Murder Turns the Page Read online

  It was early Friday morning, and Ben had gone off to work, leaving Alice and Owen in charge of watching over Franny should she suddenly go into labor. The three friends had just returned from an easy two-mile walk—which they’d traded in for their customary three-mile run/walk for the last weeks of Franny’s pregnancy—and were having their morning coffee in the rooftop garden.

  “Six,” said Alice, smiling at the glittering square diamond set into a white gold band that featured intricate scrollwork which, when the light caught it, was nothing short of brilliant. “It belonged to his great, great, great grandmother.”

  “It’s amazing that it suits you so well,” said Owen, sipping his coffee. “Like it was made just for you.”

  “I know,” said Alice wistfully. “Luke’s great, great, great grandfather gave it as an anniversary gift around the turn of the century.”

  “So, it wasn’t an engagement ring?” asked Franny.

  “Back then, it wasn’t customary to give an engagement ring,” said Alice. “That didn’t get to be a popular thing until the late 1940s.”

  “She’s our little encyclopedia,” said Owen, patting Alice on the head as he went to pour himself a second cup of coffee.

  “Actually, the first diamond engagement ring was believed to be given by Archduke Maximillian of Austria in 1477. But it took the rest of the world a while to catch on.”

  “Old Max was clearly ahead of his time,” said Owen. “Franny, why isn’t this coffee working?”

  “Oops. I think that’s my decaf you’re drinking.”

  “Thank goodness!” said Owen, dumping the coffee into the nearest potted plant and yawning, then pouring a cup from the other Joe’s carafe Franny had brought upstairs.

  “Owen!”

  “What? It’s a rhododendron. They like coffee.”

  “I’ve got to get downstairs and open the bookshop,” said Alice. “Lacey and Zack are coming in for the weekend, and I want to give them some instructions before I head out to help Helen set up the book market.”

  Lacey and Zack, who’d been dating since high school, attended college nearby, and came home to Blue Valley very often on weekends and anytime there was a fair or festival going on. This worked out perfectly for Alice who was, more times than not, in charge of said fair or festival and needed extra help at The Paper Owl. Lacey’s parents, Barb and Doug Blake, owned Sugar Buzz, the gourmet chocolate shop just a few doors up Main Street from the bookstore.

  “Looks like Helen’s already down there getting started without you,” said Owen, peering over the building’s façade down onto Main Street. “Oh, my gosh, there’s Blanche Miller!”

  Alice and Franny hurried to join Owen.

  “Wow. I feel a little starstruck,” said Alice. “I mean, Blanche Miller . . . Author of twenty books that have been translated into forty-seven different languages, fifteen bestsellers . . . I keep every one of her books in stock downstairs. The woman is amazing! I can’t believe I’m meeting her today!”

  “I hear she’s staying at the Valley Inn,” said Owen. “But apparently most of the other authors are staying at the Lodge.”

  The “Lodge” was the Blue Valley Great Granddaddy Mountain Preserve and Resort Lodge, owned by their good friend Chad Fender.

  “Yep. Chad offered a discount to participants. But Ms. Miller wanted a little extra privacy, I guess,” said Alice. “Samuel tells me she booked the Cadbury Cottage.”

  Cadbury Cottage, as everyone in Blue Valley knew, was the most expensive room in the entire town. It was a gorgeous private cottage on the grounds of the Valley Inn, which was owned by Samuel and Eve Berkley.

  “Swanky!” said Owen.

  “Makes me think of chocolate,” said Franny.

  “Hey, isn’t that Lawrence Spraggins?” asked Owen, pointing down at the street, where a handsome couple was strolling arm-in-arm, looking into shop windows.

  “I believe it is,” said Alice. “Oh—and that’s Addy Bachman with him.”

  “So, Spraggins writes poetry and novels and looks like a delightful cross between all of those men who play the heroes in the Hallmark movies? No wonder Helen has a crush on him!” said Franny.

  “And Addy Bachman writes thrillers,” said Alice. “Her latest is Sign of the Viper. She’s wonderful.”

  “So, are those two an item?” Owen wondered aloud.

  “No idea,” said Alice. “But they look pretty cozy.”

