Murder in the Paperback Parlor (3 page)

Aunt Octavia glowered at the butler. “This has nothing to do with my diabetes. Mrs. Hubbard is just put out because she wasn't invited. She's a fine woman, but all she wants to do is gossip about the event to anyone passing through the kitchens of Storyton Hall.”

Butterworth was smart enough to drop the subject. Instead, he informed them that their car was ready and wished them a pleasant lunch. No one would have guessed that the butler, impeccably dressed in his blue-and-gold Storyton livery with his hair neatly combed and his shoes polished to a high shine, had been mercilessly pummeling a practice bag earlier that morning.

The twins jumped into the back of a vintage Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow while Jane settled Aunt Octavia in the passenger seat. Behind them, Sterling was helping an elderly couple out of his favorite Rolls, a Silver Cloud II. He tipped his cap at Jane. She waved and then drove down the resort's long, tree-lined driveway.

At the end of the driveway, Jane slowed as the car approached the massive wrought-iron gates bearing the Steward crest—an owl clutching a scroll in its talons. The family motto, which could also be found on the guest room key fobs, had been inscribed in an arch-shaped banner over the owl's head.

Aunt Octavia pointed at the crest. “Let me hear our motto, boys.”

“De Nobis Fabula Narratur,”
the twins replied, doing their best to pronounce the Latin words correctly.
“Their Story Is Our Story.”

Aunt Octavia smiled. “Excellent. When we get to the village, you may see what I have in my change purse. If you can count the coins correctly, they're yours. I hear that the Pickled Pig market has a marvelous display of Valentine's Day candy.”

Jane glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a gleam appear in her sons' eyes.

“Speaking of Valentine's Day, are the preparations for Romancing the Reader complete?” Aunt Octavia asked.

“For the most part,” Jane said. “Our guest of honor, Rosamund York, is being a bit of a nuisance.”

Aunt Octavia didn't seem surprised. “She's a diva. Wants fresh roses in her suite each day. Will only drink a specific brand of spring water. Prefers not to mingle with her fans outside of her scheduled events. Her publicist sees to her every whim and handles all of Ms. York's communication. Am I getting warm?”

Approaching a sharp curve known as Broken Arm Bend, Jane reduced her speed. “You're spot on. How did you know?”

“Mrs. Pratt is a diehard Rosamund York fan. I had the misfortune of running into her at the bookshop. When I foolishly mentioned Romancing the Reader, she turned positively giddy. I've never seen a fiftysomething woman bounce in such a manner.” She frowned. “It was rather disturbing.”

Jane smiled. “Mrs. Eugenia Pratt is a devout fan of the entire romance genre. She reads three to four books a week, but I hadn't realized that she knew intimate details about her favorite authors as well.”

“I'm sure she'd like to get
intimate
with the male cover models,” Aunt Octavia said with a snort.

“What does ‘intimate' mean?” Fitz asked.

“Being close to,” Jane said as they entered the village. She pulled the car into the only vacant parking spot in front of the Pickled Pig and pivoted in her seat to address her sons. “Mr. Hogg is expecting you. Remember, he's providing you with lunch and will then introduce you to his new pet. You'll have a chance to enter the name-the-pet contest and afterward, you can fill a small bag with candy from the bulk bins.” She held out a warning finger. “I expect you both to be on your best behavior. If I hear any unfavorable reports, I will hold your candy hostage until further notice.”

The boys responded with the briefest of nods before Hem turned to Aunt Octavia. “Can we count your coins now?”

Aunt Octavia passed them her coin purse. “Just bring it into the market with you, my dears. I don't want to be any later for lunch than we already are.”

Delighted, the boys jumped out of the car and ran into the market, nearly barreling into an older gentleman with a walker. Jane said a silent prayer that they wouldn't get into too much mischief and relocated the car to a spot in between Run for Cover, Eloise Alcott's bookstore, and Daily Bread, Edwin Alcott's new café.

Eloise must have been watching for them out the restaurant's window, because she whipped open the front door before Jane could reach for the handle. Jane's best friend was a lovely woman in her early thirties with chin-length dark hair that framed her heart-shaped face. Her gray eyes were kind and intelligent and she smiled often. She was devoted to Storyton Village, her customers, and the Cover Girls book club. One would expect her devotion to extend to her older brother, Edwin, as well, but Edwin and Eloise weren't exactly close. Edwin was a travel writer and had spent most of his adult life journeying around the globe. He could be impatient, blunt, and cryptic.

