“Has Ellery been invited to the Marauder’s Masquerade?” Mrs. Clarence demanded, dropping her pile of books onto the counter for Nora to ring up.
Ellery laughed at the idea.
“Not yet,” Nora said cheerfully, grabbing the first of Mrs. Clarence’s paperbacks and ringing it up. Mrs. Clarence was a fan of spy and espionage books. “I’m sure he will be.”
“Why would I be?” Ellery objected.
Mrs. Clarence said, “Everyone who’s anyone is invited. Isn’t that right, dear?”
Nora nodded. “Exactly right.”
“I repeat, why would I be invited?”
The ladies ignored him. Nora beamed at Mrs. Clarence. “Have you received your invite, dear?”
“Me?” Mrs. Clarence chuckled. She was somewhere in her late sixties, very tall, very blonde, sleek and surprisingly stylish for one of Pirate Cove’s matrons. “Oh, I don’t think I’m on the Bloodworths’ social radar.”
“You never know, Edna. Nora’s been invited to the Masquerade many times.” Mrs. Nelson’s voice floated from the Cozy Mystery section. Mrs. Nelson was another of Ellery’s regular customers, although maybe customer wasn’t the exact word, given that she returned as many books as she kept. She was a member of Tuesday night’s Silver Sleuths Book Club.
Thanks largely to Nora’s tireless efforts and, probably, her standing as one of Pirate Cove’s best-informed gossips, the Crow’s Nest was becoming one of the village’s unofficial community centers.
Nora looked regretful. “Not since I wrote that biography of Tom Blood for the Historical Society’s newsletter.”
“Ah.” Mrs. Clarence looked sympathetic. “I’ve always thought Marguerite lacked a sense of humor.”
The invisible Mrs. Nelson concurred.
Nora sighed. “It’s a shame. The spread they put on is magnificent. Nothing less than magnificent. But I refuse to whitewash history. Not for all the crab puffs in New England.”
Ellery faced out the final book, and wheeled the empty book cart back to the counter, followed by Watson. He reached the counter just as Mr. Starling, another of the Crow’s Nest regulars, joined Nora and Mrs. Clarence at the cash register. Ellery regretted ever bringing up the topic of the Marauder’s Masquerade.
“There’s some talk the Masquerade was nearly canceled this year,” Mr. Starling announced. “That’s why the invitations went out so late.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Clarence. “That would be the first time in nearly eighty years.”
“No, dear,” Mrs. Nelson called. “They didn’t hold the Masquerade during the war.”
“Where did you hear such a thing, Stanley?” Nora no doubt felt she had been scooped.
Mr. Starling’s news even brought Mrs. Nelson, broad and stalwart as a schooner, sailing out from behind the tall shelves. “Are you sure it’s true?”
Mr. Starling nodded solemnly. “I have it on the best authority.”
Nora’s gray eyes narrowed. “I suppose you mean Jonas Landry. How someone that loose-lipped has survived as a lawyer for fifty years boggles the mind.” She glanced at Ellery, read his expression correctly, and blushed.
“Have you been invited to the Masquerade, Mr. Starling?” Ellery threw over his shoulder, pushing the book cart into his office.
Mr. Starling made a noise that around the holidays would be classified as bah-humbug. “I have no interest in that kind of nonsense.”
The doorbell chimed, and a group of young women wearing sunglasses and toting shopping bags pushed inside. Tourists. Which meant they might actually sell some books that afternoon. Except… The day trippers took one look at the club meeting taking place at the sales desk, exchanged looks, and backed right out again.
Ellery swallowed his disappointment. It was hard to find the right balance. He didn’t want to offend his regulars, but the Crow’s Nest needed more business to survive. A lot more business.
Meanwhile…
“Yes, that would explain why the invitations are going out so late,” Mrs. Nelson was musing. “She handed over a single paperback to Nora. “I’ll take this one, Nora.”
“You’ve already purchased and returned that one twice,” Nora informed her.
“Have I?” Mrs. Nelson looked astonished. She studied the cartoony figures on the bright pastel cover. “Oh, I believe you’re right. It was the pastry chef, wasn’t it? Ellery, you’re really going to have to order more stock.”
“No way,” Ellery said. “Not until every single title of existing stock has been sold.”
The four of them gaped at him, and Ellery laughed. “Kidding. I just shelved a whole new shipment.”
Mrs. Nelson shook her head. She said to Nora, “He’s such an odd boy, isn’t he, dear?”
“But charming,” Mrs. Clarence put in.
This was too much for Mr. Starling. He grumbled something and headed for the door.
“Will we see you tonight, Stanley?” Nora called.
Mr. Starling waved his hand and growled something unintelligible. The bell on the door chimed cheerfully as he departed. The ladies at the counter smiled at each other.
“You must join our book club, dear,” Mrs. Nelson told Mrs. Clarence. “We’re reading Diana Killian’s Corpse Pose.”
“Still?” Ellery said. “Weren’t you reading that last month?”
Nora and Mrs. Nelson stared blankly at him, and Ellery put his hands up in surrender. “Okay. Whatever. So long as you’re enjoying yourselves.”
Nora smiled approvingly and then beamed in welcome as another customer made her way diffidently to the counter.
“What have we here?” Nora held up the book to her eyeline to gain a closer look. “Ah, Brandon Abbott’s last book. Very good. His books have been selling like hotcakes since…” Her gaze slid to Ellery. “Since the dreadful tragedy!” Nora finished cheerfully.
Ellery sighed and went to tear down the signage from last weekend’s sale.
Chapter Two
A silver sliver of crescent moon seemed to have hooked itself on one of the twin conical towers of Captain’s Seat when Ellery arrived home that Tuesday evening.
Ellery parked in the drive and let Watson out to run around chasing varmints both real and imagined.
Arf. Arf. Arf.
Watson’s piercing bark echoed off the stone drive and towers as he raced from flower bed to steps and back again.
Ellery propped his hands on his hips and drew in deep breaths of cool evening air. The soothing scents of the warm meadow and ocean drifted on the summer breeze. Lights twinkled through the trees. Many of the island’s summer homes were occupied now, though Ellery’s home was still quite isolated from its nearest neighbors.
Home was kind of a weird word for Captain’s Seat.
The decaying Dutch Renaissance style mansion Ellery had inherited from his Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had been commissioned in the eighteenth century by the famous pirate hunter Captain Horatio Page.
Why a pirate hunter would decide to settle down on an island that had served as a pirate sanctuary for a couple of centuries was a question for the ages. Safe to say, the old boy had not been easily intimidated.