantastic! How long? When are you due? Tell us.”
Serena shook her head and raised her gaze to meet Addie’s. “I’m not sure . . . I’ve been too chicken to take the test.”
“Why? Isn’t that something both you and Zach would want to know, now? You know, so you can start planning?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But what?” Addie studied her muted friend’s paling face. “Are you afraid you’re not and don’t want to get your hopes up to have them crushed?”
“No.” Serena twisted her gloves in her hands. “I’m afraid I am, and I don’t—”
“I remember that feeling,” said Paige, gliding up to Serena’s side. “When I was pregnant with Emma, I was terrified to take the test. Torn between dreading I was and what that would mean, you know all the changes it would bring to my life. However, at the same time secretly hoping I was and petrified to discover I wasn’t.” She placed her arm around Serena’s quivering shoulder. “Is that how you’re feeling about it?”
Serena nodded.
Paige leaned her curly blond head on Serena’s shoulder and whispered, “Take your time. It is what it is, test or no test. Then when you’re ready to do it, I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to deal with the results, whatever the outcome.”
“Thanks.” Serena squeezed Paige’s hand. “You’re right. Test or no test, it is what it is no matter what the result.” She slid her jacket off, laid it across a counter stool in front of the antique Victorian bar Addie used as a sales and coffee counter, and gazed back at her friends.
Paige flashed a reassuring smile and Addie shrugged. “Okay, as long as you know we’re here for you regardless of the outcome.”
“I know and thank you. So?” She glanced past Addie toward the window display. “What are the two of you cooking up over there? Need some help?”
Addie glanced back at the window then at Serena. “It’s almost ten. Don’t you have to get next door to SerenaTEA?”
“Nope.” Serena skirted past Addie to the far side bay window and giggled when the wet soles of her boots made mouse-like squeaks as she crossed the polished, wide-planked wooden flooring. “Anyway,” she said glancing down at her boots or huggy things, as Addie called them, “ever since I went on my river cruise honeymoon in England last June, and Elli commandeered her grandmother, Vera, as a volunteer to help her out when you guys all got put in that lockdown, I’ve discovered that my presence really isn’t needed during opening hours.”
“Yes, but that was six months ago.” Paige glanced questioningly at her. “I knew through Elli that her grandmother was still helping out on occasion, but I didn’t know it was a permanent thing.”
“It wasn’t really until recently. But Vera hated being retired,” Serena said. “She even tried to work in the Hollingsworth Real Estate office with her daughter Maggie.”
“I hear that didn’t last long.” Addie chuckled.
“No, those two get on like oil and water. Then Elli told me how miserable her grandmother was now that her services weren’t required in the tea shop, and I was still trying to set up our new house and deal with Zach being home every night.”
“Yeah, but you have to admit,” said Addie, “it must be nice that he’s working full-time day shifts at Doctor Lim’s clinic and doesn’t have to pick up all those evening shifts serving at the Grey Gull Inn anymore. You know, since he’s finished his internship and is a full-on naturopathic doctor.”
“I guess, but who knew having him home every night would be such a change?” Serena said. “Anyway, I was starting to feel overwhelmed with all the changes marriage brought, and I felt pulled in too many directions. So, I asked Vera if she wanted to come back on a paid, part-time basis.”
“Well, I’ll be,” said Paige. “I mean I’ve seen her in there, but I had no idea she was actually on staff now and wasn’t volunteering. Neither she nor Elli said a word about that.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” Serena said. “She still is a volunteer as far as she’s concerned as she has refused to accept any pay for her services, but I think I’m wearing her down. I keep pointing out how she’s jumped in with both feet and has been a true godsend. Her having been born and raised in England, for most of her early years, at least, has made it so easy for me to convert my shop into more of an English teahouse than I ever thought possible. I tell you, those two, Elli and Vera Hollingsworth, have embraced my new vision and have everything running like a well-oiled machine.”
“How does that make you feel? I mean the shop was your dream and your baby . . .” Addie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry, I guess baby was a bad analogy, I didn’t mean to—”
Serena waved her off. “It’s actually been great. It’s given me time to get used to having a man under foot every night, but I’ve managed to keep him busy at least. You know, hanging pictures and rearranging all my new ornaments and the antique furniture I came across.”
“You mean everything you pilfered from my basement and attic?” Addie laughed.
“I had to make sure everything was perfect so it would do that historic craftsman bungalow that we bought from Gloria justice, didn’t I?” she said with a teasing grin. “It appears that your love of everything old has rubbed off on me, finally.”