So naturally, Eloise was flabbergasted when her brother announced his intention to buy the failing café next door and completely transform the space in time for the Romancing the Reader week.

“You won't believe what Edwin's done,” Eloise exclaimed as she ushered Jane and Aunt Octavia inside. “It's like entering another world. An exotic oasis right here in Storyton.”

Eloise was right. When Jane entered the café, she gasped in wonder. Gone was the aging-diner look of the former establishment. The faded linoleum flooring had been replaced with dark rich hardwood and an assortment of kilim rugs. Chairs with wicker backs and plump ivory cushions were pulled up to hammered-copper tables. The walls were covered with antique maps and framed postcards. Potted palms stood like soldiers at regular intervals along the longest wall. At the back of the café, mosquito nets served as a divider between the main dining area and a lounge space. In this intimate alcove,
British Colonial chairs with animal print cushions were grouped around a black steamer trunk.

“Are we supposed to eat there?” Aunt Octavia gestured at the lounge area.

“It's a place for people to relax with a cup of tea or a smoothie. A conversation corner, so to speak,” Edwin said, coming forward to greet his guests. He gave Aunt Octavia a deferential bow and then reached for Jane's hand. “I'm glad you could make it.” He cast his gaze around the café, watching people take in little details that Jane had missed upon first glance, like the border of hand-painted tiles around the perimeter of the room, the antique birdcage, or the urn-shaped wall sconces. “What do you think?” he asked, turning back to Jane.

“It's wonderful,” Jane said.

Edwin offered Aunt Octavia his arm. “May I escort you to the best seat in the house?”

Aunt Octavia inclined her head. After distributing menus to everyone, Edwin disappeared into the kitchen and a middle-aged man wearing a white linen shirt and linen trousers entered the dining room. He flashed them a bright smile from beneath a splendid moustache, introduced himself as Magnus, and declared that he'd be coming around with mango and cardamom smoothies for them to sip while they studied the menu.

Jane was delighted to find that all the sandwiches had been named after famous poets and were far more interesting than the dry roast beef and Swiss melts the previous owner had served. She found it difficult to decide which one to try first.

“I'm having the Rumi,” Aunt Octavia declared. “You?”

“The Pablo Neruda.”

The food was delicious. When Edwin came out of the kitchen to check on his customers, he was greeted by a burst of applause.

“You're going to be mobbed by all the romance fans next week!” Mrs. Pratt, another member of Jane's book club cried. The rest of the Cover Girls would have loved to be dining alongside Mrs. Pratt at this moment, but unfortunately, they had to work. “This setting is straight out of an
Elizabeth Peters novel. Are you a romantic, Mr. Alcott?” Mrs. Pratt batted her lashes at Edwin.

“No,” Edwin said. “That malady is for younger men.”

“Come now,” Mrs. Pratt pressed. “A man with such an obvious appreciation for poetry must believe in romance.”

“Lord Byron understood. He wrote, ‘the heart will break, but broken live on.'” Edwin smiled at Mrs. Pratt, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “And now, if you'll excuse me, I must see to the honey lavender crème brûlée.”

As Edwin vanished into the kitchen, Jane wondered who'd broken his heart. And when.

“Dark, brooding, and handsome. He's a modern-day Heathcliff,” Aunt Octavia said and then studied Jane. “You'd do well to stay clear of that one. Heathcliffs don't make good husbands or father figures for young and impressionable boys.”

To her horror, Jane blushed. “What makes you think Edwin Alcott ever crosses my mind?”

Aunt Octavia barked out a laugh. “I may be old, fat, diabetic, and contrary, but I'm not blind. I've known men like Edwin Alcott. Indeed, I have. They're trouble, Jane. Trouble with a capital
T
.”

“I had enough of that this past autumn,” Jane said as the server appeared with their dessert. “But Romancing the Reader will be completely different than our Murder and Mayhem week. We'll be hosting a company of ladies devoted to happy endings. It'll be a lovely, festive, and harmonious time. Not a single dead body in sight.”

