Prologue
The damp night air was bracingly cold and, as always, suffused with the distinct ocean smell. Supposedly that seaside scent came from bacteria digesting dead phytoplankton. Ellery had picked that tidbit up that afternoon from a Tripp Ellis thriller.
The streets were quiet and strangely deserted as he walked back from the pub to the bookstore. His car—well, Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s car, if someone wanted to get technical—was still in the parking lot. Captain’s Seat, Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s decrepit mansion, was about a fifteen-minute drive from the village. Walking distance for someone who hadn’t been on his feet all day and didn’t mind a stroll down a pitch-black country road. None of which described Ellery.
His thoughts were preoccupied as he turned the corner onto the narrow brick street that held the little bookshop that had brought him to Pirate’s Cove in the first place.
The tall Victorian buildings cast deep shadows. Most of the storefronts were dark or illuminated only by the faint glow of emergency lights, so he was startled to see the bright yellow oblongs stretching from the tall windows of the Crow’s Nest across the gray pavement.
That’s weird.
He was positive he had locked the place up after shutting all the lights off. A larger than usual electricity bill was the last thing he wanted.
He sped up, his footsteps echoing down the silent street as he hurried toward the Crow’s Nest. He grabbed the doorknob, guiltily recalling that the first words Chief Carson had ever spoken to him concerned replacing the sticky old lock with a new deadbolt. His dismay ratcheted up another notch as the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Oh no.
No way had he forgotten to lock up. He had lived in New York most of his life, for heaven’s sake. Locking doors was second nature to him. Sure, Pirate’s Cove was a small town, but all you had to do was flip through a couple of titles in the cozy-mystery section to know that evil lurked in the cutest, quaintest corners of the universe.
“Hello?” he called.
His uneasy gaze fell on the thing lying just a few feet inside the shop. A purple-plumed tricorn hat. He looked past the hat, and his breath caught. His heart shuddered to a stop.
“No,” he whispered. “No way…”
At first glance there appeared to be a drunken pirate passed out on the floor of the Crow’s Nest. His disbelieving eyes took in the glossy boots, black velvet breeches, long, plum-colored coat and gold-trimmed vest, the scarlet lace jabot…
Scarlet.
Because the lacy folds were soaked in blood. The same blood slowly spreading around the motionless—terrifyingly motionless—form sprawled on newly sanded hardwood floors.
He put a hand out to steady himself—except there was nothing to grab—so he stumbled forward, landing on his knees beside the body. He instinctively reached to check for… But there was no need. The eerie stillness of the man’s chest, the glassy stare, the gray and bloodless face… Trevor Maples was dead. Tiny, twin, horror-stricken reflections of himself in those sightless blue eyes.
He drew back, climbed clumsily to his feet, and staggered out the open door to the uncannily silent street.
“Help!” he cried. “Help! Murder!”
One by one, the street’s lamps turned on as residents in the apartments above the shops surrounding the Crow’s Nest woke to the cries of death and disaster. The windows of normally sleepy little Pirate’s Cove lit up like the stars winking overhead.
Chapter One
A few hours earlier…
Ellery Page was thinking of murder.
Given that he was standing in the middle of a mystery bookstore, maybe that wasn’t surprising.
Or maybe it was, since he had never expected to be the owner of a bookstore, mystery or otherwise. However, Ellery was not thinking of fictional murders. He was not thinking of locked-room or impossible mysteries, nor romantic suspense (definitely not romantic anything) nor serial-killer thrillers. Nope. He was thinking of picking up the small bronze crow (it was actually a raven, had Great-great-great-aunt Eudora only known) paperweight and conking Trevor Maples over the head.
“Yes or no?” Trevor demanded, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air of the Crow’s Nest bookshop. It was the middle of the day, and the sunlight off the ocean filtered through the big bay windows of the corner shop, glancing off the row of ships’ lanterns lining the back wall. The light reflecting off the glass, prismed in sea glass flashes of blue and green, created the charming illusion of an undersea grotto.
Well, it wasn’t all illusion. Financially speaking, the shop was definitely underwater.
Which was why it made sense to accept Trevor’s offer.
“Same answer as before,” Ellery replied. “No.”
No one had ever accused him of being overly sensible.
“I don’t understand you,” Trevor protested. “You asked for more money. I’ve upped my original offer twice.”
“I didn’t ask for more money. You said I was holding out for more money and that you wouldn’t raise your offer.”
Trevor’s buffed, professionally manicured nails beat impatiently against the wooden counter. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Each time his fingertips hit the counter, Ellery tried not to wince. Trevor was, at least in his own opinion, kind of a big deal in Pirate’s Cove. He owned three of the most successful shops in the village and was currently the leading candidate for mayor.
Apparently, the fact that the Crow’s Nest had a few dusty first editions for sale put Ellery in direct competition with Gimcrack Antiques, Trevor’s most successful business enterprise, but Ellery found that hard to believe. The Crow’s Nest had been foundering for a long time. He had to believe there was some other more pressing reason that Trevor was so determined to buy him out. So determined, in fact, that he’d shown up on a Saturday morning, taking time out from his campaigning. This made it his third attempt in as many weeks to buy the Crow’s Nest.
“You said the shop held no sentimental value for you. You never even met Eudora. What else could you mean besides wanting more money?”
Trevor looked around at the store as he waited for Ellery’s answer. His lip curled.
It wasn’t hard to read his mind. Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had died in February, and though Ellery had been working steadily for the last three months, trying to get everything shipshape, you couldn’t undo forty years of dust and disorganization just like that. To add to the challenge, Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had been quite a hoarder during the last few years of her life. Every time Ellery had to go down to the cellar, he feared he would be crushed beneath one of those teetering towers of moldy paperbacks.
“Well?” Trevor cocked a gingery eyebrow at Ellery. He looked pointedly at his open checkbook.
“Well what?”
“What is it you want, if not money?” Tap, tap, tap. Trevor’s fingers drummed across the wood a little faster as his impatience grew.
“It’s not about money,” Ellery said.
Trevor drawled, “It’s always about money.”
And he wasn’t completely wrong. The offer of a ready-made home and business had definitely factored into Ellery’s decision to leave his life in New York. Timing had also been a consideration. Opportunity had knocked in the form of Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s passing, and Ellery had answered.