“Good, maybe you won’t balk this coming spring about going to any garage sales with me.”
“As long as they’re not at any haunted houses, it shouldn’t be a problem,” Serena said with a wry smile.
“Does this mean you’re a lady of leisure now,” Paige asked, pulling a trolley piled with books closer to the window display.
“Not really. I still go in to make up the special-order tea blends and do up all the packaging and bookkeeping, so it’s not like I’m never there. I just am not pressured to be there all the time.” She leaned against an end-unit bookcase. A faint smile touched her lips.
“What’s the smile for?” asked Addie.
“It’s also given me time to learn how to cook real meals, not just desserts and pastries for the shop, and I think Zach likes us not eating out all the time,” she said with a little snigger. “I know he’s gained a couple of pounds recently anyway.”
“Does that mean you’re entering this?” Paige fished a piece of paper out of a binder on the book trolley and thrust it into her hand.
Serena glanced down at the brightly colored brochure announcing the annual MAKE IT - BAKE IT FOOD MARKET cooking and baking competition and handed it back to Paige. “Yup, why not. I thought I’d throw my hat in and see what happens.”
“Good for you,” said Addie, pulling a copy of Sarah Josepha Hale’s 1827 edition of Northwood: A Tale of New England from the cart. “You asked what we’re cooking up, and this is it.”
Serena glanced at the book and then blankly at Addie.
“This”—Addie pointed to the brochure—“where it says the theme for the competition is to be authentic Civil War Thanksgiving dinner dishes and desserts.”
Serena pointed to the book in Addie’s hand. “So that is a Civil War recipe book?”
“No, not really. This is more like an entertaining editorial account that addresses the differences in lifestyle between people living in the North and South. However, it does include an entire chapter about a farming family in New Hampshire and their Thanksgiving meal.” Addie waved toward the window display. “The point is, the displays are going to feature books and magazine articles from the Civil War period.”
“The same period,” Paige piped in, “that has been selected by the Essex County Association Chapter of the Massachusetts Historical Society, who, by the way, is sponsoring this year’s weekend food festival and selected the theme for all the recipes entered.”
Serena gulped. “I didn’t realize when I read this that all the dishes entered had to be from that era.”
Paige nodded.
“Did you guys happen to come across any recipes books then?” Serena looked from Paige to Addie hopefully.
“As a matter of fact . . .” Addie swung around and darted to the counter, tore the brown paper wrapping off a package, and slid out a stack of posters. “These might be of interest to you since it’s clear”—she glanced back over her shoulder at Serena and gave her a knowing smile—“that you haven’t selected a recipe yet.” She spun around and displayed a full-colored sketch of an old-fashioned dinner table setting.
Serena fingered the semi-gloss poster. “Nice, but how will this help me?”
Addie slid the next poster to the front. “Because there are also copies of authentic Civil War recipes from the Godey’s Lady’s Book in here that my friend Barbara sent me from the Boston Library collection.”
Serena’s eyes filled with confusion as she glanced from the poster to Addie.
Addie grinned and laid out the posters across the counter. “Godey’s Lady’s Magazine or Godey’s Lady’s Book, as it is often referred to, was a Philadelphia-based monthly magazine that was in production from 1830 to 1878. For forty years, the magazine was edited by Sarah Josepha Hale, the same woman who wrote Northwood, that book I showed you. She also wrote many of the magazines articles, like this one.” Addie pointed to one about Thanksgiving.
“Yes,” said Paige, joining them, “but you might know her better as the author credited for writing the nursery rhyme, ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ ”
Serena nodded. “That I have heard of, but I don’t think I ever thought too much about who wrote it.”
“Most people don’t,” said Addie. “It’s just one of those nursery rhymes we all grow up knowing but aren’t aware of the history behind them.”
“Addie was telling me earlier that there was some scandal about that, too,” said Paige.
“Really?” Serena’s eyes widened as she glanced over the posters. “There was a scandal over a nursery rhyme?”
Paige nodded. “Yup, it seems it may have been really written by a young boy about his friend Mary Sawyer’s lamb that actually did follow her to school one day.”
“Yes,” said Addie, “but that was never actually proven because by the time Mary Sawyer made the claim, the poem was so well known that most people could recite it by heart. The case never held up in court.”
“Interesting.” Serena nodded. “But it really doesn’t help me come up with an authentic Civil War recipe that’s going to knock the socks off the judges and guarantee me the winning prize of five thousand dollars and . . . an article featuring my tea shop in the Christmas edition of the historical society’s newsletter, does it?” she said, searching through the stack of posters.