Daily Bread

S
OUPS

The Robert Burns—
cheddar and beer

The John Keats—
chicken and wild rice

The Phillis Wheatley—
sweet potato corn chowder

S
ALADS

The Robert Frost—
tomato, watercress, and fennel with lime vinaigrette

The Walt Whitman—
fried green tomato with chipotle dressing

The Anna Akhmatova—
roasted beet with mint and chèvre

S
ANDWICHES

The Homer—
Greek salad on pita

The Dante Alighieri—
prosciutto, smoked mozzarella, and sun-dried tomatoes

The Pablo Neruda—
Chilean beef or chicken, steamed green beans, Muenster, hot peppers, and avocado

The Rumi—
smoked turkey, sliced apple, and goat cheese

The Li-Po—
shrimp and vegetable wrap, soy-laced mayo

The Emily Dickinson—
egg salad with pickled celery and Dijon mustard

D
ESSERT
—C
HEF
'
S
C
HOICE
(F
OR
THE
A
DVENTUROUS
O
NLY
)

A selection of exotic teas or fruit smoothies can be enjoyed in the main dining room or in the conversation
area

Jane and the rest of the diners thanked Edwin for the excellent lunch and offered to pay for their meals, but he wouldn't hear of it, so the satisfied customers left generous tips for Magnus and filed out of the café. Jane knew word of Edwin's triumph would spread through the village before she and her family made it back to Storyton Hall.

Aunt Octavia, who'd savored every bite of her lunch, was wearing a self-satisfied smile. Jane suspected the expression had something to do with the two honey lavender crème brûlée desserts her great-aunt had polished off, but decided not to scold her for deviating from her diet. Mrs. Hubbard, Storyton's head chef, would have Aunt Octavia back on track by suppertime.

“Keep the motor running,” Aunt Octavia said when Jane drove to the Pickled Pig to pick up the twins. “I don't feel like going inside just to see whatever bunny, bird, or rodent the Hogg brothers have adopted as their store mascot.”

As it turned out, he was none of those animals. When Jane caught her first glimpse of the new pet sitting obediently in the center of a ring of children, his pink noise quivering in excitement and his curly tail wagging like a dog's, she laughed with pure delight.

“Mom!” Fitz cried when he saw her. “He's a pot-bellied pig! Isn't he awesome?”

Jane nodded. “He's splendid.” She turned to her other son. “How was your lunch?”

“Fine.” Hem only had eyes for the pig. “Mr. Hogg has been telling us all about his pet. He can take him on walks on a leash, and he says that pigs are super smart.”

“Like Wilbur in
Charlotte's Web
,” Fitz added.

At that moment, Tobias, the youngest of the three Hogg brothers, noticed Jane squatting next to her two sons.

“Hi, Ms. Steward. Feel free to get a little closer to our new pig. He's very fond of a good belly rub.”

The children scooted out of the way and Jane knelt in front of the adorable animal. He grunted noisily as she scratched his pink skin, which was covered with strands of bristly hair. The pig nudged her palm with his trembling nose and rubbed up against her.

“The whole village is going to fall in love with this little guy,” Jane said. “I look forward to hearing the winning name. Did all the kids enter the contest?”

“All the ones you see here and more.” Tobias puffed out his chest with pride. Like his older brothers, he was a round man with fleshy cheeks and deep dimples. And though he resembled Rufus and Duncan Hogg in appearance, Tobias was as jolly as Saint Nick, while his brothers rarely cracked a smile.

No wonder they're bachelors,
Jane thought, but she wished Tobias would find a nice woman. He was very fond of children and Jane judged he'd make a wonderful husband and father.

Suddenly, a matchmaking scheme popped into her head. “Have you heard about the Romancing the Reader event we're having at Storyton Hall?” she asked him. “It starts this Monday.”

“That's why I took such care with the window display.” Tobias gestured at the storefront. “I figured the ladies would be attracted to the heart-shaped boxes. I ordered all sorts of treats just for them, including some naughty conversation
hearts.” His cheeks reddened. “Of course, I wouldn't give those candies to my Valentine. I'd give her truffles. Homemade ones.”

“I remember sampling yours at Christmas,” Jane said. “How would you like to help Mrs. Hubbard with Tuesday's truffle workshop? We could use someone with your chocolate making skills, and it would be a great opportunity for you to tell the lovely ladies all about the Pickled Pig.”

“Perhaps one of the single ladies will be looking for a man who'll treat her like a queen,” Tobias spoke so softly that Jane was sure his hopeful words hadn't been meant for her ears. His eyes shining, he turned to her. “Count me in, Ms. Steward.”

Jane told Tobias to check in with Mrs. Hubbard before Tuesday and then waved at the twins. “Come on, boys. Aunt Octavia's in the car and is probably annoyed that I've taken so long.”

Hem held up the plastic baggie containing his selections from the bulk candy display. “Don't worry. If I give her a Tootsie Roll, she'll forgive us.”

