A Killer Read, page 1
part #1 of An Ashton Corners Book Club Mystery Series
“This is a terrific debut! I want to join this book club, eat those cheese sticks, keep an eye on those romances, and wander around Ashton Corners. But most of all, I’d love to have Lizzie Turner as my friend. Especially if another body turns up.”
—Mary Jane Maffini, author of
the Charlotte Adams Mysteries
“Who can’t love a debut novel filled with mystery references and a pair of cats named Edam and Brie? And who can’t adore dedicated, saucy Lizzie Turner, a literacy teacher with high hopes for her students? Readers should have high hopes for this series. And thanks to the author’s fine research, readers just might find a delicious assortment of new authors to browse.”
—Avery Aames, Agatha Award winner and
national bestselling author of the Cheese Shop Mysteries
“Book a date with A Killer Read. Mystery-loving book club members will keep readers guessing as they page through clues to prevent themselves from being booked for murder.”
—Janet Bolin, author of the Threadville Mysteries
A Killer Read
ERIKA CHASE
BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
A KILLER READ
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / April 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Linda Wiken.
Excerpt from Read and Buried by Erika Chase copyright © 2012 by Linda Wiken.
Cover illustration by Griesbach/Martucci.
Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-56135-5
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING
PEARSON
Acknowledgments
There are many people to whom I am grateful, and I’m certain to miss some, but please know, if we’ve met, you’ve played a role in my writing life.
My special thanks go to:
My agent, Kim Lionetti, who started me on this journey with invaluable advice and encouragement. To editor Kate Seaver for her thought-provoking questions, guidance and support. To Katherine Pelz, editorial assistant and person of great patience. To my anonymous copyeditor, the one with the eagle eye.
Mary Jane Maffini. Without her, this book would not have happened. She was the conduit; she was the constant source of encouragement, my go-to person for any and all questions; she is a dear and true friend. I probably owe her a spa weekend by now.
My longtime writing group, The Ladies’ Killing Circle—Joan Boswell, Vicki Cameron, Barbara Fradkin, Mary Jane Maffini and Sue Pike—who, despite the name, have provided friendship and help as I’ve honed my writing skills.
Lee McNeilly, my sister and first reader. As in all aspects of my life, she’s there for me, and she reads with a critical eye and a love of mysteries.
Tammy Rushing Lynn, for agreeing to be my “Southern” connection.
My two Siamese cats, despite the many attempts at “editing” by slinking across the keyboard at critical moments in a scene.
And, of course, to mystery readers everywhere. You’re the ones we do it for.
Table of Contant
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Reading Lists
Chapter One
Some say life is the thing, but I prefer reading.
RUTH RENDELL
“I’ve got an idea, Lizzie… why don’t you just do, like, brain surgery or something on me. Slice me open, pull out my brain, squish all this Shakespeare stuff into it, put it back and sew me up like new. Maybe that way I’ll finally get it!” Andrea Mason punctuated her proclamation with a long groan.
Lizzie Turner internalized her own groan. She knew that Andie felt like she was being tortured, but Lizzie felt little remorse about the pain she’d inflicted. It was for her student’s own good.
“Okay, Andie. I guess that’s enough for today. I’ll see you next Thursday, same time, same place, same English lit.”
Andie groaned again, stroking her silver nose ring. She shifted from her terminal slouch to a more upright position and stuffed her book, notepad and pen into her black skull-and-crossbones backpack. “This sucks. It’s so not what I want to be doing, Lizzie. Couldn’t you just tell my folks I know it? Or I’m illiterate. Or something?”
“Listen, kiddo. You’re not illiterate. Just undermotivated.” Or totally nonmotivated was more like it. “I hate to restate the obvious, but you need your English in order to pass. And that means reading what’s on the curriculum and hopefully, understanding some of it.”
“Like that’s going to happen.” Andie pushed out of the chair and reached the door in record time. “This Shakespeare guy’s just so boring, ya know? And I hate reading.” Her lower lip slid out into a childish pout as she slammed the door.