“No it doesn’t,” Addie said laughingly. “It’s just something interesting about the woman behind this incredible magazine. Who also, by the way, relentlessly petitioned Abraham Lincoln to sign an executive order proclaiming Thanksgiving a permanent holiday.”
“What about the pilgrims?” exclaimed Serena, her face reflecting the disbelief in her voice. “Wasn’t it celebrated before that because of them?”
“Yes, originally,” said Addie, “but mainly in the northern states because the South didn’t trust anything northerners celebrated and even then, it was all very erratic with a different date being set by each state governor.”
“So the South didn’t have Thanksgiving?”
“Not so much before the proclamation I don’t think,” said Addie. “That didn’t happen until the country became so decimated by the continuation of the Civil War, that finally Secretary of State William Seward, along with a lot of prompting by Sarah Josepha Hale and the articles she wrote for her Godey’s Lady’s Book, convinced Lincoln that something had to be done to try to reunite a fractured nation.”
“Yeah,” added Paige, “and I read that it wasn’t until October of 1863 that Lincoln proclaimed a national holiday to be observed on the last Thursday of November. You know, in the hope that it would help bring the nation and families together again after the war.”
“Wow, she sounds like an amazing woman, and fairly influential given the times.” Serena glanced down at the posters. “Can I look through these to see if there’s something I can use?”
“Sure, take your time. Paige and I have to finish the window display before we start tacking those up around the shop anyway.”
“Great, thanks.” Serena grinned and plopped down on a stool before scanning the images. “Some of these are just fashion pictures from that period.”
“Yeah, but keep digging. There are recipes in the pile too. Barbara wasn’t sure exactly of my vision for the display, so she threw in a little of everything.”
Addie scooped up the books on the counter to make room for the sketches, and Serena discarded the ones that weren’t relevant. She paused and glanced at her cell phone vibrating on the counter beside the shop landline where she had placed it earlier. Hudson’s Creations on Main flashed across the screen.
“Is that the dashing Doctor Simon Emerson calling to check up on you?” Paige said, laughing from where she was sorting through books on the trolley by the window display.
“No.” Addie chuckled and reached for her phone. “Unfortunately, it’s only my cousin.”
“Before you answer that,” said Paige, “wanna make a bet she’s calling to tell you that she broke a nail and can’t make the sweet-potato casserole you assigned as her contribution to our group Thanksgiving dinner?”
“I want a piece of that bet.” Serena chuckled.
“Quiet, both of you.” Addie shushed them with a wave of her hand and grabbed the phone. “Hi, Kalea, what’s up? . . . Wait, slow down . . . I can’t understand you . . . what? Who? No, I can’t make out what you’re saying. Calm down . . . Where? Never mind I’ll be right there.”
Addie flew up the back stairs in the alley behind her cousin’s dress shop and pulled on the door handle. It didn’t budge. She pounded on the unyielding door with her fist. No answer. She pounded again and felt a distinct thudding of a bass drum through the vibration of the steel door under her hand. She banged harder and winced when pain shot through her arm. It was no use. The thudding music blasting from inside was just too loud.
Her cousin’s last cryptic words to her rang clearly in her memory. She hopped back into her red-and-white Mini Cooper, threw it in reverse, raced down the alley, turned onto the front side of Main Street, and came to a skidding halt on the slush-covered roadway in front of the dress shop. She flew out of the car, yanked on the store’s front door handle to no avail, and hammered on the glass. Pressing her face to the window, she desperately sought out signs of life from inside.
Her cousin glanced up from where she sat on the floor by the sales counter, stumbled to her feet, and staggered to the door. When it opened, Addie was hit by a wall of crescendoing symphony music. She threw her hands over her ears, sprinted across the marble floor to the stereo unit behind the u-shaped sales counter, switched it off, and turned back to her cousin, who still stood beside the door. Her face was gray and haggard.
“Kalea, what’s going on, and what’s with the music?”
Kalea’s unseeing eyes met Addie’s. She didn’t say a word but pointed toward the counter.
Addie took a quick look around the sales desk and shrugged. “But you said something about a murder, or did I hear you wrong? Were you robbed?” She glanced at the closed till.
Kalea shook her head and pointed again.