“But Mrs. Hubbard won't,” Jane said and propelled her sons toward the exit.

With full bellies and several anecdotes to share with those back at Storyton Hall, the foursome drove home.

Jane let Butterworth escort Aunt Octavia into the lobby and then returned the Rolls to the garage. She told the boys they could take ten pieces of candy and whatever book they were currently reading to one of their hiding places. They had over a dozen scattered throughout the manor and outbuildings. Tapping the face of Hem's digital watch, she added, “You have an hour. After that, I
will
inspect your room, including the items you shoved in your closet.”

Throwing promises over their shoulders, the twins dashed off to fetch their books. Jane headed into the kitchen, where she found Mrs. Hubbard decorating a cake.

“That looks heavenly. Is it for afternoon tea?”

Mrs. Hubbard finished forming a pale yellow rose and then straightened, surveying the beautiful confection with a critical eye. “This is a lemon layer cake with lemon curd and mascarpone. I thought it would complement the traditional sponge nicely.”

“If I hadn't just had a smoothie, a sandwich, and dessert, I'd be drooling,” Jane said. “And I'd better post a guard outside the Agatha Christie Tea Room or Aunt Octavia might try to sneak in and grab a slice of both cakes.”

“No need to worry,” Mrs. Hubbard assured her. “I made a low-sugar version of the Victoria sandwich for Ms. Octavia.” She picked up another icing bag and began adding leaves to the roses. “Now, tell me all about Mr. Alcott's luncheon.”

Jane knew she needed to ingratiate herself with Mrs. Hubbard before confessing that she'd invited Tobias Hogg to take part in the truffle workshop, so she shared every detail she could remember. While she was talking, one of the line cooks opened the back door for the UPS deliveryman.

Mrs. Hubbard, who'd been hanging on Jane's every word, suddenly held up a finger and frowned. “Again? I can scarcely believe it.”

Setting the icing bag down, she wiped her hands on her apron and marched over to the delivery cart. Plucking a box from the top of the stack, she examined the label and shook her head. She then carried the box to her workspace and plunked it next to the cake.

“We have a mystery on our hands,” she declared theatrically. “Our Mr. Lachlan has been receiving these unusual packages on a regular basis.” She showed Jane the stamp on the top of the box. “They all come with the same warning: ‘Perishable. Keep frozen,' and they're shipped by a company I've never heard of before.”

Jane examined the address label. The box had come from a place called Indiana Trading, Incorporated. “These arrive often?”

“Regular as clockwork,” Mrs. Hubbard said. “And Mr. Lachlan wants to be notified as soon as a package is delivered.” She shrugged. “Mr. Lachlan is a charming man and I don't mean to imply that he's up to no good. I just can't help but wonder why the head of our recreation department needs perishable items in the dead of winter.” She put a hand over her large, aproned bosom. “It's none of my business, but since you happened to be here . . .”

Mrs. Hubbard was clearly implying that while she was in no position to tear open other people's mail, the resort manager certainly had a right to do so. However, Jane had no intention of invading Mr. Lachlan's privacy. “I'll take a look at last month's expense report and see if this company has billed Storyton Hall. If so, I'm sure Mr. Lachlan can provide me with a reasonable explanation as to why he's ordering perishable goods.”

She signaled to the line cook. “Roy, would you put this in the freezer, please?”

With the box gone, Mrs. Hubbard seemed to remember that she had yet to finish decorating the lemon cake. She glanced at the wall clock, blanched, and scooped up the icing tube. “Oh my! I've run my mouth and completely lost track of the time again!” Mrs. Hubbard hurriedly piped another green leaf and then began shouting frantic orders to her staff. They responded immediately, wearing knowing smiles and scurrying to obey.

Jane retreated from the kitchen, but not before snagging two chocolate madeleines from the cooling rack. She always helped herself to freshly baked treats to enjoy with her afternoon tea, but made a point of limiting them to a single scone, a thin slice of cake, or two cookies. Even with her new physical training schedule, which included martial arts, archery, and yoga, Jane didn't dare indulge in the afternoon tea bounty the way her guests did. After all, they were on vacation. She lived at Storyton Hall and needed to show restraint, especially when the weather turned warm and the Steward family took their tea on a table on the back terrace.

But spring seemed like a distant dream. The weather forecast had been warning of snow for days and the sky was tinged with the ghostly pink hue that often preceded a snowfall. Jane hoped the storm would come and go before Romancing the Reader began. As beautiful as Storyton's fleet of vintage Rolls-Royce sedans was, they weren't the best vehicles for navigating the icy mountains roads.

