A Novel Death: a Danger Cove Bookshop Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 10) (2 page)

I took a folder out of my black leather bag and handed out stacks of flyers announcing the event. "Feel free to hand these out."

I set a stack aside to take to The Clip and Sip when I went to get my hair cut later in the morning and glanced at my watch.

"I'll go unlock the front door," I said. "I have a list of things that need to be done this week, starting with a display for Cal's book."

Burt snorted again but picked up the box of books. "I guess we should put them in the front window for maximum exposure."

"Thank you, Burt," I said.

I put a copy of the
Tales I Shouldn't Tell
into my bag to read later. When I walked through the shop, I saw my mother on the other side of the glass door.

"Good morning, Mom," I said, letting her in. "What brings you downtown so early on a Saturday?"

"Garden club meeting, of course," she said. "And I wanted to see the new layout you were talking about."

She swept into the store in a long wool coat in a stunning shade of ivory, with a cloud of Chanel perfume trailing behind her. She was tall and slender, and her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed into a French twist. Her makeup was subtle and tasteful. And that was just for a meeting of the garden club.

Despite her professed interest in the bookshop, I had my doubts. Kimberly Sinclair wasn't much of a reader, and the only thing she and my grandmother had had in common was their love for me.

My mother looked around the store, and I could see the disapproval lurking below the surface. "It looks better," she said. "Is there any way to, you know, maybe lessen the clutter?"

"That's not clutter, Mom. It's books," I said.

"Of course, but maybe you could have fewer on display?"

"No. It's a bookstore. The books stay."

She sighed and forced a smile. "Of course, dear. It's your store."

That's right
, I thought but smiled back.

My mother picked up a book from the box Burt had left in the front window where he was starting to clean out the last display.

"Cal Montague wrote a book?" she asked. Her voice implied that she didn't know he could write his name. "I think I might have to actually read this."

"You should read it," I said. I couldn't remember her reading anything longer than an in-depth article on interior design in one of her fashion magazines. "And then bring it back here next weekend, and you can have him sign it."

Mom's eyes widened. "Cal Montague is coming back to Danger Cove?"

"He is, on next Saturday. Please tell your friends," I said and rang up my mother's purchase.

"Well, that is certainly news," she said. "The Garden Club is going to want to hear about this."

The last part of her statement seemed to be her talking to herself. I handed her a stack of flyers anyway. "Here, take these."

She put them in her bag with the book and then smiled at me. "Do you have time for coffee?"

I shook my head. "I don't. I have a haircut, and then I'm working until closing," I said. "I can get away for lunch, if you're free."

"I'll be by around noon," she said. "It's so nice having you back home."

She reached out and smoothed my hair with a smile that meant she was thinking of my dad. I had inherited his dark hair and brown eyes. Twenty years and she was still not over his sudden loss. I never knew if my presence helped or hurt her in that regard.

"You should grow your hair long again," she said, tilting her head. "You look so pretty with long hair."

With her left-handed compliment, my well of sympathy started to dry up a little.

"I like it short," I said.

"Maybe just a little longer," she said. "I hear a long bob is coming back in style."

My chin-length bob was very chic, according to the expensive stylist, to whom I used to pay a lot of money for the world's most simple haircut. And it was easy. Wash, brush, and go. No muss, no fuss.

I made a show of looking at my watch. "Oh, wow, I should get over to The Clip and Sip. Have fun at your garden meeting," I said, then grabbed my bag, waved to Burt, and left the store before my head exploded.

It was taking some adjustment coming home to Danger Cove. Part of the problem was that it hadn't really been my choice. I'd had a perfect life in Seattle. I had a great job at HunTech, which was the technology start-up my boyfriend, Hunter, had founded. We'd had a fun social life, and things had been going so well.

And then my grandmother had died, and Hunter had emailed me to say he wasn't going to go to the funeral with me, and by the way, he thought we should take a break from being exclusive.

Maybe it was the fact that he'd broken up with me by email, or more likely, that he'd actually used this particular email chain to break up with me—but I hadn't handled it well. And unfortunately, in my haste to reply, I hadn't noticed that my email program had automatically filled in HunTechAll instead of Hunter, and the righteously angry response had gone out to the entire company. And then it had gone viral.

I'd been unemployed by sundown. Also, single. Obviously.

It had been a dark time.

Frankly, finding out that I was also the sole heir to my grandmother's estate didn't make me feel one bit better. I loved her so much, and now I was living in her house and running her business. I could understand how my mother never moved on, seeing a small version of her dead husband across the dinner table every night. Being around Grandma Ruth's things was both comforting and a constant reminder of my loss.

