Murder in the Paperback Parlor (18 page)

Jane started to warn Mrs. Hubbard that the box was Landon's, but Mrs. Hubbard yanked out the air pillows before she had the chance.

“Lord have mercy!” Mrs. Hubbard shrieked and pressed both hands over her chest. “Never in my life!”

Putting a reassuring hand on Mrs. Hubbard's back, Jane looked inside the box, gasped, and instantly closed the flaps. “What would a normal person do with those?”

Mrs. Hubbard, white-faced and shaken, began to fan herself with her hand. “I don't want to know. I
really
don't!”

By this time, the staff member who'd been tasked with putting away the deliveries stepped out of the freezer and walked over to where Lachlan's box sat on the counter. “Does this need to be unpacked too?”

“Not unless baby chicks are on tonight's menu,” Jane said.

Mrs. Hubbard moaned. “I'm willing to serve exotic foods, but there's a limit to what I consider exotic. Let's just stick the box in the freezer and forget we ever saw it. I have too much to do to spend time wondering why Mr. Lachlan has been receiving regular shipments of . . .” With a shiver of repulsion, she walked away.

Jane glanced down at the bowl of soup and felt her stomach turn.

“Can this Valentine's Day get any worse?” she muttered to herself and then, catching sight of the paper flowers the twins had made for Mrs. Hubbard, she realized that it could.
She'd forgotten to pick up the special valentines she'd ordered from the Pickled Pig. If she didn't borrow one of the Rolls-Royce sedans right now, she wouldn't have the car back in time for the next pickup at the train station.

“I officially hate this holiday,” Jane grumbled on her way to the garage.

*   *   *

“Miss Jane!” Tobias
Hogg hailed her from behind the bakery counter at the Pickled Pig. After handing a loaf of honey-wheat bread to a customer, he gestured for Jane to meet him at the far end of the counter.

“I was wondering when you'd come for the boys' treats,” Tobias said. “I was planning to deliver them to Storyton Hall if I didn't see you within the hour.”

“You're far too busy for that.” Jane waved her hand to incorporate the whole market. The aisles were crammed and customers were lined up at both checkouts, their carts full of Valentine's-themed goodies like wine, bread, cheese, and chocolate. Tobias's display case of homemade truffles was nearly empty and the candy section was thoroughly picked over.

Tobias grinned. “I love the hustle and bustle. It's like Christmas all over again.” He reached behind the counter and pulled out a white shopping bag. “I have your items ready to go. Would you like to see how they came out?”

Jane nodded and Tobias pulled out a plastic tube filled with red, pink, and white gumballs. At the top of the tube was a single chocolate kiss and a little tag reading, “Blow me a kiss.”

“You should get plenty of hugs and kisses for these,” Tobias said.

Jane smiled. “I hope so. And what about you? If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that you put your very best truffles aside for a certain lady.”

Tobias nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, I did. I want Barbara to pick me for every dance tonight. Those cover models might be hunky, but would they cook gourmet meals for her? Would they rub her sore back after she'd been typing all day? Would they listen to her read chapters out loud?” He folded his arms
across his chest. “
I
would. And I'm going to do whatever it takes to convince her that what I feel for her isn't some passing fancy. I'll follow her over the mountain if need be, but only to convince her to return to Storyton one day. As my wife.”

“But you barely know each other.” Jane felt like a cad for diminishing Tobias's fantasy, but she was too hurt and angry over Edwin to stop herself.

Unperturbed, Tobias shrugged. “I'm letting my heart lead me. It's never steered me wrong before.” He smiled dreamily. “I'm going to spend every spare minute with Barbara until the week comes to an end. After that, I'd like to offer to pay for her to stay at Storyton Hall for another week so I can court her. If she agrees, I know I stand a chance at winning her hand.”