Fretting over the weather and a dozen other details concerning the forthcoming event, Jane headed to her cozy office.
She set her tea treat aside for later and focused on reading e-mails, reviewing next week's budget, and watching the radar map on her computer. According to the site, the snow would arrive that evening, dust the ground with half an inch of accumulation, and be gone by Sunday morning.

“I hope that's accurate,” Jane said and then stared at the budget report. “If the ladies can't get to Storyton Hall on Monday, our bottom line will suffer a major blow.”

Jane glanced at the corkboard hung on the wall opposite her desk. It featured orderly rows of construction paper in primary hues. Upon each piece of paper, Jane had written a long-term project goal. She referred to this display as her Hopes and Dreams Board and looked at it several times each day.

Gazing at the board, Jane wondered which project to pick first. “I doubt our guests would be overly impressed by roof repairs or the retiling of the Jules Verne pool.” She moved her hand over the brown paper and the blue paper until it rested on the green paper. “They'd rather hear about the restoration of the orchard or the folly.” She touched the purple piece next. “Or that we've opened a spa.”

Silently vowing that she'd accomplish one of these major goals by the end of spring, Jane crossed a few more items off her to-do list. At three, she stopped for a tea break. As she sipped a cup of Earl Grey and ate her two madeleines as slowly as possible to prolong the pleasure, she called up the Romance Writers of America website and read the biographies of the authors who'd soon be coming to Storyton. When her teacup was empty, Jane went off in search of the twins.

She found Fitz and Hem exactly where she expected them to be: perched on stools in the kitchen. Judging by their chocolate moustaches and the clump of white stuff in Fitz's hair, Mrs. Hubbard had treated them to hot cocoa with mini marshmallows. Catching sight of their mother, the boys each gave Mrs. Hubbard a quick hug and then dashed outside.

“I think they just remembered that I'm about to inspect their room,” Jane said.

Mrs. Hubbard laughed and took the kettle off the stove.

With the tea sandwiches, scones, cakes, and cookies safely arranged in the Agatha Christie Tea Room, Mrs. Hubbard could relax for a few moments until she began prepping for the dinner service. She always took her break between three and four o'clock so she could visit with the twins. Like Aunt Octavia, she doted on them terribly. While Aunt Octavia bought them books, puzzles, crafts, comics, and anything else that might spark their imaginations, Mrs. Hubbard spoiled them with food. It wasn't all unhealthy, and Jane had entered the kitchen many a time to see the boys snacking on ants on a log, grape caterpillars, cheese cube towers, coral fish made of shaved carrots and cucumbers, or palm trees with banana slice stems and kiwi leaves.

Jane glanced at the two smudges of chocolate on Mrs. Hubbard's apron and smiled. There was no one like Mrs. Hubbard, just like there was no one like Butterworth, Sterling, Sinclair, or the other people of Storyton Hall who'd become like family to Jane. Mrs. Hubbard poured water over her tea leaves and then smiled back, as though she understood exactly what Jane was feeling.

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” Mrs. Hubbard exclaimed. “Ms. Octavia mentioned that you were in charge of dessert for your book club tonight. I know how busy you've been trying to get everything ready for Monday, so I made it for you.”

Jane gaped. “You shouldn't have! You have too much on your plate already. Excuse the cliché, but it's true.”

“The cake's on the pantry shelf in a bakery box,” Mrs. Hubbard said. “It's devil's food cake. It was Ned's idea, actually. He knows that your club is reading titles starting with the letter
D
, and last time he was babysitting the twins, he spotted a book called
The Devilish Duke
in your living room, so he suggested I make a devilish dessert.” Mrs. Hubbard flashed Jane an impish grin over the rim of her teacup. “
The Devilish Duke
sounds like the type of novel that could produce a very lively discussion.”

Jane recalled the scene she'd recently read and blushed. It had taken place in the duke's stagecoach after he'd carried off
the chambermaid from the neighbor's estate and ravished her on the way back to his manor. The scene had been very, very descriptive.

After thanking Mrs. Hubbard again, Jane took her cake and hurried home.

*   *   *

That evening after
supper, Fitz and Hem slung duffel bags over their shoulders and headed outside with a lantern. They were having a sleepover with Aunt Octavia and Uncle Aloysius and Jane knew they couldn't wait to play with the model train set Uncle Aloysius had set up on the floor in his office.