  “Let’s hope not, for Helen’s sake,” said Franny. “I mean, look at her. She can’t take her eyes off Lawrence Spraggins.”

  They all watched in fascination for a moment as Addy let go of Lawrence’s arm and walked over to one of the many tables displaying books. Meanwhile, under Helen’s adoring gaze, Lawrence caught up to Blanche Miller, and the two of them began to talk.

  “I guess all of these famous authors know each other,” said Owen.

  “I might be imagining this, but I don’t think Blanche is too crazy about Lawrence,” said Franny.

  Alice took a closer look. “Wow. She’s definitely giving him the cold shoulder,” she said. “There is literally no expression on her face.”

  “Unless she just had Botox,” said Owen. “I wonder what he’s saying to her.”

  They all strained to hear, but to no avail.

  “Well,” Owen finally said, downing the last of his coffee. “I’ve got to get down to the bakery. Hilda and I are baking shortbread cookies to go with our gooseberry-red currant fool, and shrewsberry cakes this morning. She gets grumpy when I’m late.”

  “Isn’t Hilda always grumpy?” Alice called after him with a laugh.

  “There are varying degrees,” Owen called back as he went into his apartment. “If I hurry, she’ll stay at a level three.”

  “Now,” said Alice, turning to Franny. “You should take a load off. I’ll take the carafes back down to Joe’s, and I’m sure Beth has everything covered all morning. Owen and I will meet you when it’s time to go to the Community Center. Meanwhile, you call me if you feel the slightest twinge. I’ll be right out front with Helen.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” said Franny, wobbling to her feet. “I’m going down to the coffee shop, but I promise I’ll take it easy.”

  A few minutes later, Alice had opened The Paper Owl, touched up the Tennessee Authors display, and talked with Lacie and Zack about the day’s schedule. She then lugged a case of commemorative Shakespeare busts out to Main Street, where Helen was just organizing a table that featured the special candles Marge Hartfield, candlemaker and owner of the Waxy Wick across the street, had created for Midsummer Night’s Read.

  “Smells heavenly out here,” said Alice, breathing in a whiff of candle-scented air. “I’ll never understand how Marge does it. She’s a candle-making genius!”

  “I’m torn between the Juliet and the Titania,” said Helen.

  As Alice unpacked the busts and set them out in an orderly display, she grinned at Helen. “So, have you seen Lawrence Spraggins yet?”

  Helen immediately turned scarlet. “He just walked by!”

  Alice leaned a little closer and lowered her voice. “Is he as nice as he is handsome?”

  Helen’s eyes widened, and the flush moved all the way to her ears. “I wouldn’t know,” she said. “I’m a fan of his work—that’s all. I’ve never met the man.”

  Chapter 3

  Before long, visitors were walking up and down Main Street, stopping off for coffee, peeking into shop windows, and carrying bakery bags of Owen’s shrewsberry cakes to nibble on. Business at the Bard’s Bookstop was brisk, and excited festival-goers were buying up books to take for autographs at the opening ceremony at the Community Center.

  Alice had never seen Helen happier—not that Helen was an unhappy person normally. But she usually had a thoughtful, serious demeanor when approached in the library. This morning, though, she was glowing. Giddy, almost. Perhaps it was because it was already becoming clear that Midsummer Night’s Read was going to be a huge succes
s, and that meant money for the library and so many wonderful programs and updates. Or maybe it was because Helen herself was an avid reader, and being surrounded by other lovers of the written word was uplifting. Or possibly, Alice thought, it was because Lawrence Spraggins had walked by several times—and one of those times, he’d given Helen a friendly nod.

  “This is going to be the best weekend ever!” Helen said, sighing in satisfaction as another customer walked off with an armful of books.

  Alice glanced at her watch. “Almost time for the keynote address. We’ll need to be getting over to the Community Center soon.” She saw Owen and Franny coming toward them through the crowd and gave them a wave. “Helen, I’d better get on over there. I’m helping Blanche Miller get set up to give her address, and I want to make sure everything’s ready.”

  “Sure,” said Helen. “Katie and Ann are coming over from the library to run the Bard’s Bookstop while we’re gone. You go ahead, and I’ll catch up with you shortly.”