Confused, Addie stepped around the open end of the counter and focused her gaze in the direction her cousin had indicated and promptly tripped over a purse from the display table lying on the floor. She gingerly stepped over another and then another. She scanned the sales floor area to her left. Handbags from the center display stand weren’t the only things littering the floor. Most of the shoes from the wall rack on the far side were also strewn across the floor. She glanced back questioningly at her cousin, and the fear that swelled in Kalea’s hazel eyes made Addie’s skin prickle.
In her whole life, Addie had never seen her usually flippant, high-spirited cousin in this condition, and it worried her. What was around the end of the counter in the small customer sitting area that had her on edge like this? She tiptoed to the counter, afraid of what might meet her. Addie gasped and danced a step backward. There on the floor was Jared Munroe, Kalea’s boyfriend—a broken plastic clothes hanger protruding precariously from his lower chest. Addie grabbed the wall for support but missed and tumbled into a dress rack trolley.
Frenzied, she clawed at the dresses, which tore away from their hangers. Pawing them from her face, she pushed the mound of brightly colored prints off her and wobbled to her feet. Her heart pounded out a staccato beat against her chest wall in pure rebellion to the horror she now couldn’t unsee. Kalea, now lying in a heap on the floor by the door, sniveled.
“Kalea.” She raced to her side. “What happened?” Addie sat her up and shook her shoulders. “Who did this?”
Kalea’s head flopped to the side, and large tears rolled from her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she hoarsely whispered.
“Did you see anything?”
Kalea didn’t answer.
“I said, did you see anything?” Addie shook Kalea’s shoulders again. Her cousin’s head straightened, and her gaze locked on Addie’s.
“No,” she replied meekly.
Addie relaxed her grip on Kalea’s shoulders, sat back on her haunches, took a series of deep, head-clearing breaths, and studied her cousin’s anguished face. “Okay,” Addie said, “tell me exactly what you do know.”
Kalea’s detached gaze traveled back toward the sitting area she had created for spouses, friends, and family members to wait while her ladies tried on outfits.
Addie took both Kalea’s hands in hers, forcing her cousin to look back at her. “Start at the beginning, and tell me exactly what happened?”
“I don’t know,” she finally said, stifling a sob. “Jared stayed with me last night upstairs in my apartment. He said he had an early meeting this morning in Salem, so if he was gone when I got up, not to worry.” She broke into heartfelt sobs, and her fingers tightened their grip on Addie’s.
“Take your time,” Addie whispered. “What happened then, after you got up?”
Kalea pushed a tangled mass of auburn hair from her face, wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, and sucked in a noisy breath. “I didn’t think twice about it and got ready to come down to work as usual to open at ten. When I got to the foot of the stairs and came around the corner onto the sales floor—” She glanced back at the far end of the counter and shuddered. “That’s when, that’s when . . .” She pulled her hands away from Addie’s. A bandage on her finger snagged on Addie’s bracelet, and Kalea tugged her hand away, revealing a gaping wound across its tip.
“Ouch,” said Addie, “that looks sore. Are you okay?”
“I guess,” Kalea said, gazing at her hand as though she was seeing it for the first time.
“Good.” Addie massaged her temples. “So you didn’t see anything or anyone, right?”
Kalea shook her head. “I didn’t know what to do, so I called y. . .
“Brr.” She shivered as she bolted into Beyond the Page, her book and curio shop. The door bells tinkled merrily above her. “It’s really nippy out there.”
“It seems awfully early in the year for all this, doesn’t it?” said Paige, gazing beyond the bay window they were decorating. “It’s still three weeks until Thanksgiving.”
“I know. I was stunned when I woke up this morning to see all that covering Greyborne Harbor.” Addie waved her hand toward the white landscape beyond the door. “And I’m afraid the air smells like we might be in for more snow before the day is done.”
She stamped her numbed feet on the doormat and gazed down past her skinny-legged jeans at her little black booties. “I think it’s time for the winter boots to come out of the closet, too, because these aren’t going to cut it if this is the kind of winter we’re in for.”
A blast of frigid air swirled around Addie as the door opened behind her, and a Yorkipoo scampered in, dragging a tousled redhead through the door. “Slow down,” Serena squealed. “There’s your mommy. See, I didn’t lie to you. Now, you can relax.”
“Where have you two been all this time?” Addie bent down to sweep the excited little fur ball into her arms. She warded off an over-exuberant pink tongue as it lapped at her face. “When you offered to take Pippi for a walk, I had no idea you meant around the entire town.” She chuckled and pushed the little Yorkipoo’s head away from her mouth.
