Murder at Pirate's Cove Read online

  Table of Contents

  What This Book is About

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  MURDER AT PIRATE’S COVE

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  BUY Secret at Skull House

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  VIP Offer

  About the Author

  Also by Josh Lanyon

  Copyright

  First in an adorable new series!

  Ellery Page, aspiring screenwriter, Scrabble champion, and guy-with-worst-luck-in-the-world-when-it-comes-to-dating, is ready to make a change. So when he learns he’s inherited both a failing bookshop and a falling-down mansion in the quaint seaside village of Pirate’s Cove in Rhode Island, it’s full steam ahead!

  Sure enough, the village is charming, its residents amusingly eccentric, and widowed police chief Jack Carson is decidedly yummy (though possibly as straight as he is stern). However, the bookstore is failing, the mansion is falling down, and there’s that little drawback of finding rival bookseller—and head of the unwelcoming-committee—Trevor Maples dead during the annual Buccaneer Days celebration.

  Still, it could be worse. And once Police Chief Carson learns Trevor was killed with the cutlass hanging over the door of Ellery’s bookstore, it is.

  This is dedicated to my dear friend and mod Carlita, who, frankly, embodies the word Dedication.

  Time with so much truth to kill

  Leaves you by the window sill so tied

  Without a wing, to take you high

  Without a clue to tell you why

  “Rolling Home” Peter, Paul and Mary

  MURDER AT PIRATE’S COVE

  Secrets and Scrabble Book 1

  Josh Lanyon

  Prologue

  The damp night air was bracingly cold and, as always, suffused with the distinct ocean smell. Supposedly that seaside scent came from bacteria digesting dead phytoplankton. Ellery had picked that tidbit up that afternoon from a Tripp Ellis thriller.

  The streets were quiet and strangely deserted as he walked back from the pub to the bookstore. His car—well, Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s car, if someone wanted to get technical—was still in the parking lot. Captain’s Seat, Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s decrepit mansion, was about a fifteen-minute drive from the village. Walking distance for someone who hadn’t been on his feet all day and didn’t mind a stroll down a pitch-black country road. None of which described Ellery.

  His thoughts were preoccupied as he turned the corner onto the narrow brick street that held the little bookshop that had brought him to Pirate’s Cove in the first place.

  The tall Victorian buildings cast deep shadows. Most of the storefronts were dark or illuminated only by the faint glow of emergency lights, so he was startled to see the bright yellow oblongs stretching from the tall windows of the Crow’s Nest across the gray pavement.

  That’s weird.

  He was positive he had locked the place up after shutting all the lights off. A larger than usual electricity bill was the last thing he wanted.

  He sped up, his footsteps echoing down the silent street as he hurried toward the Crow’s Nest. He grabbed the doorknob, guiltily recalling that the first words Chief Carson had ever spoken to him concerned replacing the sticky old lock with a new deadbolt. His dismay ratcheted up another notch as the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.

  Oh no.

  No way had he forgotten to lock up. He had lived in New York most of his life, for heaven’s sake. Locking doors was second nature to him. Sure, Pirate’s Cove was a small town, but all you had to do was flip through a couple of titles in the cozy-mystery section to know that evil lurked in the cutest, quaintest corners of the universe.

  “Hello?” he called.

  His uneasy gaze fell on the thing lying just a few feet inside the shop. A purple-plumed tricorn hat. He looked past the hat, and his breath caught. His heart shuddered to a stop.

  “No,” he whispered. “No way…”

  At first glance there appeared to be a drunken pirate passed out on the floor of the Crow’s Nest. His disbelieving eyes took in the glossy boots, black velvet breeches, long, plum-colored coat and gold-trimmed vest, the scarlet lace jabot…

  Scarlet.

  Because the lacy folds were soaked in blood. The same blood slowly spreading around the motionless—terrifyingly motionless—form sprawled on newly sanded hardwood floors.

  He put a hand out to steady himself—except there was nothing to grab—so he stumbled forward, landing on his knees beside the body. He instinctively reached to check for… But there was no need. The eerie stillness of the man’s chest, the glassy stare, the gray and bloodless face… Trevor Maples was dead. Tiny, twin, horror-stricken reflections of himself in those sightless blue eyes.

  He drew back, climbed clumsily to his feet, and staggered out the open door to the uncannily silent street.

  “Help!” he cried. “Help! Murder!”

  One by one, the street’s lamps turned on as residents in the apartments above the shops surrounding the Crow’s Nest woke to the cries of death and disaster. The windows of normally sleepy little Pirate’s Cove lit up like the stars winking overhead.

  Chapter One

  A few hours earlier…

  Ellery Page was thinking of murder.

  Given that he was standing in the middle of a mystery bookstore, maybe that wasn’t surprising.

  Or maybe it was, since he had never expected to be the owner of a bookstore, mystery or otherwise. However, Ellery was not thinking of fictional murders. He was not thinking of locked-room or impossible mysteries, nor romantic suspense (definitely not romantic anything) nor serial-killer thrillers. Nope. He was thinking of picking up the small bronze crow (it was actually a raven, had Great-great-great-aunt Eudora only known) paperweight and conking Trevor Maples over the head.