I was a good 15 minutes early for my haircut at The Clip and Sip. It was a little early in the day to enjoy the complimentary wine and liqueurs, so I settled in with a coffee and my new book while I waited for Cassidi Conti to finish with her earlier appointment.

Cassidi was one of the newer additions to Danger Cove. The town hadn't changed that much since I'd gone off to college. It was still the same charming coastal town that I loved. Cassidi, a sunny, blonde Texas transplant, had recently taken over The Clip and Sip salon and was bringing a fresh sense of style to my hometown.

It was nice being back in Danger Cove. I'd been gone for a little more than a decade, though I visited two or three times a year. I just wasn't yet sold on the fact that I was back here on a permanent basis.

When I'd lost my boyfriend and my job, I knew that my cute one-bedroom loft in downtown Seattle would soon be out of my budget. My grandmother's bequest solved those problems—well, not the boyfriend one. But still, a solution had fallen into my lap, and I hadn't had much choice but to return to Danger Cove. It wasn't where I thought I'd be at this point in my life, but I was determined to make the best of it. Having a fresh start was what I needed.

And I was pretty close to believing my internal pep talk. I'd even convinced myself to come up with the author events. If nothing else, it was definitely keeping me busy.

It was a fairly quiet morning at The Clip and Sip, so I jumped into Cal Montague's book, starting with the dedication—a vague appreciation of his family's support through the years. I was just starting the lengthy acknowledgments, when I noticed the stout, older woman next to me craning her head to look at the cover. When she realized I caught her, she gave me a knowing stare.

"That's Cal Montague."

I nodded and held up the book. "Yes, his autobiography. He's coming next Saturday to sign his book at Dangerous Reads."

Before she could object, I shoved a flyer into her hands and introduced myself.

"Oh, yes, Meri Sinclair. I knew your grandma, may she rest in peace. I'm Donna Bocca," she said, shaking my hand with a bone-crushing grip. "So you're running the bookshop now? Why on earth did you invite Cal Montague back to Danger Cove?"

Donna took the book from my hand without asking and studied the cover with a frown that emphasized her faint mustache.

"Well, it's his hometown," I said. "Do you know him?"

She smirked, and her wide nostrils flared. "Years ago, sure. And I know his ex-wife."

Gia Di Mitri, a young and flashy stylist, teetered over to us on stiletto heels that made me nervous just watching her. She took the book out of Donna's hands with a curious look. "Who's
this
?"

"Cal Montague," I said. "He's an actor. Grew up here in Danger Cove."

I stuffed a flyer into Gia's hand, too, just for good measure.

"An actor, huh?" Gia said, tossing her hair as she flipped to the back cover.

"He used to be married to Pippa Montague," Donna said with a knowing nod at Gia before she ripped the book away from the stylist. "And I have to tell you, Pippa Montague is not going to be happy about this."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Oh, honey. Their divorce was legendary back in the day. It was all anyone talked about for months," Donna said, handing me the book. "This could get interesting. I may have to come by the bookstore and check it out."

"It's been a long time since the divorce, right? I'm sure things have settled down," I said, handing Gia a stack of the flyers. "The reading will be fun. Can I leave these here for your clients?"

"Oh, yeah," she said, putting the papers on the counter near the cash register. "Sounds like fun. Especially if Pippa Montague comes."

"What do you mean?"

Donna and Gia exchanged a glance, and the stylist tilted her head a little. "Pippa's a little, I don't know, uptight?"

"Angry. Bitter. Snooty," Donna said, helping round out the description of Cal's ex-wife. "And let's just say that Cal isn't the only overly dramatic one in that family. You're too young to remember the drama. But it was a big deal when Cal married Pippa. She was just out of high school, and he was off working in movies. Then they moved off to New York City for a time, but she hated it there. He got a part in Hollywood, so they moved there, and oh, she really hated that."

Gia plopped down on a padded ottoman like it was story time at the library. "What happened next?"

Donna leaned forward, happy to have an audience. "When their son was born, they moved back to Danger Cove and bought a house in Craggy Hills Estates. But Cal was rarely there—always flying off to Los Angeles or New York or London."

"Is that why they divorced?" I asked.

Donna shrugged. "I heard it was because Cal was quite the ladies' man. But you know, that's just gossip. Pippa made out like a bandit in the divorce though. Which was only right, after a decade of putting up with Cal."

I was beginning to think that Cal's book might be more interesting than I originally estimated, and it sounded like it was of particular interest to the local community.

"Well, I'm just so excited that we'll get to hear him read portions of it at Dangerous Reads, six o'clock on Saturday." I gave them my best public relations professional smile, and they each tucked a flyer into their pockets.