  Alice, Owen, and Franny walked to the Community Center together.

  “I’ve got little butterflies fluttering around in my stomach,” said Alice. “Do you think Blanche will like the Shakespeare bust?”

  “Are you kidding?” asked Franny, slinging an arm around Alice. “She’ll love it.”

  Alice looked expectantly to Owen, who seemed to be deep in thought.

  “What?” he asked, noticing both women looking at him.

  “Do you think Blanche will like the bust?” asked Franny.

  “Oh! Sure she will! Who wouldn’t love a statue of a disembodied head?”

  “You seem distracted,” Alice said.

  “That’s because I am distracted,” said Owen. “I’m nervous about my appointment with Lawrence Spraggins.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I talked to Michael this morning, and he’s also got an appointment with Lawrence,” said Alice.

  Michael Boyd was the concierge at the Lodge, and a good friend. He’d even helped solve a crime in January when a murder had taken place at the resort. But even though Michael made a wonderful concierge, he was a poet at heart. And even though he’d only had a few things published, Alice was already a big fan of his work.

  “Really? What time is Michael’s appointment?” asked Owen.

  “Eleven-thirty—he booked the last slot before lunch,” said Alice.

  “And mine’s not until after lunch at one-thirty,” said Owen, relieved. “I can get Michael to tell me what Lawrence Spraggins is like over lunch.”

  “That’ll set your mind at ease,” said Franny.

  “Lunch is going to be fun,” said Alice, opening one of the large glass doors at the front of the Community Center, which was right next door to the police station on Phlox Street. “It’s a choose-your-own-lunchbox event in Town Park.”

  “Can you choose two lunchboxes if you’re eating for two?” asked Franny.

  “Franny, one of you weighs like six pounds,” said Owen. “I don’t think a tiny baby needs his own sandwich.”

  “Hey, let’s look for Lawrence Spraggins before the program starts,” said Alice.

  “Good idea,” said Owen. “Maybe we can say hello so at least he’ll already sort of know me. I can make a positive impression.”

  As they walked through the lobby, they picked up their participant packets, which included a schedule of events for Friday and Saturday, along with coupons to shops and restaurants, brochures for nearby attractions, and nametags in the shapes of purple pansies.

  “You did a good job with these packets, Alice,” said Franny, pulling out her nametag and pinning it on. “What made you choose a purple flower motif for the nametags?”

  “Oh! I know! I know!” said Owen, raising his hand. “From Midsummer Night’s Dream, right? The flower enchanted by Cupid’s arrow.”

  “Exactly!” said Alice.

  “Well done, Owen!” Mrs. Howard, longtime Blue Valley High English teacher walked up and smiled proudly at Owen. “You’re one of my favorites.”

  “Mrs. Howard, Owen is the only one of the three of us who didn’t grow up in Blue Valley,” said Franny. “How can he be your favorite?”

  “Don’t worry, Franny,” said Mrs. Howard. “You know you and Alice are also my favorites.” She gave Owen a wink when she said this, and walked off grinning.

  “Well, when Doc Howard delivers the cutest baby he’s ever seen, I bet Mrs. Howard will like me best,” said Franny.

  “Cuter than me?” Owen scoffed. “I think not!”

  “Look—there’s Michael,” said Alice, waving over Michael, who’d just walked in with Helen. They picked up their packets and joined the group.

  “Excited about your meeting with Lawrence Spraggins?” Alice asked.

  “Oh, yes,” said Michael. “But nervous. I feel like I’m baring my soul every time I show someone one of my poems.”

  “You have to have lunch with us and give me the scoop,” Owen said, taking Michael’s arm. “I’m meeting him this afternoon and I’m terrified.”

  “Glad I’m not the only one,” said Michael. “At least the author meetings are at the Smiling Hound. It’ll make us feel more comfortable, just being in a familiar place.”

  “Agreed,” said Owen. “It was nice of Patrick to offer the Hound’s private party rooms.”

  Patrick Sullivan owned Blue Valley’s favorite pub, the Smiling Hound—known for its juicy burgers, baskets of crispy onion rings, and drink specials. This weekend, Patrick would be serving everything from Romeo’s Rum Punch to the Taming of the Screwdriver. He was even featuring a dessert bar for his customers—Lady Macbeth’s Chocolate Spot.