“Well”—Serena unclipped the leash from Pippi’s collar and handed it to Addie—“Auntie Serena took our little friend here shopping. Look at her new booties. Aren’t they just the dearest?” Serena’s weather-mottled face turned a deeper shade of red as she eyed the pink, laced, knee-high leather boots on the little dog’s wriggling paws. “I knew they’d be perfect for her.” She gave the dog a scratch behind the ear. “After all, we have to keep those little tootsies warm and snuggly, don’t we?” she cooed.
“She already had some on, plus she has three more sets at home,” Addie said with a soft laugh, as she fingered the supple leather and slipped them off her little friend’s feet. “But I do admit they are nice ones, so thank you.” She grinned and admired the laced boots in her free hand as she stepped back into the shop to let Serena pass. “Now, tell me something, Mrs. Ludlow.” She eyed her friend warily. “Since your mothering instincts seem to be working on overdrive right now, is there something you want to share with us?”
Serena’s freckles stood out against the rosy blush that made an appearance when her emotions got the best of her and she tried to hide her feelings. Addie knew all her friend’s tells well after the past couple of years. “Is there”—Addie fixed her steadfast gaze on her—“something we should know?”
Serena’s face turned from a winter-chilled ruddy to a piqued shade of crimson. “I . . . um . . . am not sure yet?” She bit her lip and cast her glance downward. “Maybe?” she mumbled, wincing.
“Really?” The booties dropped from Addie’s hand as she seized Serena’s jacket sleeve. “Fantastic! How long? When are you due? Tell us.”
Serena shook her head and raised her gaze to meet Addie’s. “I’m not sure . . . I’ve been too chicken to take the test.”
“Why? Isn’t that something both you and Zach would want to know, now? You know, so you can start planning?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But what?” Addie studied her muted friend’s paling face. “Are you afraid you’re not and don’t want to get your hopes up to have them crushed?”
“No.” Serena twisted her gloves in her hands. “I’m afraid I am, and I don’t—”
“I remember that feeling,” said Paige, gliding up to Serena’s side. “When I was pregnant with Emma, I was terrified to take the test. Torn between dreading I was and what that would mean, you know all the changes it would bring to my life. However, at the same time secretly hoping I was and petrified to discover I wasn’t.” She placed her arm around Serena’s quivering shoulder. “Is that how you’re feeling about it?”
Serena nodded.
Paige leaned her curly blond head on Serena’s shoulder and whispered, “Take your time. It is what it is, test or no test. Then when you’re ready to do it, I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to deal with the results, whatever the outcome.”
“Thanks.” Serena squeezed Paige’s hand. “You’re right. Test or no test, it is what it is no matter what the result.” She slid her jacket off, laid it across a counter stool in front of the antique Victorian bar Addie used as a sales and coffee counter, and gazed back at her friends.
Paige flashed a reassuring smile and Addie shrugged. “Okay, as long as you know we’re here for you regardless of the outcome.”
“I know and thank you. So?” She glanced past Addie toward the window display. “What are the two of you cooking up over there? Need some help?”
Addie glanced back at the window then at Serena. “It’s almost ten. Don’t you have to get next door to SerenaTEA?”
“Nope.” Serena skirted past Addie to the far side bay window and giggled when the wet soles of her boots made mouse-like squeaks as she crossed the polished, wide-planked wooden flooring. “Anyway,” she said glancing down at her boots or huggy things, as Addie called them, “ever since I went on my river cruise honeymoon in England last June, and Elli commandeered her grandmother, Vera, as a volunteer to help her out when you guys all got put in that lockdown, I’ve discovered that my presence really isn’t needed during opening hours.”
“Yes, but that was six months ago.” Paige glanced questioningly at her. “I knew through Elli that her grandmother was still helping out on occasion, but I didn’t know it was a permanent thing.”
“It wasn’t really until recently. But Vera hated being retired,” Serena said. “She even tried to work in the Hollingsworth Real Estate office with her daughter Maggie.”
“I hear that didn’t last long.” Addie chuckled.
“No, those two get on like oil and water. Then Elli told me how miserable her grandmother was now that her services weren’t required in the tea shop, and I was still trying to set up our new house and deal with Zach being home every night.”
“Yeah, but you have to admit,” said Addie, “it must be nice that he’s working full-time day shifts at Doctor Lim’s clinic and doesn’t have to pick up all those evening shifts serving at the Grey Gull Inn anymore. You know, since he’s finished his internship and is a full-on naturopathic doctor.”
“I guess, but who knew having him home every night would be such a change?” Serena said. “Anyway, I was starting to feel overwhelmed with all the changes marriage brought, and I felt pulled in too many directions. So, I asked Vera if she wanted to come back on a paid, part-time basis.”