“In that case, I hope you succeed,” Jane said and meant it. Just because she'd been taken for a fool didn't mean everyone else would suffer the same fate. She accepted the shopping bag and turned to go, but then remembered that Tobias had made a delivery at Storyton Hall the morning Nigel had vanished. “Tobias, have you spoken with Mr. Butterworth or Mr. Sinclair today?”

He nodded. “I can assure you that no one was in my van except for—” His hand flew to his mouth and he chuckled. “I almost told you our pig's name and ruined the surprise!” He clapped his hands gleefully. “Anyway, our piggy mascot would have snorted and grunted if someone had been in the back with him. He's
very
social and incredibly talkative. Storyton Hall was my only delivery that day because I had to take our pig over the mountain for his vet appointment. So unless your missing guest was clinging to the undercarriage, there's no way he hitched a ride with me.”

Jane thanked Tobias, paid for her purchases, and hurried down the street to Geppetto's Toy Shop. She pushed open the front gate and stopped at the Pinocchio statue to the right of the flagstone path to touch the wood puppet's nose. All the locals did this before entering Barnaby Nicholas's shop. No one knew how the tradition had started, but it had become a collective habit. Now, people were afraid not to touch the puppet's nose, as though passing the puppet by was unlucky.

Inside Geppetto's, Barnaby was manipulating a ballerina marionette for a customer.

“I'll take it!” the woman exclaimed. “Mr. Nicholas, what would we do without you? You've made holidays magical for Isabella since she was a baby.”

“Mine is the business of quickening imaginations and sparking smiles, Mrs. Rowe.” Barnaby grinned. “Let me wrap her for you.”

Several minutes later, Barnaby bid the woman good-bye and turned to greet Jane. “When I was a tyke, kids were lucky to get a card on Valentine's Day. Now, every holiday is a big deal.” He shrugged. “I'm not complaining. Holidays keep me afloat, but times have certainly changed.”

“Maybe parents like me buy things to make up for how many hours we end up having to work instead of spending quality time with our kids.” Jane let loose a dry laugh. “Isn't that I'm doing right now? Ever since I started planning Storyton Hall's latest event, I feel like I've neglected my boys.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” Barnaby said. “You're a very attentive mother.” He presented her with a shopping bag. “Besides, you're giving them the gift of mystery. What could be better than that?”

“Mysteries are only satisfying when one can find the solution,” Jane said and left a befuddled Barnaby to tend to his next customer.

Jane made it back to Storyton Hall in time to turn the Rolls over to Sterling. “I'm off to collect the first Fabio,” he said, saluted her, and drove away.

Jane expected the lobby to be filled with women waiting for the cover model contestants to arrive, but after glancing at the grandfather clock, she realized that it was almost teatime. The guests would be lining the hall outside the Agatha Christie Tea Room.

Jane thought of the special Valentine's Day treats Mrs. Hubbard was about to serve. She could almost taste the sandwiches: sun-dried tomato and cucumber cream cheese, smoked salmon mousse, roast beef with cherry chutney, and goat cheese with honey and walnuts. And the desserts! Jane's
step quickened at the very idea of raspberry scones with lemon curd, triple chocolate brownie tarts, red velvet cake, chocolate dipped strawberries, heart-shaped Linzer cookies, and multi-colored cupcakes decorated to resemble conversation heart candies.

When Jane entered the kitchens, her stomach rumbling in anticipation, she was met with a chorus of “Surprise!” from Fitz and Hem.

Jane pretended to swoon. “Be still, my beating heart,” she cried, hiding her shopping bags behind her back.

“Hem and I would like to invite you to tea,” Fitz said in his best British accent.

Adopting the same accent, Hem said, “Close your eyes, please.”