  “Yes or no?” Trevor demanded, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air of the Crow’s Nest bookshop. It was the middle of the day, and the sunlight off the ocean filtered through the big bay windows of the corner shop, glancing off the row of ships’ lanterns lining the back wall. The light reflecting off the glass, prismed in sea glass flashes of blue and green, created the charming illusion of an undersea grotto.

  Well, it wasn’t all illusion. Financially speaking, the shop was definitely underwater.

  Which was why it made sense to accept Trevor’s offer.

  “Same answer as before,” Ellery replied. “No.”

  No one had ever accused him of being overly sensible.

  “I don’t understand you,” Trevor protested. “You asked for more money. I’ve upped my original offer twice.”

  “I didn’t ask for more money. You said I was holding out for more money and that you wouldn’t raise your offer.”

  Trevor’s buffed, professionally manicured nails beat impatiently against the wooden counter. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Each time his fingertips hit the counter, Ellery tried not to wince. Trevor was, at least in his own opinion, kind of a big deal in Pirate’s Cove. He owned three of the most successful shops in th
e village and was currently the leading candidate for mayor.

  Apparently, the fact that the Crow’s Nest had a few dusty first editions for sale put Ellery in direct competition with Gimcrack Antiques, Trevor’s most successful business enterprise, but Ellery found that hard to believe. The Crow’s Nest had been foundering for a long time. He had to believe there was some other more pressing reason that Trevor was so determined to buy him out. So determined, in fact, that he’d shown up on a Saturday morning, taking time out from his campaigning. This made it his third attempt in as many weeks to buy the Crow’s Nest.

  “You said the shop held no sentimental value for you. You never even met Eudora. What else could you mean besides wanting more money?”

  Trevor looked around at the store as he waited for Ellery’s answer. His lip curled.

  It wasn’t hard to read his mind. Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had died in February, and though Ellery had been working steadily for the last three months, trying to get everything shipshape, you couldn’t undo forty years of dust and disorganization just like that. To add to the challenge, Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had been quite a hoarder during the last few years of her life. Every time Ellery had to go down to the cellar, he feared he would be crushed beneath one of those teetering towers of moldy paperbacks.

  “Well?” Trevor cocked a gingery eyebrow at Ellery. He looked pointedly at his open checkbook.

  “Well what?”

  “What is it you want, if not money?” Tap, tap, tap. Trevor’s fingers drummed across the wood a little faster as his impatience grew.

  “It’s not about money,” Ellery said.

  Trevor drawled, “It’s always about money.”

  And he wasn’t completely wrong. The offer of a ready-made home and business had definitely factored into Ellery’s decision to leave his life in New York. Timing had also been a consideration. Opportunity had knocked in the form of Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s passing, and Ellery had answered.

  Someone behind the tall shelf of espionage and spy thrillers coughed. Ellery hadn’t realized there were any customers in the shop. That was a good sign!

  “So?” Trevor snapped. “What’s it going to be?”

  Ellery didn’t want to get all expansive with Trevor, but he needed these impromptu visits to stop, and maybe he hadn’t been clear enough in their previous conversations. He said, a little apologetically because he did not like confrontation, “The thing is, Mr. Maples, my inheriting this bookstore gave me a chance to start over. I was ready to start fresh, and this is the opportunity I was waiting for. I like Pirate’s Cove. I’m getting to love living in a small town. I even sort of enjoy running a bookstore—”

  “You don’t have to leave Pirate’s Cove,” Trevor interrupted. “I’m not running you out of town. You can stay in the village. You can even stay on in the bookstore, working for me. I can always use good help, and you’ve done an impre—decent job of cleaning out this rat’s nest and getting the shop up and running.”

  What an ass.

  Ellery said firmly, “I’m sorry, the Crow’s Nest is not for sale.” His cheeks hurt with the effort of keeping his pleasant smile up and running.

  Trevor looked as taken aback as if the bronze paperweight had spoken up. His expression hardened. “I see,” he said dryly. “Fine. Name your price. I’ll pay whatever you want. Within reason, of course.”

  Did Trevor really think this was all about negotiating for a better deal? Yeah, he probably did, because that was what he would be doing in Ellery’s place. Anyway, what the heck was his obsession with taking over the Crow’s Nest? Pirate’s Cove was surely large enough to support two antiques shops or two bookstores or two anythings. Especially in the summer, when business picked up. That was the rumor, at least. Business picked up when the weather turned warm and the tourists arrived.

  Of course, if Trevor’s claim that Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had promised to sell to him was true, his frustration with the way things had turned out was understandable. But according to Mr. Landry, Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s lawyer, no such sale had been in the works. In fact, Mr. Landry insisted Great-great-great-aunt Eudora would never have willingly sold to Trevor.