Lizzie gritted her teeth and shoved her books into her tote. Words of dismay to a literacy teacher. What’s it going to take? she wondered. Maybe she should give up tutoring, stick to the behind-the-scenes basics. No, don’t go there. This was just one rebellious adolescent, not a critique of her skills. But it really bothered her. After two months of tutoring sessions, once a week, that girl was still a mystery.
“Yikes… that’s it. I’ve got it! A mystery.” Lizzie dashed out the door and caught up with Andie as she stood on the front porch, pushing her iPod earbuds into her ears.
“Andie, wait a minute.” Lizzie touched Andie’s arm to get her attention. She waited until the earbuds disappeared into the girl’s pocket. “Have I got a book for you. Actually, tons of them. I want you to come to my mystery book club meeting tonight. I won’t take no for an answer. Consider it part of your tutoring. In fact, for eac
Andie narrowed her brown eyes, already sinister-looking with layers of thick black eye shadow and liner surrounding them. “You mean, like read a mystery? Can I deep-six Will Shakespeare?”
Uh-oh. “Not instead of, not yet anyway.”
Andie thought for a moment. “Okay.”
“Great. Be back here at Molly’s tonight at seven P. M.”
Andie pulled her earbuds out, reattached herself to the iPod and left.
Wow, it actually worked. Lizzie gave herself a mental pat on the back. Hope springs anew.
Lizzie hadn’t heard Molly Mathews come outside, but the slight wheeze of years of smoking signaled her presence.
“That child is tempting many fates. Do parents not teach their children manners anymore?” Molly asked.
“She’s just doing her teenage thing, Molly. Besides, I know you like a gal with spunk. Which is a good thing because Andie’s coming to the book club tonight. I’m hoping if I can get her hooked on a mystery, she’ll keep reading.”
“That ought to spice things up if it gets too boring.” She hooked an arm through Lizzie’s and steered her back inside. “I have some iced tea poured for us. I want to hear who all you’ve got lined up for our first meeting. Hopefully, it won’t be the last.”
“Why would you say that?” Lizzie slid along the padded cream banquette that followed the L-shape of the corner windows and took a long drink. “I think this book club has great potential. Another of your brilliant ideas.”
“Nice of you to say so, honey. But it’s no mystery that this here town needs a club that specializes in books with actual plots and resolutions.”
Lizzie laughed. “Amen. But it is great of you to open your house to everything. First the literacy program and tutoring, and now the book club.”
It really was the ideal location, Lizzie thought. The grand antebellum house with the prominent address had graced the acre of property for almost a century and was an Ashton Corners landmark.
Lizzie had often heard that people started to look like their spouses or their pets after many years of living together. She believed the same applied to people and their houses. Molly matched the house in grace and stature and, in one way, color: both she and the house were topped with gray. However, Molly’s was a shoulder-length wave provided by Mother Nature and styled weekly by Willetta at the Curl Haven.
Lizzie decided she’d better keep vigilant for the day her own long, straight dark brown hair started curling like the fanciful trim of her house or even paled to a matching taupe.
“Believe me when I say it’s nothing, honey. This old house needs things happening in it to keep it alive. Claydon and I would throw great parties and have people over all the time. He loved to play the magnanimous host. And I was a real social butterfly. We did have a good life together.” Molly sighed. “Now, enough of the past. Who all is coming tonight?”
“Well, there’s Bob Miller.” Lizzie chose a piece of blueberry bread from the plate Molly pushed toward her and vowed to add another half mile to her morning run. A part of her knew that at thirty-one years old, she didn’t really need to worry about extra pounds just yet, especially since she’d been trim all of her life, but she wasn’t about to take any chances.
“Now there’s a surprise. Don’t tell me y’all just asked Bob and he said yes?”
“No. His sister cornered me during the break at the Musica Nobilis choir practice— she stands behind me in the soprano section— and asked if he could come. She said she’d make sure he turned up.”