  “I hope you’re all planning to come to the events that are being held over at the Lodge.” Michael pointed to the schedule. “And of course, to the hike and breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” said Alice.

  “I’m excited to go to the Much Ado About Plotting workshop,” said Owen.

  “I’m most excited about The Muse and the Meter,” said Michael. “Is it true that the poet Sonia Blake is coming?”

  “That’s the rumor,” said Alice.

  Michael made a little gleeful sound. “It’s going to be such a great weekend.”

  “Look!” said Owen in a loud whisper. “There’s Lawrence Spraggins now!” He tugged at Michael’s arm.

  “He’s coming this way,” said Helen, blushing furiously while unconsciously smoothing out her skirt.

  “Good to see you Mr. Spraggins,” said Alice, stepping into his path. “I’m Alice Maguire and this is Helen Hart. We’re co-chairs of the festival.”

  Lawrence looked from Alice to Helen and nodded blankly. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

  “Hello, Mr. Spraggins,” said Helen, a little tremor in her voice.

  His eyes moved back to Helen and paused there. “Hello,” he said, then looked back at Alice.

  “I’d love to introduce you to a couple of aspiring authors you’ll be meeting later today,” said Alice. “This is Michael Boyd and Owen James.”

  Lawrence nodded at each of the men in turn, a small smile briefly crossing his lips.

  Helen coughed a little, then excused herself and walked off, looking deflated, Alice thought.

  “So, I take it you live here in Blue Valley,” Lawrence asked, turning to Alice.

  “Yes. We all do, actually,” she said, motioning to Owen, Michael, and Franny.

  “Have you ever noticed any . . . strange happenings in the mountains around here? Heard any stories?”

  “Stories?” Alice asked.

  “What kind of stories?” added Franny.

  “Strange occurrences?”

  “Occurrences . . .”

  “Like, something about an alien abduction years ago? In the mountains here?”

  “Oh,” Alice felt her cheeks getting warm. “Um, no. Nothing like that.” She cleared her throat, and Lawrence raised a skeptical brow at her. “Well, we’d better be getting into the auditorium,” Al
ice said. “It’s almost time for Blanche Miller to make her speech.”

  “Blanche Miller!” said Lawrence, a note of disgust in his voice. “That woman stole one of my best novels.”

  “What?” said Owen.

  “Surely not,” said Alice.

  “She did, too,” said Lawrence. “Gods of Zeus? That was all mine.” He looked around the milling crowd. “Of course, she’s not the only author here who’s stolen my ideas.” He nodded as Saladin Raeve, the fantasy author walked by.

  “Hey, Lawrence,” Saladin said. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine,” Lawrence said flatly, and Saladin walked on. After a pause, he leaned closer to Owen and Michael and said, “Take my advice. Keep your work to yourself. Guard it!”

  With that, he disappeared into the crowd.

  “What on earth was all that about an alien abduction?” asked Owen.

  “It was too embarrassing to talk about,” said Alice, rolling her eyes. “You know Walter Babbage, the realtor?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “About eight years ago, he and his wife Darlene went for an evening walk over by Great Granddaddy Mountain.”

  Everyone nodded again.

  “Well, a storm blew in, they got turned around, and Walter saw a strange green light above the tree line,” said Alice. “When they finally made their way back to town, he told everyone he’d seen a UFO.”

  “Oh, that’s right!” said Franny. “I remember something about that.”

  “What was the light?” asked Owen, who had only lived in Blue Valley for seven years.

  “The sign at Arnold Zwicke’s New and Used Cars.”

  “Well that’s disappointing,” said Michael.

  “Walter thought so, too,” said Alice, shaking her head.

  “Well, it seems like Lawrence Spraggins really is an eccentric,” said Franny.

  “He put in an odd request when he made his reservation at the Lodge,” said Michael. “He said the desk in his room should be stocked with pens with magenta-colored ink. Apparently he only writes in that one color.”

  “Wow,” said Owen. “Why magenta, I wonder.”