  Maybe it would have been different if Trevor wasn’t so arrogant, so pushy. His offer was a fair one—and this new offer was likely more than fair—and it was true that Ellery had no sentimental attachment to the shop or to the bookselling business. With the money from the sale of the Crow’s Nest he could open another business, maybe even one with a better chance of success. But Trevor was so unpleasant, it made even someone as easygoing as Ellery want to thwart him.

  “That’s very generous, but no.”

  Trevor glowered. “Yes, it is generous. And it’s a limited-time offer.”

  Ellery shrugged.

  “You can’t be serious.” Trevor’s voice rose. “This place is practically falling down around your ears. You don’t know the first thing about running a bookstore. And for all your talk about second chances and loving life in a small town, we both know you’re not going to stick around for long. You don’t belong here.”

  Wow. Really? Trevor was one step from telling him, We don’t take kindly to your sort around these parts!

  Maybe he was right. Maybe it was true. But as much as Ellery didn’t like confrontation, he had a stubborn streak, and the more Trevor insisted he had to sell, the more certain Ellery became that no way was he selling to Trevor.

  “Sorry. I really don’t know what else to tell you. The Crow’s Nest is not for sale. Not now. Not ever.” Not to you. Ellery managed not to say that last aloud, but it was probably in his tone.

  Trevor stared at him for a long moment. “We’ll see,” he said finally. He even smiled. It was not a nice smile. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to change your mind. I suggest you think long and hard about the future. Especially if you’re planning on spending it in my town.”

  The threat was hard to miss. Ellery said nothing. He was thinking Trevor was like the villain in a bad movie—maybe a Hallmark movie because there was no physical threat and even the nonphysical threat was vague. Clearly Trevor believed he had the election in the bag.

  Snidely Whiplash, a.k.a. Trevor, knew better than to waste a good exit line. He turned and headed for the front entrance. The bell tinkled cheerily as he opened the door, and then again as the door banged shut. The antique cutlass hanging above the frame slipped off one of its hooks, and the blade swung down, slicing through the air in a deadly arc.

  Chapter Two

  Ellery stared at the dangling sword and gulped.

  Talk about a lawsuit waiting to happen.

  He left the counter and went to find a hammer and nails, sparing a glance behind the rows of bookshelves. The customer of earlier was gone now, no doubt slipping out unnoticed as Ellery and Trevor’s argument had grown more heated.

  Ellery located a hammer in the office desk drawer, but no nails. He dragged the stool behind the counter out, climbed up to study the hooks over the door. One had nearly worked its way out. Ellery gave it a couple of solid bangs, rehung the cutlass, and jumped down from the stool.

  The rusty blade of the sword was a reminder of how much work still needed to be done in the shop. Never mind the big barn of a house he had inherited along with the business. At least Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had made an effort—however unsuccessful—to maintain order at the Crow’s Nest. The house, a smallish Victorian mansion a few miles outside the village, was literally falling down. In fact, the night before last, a window in the master bedroom had slid right out of its frame and smashed to pieces in the overgrown jungle that had once been the rose garden.

  Maybe he should consider Trevor’s offer. There was no guarantee he could turn the business around, and if he failed, what then? He’d have squandered this windfall on a pipedream. His friends back home in New York all thought he was crazy to take this on—and had had no hesitation in telling him so. And there was no question he missed his old life. H
e missed his friends, he missed the theater, the city, he even occasionally missed Todd.

  Well, maybe not Todd himself, but no question Todd’s absence left a hole in his life. It had been nice at the end of the day to have someone to share all the ups and downs with, even if he’d spent the other ninety percent of the time arguing with that same someone. He didn’t miss the arguing, that was for sure.

  Anyway, if he abandoned ship now, he would feel like a failure. A real failure. Because there was a big difference between not succeeding and just giving up. He needed this change. He needed a fresh start. As much as he loved New York, the city had become a giant dead end for him. Whereas Pirate’s Cove, small as it was, contained endless possibilities.

  Ellery gazed around at the towering wooden bookshelves and sea-themed oil paintings lining the walls, and felt a flicker of satisfaction. He’d spent a lot of time painting walls, washing windows, sanding floors, and polishing furniture, and if you didn’t peer too closely at all the wear and tear from years of damp ocean air, the Crow’s Nest looked cozy and quaint.

  All he really needed now was for the store to sell enough to keep it afloat.

  And so far…yikes.

  Ellery returned the hammer to the drawer in the office desk, pausing to consider a stack of Riker display cases filled with shells, seahorses, and starfish. He’d removed most of the grimy paintings, tattered posters, and total junk cluttering the walls in order to repaint. He’d rehung the best of the paintings but left the white walls otherwise clean and bare, giving the shop a more open, airy feel. But these display boxes were pretty cool. Maybe if he hung them at the ends of the dark shelves?

  He heard the front entrance bell jingle, and tensed. Not again. He’d thought Trevor gave up too easily that time.

  Ellery charged out of the office, fully prepared for round two, so it was a surprise to find a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in complete pirate wench costume, standing on the other side of the counter.