“Well, I’ll be,” said Paige. “I mean I’ve seen her in there, but I had no idea she was actually on staff now and wasn’t volunteering. Neither she nor Elli said a word about that.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” Serena said. “She still is a volunteer as far as she’s concerned as she has refused to accept any pay for her services, but I think I’m wearing her down. I keep pointing out how she’s jumped in with both feet and has been a true godsend. Her having been born and raised in England, for most of her early years, at least, has made it so easy for me to convert my shop into more of an English teahouse than I ever thought possible. I tell you, those two, Elli and Vera Hollingsworth, have embraced my new vision and have everything running like a well-oiled machine.”
“How does that make you feel? I mean the shop was your dream and your baby . . .” Addie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Sorry, I guess baby was a bad analogy, I didn’t mean to—”
Serena waved her off. “It’s actually been great. It’s given me time to get used to having a man under foot every night, but I’ve managed to keep him busy at least. You know, hanging pictures and rearranging all my new ornaments and the antique furniture I came across.”
“You mean everything you pilfered from my basement and attic?” Addie laughed.
“I had to make sure everything was perfect so it would do that historic craftsman bungalow that we bought from Gloria justice, didn’t I?” she said with a teasing grin. “It appears that your love of everything old has rubbed off on me, finally.”
“Good, maybe you won’t balk this coming spring about going to any garage sales with me.”
“As long as they’re not at any haunted houses, it shouldn’t be a problem,” Serena said with a wry smile.
“Does this mean you’re a lady of leisure now,” Paige asked, pulling a trolley piled with books closer to the window display.
“Not really. I still go in to make up the special-order tea blends and do up all the packaging and bookkeeping, so it’s not like I’m never there. I just am not pressured to be there all the time.” She leaned against an end-unit bookcase. A faint smile touched her lips.
“What’s the smile for?” asked Addie.
“It’s also given me time to learn how to cook real meals, not just desserts and pastries for the shop, and I think Zach likes us not eating out all the time,” she said with a little snigger. “I know he’s gained a couple of pounds recently anyway.”
“Does that mean you’re entering this?” Paige fished a piece of paper out of a binder on the book trolley and thrust it into her hand.
Serena glanced down at the brightly colored brochure announcing the annual MAKE IT - BAKE IT FOOD MARKET cooking and baking competition and handed it back to Paige. “Yup, why not. I thought I’d throw my hat in and see what happens.”
“Good for you,” said Addie, pulling a copy of Sarah Josepha Hale’s 1827 edition of Northwood: A Tale of New England from the cart. “You asked what we’re cooking up, and this is it.”
Serena glanced at the book and then blankly at Addie.
“This”—Addie pointed to the brochure—“where it says the theme for the competition is to be authentic Civil War Thanksgiving dinner dishes and desserts.”
Serena pointed to the book in Addie’s hand. “So that is a Civil War recipe book?”
“No, not really. This is more like an entertaining editorial account that addresses the differences in lifestyle between people living in the North and South. However, it does include an entire chapter about a farming family in New Hampshire and their Thanksgiving meal.” Addie waved toward the window display. “The point is, the displays are going to feature books and magazine articles from the Civil War period.”
“The same period,” Paige piped in, “that has been selected by the Essex County Association Chapter of the Massachusetts Historical Society, who, by the way, is sponsoring this year’s weekend food festival and selected the theme for all the recipes entered.”
Serena gulped. “I didn’t realize when I read this that all the dishes entered had to be from that era.”
Paige nodded.
“Did you guys happen to come across any recipes books then?” Serena looked from Paige to Addie hopefully.
“As a matter of fact . . .” Addie swung around and darted to the counter, tore the brown paper wrapping off a package, and slid out a stack of posters. “These might be of interest to you since it’s clear”—she glanced back over her shoulder at Serena and gave her a knowing smile—“that you haven’t selected a recipe yet.” She spun around and displayed a full-colored sketch of an old-fashioned dinner table setting.
Serena fingered the semi-gloss poster. “Nice, but how will this help me?”
Addie slid the next poster to the front. “Because there are also copies of authentic Civil War recipes from the Godey’s Lady’s Book in here that my friend Barbara sent me from the Boston Library collection.”
Serena’s eyes filled with confusion as she glanced from the poster to Addie.
