A Novel Death: a Danger Cove Bookshop Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 10) by Elizabeth Ashby, Ellie Ashe Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Ashby, Ellie Ashe
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the police making any progress on that front, I figured I could help out. And that might take the attention off of me also.
I had emailed Detective Marshall, but the police hadn't rushed over to grab the jacket while Alicia and I were at Dr. Whitaker's, so while I had a little downtime the next day, I rummaged through the pockets again while in the break room. There was little to look at. The pocket watch looked old and couldn't tell me where its owner had been. I carefully put the item back in Cal's jacket, then washed my hands again. I put the bag with the cat fur under the sink. My mother sometimes dropped in, and she'd have a clean-freak meltdown if she saw it.
Alicia walked in and hung her coat in the closet, lingering as I washed a couple of dirty coffee cups in the sink.
"Why are you so set on getting involved in this investigation?" Alicia asked, picking up a dish towel to dry the dishes.
I still wasn't entirely sure myself, but I just knew that doing nothing wasn't an option. My grandmother's beloved bookstore was being featured in all the news stories about Cal's death, and I didn't want her memory to be associated with that. I knew, rationally, that it would blow over eventually, but it still rankled. And it would just blow up into a bigger scandal if people thought I was a suspect. Which was exactly what was going to happen if Detective Marshall kept asking questions about me and my temper and my access to firearms.
"The faster the police find Cal's murderer, the faster Dangerous Reads can get back to normal," I said, rinsing off the mugs and setting them in the drying rack.
I didn't want to mention my other concern. Despite how busy we'd been Tuesday with plenty of people milling around the store, sales were flat. We'd sold a lot of Cal's autobiographies, but at the end of the day, my deposit was just average. All those extra people were browsing but not buying. And the store was busy again today, enough that I'd asked Katya and Burt to both work a few extra hours in the afternoon. That meant my payroll expenses were higher, but the sales weren't. I couldn't sustain that sort of trend. Dangerous Reads already ran on a pretty thin margin.
"Well, I'm happy to help out. But really, shouldn't we recruit Burt? He reads a lot of mysteries," Alicia suggested.
"You don't?" I was pretty sure I'd seen Alicia with her arms full of Agatha Christie, Laura Lippman, and Janet Evanovich.
"I do a little, but mostly I stick to romance," she said. "Speaking of which, what did you think of our vet? Pretty handsome, right?"
I glanced at her with a stern look. "I suppose so."
"He's single."
"That's nice."
"You're single."
"For a reason," I reminded her.
Sure, Adam Whitaker was attractive. Compelling, even. But I had just ended a long-term relationship and was in no mood to dive into the dating pool again. Alicia didn't seem to share my doubts. She was on a mission to remedy my single status. I needed a distraction, and quick.
"Did you finish reading Cal's book yet?"
Alicia put the mugs in the upper cabinet, ensuring I'd have to drag a chair over to get them out. When she turned back toward me, she looked a little guilty.
"I started the book," she said.
"Me too. How far did you get?"
She sighed. "End of chapter two. The stories…"
I nodded. "I know. I'm at chapter three. 'The Swinging Seventies.'"
We both shuddered.
"We should read it through," I said. "There's probably information in there about people who would want to kill him."
Alicia nodded. "I'll keep trying."
The bookstore had quieted down as people went to dinner, and it was nothing that Alicia and I couldn't handle. I took the register as she reshelved the true-crime and biography sections—the two hardest hit sections that day. By seven o'clock, the bookstore was quiet enough for me to tidy up the counter, and I straightened up the stack of newspapers on the rack by the cash register, my gaze falling on the two front-page stories from the Seattle
I had emailed Detective Marshall, but the police hadn't rushed over to grab the jacket while Alicia and I were at Dr. Whitaker's, so while I had a little downtime the next day, I rummaged through the pockets again while in the break room. There was little to look at. The pocket watch looked old and couldn't tell me where its owner had been. I carefully put the item back in Cal's jacket, then washed my hands again. I put the bag with the cat fur under the sink. My mother sometimes dropped in, and she'd have a clean-freak meltdown if she saw it.
Alicia walked in and hung her coat in the closet, lingering as I washed a couple of dirty coffee cups in the sink.
"Why are you so set on getting involved in this investigation?" Alicia asked, picking up a dish towel to dry the dishes.
I still wasn't entirely sure myself, but I just knew that doing nothing wasn't an option. My grandmother's beloved bookstore was being featured in all the news stories about Cal's death, and I didn't want her memory to be associated with that. I knew, rationally, that it would blow over eventually, but it still rankled. And it would just blow up into a bigger scandal if people thought I was a suspect. Which was exactly what was going to happen if Detective Marshall kept asking questions about me and my temper and my access to firearms.
"The faster the police find Cal's murderer, the faster Dangerous Reads can get back to normal," I said, rinsing off the mugs and setting them in the drying rack.
I didn't want to mention my other concern. Despite how busy we'd been Tuesday with plenty of people milling around the store, sales were flat. We'd sold a lot of Cal's autobiographies, but at the end of the day, my deposit was just average. All those extra people were browsing but not buying. And the store was busy again today, enough that I'd asked Katya and Burt to both work a few extra hours in the afternoon. That meant my payroll expenses were higher, but the sales weren't. I couldn't sustain that sort of trend. Dangerous Reads already ran on a pretty thin margin.
"Well, I'm happy to help out. But really, shouldn't we recruit Burt? He reads a lot of mysteries," Alicia suggested.
"You don't?" I was pretty sure I'd seen Alicia with her arms full of Agatha Christie, Laura Lippman, and Janet Evanovich.
"I do a little, but mostly I stick to romance," she said. "Speaking of which, what did you think of our vet? Pretty handsome, right?"
I glanced at her with a stern look. "I suppose so."
"He's single."
"That's nice."
"You're single."
"For a reason," I reminded her.
Sure, Adam Whitaker was attractive. Compelling, even. But I had just ended a long-term relationship and was in no mood to dive into the dating pool again. Alicia didn't seem to share my doubts. She was on a mission to remedy my single status. I needed a distraction, and quick.
"Did you finish reading Cal's book yet?"
Alicia put the mugs in the upper cabinet, ensuring I'd have to drag a chair over to get them out. When she turned back toward me, she looked a little guilty.
"I started the book," she said.
"Me too. How far did you get?"
She sighed. "End of chapter two. The stories…"
I nodded. "I know. I'm at chapter three. 'The Swinging Seventies.'"
We both shuddered.
"We should read it through," I said. "There's probably information in there about people who would want to kill him."
Alicia nodded. "I'll keep trying."
The bookstore had quieted down as people went to dinner, and it was nothing that Alicia and I couldn't handle. I took the register as she reshelved the true-crime and biography sections—the two hardest hit sections that day. By seven o'clock, the bookstore was quiet enough for me to tidy up the counter, and I straightened up the stack of newspapers on the rack by the cash register, my gaze falling on the two front-page stories from the Seattle
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