"Meri, I'm all ready for you," Cassidi said, walking to the front of the salon and greeting me with a warm, lopsided smile. "Your mom says you're growing your hair out."

Of course she did. I stuffed Cal's book into my bag and headed back to the shampoo center. "No, I am not. In fact, take another inch off."

"Sweetheart, this coffee is not quite right," Cal Montague said, handing the cup back to Katya with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Try again, but hotter and with more cream."

Katya smiled and turned around, waiting until her back was to the celebrity author before she gave me the stink-eye. This would be her third trip across the street to the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery to try to satisfy the actor's demands. I gave her an apologetic smile as she left the break room and then closed the door behind her to keep our celebrity author out of view until I could introduce him to the growing crowd at the front of the bookstore.

He signed another book with a flourish.

"Meredith, you have a lovely store here," Cal said with a smile. He was not a traditionally handsome man, but there was something attractive about him. He had lovely blue eyes and a thick head of silver hair. His grin revealed straight, white teeth. If he'd had plastic surgery, it was well done and subtle and hadn't erased the crow's-feet around his eyes that crinkled up with his smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Montague," I said, handing him another book opened to the title page. "You're our first author visit for the new speakers series. We're all so happy you could accommodate us in your tour."

"It's my pleasure. It's been a long time since I've been back in Danger Cove," he said. "You're a native too?"

I nodded, swapping books again. He had a huge stack to sign before the reading, and I wanted to make sure we had plenty of signed copies to sell after he left.

"I am, but I've been living in Seattle for about ten years," I said. "I recently moved back here."

Cal nodded with what looked like a sympathetic expression and signed another scrawl in black ink across the page.

"Can't imagine that, myself. But it's nice to be back for a visit."

A sharp knock sounded on the door to the break room, and I stood up to let in Cal's publicist, Karen Dale, who had been running around Danger Cove to find gluten-free snacks for the guest of honor. She dropped a bag on the table.

"Cal, they had cookies but no crackers. And I couldn't find this week's edition of
People
or
Us
magazines," she said.

Cal gave an impatient snort and frowned.

"Don't you have magazines here?" he asked me.

"Some, but the new editions won't be delivered until Tuesday," I said.

"My book is being reviewed in
People
, you know," he said.

"Wonderful," I said.

I had only made it through the first chapter so far. With all the things that needed to be done to get the store ready for his signing, I hadn't had much time to read. And each time I had finally crawled into bed with a mug of tea and Cal's book, it had lulled me into a deep sleep. So I hadn't gotten through it yet. On the other hand, I was now very well rested.

Cal opened the bag of gluten-free cookies, peered in, and then pushed them away with a look of disgust. "I wanted the other ones, without the nuts."

Karen's lips pursed, but she didn't say anything. The publicist was in her 50s, with short, spiky brown hair and a near-constant frown.

"Where's that child with my coffee?"

I went to the door and looked out at the shop, which was filling up with customers arriving for the signing. Katya was coming in the front door with a tray of coffees. I ushered her into the break room, and she set the four cups on the table and took the lids off all of the coffees, which had various amounts of cream.

Cal examined them and then chose one in the middle and took a sip. It must have been satisfactory, because he picked up the pen and continued signing without a thank-you to my flustered employee.

"Thanks, Katya. I'll be right out," I said, opening the door for her.

She gave me an exasperated sigh as she left, and I turned back to Karen Dale, who mouthed
sorry
at me and then scooted out of the room too.

I returned to the table, sliding another book in front of Cal, whose mouth was tightening into a thin line.

"Make sure the reading area is between sixty-eight and seventy-two degrees," Cal said. His voice was impatient, as if nothing was going right. In truth, everything was going along just fine—though it would have been better had he shown up on time and not 30 minutes late. "My contract requires that. I sweat if it's more than seventy-two degrees."

I hadn't actually read the document Karen Dale had faxed over, except to double-check the date and time and blanch at the required number of books I'd have to have on hand for Cal to sign. And there was no way the bookshop was at 72 degrees. It was packed out there, and the crowd had the temperature probably closer to 80 degrees.

"I don't know if you're aware of how those riders work, Ms. Sinclair, but I am perfectly within my rights to refuse to speak at your little event if you don't live up to your contractual agreement," he snapped.

I straightened up and glared at him. "I'll turn the air conditioner on. It will be fine."

He sniffed. "It better be. I'd hate to have to cancel. That would be a black mark against you for future events," Cal said, scrawling his signature on another title page and then waiting for me to move the book and replace it with a fresh one. "Can't be easy to lure authors to Danger Cove. Not so many readers, you know."