Putting the bags down, Jane complied. Her sons took hold of her hands and led her down the quiet staff corridor to the public hallway and into what Jane guessed, judging by the distance from the kitchens, was the Jane Austen Parlor. The room was commonly referred to as the Paperback Parlor due to the number of paperbacks stuffed into the bookcases lining both walls. Over the years, readers had begun leaving a copy of their favorite Jane Austen title with their name, date, and often, a short message inscribed on the inside of the front cover, in the room. Both guests and staff members enjoyed plucking a random paperback from the shelf to see what a former visitor had to say about Ms. Austen's work. The most popular quote, which came from the pages of
Pride and Prejudice
, was, “I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading! How much sooner one tires of any thing than of a book!”

“You can open your eyes now,” Fitz whispered.

“Okay.” Jane gasped in delight when she saw the small table and three chairs set up in the middle of the room. The boys—assisted by Mrs. Pimpernel and Mrs. Hubbard, no doubt—had draped the table with a rose-colored cloth. Paper doilies decorated with crayon drawings served as placemats. A bouquet of pink and purple flowers bloomed from the teapot and the teatime treats included peanut butter and jelly
sandwiches, heart-shaped strawberries, and shortbread cookies covered with a raspberry drizzle.

“You two did this?” Jane asked, her heart swelling.

“We had a little help,” Hem admitted. “But we made the sandwiches and put the flowers in the teapot. You can take them out when you're ready for tea. See? They're in a jam jar.”

Jane ruffled his hair. “My brilliant boys.”

Fitz pointed at the table. “And we drew hearts on the placemats so they'd look fancy.”

Hem pulled out a chair for Jane and Fitz placed a napkin on her lap.

“Happy Valentine's Day to the best mom ever!” they said and gave her a hug and a kiss. While the boys served themselves, Jane furtively dabbed at her wet eyes.

“How do you like your tea?” Hem asked after Jane had finished her sandwich and was devouring her fifth strawberry.

“It was the best I've ever had,” she said. “And I have treats for you too. Be right back.”

She hurried to the kitchen, grabbed the gifts, and returned to the parlor.

The boys dug through the bags, shouted with glee when they saw the tubes of gum and frowned in confusion after shaking the wooden boxes from Geppetto's Toy Shop.

“Sounds like a puzzle,” Fitz said.

Jane nodded. “It is. And when you put it together, you'll discover a special message from me.”

Hem's eyes widened. “Like a secret code?” He nudged his brother. “Let's go home and work on it.”

“Can we, Mom?”

“Sure. I'll be there soon.”

The boys gave her one more hug and dashed from the room.

While savoring a shortbread cookie, Jane studied the crayon hearts the twins had drawn on her placemat. She smiled, feeling content for the first time in what felt like ages. She didn't need Edwin's red poppies or his promises. She didn't need to dance with him or feel his arms around her. She had all the love she needed.

Jane got up and walked to the back door so she could watch
her boys race across the lawn. “I know what Mark Twain meant when he said, ‘To get the full value of a joy you must have someone to divide it with.'”

She pressed her hand against the glass. “I divide my joy with you, Fitz and Hem. My sweet, impish, maddening, darling boys.”

And then she blew against the pane so that her breath fogged up the glass. She traced a heart in the clouded glass and watched her sons through the opaque outline until they disappeared from view.

Jane made sure she was at the registration desk to welcome the Heartfire editor in person.

“Ms. Jamison. I'm sorry that we aren't meeting under happier circumstances,” Jane said to a petite woman with glasses, a lovely smile, and sky blue eyes.

The woman took Jane's outstretched hand. “Call me Lily. All of us at Heartfire are devastated by Rosamund's passing, but we're also glad that you decided not to cancel the rest of the week's events. Rosamund wouldn't have wanted that. She was very devoted to her readers.”

A burly young man with shoulder-length hair and sun-kissed skin strode up to Lily and handed her a book. “You left this in the car.” He pointed at her wheeled suitcase. “Would you like me carry that to your room?”

Lily shook her head. “Thank you, Alex, but I think I can manage.”

After Alex rejoined the other cover models lined up to check in, Lily whispered, “The man flirted with me the whole way here. I guess he was trying to get an edge in tonight's competition, but it didn't work.”