“That makes more sense. Lucille always did have to be in charge of everything, and she couldn’t be when he was police chief. Now that he’s retired, I’m sure she’s trying to take over his life again.” Molly grimaced. “You know, I’ve known Bob since we were in diapers. His mama used to sew the most exquisite dresses, and she’d bring Bob along to play whenever my mama had a fitting. We tended to be in the same classes most of the way through school, but then we sort of lost touch when he got married. His Sue-Ann was the jealous type, even though she had nothing to worry about where I was concerned.”
“Is she dead now?”
“No, honey. She up and left him way back, when their little girl was only eight years old. Said she couldn’t take being married to a police officer. I think she meant to the bank account of a police officer. I heard she married a banker in Atlanta after the divorce came through. It’s a shame about his daughter, Lily, though. I know he’s aching to see her, but Sue-Ann did a number on that child and she wants nothing to do with Bob. People can be so cruel sometimes.”
“I didn’t know. That’s such a shame.”
“Yes, it is.” Molly sighed again. “Now, who else is coming?”
“Sally-Jo Baker, of course. We try to get together at least once a week for dinner and a movie, but I don’t think she’s made too many other friends since moving here last winter. She’s been wanting a way to meet more people. I hadn’t given it much thought, having been born and raised in Ashton Corners, but it must be tough for someone my age to just plug into a whole new life.”
“It is at any age, honey.”
“I suppose. I think the best way to meet people is to get involved in things. That’s one of the reasons I’ve invited Stephanie Lowe along, too. Hopefully, it will also reinforce the reading skills she’s acquired in the literacy program.” Lizzie glanced at the large red clock shaped like the state of Alabama, hanging above the kitchen door. “Yikes. Look at the time. I’ve still got to pick up some eats for tonight, get home and get changed.”
“Wear something that’ll knock them out, honey. My mama always used to say, along with the clean underwear bit, that you should always dress your best for the start of something new. Because you never know what might happen.”
Lizzie’s cell phone rang and she rummaged in her purse to find it. “Excuse me, Molly,” she said before answering it.
“How interesting,” she said a moment later, after ending the call and tucking her phone away. “That was Bob, and he asked if he could bring along a friend tonight.”
Molly chuckled. “Probably someone for moral support. Did he say whom?”
“No. But it’s a great way to start a mystery book club, don’t you think? Having a mystery guest?”
Chapter Two
I left looking on the bright side. At this rate, I might never have to learn how to bake.
THE CLUTTERED CORPSE—MARY JANE MAFFINI
Lizzie sampled a cheese straw from the plate in Sally-Jo Baker’s hand. “You mean, you finished teaching today at three P. M., went home and baked three things to bring tonight?”
“Of course,” Sally-Jo said with a nod. “I said I’d bring something.”
Lizzie and Sally-Jo had met just after Christmas when Sally-Jo had moved to town to teach third grade at Ashton Corners Elementary School. They’d ended up in the school staff room one morning and over some bad coffee, found similar interests that had led to a good friendship.
“I know,” Lizzie said, “but I didn’t think you’d actually bake, not with LaBelle’s Bakery practically next door to the school. I just find it so hard to believe that there are people who actually enjoy baking. And cooking, come to think of it. I’m always happy to be a sampler, though.” She took another bite of the cheese straw to demonstrate. “Yum. So, who’s arrived so far?”
Sally-Jo passed a china serving dish to Lizzie, who plated the cinnamon pecan drop biscuits she’d snagged at LaBelle’s. “Stephanie Lowe was the first to show up. I guess she’s also eager to meet new people.”
“I’m glad she agreed to come. I don’t think she gets out much other than to her waitress job at the Oasis Diner, and the literacy class, of course. I never see her hanging around with anyone during the break. It’s going to get even worse when she has a newborn baby to care for all by herself. She’ll never get out and meet people her own age then.”
“Strange she never talks about her family or even where she comes from,” Sally-Jo said. “She must be terribly lonely, and like you say, all she’s got is work, class and being pregnant. I can’t picture myself in her place.”