His condescending tone gave my little seed of anger plenty of fuel to grow. Sure, Danger Cove was a small coastal town, but it had supported my grandmother's business for 40 years, and there was no shortage of readers. If he was implying that the town was some illiterate backwater, he was way off the mark.

But he was right about one thing—if he walked away from the signing, it would hurt my chances of bringing my customers back for the next author event.

"We'll be starting the reading in about twenty minutes," I said, moving toward the door. "Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Montague?"

Cal shook his head and continued signing, his coffee seemingly forgotten.

"Okay then," I said.

Katya was waiting for me outside the break room door, eager to help. The bookshop floor was twice as packed as just a few minutes earlier, and it could have been my nerves, but it also seemed a little warmer.

"Turn the air conditioner to a temperature that will preserve a wooly mammoth," I told her. "I'll go check the mic."

Alicia was at the cash register, doing brisk business selling the hardcover books for Cal to sign later. She'd recruited two of her teenagers, Jessa and Maggie, to keep the refreshment table stocked with wine and light appetizers. Burt was helping customers find seats in the front room where Cal would be reading from his book. Katya and I were floaters—available to help either of them and handle all other duties that might come up. Neither of us had been expecting that would include catering to the author and his diva-esque tendencies.

I squeezed through the crowd, cursing myself for wearing the flat-heeled boots. They'd be more comfortable for a long day on my feet, but since I had to stretch to call myself five-foot-three, I could have used some extra height. Especially if I wanted a better view of the author.

I waved at my mother, who was chatting with several ladies from her garden club, and then saw Cassidi and some of the other ladies from the salon. I headed in that direction, rather than hearing about how my hair was short and disappointing.

"I'm so glad you could come by," I said, pleased that they were all holding books with bright-yellow receipts sticking out. At this rate, we were sure to sell out of Cal's books, and we would have a stockpile of signed copies in the back after he left.

"Are you kidding? It's all anyone can talk about this week," Cassidi said, her warm brown eyes twinkling with excitement. "Have you met him?"

"I did," I said. "He's something, all right."

I wasn't about to give my true opinion of him. They could read the book and come to their own conclusions.

The crowd had filled the seats, and people were even standing on the stairs that led to the loft, in order to watch Cal's reading. The mic was working, and we were down to just a dozen books left for Cal to sign after his reading—and it was 15 minutes past the starting point. I gave a short introduction to the author series, inviting everyone to return for our future author events, and then stepped away from the mic to find the missing author.

I flagged down Karen Dale, who was lurking near the front of the store, looking out to the street.

"Where's Mr. Montague?" I asked.

She shrugged, and a little bit of her chardonnay sloshed over the rim of the wineglass and onto the sleeve of her bright-purple blazer. "Probably trying to make a fashionably late appearance."

I frowned and looked at my watch. Fashionably late didn't fly with me. I liked punctuality.

"I'll go get him, I guess," I said and headed toward the back of the store. The break room was empty, Cal's many full cups of coffee littering the table. I stacked the signed copies on a shelf and noted that he had left a few books unsigned, so I put the felt-tip pen on top of them and set them in the middle of the table, so he couldn't miss them.

The bathroom across the hall was empty, and there was no place else Cal could be, so I opened the back door and stuck my head out into the alley.

The sun had set, and the motion-activated light clicked on when I opened the door, casting a harsh illumination on the garbage bins and cardboard boxes that I'd been meaning to break down for the recycling. Squinting, I peered into the dark shadows and then listened for any sounds, but it was hard to hear anything over the noise coming from the crowd in the bookstore.

"Mr. Montague?" I called, stepping out. Maybe he just wanted some fresh air. Maybe he was a smoker.

Or maybe he just decided to ditch my inaugural author event and ruin my life.

I stood in the middle of the alley, hands on my hips, and looked in both directions. There was no sign of him.

"Well, that's just great," I muttered. A room full of customers expected to see a homegrown hero, or at least someone who was sort-of famous, and I had nothing.

I turned back toward the store and then held my hand up to shade my eyes from the blast of light from the security lamp and looked down. When I did, my gaze fell on a shoe near the Dumpster—a shiny Italian loafer with tassels that looked out of place among the dusty boxes and grimy trash bins. As my mind tried to reconcile the mystery of a man's shoe, my brain slowly registered that it was attached to a leg, sticking out from behind the shadow of the trash bin.

Hesitantly, I took a step forward and peered into the shadows. My eyes adjusted, and I saw him.

Cal Montague, sprawled back against a stack of empty cardboard boxes, with a small hole in his butternut-squash-shaped head.