Jane glanced at the group of men. They all had chiseled
jawlines, powerful builds, shiny hair, and bronzed skin. When they smiled, they flashed bright white teeth.

“I'm glad I'm not a judge,” she told Lily. “It can't be an easy task, though I know my friends will enjoy every second of deliberation.”

Jane had asked Phoebe and Mrs. Pratt to serve as judges. Phoebe was Storyton's resident artist and Mrs. Pratt was their romance novel expert. If anyone could decide which hunk deserved to grace the cover of a future Heartfire novel, it was Eugenia Pratt.

“May I show you to your room?” Jane asked Lily.

“If you don't mind, I'd like to pay my respects to Rosamund first. Could you take me to the place where . . . ?” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

“Of course,” Jane said. After grabbing her coat from her office and calling for a bellhop to see to Lily's bag, Jane led her through the house and out into Milton's gardens.

“It's hard for me to imagine Rosamund here. She hated the cold. She said her Florida blood got thinner by the year.”

Jane glanced at the editor. “How did Rosamund end up signing with Heartfire?”

“Francine Bloom, a senior editor at Heartfire, read a partial manuscript Rosamund submitted for a contest. Francine loved her writing and asked to see the rest of the novel. That novel was the first Venus Dares book.”

Jane nodded. “How does the editing process work? Once you have the complete manuscript, what comes next? Do you talk with the author on the phone?”

“Not anymore,” Lily said. “Everything is electronic. We type our suggestions or questions in comment bubbles in the manuscript's margin. The author addresses them and sends the corrected manuscript back to us.”

“How can you be sure the author is doing the editing and not someone else?” Jane asked.

Lily laughed. “Not many authors could find someone who knew their books well enough to take over the edits. Every author's voice is unique.” She smiled a sad smile. “Rosamund's
books were usually very clean. Francine often remarked how little needed to be done to improve them.” Her eyes lifted to the high hedge to her right. “Rosamund could behave like a diva at events such as this, but she was a delight to work with. She never missed a deadline and her communication was always polite and professional.”

If everything was done electronically, then Nigel could have easily written the Venus Dares novels,
Jane thought
. He and Rosamund could have argued about all kinds of things: plotlines, the events Rosamund should attend, how the money would be divided.

Jane felt a quickening of her pulse. What if Nigel asked for more money to cover his debts and Rosamund refused to comply? That would definitely give him a motive to commit murder. Then again, by killing Rosamund, he'd never see another dime from the Venus Dares novels. Jane darted a quick look at Lily. If Nigel told the assistant editor that he was the talent behind Rosamund York, would Heartfire hire him to continue the bestselling series?

“What did you think of her new novel?” Jane deliberately slowed her pace as they approached the arbor.

Lily shrugged. “It's not my favorite, but it'll sell because Rosamund's name is on the cover.” Her face took on a closed expression and Jane decided to stop hammering Lily with questions. Lily wanted to say farewell to someone she'd known for years and deserved a little privacy.

Jane came to a halt. “I'll wait for you here. As soon as you round this bend, you'll see the arbor. That's where she was found.”

“I was told she died at night,” Lily whispered. “It must have been freezing.”

Jane touched the other woman's arm. “I like to think that the last thing she saw were the moon and stars. All those lights shining down on her.”

Lily's eyes filled with tears. She nodded wordlessly and then walked away.

Once Lily was out of sight, Jane paced in a slow circle. The
movement kept her blood flowing and helped her process what Lily had told her. Five minutes had passed when Jane heard raised voices coming from the direction of the arbor. The voices turned to shouts.

Jane broke into a run, and the second she rounded the curve in the path, she saw Maria Stone gripping Lily by the collar of her coat.

“Let go of me!” Lily cried angrily.

“Not until you swear not to publish that filth.” Maria's mouth twisted in rage.

