Home > Secret at Skull House (Secrets and Scrabble #2)

Secret at Skull House (Secrets and Scrabble #2)
Author: Josh Lanyon

 

SECRET AT SKULL HOUSE

 

 

Secrets and Scrabble Book 2


Josh Lanyon

 

 

Chapter One

 

Murder is fun.

At least, a lot of otherwise nice, normal people seemed to think so. Having recently gone through the ghastly experience of finding a body in his bookshop—oh, and of being suspected of murder—Ellery Page was less thrilled by the notion of violent death. He couldn’t deny it was good for business, though.

Something about the idea of murder in a mystery bookstore really captured people’s imagination. True, a third of the tourists wandering into the Crow’s Nest this beautiful sunny June morning were there specifically to see Where It Happened. But because they felt a little guilty for their ghoulishness, they almost always bought a couple of books before they left. So while business wasn’t booming, it had certainly picked up.

Which was a good thing because Ellery’s screenwriting career was going nowhere fast. He glanced down again at the latest rejection letter from his agent.

The worst part was, while the rejection stung—rejection always stings, even when you’re getting rejected by people you would reject—he just couldn’t get too worked up about it. Not on such a beautiful day.

And it was a beautiful day. Like a painting by one of those 19th century artists who went in for seaside postcards of gentlemen in straw hats and striped one-piece bathing suits and ladies with—well, frankly, Ellery was more interested in the gentlemen.

Anyway, really nice weather. The sky was a soft and languid blue, swirled with clouds as filmy as smoke. The sand sparkled, the water sparkled, the sunlight sparkled. Brightly colored boats bobbed in the harbor, flags snapping in the sea breeze.

The only thing that could have made it better was if it had been Saturday rather than Monday. The weekends meant more visitors to Buck Island, and more visitors meant more business, and Ellery was going to need more business—a lot more business—to keep the Crow’s Nest sailing along. Seeing that Ronny had no interest in pitching Night Chess to anyone.

The scenes are void of meaningful or compelling conflict.

What did that even mean? Well, okay, Ellery knew what it meant, but he didn’t like conflict. Not in his movies and not in real life.

Conflict arrives, is instantly resolved, and the narrative course continues unaffected.

Ellery muttered, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The bells on the front door jingled merrily as Mrs. Nelson swept in. Ellery’s heart sank.

Hermione Nelson was a heavyset woman in her late sixties with startlingly blue eyes, hair as red as a rusty battleship, and a small, pinched-looking mouth that gave the impression that the effort of keeping her thoughts to herself was starting to give her heartburn. Except, she never kept her thoughts to herself, so…

Mrs. Nelson was under the impression she was Ellery’s best customer, and she would’ve been if she didn’t return three quarters of everything she bought.

“Ellery, this book was a complete waste of my time. I can’t believe you recommended it.” Mrs. Nelson reached the wooden counter, fished around in her patchwork bag, and thrust a battered copy of The Better Sister by Alafair Burke at him.

“I’m sorry. It made pretty much everyone’s Best Of lists for 2019.” Ellery took the hardcover, wincing inwardly at the sight of folded page corners.

“I don’t want to read about nasty people.”

“Well, we’re a mystery bookstore,” Ellery pointed out. “Safe to say, at least one character in every book is going to be kind of nasty.”

Mrs. Nelson was not amused. “I like my murders to happen to nice people. What about that new one from Joanne Fluke? I think I might like that.”

“I’m not sure we have any copies le—”

Mrs. Nelson beamed. “I’ll just go and check. We can do an even exchange. That will keep things simple for you.”

Uh, no, actually that would complicate everything, but Mrs. Nelson was already bustling away, making a beeline for the Cozy Mystery section.

Ellery swallowed his exasperation. He was still trying to build his customer base—and being suspected of murder had not helped matters along—so he felt he had to be extra accommodating to the customers he did have, even if some of them were using him more as a library than a bookstore.

He gazed out the large bay windows at the people strolling past, ice-cream cones in one hand, shopping bags in the other. A former fishing village—actually, a former pirate sanctuary, if you wanted to go way back—Pirate’s Cove was working hard to transform itself into a premium tourist destination. Things were pretty quiet in the fall, winter, and spring, but once summer arrived, the little windswept island offered biking, hiking, sailing, fishing, and lots of sunny beaches to explore.

The island also boasted two historic lighthouses: North Point and Half Moon Bay, as well as the partially buried ruins of a pirate fortress. Nearly half the island had been set aside for conservation, with the northwestern tip serving as a resting stop for birds migrating along the Atlantic flyway.

The potential for business was definitely there. The business itself…not so much. Not yet.

But the citizens of Pirate’s Cove were working to change that, and no one was working harder than Ellery.

The Crow’s Nest had been underwater when he’d inherited it from Great-great-great-aunt Eudora, and it was still leaking like a sieve, but the sight of all those ice-cream cones and shopping bags gave him hope.

Even better than ice cream and shopping bags was the sight of Police Chief Jack Carson heading toward the front door of the Crow’s Nest. Jack’s gaze met Ellery’s through the glass, and Ellery’s heart skipped a beat. He smiled. Jack smiled back.

Over the past weeks, he and Ellery had become friendly—which was not exactly the same thing as being friends, but they were moving in that direction. Ellery was happy. He liked Jack. He was also attracted to Jack—and he wasn’t alone in that; most of the fairer sex of Pirate’s Cove was attracted to the handsome, widowed chief of police. Jack was in his late thirties, a lean six-foot-nothing with sun-streaked brown hair and piercing green-blue eyes. He had a terrific smile, which he kept mostly in reserve. It was because Ellery was attracted to Jack that he was grateful their friendship was developing slowly, maybe even cautiously.

The fact was, he did not have good luck with relationships. Not romantic relationships. So, thinking of Jack as strictly friends took the pressure off.

At least that’s what Ellery told himself.

The bell offered a silvery welcome as Jack stepped inside the Crow’s Nest.

“Why, howdy, Sheriff,” Ellery drawled in his best minor-character-in-a-made-for-TV-Western accent.

“Why, howdy, Mr. Page,” Jack drawled back, and maybe it was being from California, but he did that Home on the Range accent better than Ellery, who even had three minor second-cowpoke-from-the-left credits on his acting résumé.

Good intentions notwithstanding, something about Jack’s deep, pleasant voice always gave Ellery a little tingle at the base of his spine. It was distracting, to say the least.

“T’warn’t fixin’ to see you quite so soon.”

Jack grimaced and dropped the drawl. “I know. I have to take a rain check on lunch. Emergency town-council meeting.”

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