A Novel Death: a Danger Cove Bookshop Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 10) by Elizabeth Ashby, Ellie Ashe Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Ashby, Ellie Ashe
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daily paper—Cal's death and a new development with HunTech's main competitor.
Two months ago, that second story would have consumed my life—I'd be calling the tech reporters to offer our executives for exclusive interviews that would counter the other company's supposed breakthrough, casting doubt on its feasibility and promoting the projects that Hunter and his software engineers were working on.
Instead, I was now worried more about the fact that Dangerous Reads was named in the third paragraph of the long take on the life and death of B-list actor Cal Montague—murdered in his hometown, at a bookstore with a name that now looked like an omen.
The bell over the door chimed and yanked my attention away from the news, and I greeted a man in his early 30s who was wearing a Seattle Mariners cap pulled low. Despite that, he looked familiar to me, and I tried to place him.
"Can I help you find something?"
"Just browsing, thanks," he said, moving away from me and toward the romance section.
I stepped back behind the counter and found the receipts from earlier in the day that Burt had handwritten, with a note to Katya on top. With a resentful sigh, I entered them into the tablet so the inventory and the till would be up to date. It had only been a few weeks on the new system, and I was hopeful that Burt would come around to the new technology.
I glanced up and saw the man had moved from romance into nonfiction, picking up books at random. He seemed more interested in the store than in the reading material, especially in the back of the store, but the only thing back there was the break room and the exit to the alley. The man didn't look like a shoplifter, so I wasn't too concerned about him tucking that biography of Alexander Hamilton under his arm and running for the exit. But something about him drew my attention. He had a fidgety, nervous energy around him that was contagious, and I found myself growing more anxious the longer he was in the store.
The man drifted toward the pyramid display of Cal's books, and he picked one up, flipping through the pages while still keeping his eyes on the rear of the store. I slowly moved from behind the counter and toward the middle of the store until I was behind him. Then I sidled up next to him.
"Were you a fan of Cal Montague?" I asked, and the man jumped about a foot, nearly knocking over the display. I caught a book that tumbled off the top of the stack and steadied the rest.
"Uh, no. I mean, I'm not that familiar with him."
I wasn't sure what he was up to, but the Mariners fan didn't seem to be interested in books.
"This is our hottest seller right now," I said. "If you're interested, you might want to buy it now. They're going fast."
He shook his head. "No, thanks."
I shrugged as he put the book back on the stack and moved away, as if embarrassed to have been caught reading it. He picked up a book off the new-release table and made his way to the counter to pay for it.
"How well is that autobiography selling?" he asked.
"Really well. We've sold out of the signed copies, and we'll be placing another order soon," I said, making change for the purchase of a book on Northwest seafood restaurants. "Are you here on vacation? I can recommend the Lobster Pot if you're looking for a good seafood meal."
The man looked confused, then shook his head. "What?"
I held up the guidebook. "This book is about seafood restaurants."
"No. I'm fine, thanks," he said. "So were you here when that actor was killed?"
The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I saw Alicia's head turn back to keep an eye on the customer.
"Uh, yeah, I was," I said. "Why do you ask?"
He shifted, uncomfortable with my question. "I'm just curious."
He grabbed the book and opened a messenger bag, slipping it inside. When he did, I saw a laptop computer and a slim notebook, the kind I'd seen newspaper reporters using.
"Are you a reporter?" I gasped as my nightmare came to life.
The man's head jerked up, and
Two months ago, that second story would have consumed my life—I'd be calling the tech reporters to offer our executives for exclusive interviews that would counter the other company's supposed breakthrough, casting doubt on its feasibility and promoting the projects that Hunter and his software engineers were working on.
Instead, I was now worried more about the fact that Dangerous Reads was named in the third paragraph of the long take on the life and death of B-list actor Cal Montague—murdered in his hometown, at a bookstore with a name that now looked like an omen.
The bell over the door chimed and yanked my attention away from the news, and I greeted a man in his early 30s who was wearing a Seattle Mariners cap pulled low. Despite that, he looked familiar to me, and I tried to place him.
"Can I help you find something?"
"Just browsing, thanks," he said, moving away from me and toward the romance section.
I stepped back behind the counter and found the receipts from earlier in the day that Burt had handwritten, with a note to Katya on top. With a resentful sigh, I entered them into the tablet so the inventory and the till would be up to date. It had only been a few weeks on the new system, and I was hopeful that Burt would come around to the new technology.
I glanced up and saw the man had moved from romance into nonfiction, picking up books at random. He seemed more interested in the store than in the reading material, especially in the back of the store, but the only thing back there was the break room and the exit to the alley. The man didn't look like a shoplifter, so I wasn't too concerned about him tucking that biography of Alexander Hamilton under his arm and running for the exit. But something about him drew my attention. He had a fidgety, nervous energy around him that was contagious, and I found myself growing more anxious the longer he was in the store.
The man drifted toward the pyramid display of Cal's books, and he picked one up, flipping through the pages while still keeping his eyes on the rear of the store. I slowly moved from behind the counter and toward the middle of the store until I was behind him. Then I sidled up next to him.
"Were you a fan of Cal Montague?" I asked, and the man jumped about a foot, nearly knocking over the display. I caught a book that tumbled off the top of the stack and steadied the rest.
"Uh, no. I mean, I'm not that familiar with him."
I wasn't sure what he was up to, but the Mariners fan didn't seem to be interested in books.
"This is our hottest seller right now," I said. "If you're interested, you might want to buy it now. They're going fast."
He shook his head. "No, thanks."
I shrugged as he put the book back on the stack and moved away, as if embarrassed to have been caught reading it. He picked up a book off the new-release table and made his way to the counter to pay for it.
"How well is that autobiography selling?" he asked.
"Really well. We've sold out of the signed copies, and we'll be placing another order soon," I said, making change for the purchase of a book on Northwest seafood restaurants. "Are you here on vacation? I can recommend the Lobster Pot if you're looking for a good seafood meal."
The man looked confused, then shook his head. "What?"
I held up the guidebook. "This book is about seafood restaurants."
"No. I'm fine, thanks," he said. "So were you here when that actor was killed?"
The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I saw Alicia's head turn back to keep an eye on the customer.
"Uh, yeah, I was," I said. "Why do you ask?"
He shifted, uncomfortable with my question. "I'm just curious."
He grabbed the book and opened a messenger bag, slipping it inside. When he did, I saw a laptop computer and a slim notebook, the kind I'd seen newspaper reporters using.
"Are you a reporter?" I gasped as my nightmare came to life.
The man's head jerked up, and
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