“Ms. Stone!” Jane infused her voice with authority. “You will release Ms. Jamison this instant.”

Maria shot her a scathing glance. “Not until she gives me her word.”

Jane took another step forward. “You will release her immediately or I will force you to release her. Do I make myself clear?”

“I'm fighting for our gender!” Maria shouted and tightened her grip on Lily's collar. Lily gave a little squeak of pain. “Just swear to me—”

Maria's speech was cut off by the force of Jane's roundhouse kick. Jane's right foot slammed into the back of Maria's knees. Her legs buckled and she went down. Taking advantage of Maria's fall, Jane pressed her knee into the younger woman's back and pulled out her cell phone.

“Come to the arbor immediately,” she told Butterworth. “And bring restraints.”

“You're crazy!” Lily, who'd retreated to a safe distance, was holding her throat and staring at Maria in horror. “It's just a book.”

“Books have power,” Maria murmured from the ground.

Though Jane agreed with her, she had no intention of saying so. “Don't move. I'd rather not kick someone who's already down.” She glanced at Lily. “Are you all right?”

Lily nodded. “A bit shaken, but yeah, I'm okay.”

“You won't be troubled by this young woman again,” Jane promised. She eased her knee off Maria's back. “Shame on
you, Ms. Stone. Rosamund York is dead. A
woman
lost her life this week. There are appropriate ways to further one's cause, but you don't seem to understand that. You've crossed the line again, Ms. Stone. This time, there will be repercussions.”

Butterworth appeared, breathing heavily. “Madame?” He bowed to Lily. “Are you injured?”

Lily managed a weak grin. “Thanks to Ms. Steward's well-aimed kick, I'm fine.” She pointed at Maria. “I've seen my share of rabid fans, but this one takes the cake.”

“She will be removed from the premises without delay,” Butterworth said. “In the meantime, you've suffered a shock. May I send something to your room to help you recover?”

Lily waved him off. “All I need is a hot bath and a cup of tea.”

“Ah, here's our Ned. He'll escort you to your suite.” Butterworth turned to Ned. “Please get Ms. Jamison whatever she'd like from the room service menu.”

“This way, ma'am.” Ned smiled at Lily. “While we walk, why don't I tell you about today's tea menu? I could bring you a plate of the choicest treats.”

“Was anything made of chocolate?” Jane heard Lily say as she and Ned headed back to the manor house.

“Absolutely! We love chocolate around here,” Ned said, and when Lily laughed, Jane relaxed. A bath, a pot of tea, and Mrs. Hubbard's sweets might help Lily put the unfortunate episode behind her.

Meanwhile, Butterworth had hauled Maria to her feet and secured her hands behind her back using plastic wrist ties.

Maria twisted her shoulders left and right and bellowed, “You can't do this to me!”

“I'm merely restraining you until Sheriff Evans arrives,” Butterworth said. “Where would you have me take her, Miss Jane?”

“To the garage,” Jane said. “And tell the sheriff that Ms. Jamison is not to be disturbed. I'll press charges on her behalf. Ms. Stone could use an evening or two in lock-up to reflect on her behavior.”

Maria glowered at Jane. “The sheriff can't hold me.”

“You assaulted a woman without provocation. In these parts, that's a crime, Ms. Stone.”

“What about you?” Maria retorted. “You kicked me!”

Jane grinned. “I most certainly did.”

With that, she turned and walked away. As she hurried up the path, she thought of how pleased Sinclair would be to learn that his pupil had used her martial arts skills to protect an innocent guest from harm.

*   *   *

With thirty minutes
prior to the start of the male cover model contest, the Cover Girls convened in Jane's kitchen. Other than Eloise, who was perched on a stool to avoid putting strain on her tender ankle, the women stood around the center island and waited for Jane to fill their glasses with a fruity red wine.

When everyone was served, Jane showed her friends the Sarasota College yearbook photographs and shared her theory about Nigel Poindexter being the talent behind the Venus Dares novels.