Addie grinned and laid out the posters across the counter. “Godey’s Lady’s Magazine or Godey’s Lady’s Book, as it is often referred to, was a Philadelphia-based monthly magazine that was in production from 1830 to 1878. For forty years, the magazine was edited by Sarah Josepha Hale, the same woman who wrote Northwood, that book I showed you. She also wrote many of the magazines articles, like this one.” Addie pointed to one about Thanksgiving.
“Yes,” said Paige, joining them, “but you might know her better as the author credited for writing the nursery rhyme, ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ ”
Serena nodded. “That I have heard of, but I don’t think I ever thought too much about who wrote it.”
“Most people don’t,” said Addie. “It’s just one of those nursery rhymes we all grow up knowing but aren’t aware of the history behind them.”
“Addie was telling me earlier that there was some scandal about that, too,” said Paige.
“Really?” Serena’s eyes widened as she glanced over the posters. “There was a scandal over a nursery rhyme?”
Paige nodded. “Yup, it seems it may have been really written by a young boy about his friend Mary Sawyer’s lamb that actually did follow her to school one day.”
“Yes,” said Addie, “but that was never actually proven because by the time Mary Sawyer made the claim, the poem was so well known that most people could recite it by heart. The case never held up in court.”
“Interesting.” Serena nodded. “But it really doesn’t help me come up with an authentic Civil War recipe that’s going to knock the socks off the judges and guarantee me the winning prize of five thousand dollars and . . . an article featuring my tea shop in the Christmas edition of the historical society’s newsletter, does it?” she said, searching through the stack of posters.
“No it doesn’t,” Addie said laughingly. “It’s just something interesting about the woman behind this incredible magazine. Who also, by the way, relentlessly petitioned Abraham Lincoln to sign an executive order proclaiming Thanksgiving a permanent holiday.”
“What about the pilgrims?” exclaimed Serena, her face reflecting the disbelief in her voice. “Wasn’t it celebrated before that because of them?”
“Yes, originally,” said Addie, “but mainly in the northern states because the South didn’t trust anything northerners celebrated and even then, it was all very erratic with a different date being set by each state governor.”
“So the South didn’t have Thanksgiving?”
“Not so much before the proclamation I don’t think,” said Addie. “That didn’t happen until the country became so decimated by the continuation of the Civil War, that finally Secretary of State William Seward, along with a lot of prompting by Sarah Josepha Hale and the articles she wrote for her Godey’s Lady’s Book, convinced Lincoln that something had to be done to try to reunite a fractured nation.”
“Yeah,” added Paige, “and I read that it wasn’t until October of 1863 that Lincoln proclaimed a national holiday to be observed on the last Thursday of November. You know, in the hope that it would help bring the nation and families together again after the war.”
“Wow, she sounds like an amazing woman, and fairly influential given the times.” Serena glanced down at the posters. “Can I look through these to see if there’s something I can use?”
“Sure, take your time. Paige and I have to finish the window display before we start tacking those up around the shop anyway.”
“Great, thanks.” Serena grinned and plopped down on a stool before scanning the images. “Some of these are just fashion pictures from that period.”
“Yeah, but keep digging. There are recipes in the pile too. Barbara wasn’t sure exactly of my vision for the display, so she threw in a little of everything.”
Addie scooped up the books on the counter to make room for the sketches, and Serena discarded the ones that weren’t relevant. She paused and glanced at her cell phone vibrating on the counter beside the shop landline where she had placed it earlier. Hudson’s Creations on Main flashed across the screen.
“Is that the dashing Doctor Simon Emerson calling to check up on you?” Paige said, laughing from where she was sorting through books on the trolley by the window display.
“No.” Addie chuckled and reached for her phone. “Unfortunately, it’s only my cousin.”
“Before you answer that,” said Paige, “wanna make a bet she’s calling to tell you that she broke a nail and can’t make the sweet-potato casserole you assigned as her contribution to our group Thanksgiving dinner?”
“I want a piece of that bet.” Serena chuckled.
“Quiet, both of you.” Addie shushed them with a wave of her hand and grabbed the phone. “Hi, Kalea, what’s up? . . . Wait, slow down . . . I can’t understand you . . . what? Who? No, I can’t make out what you’re saying. Calm down . . . Where? Never mind I’ll be right there.”
Addie flew up the back stairs in the alley behind her cousin’s dress shop and pulled on the door handle. It didn’t budge. She pounded on the unyielding door with her fist. No answer. She pounded again and felt a distinct thudding of a bass drum through the vibration of the steel door under her hand. She banged harder and winced when pain shot through her arm. It was no use. The thudding music blasting from inside was just too loud.
