And so far…yikes.
Ellery returned the hammer to the drawer in the office desk, pausing to consider a stack of Riker display cases filled with shells, seahorses, and starfish. He’d removed most of the grimy paintings, tattered posters, and total junk cluttering the walls in order to repaint. He’d rehung the best of the paintings but left the white walls otherwise clean and bare, giving the shop a more open, airy feel. But these display boxes were pretty cool. Maybe if he hung them at the ends of the dark shelves?
He heard the front entrance bell jingle, and tensed. Not again. He’d thought Trevor gave up too easily that time.
Ellery charged out of the office, fully prepared for round two, so it was a surprise to find a tall, dark-haired woman dressed in complete pirate wench costume, standing on the other side of the counter.
“Ahoy there, matey,” she drawled in a deep, slightly sexy voice.
Uh…right. Because today was the official start of Buccaneer Days, a weeklong celebration of Pirate’s Cove’s murky and probably nefarious history. Ostensibly, Buccaneer Days had been conceived as a way of attracting tourists off-season to this windswept southern coast of Rhode Island, but having worked in theater for most of his adult life, Ellery knew people loved any excuse to play dress-up.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
“Maybe we can help each other. I’m Tommy Rider.” She flashed Ellery a beguiling smile, offering her hand.
It took him a moment, but then he remembered that Thomasina Rider was the main real-estate agent for Pirate’s Cove. They’d never formally met, though they’d had some email correspondence regarding the deed to Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s house.
“Right. Nice to meet you at last.”
They shook hands, and Ellery did his best to avoid staring down into Tommy’s gold-embroidered green-velvet bustier. His preference ran on different lines, but no question she was quite striking. He guessed she had probably done some modeling.
“If I’d realized what I was missing, I’d have hightailed it over here sooner. Are you sure you’re a screenwriter and not an actor?”
Ellery smiled. He didn’t take her flattery seriously. For one thing, it was obvious her default setting was flirtatious. For another, he was well aware of his looks. When he’d been younger, he’d been very self-conscious, but at thirty-two he had learned to accept that through some fluke of biology, he’d hit the genetic jackpot. His wavy hair was dark brown, his wide eyes hazel, his bone structure elegantly masculine. He was six feet tall and lightly muscled—okay, the muscles were not inherited; he took pains to stay fit because writing was not exactly a physically demanding job.
“That was the first plan,” he admitted. “It turns out I can’t act my way out of a paper bag.”
Tommy chuckled. “No? Well, TV’s loss is our gain. Anyway, I decided it was time to finally meet you in person and see how the Crow’s Nest is coming along.” She glanced around the shop. “Good God. I have to say, you’ve worked wonders here. I’ve never seen the place look so clean and bright and inviting. No wonder Trevor’s hounding you to sell to him.”
Ellery grimaced. “I didn’t realize that was common knowledge.”
“Oh, sugar, everything is common knowledge in a village.” Tommy’s gaze wandered around the shop once more. “Yes, this is pretty impressive. Poor old Eudora would be thrilled.” Her bright gaze returned to Ellery’s. “What’s your asking price?”
“I don’t have one. I’m not interested in selling.”
She nodded thoughtfully.
An unpleasant suspicion dawned. “Are you here on Trevor’s behalf?”
Tommy gave another of those husky chuckles. “No way. But if you do change your mind, I’d love to handle the property for you.”
“You’re the most popular real-estate agent in town, so if I do change my mind, you’ve got the commission.”
They smiled at each other with perfect understanding.
“Actually, I’m here to win your vote,” Tommy said. “As you may or may not know, I’m running for mayor against Trevor in the upcoming election.”
“I saw that.”
“As of this morning, I’m in second place.”
Cyrus Jones, Pirate Cove’s current mayor, was bringing up the rear in the three-way race for mayor. It was surprising how hotly contested the election was, given that fewer than four thousand citizens inhabited the entire island.
“Congratulations,” Ellery said.
“Well, it’s too soon for congratulations, which is why I would really appreciate your vote.” Tommy took a moment to flutter her lash extensions in his direction. “Here’s a pamphlet you can take home to read. It describes the platforms I’m running on and the promises I intend to keep for the citizens of Pirate’s Cove.”
“Okay,” Ellery said doubtfully. He didn’t have a spare moment to read things he might actually enjoy, let alone what likely amounted to a glossy, full-color sales pitch.
“I look forward to earning your vote!” One scarlet-tipped fingernail slid across the scratched counter an ocean-blue pamphlet featuring Tommy’s beaming smile. The living, breathing Tommy winked at him.
“Thanks. You’re in my top three contenders.” He accepted the pamphlet, giving it a quick, curious glance. As he’d suspected, it seemed to be mostly advertising for Rider Realty.
Tommy chuckled. She had a surprisingly deep and unexpectedly appealing laugh. “That’s a start.” She was already making her way back to the door.
“Lovely to meet you, Ellery. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. Oh, and don’t worry too much about Trevor; he’s more bark than bite.” The familiar bell tinkled through the salty morning air, and the door closed, cutting off Tommy’s voice. Ellery was smiling faintly as he returned to studying her brochure.
Chapter Three
Bookish buccaneers did not appear to be a thing.
That Saturday Ellery sold a mass-market paperback of Agatha Christie’s The Hollow, a hardcopy edition of Robert Crais’s The Monkey’s Raincoat, and three fabric-covered, tasseled bookmarks for a day’s grand total of thirty-five dollars and twenty-two cents. The afternoon turned into evening, and he couldn’t help wondering if he had been too hasty in declining Trevor’s offer.
At six thirty, he closed up shop and headed over to the Salty Dog for dinner. He wasn’t quite ready to brave the Miss Havisham vibe and depressingly empty fridge of Captain’s Seat. He wanted a drink and a nice meal—and an hour or so of efficient central heating.
Libby Tulley, the teenaged daughter of Tom Tulley, owner and proprietor of the pub, led Ellery to his usual spot: a quiet corner table positioned between the cozy stone fireplace and the window overlooking Main Street. This vantage point allowed Ellery, a devoted people-watcher, to indulge his voyeuristic tendencies without putting him center stage for the viewing pleasure of his neighbors.
His neighbors for now, because after today’s dismal sales, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could support the shop before they both went bankrupt. He had already gone through the little money left to him by Great-great-great-aunt Eudora in order to renovate the Crow’s Nest. He was living off his own savings, which had seemed like plenty when he’d arrived three months ago, but which were dwindling fast. He simply did not have the financial resources to begin repairs on the old mansion, keep the bookstore afloat, and put food in his belly.