“Impossible,” Mrs. Pratt spluttered. “No man could write a woman that well.”

Eloise arched her brows. “I'd have to disagree. I can think of a dozen male writers who created complex female characters. Roth, Updike, Steinbeck. And what about Tolstoy's heroine, Anna Karenina? She's more complex than this wine. No offense, Jane.”

Mrs. Pratt shrugged. “I don't have your expertise when it comes to classic literature, but I know my contemporary romance novels. If we were talking about a man writing two hundred years ago, then I might believe it. But now? Modern romances aren't written by men.”

“That we know of,” said Phoebe and winked at Mrs. Pratt.

Violet looked pensive. “Technology has made it easy for people to invent personas. In cyberspace, we can decide what version of ourselves we want people to view, and it's usually a rose-colored version, if not a downright fictitious one.”

“That's true.” Mabel said. “And despite the warning not to judge a book by its cover, folks do make judgments based on what they see.”

“Lots of programs can alter how you look too. Like Photoshop.” Anna said. “I could turn myself into a twenty-year-old bikini babe.”

Violet, who was bent over the yearbook photographs, glanced up at Anna. “You can't improve on that gorgeous hair.”

Anna touched her newly layered locks and grinned. “I want to look my best tonight. I'm wearing control top pantyhose that practically stretch from my toes to my neck, so one of those sizzling hot men had better hold me close.”

Eloise looked at Jane, and Jane feared that her best friend might raise the subject of her date with Edwin, but before anyone else could speak, Mrs. Pratt said, “You'll have to be aggressive, girls. The seasoned women in this room aren't shy. Isn't that right? Betsy? Mabel?”

Mabel laughed. “Right you are!”

“What about Gavin?” Betsy asked Mrs. Pratt. “Won't he be jealous if you dance with other men?”

“Ours is not an exclusive relationship,” Mrs. Pratt said firmly. “I am free to dance with whomever I please. Would Bob object?”

Betsy snorted. “Not in the least. He hates dancing and hopes I'll get my fill tonight. Besides, he has to run the Cheshire Cat. Valentine's Day isn't a happy holiday for everyone. Some people feel terribly lonely on this day, and my Bob will do his best to make them feel less blue.”

“I hope you all have the time of your lives tonight,” Jane said. “But don't let your guard down. Nigel Poindexter is still at large.” She swirled wine around the base of her glass. “At least one of our suspects is out of the picture.”

“Who?” Mrs. Pratt demanded eagerly.

Jane told them about Maria Stone.

“I can't help but feel sorry for the young lady,” Mabel said. “It sounds like she's scratched and clawed her way through life. No child should be raised without love.”

“Speaking of children, where are yours, Jane?” Eloise asked.

Jane smiled. “After volunteering to clean up the kitchen, they packed their overnight bags and left. They're having a sleepover with Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Octavia and are dying to give them the cards they made at school. Apparently, the boys invented their own Valentine's Day knock-knock jokes and riddles.”

“Those two are so creative,” Phoebe said. “Maybe they'll grow up to be artists or writers.”

“Speaking of writers, are Georgia, Ciara, and Barbara in the clear?” Violet asked, smoothing the skirt of her lavender dress.

Jane frowned. “Unfortunately, no. Ciara and Barbara seem like genuinely nice people, but they could be putting on an act. And Georgia? Watch her if you can. She looks extremely self-satisfied.”

“How could a person take pleasure from another's death?” Eloise said.

No one responded, and eventually, Jane tapped her watch face and said, “We'd better get going. If my hunch about Nigel is correct, he'll risk being seen in order to speak with Lily Jamison, the Heartfire editor.”

Mrs. Pratt put her wineglass in the sink. “Since we're both judges, Phoebe and I will be sitting on either side of Ms. Jamison. We promise to keep a close eye on
all
the men she talks to after the contest.”