Her cousin’s last cryptic words to her rang clearly in her memory. She hopped back into her red-and-white Mini Cooper, threw it in reverse, raced down the alley, turned onto the front side of Main Street, and came to a skidding halt on the slush-covered roadway in front of the dress shop. She flew out of the car, yanked on the store’s front door handle to no avail, and hammered on the glass. Pressing her face to the window, she desperately sought out signs of life from inside.
Her cousin glanced up from where she sat on the floor by the sales counter, stumbled to her feet, and staggered to the door. When it opened, Addie was hit by a wall of crescendoing symphony music. She threw her hands over her ears, sprinted across the marble floor to the stereo unit behind the u-shaped sales counter, switched it off, and turned back to her cousin, who still stood beside the door. Her face was gray and haggard.
“Kalea, what’s going on, and what’s with the music?”
Kalea’s unseeing eyes met Addie’s. She didn’t say a word but pointed toward the counter.
Addie took a quick look around the sales desk and shrugged. “But you said something about a murder, or did I hear you wrong? Were you robbed?” She glanced at the closed till.
Kalea shook her head and pointed again.
Confused, Addie stepped around the open end of the counter and focused her gaze in the direction her cousin had indicated and promptly tripped over a purse from the display table lying on the floor. She gingerly stepped over another and then another. She scanned the sales floor area to her left. Handbags from the center display stand weren’t the only things littering the floor. Most of the shoes from the wall rack on the far side were also strewn across the floor. She glanced back questioningly at her cousin, and the fear that swelled in Kalea’s hazel eyes made Addie’s skin prickle.
In her whole life, Addie had never seen her usually flippant, high-spirited cousin in this condition, and it worried her. What was around the end of the counter in the small customer sitting area that had her on edge like this? She tiptoed to the counter, afraid of what might meet her. Addie gasped and danced a step backward. There on the floor was Jared Munroe, Kalea’s boyfriend—a broken plastic clothes hanger protruding precariously from his lower chest. Addie grabbed the wall for support but missed and tumbled into a dress rack trolley.
Frenzied, she clawed at the dresses, which tore away from their hangers. Pawing them from her face, she pushed the mound of brightly colored prints off her and wobbled to her feet. Her heart pounded out a staccato beat against her chest wall in pure rebellion to the horror she now couldn’t unsee. Kalea, now lying in a heap on the floor by the door, sniveled.
“Kalea.” She raced to her side. “What happened?” Addie sat her up and shook her shoulders. “Who did this?”
Kalea’s head flopped to the side, and large tears rolled from her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks. “I don’t know,” she hoarsely whispered.
“Did you see anything?”
Kalea didn’t answer.
“I said, did you see anything?” Addie shook Kalea’s shoulders again. Her cousin’s head straightened, and her gaze locked on Addie’s.
“No,” she replied meekly.
Addie relaxed her grip on Kalea’s shoulders, sat back on her haunches, took a series of deep, head-clearing breaths, and studied her cousin’s anguished face. “Okay,” Addie said, “tell me exactly what you do know.”
Kalea’s detached gaze traveled back toward the sitting area she had created for spouses, friends, and family members to wait while her ladies tried on outfits.
Addie took both Kalea’s hands in hers, forcing her cousin to look back at her. “Start at the beginning, and tell me exactly what happened?”
“I don’t know,” she finally said, stifling a sob. “Jared stayed with me last night upstairs in my apartment. He said he had an early meeting this morning in Salem, so if he was gone when I got up, not to worry.” She broke into heartfelt sobs, and her fingers tightened their grip on Addie’s.
“Take your time,” Addie whispered. “What happened then, after you got up?”
Kalea pushed a tangled mass of auburn hair from her face, wiped her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, and sucked in a noisy breath. “I didn’t think twice about it and got ready to come down to work as usual to open at ten. When I got to the foot of the stairs and came around the corner onto the sales floor—” She glanced back at the far end of the counter and shuddered. “That’s when, that’s when . . .” She pulled her hands away from Addie’s. A bandage on her finger snagged on Addie’s bracelet, and Kalea tugged her hand away, revealing a gaping wound across its tip.
“Ouch,” said Addie, “that looks sore. Are you okay?”
“I guess,” Kalea said, gazing at her hand as though she was seeing it for the first time.
“Good.” Addie massaged her temples. “So you didn’t see anything or anyone, right?”
Kalea shook her head. “I didn’t know what to do, so I called y. . .
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To the Tome of Murder
Lauren Elliott
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