Murder from A to Z, page 1
Praise for V. M. Burns and her Mystery Bookshop Mysteries!
THE NEXT DEADLY CHAPTER
“Sam’s real-life investigation and her fictional puzzle cross-pollinate, offering a novel insight into some of the processes that go into creating cozy mysteries. A contemporary cozy, a historical cozy, and a tutorial on cozies all rolled into one.”—Kirkus Reviews
MURDER ON TOUR
“A much-hated author’s publicist is offed by a poisoned cocktail doubtless designed for his client. Who had the guts to do what everyone wished they could’ve done? … The remarkable heroine’s refreshing lack of aspirations adds to the charm of this mystery.”—Kirkus Reviews
KILLER WORDS
“Charming. … Newcomers will have fun, while established fans will relish the evolution of the characters and welcome Samantha’s bright new future.”—Publishers Weekly
A TOURIST’S GUIDE TO MURDER
“Colorful characters and just enough mystery trivia boost the fast-moving plot. Cozy fans are sure to have fun.”—Publishers Weekly
BOOKMARKED FOR MURDER
“This two-in-one mystery satisfies on so many levels, with this fifth in the series being as fresh and unique as the first.”—Kings River Life magazine
Books by Valerie Burns
Baker Street Mysteries
TWO PARTS SUGAR, ONE PART MURDER
MURDER IS A PIECE OF CAKE
A CUP OF FLOUR, A PINCH OF DEATH
ICING ON THE MURDER
Books by Valerie Burns writing as V. M. Burns
Mystery Bookshop Mysteries
THE PLOT IS MURDER
READ HERRING HUNT
THE NOVEL ART OF MURDER
WED, READ & DEAD
BOOKMARKED FOR MURDER
A TOURIST’S GUIDE TO MURDER
KILLER WORDS
BOOKCLUBBED TO DEATH
MURDER ON TOUR
THE NEXT DEADLY CHAPTER
Dog Club Mysteries
IN THE DOG HOUSE
THE PUPPY WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
BARK IF IT’S MURDER
PAW AND ORDER
SIT, STAY, SLAY
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
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Copyright © 2026 by Valerie Burns
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Contents
Praise
Books by Valerie Burns
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
“Her elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor. If you know what I mean.” Bethany Tarkington twirled her finger beside her head in the universal symbol for crazy and rolled her eyes at the petite woman sitting next to her. “She’s my husband’s aunt, but honestly, I’m not sure why she insisted on coming to this … thing.”
I didn’t like Bethany Tarkington, even before she insulted her aunt Alva in front of her face, but that last maneuver cemented my dislike. She’d spread her hands wide to encompass everything when she delivered her insult. The fact that we were sitting in the conference room at the back of my bookstore had got my back riled up. Market Street Mysteries may not have had the commercial appeal of big chain bookstores, but it wasn’t a dump either. It was clean and homey. From the sturdy all-wood, custom bookshelves that were handmade by Amish craftsmen, to the comfy chairs covered with colorful hand-knit throws made by my Nana Jo’s friend, Ruby Mae Stevenson. Market Street Mysteries was welcoming and inviting. Thanks to upgraded Wi-Fi, trendy marketing videos, promos, and displays that were the brainchild of my technology savvy and marketing genius nephews, combined with melt-in-your-mouth treats courtesy of my assistant Dawson Alexander, my bookstore had also become a hip hangout for old and young. How dare she. How dare this … this Bethany person insult my bookstore.
I heard a sharp intake of breath and felt steam rise from the dragon sitting to my right. If Bethany had been nicer, I might have tried to save her from the takedown I knew was coming. Instead, I sat back, folded my arms, and waited.
“Do you have a will, Mrs. Tarkington?” My sister, Jenna, flashed a cold, hard glance at Bethany Tarkington. Intelligent, professional, and hard as nails was the persona Jenna had perfected after years as a public defender in North Harbor, Michigan. Her face gave away nothing of the anger that was seething under her expensive suit, perfect makeup, and well-coiffed hair. As her sister, I saw the way her nostrils flared, and the slight narrowing of her eyelids. Sitting next to her, I could feel the electricity and heat radiating off her skin. To the uninitiated, she appeared cool, calm, and collected, but this was my sister. A storm was raging under that calm façade. Jenna leaned forward, a predator stalking her prey—a lioness. Bethany Tarkington was a gazelle grazing in a field, completely unaware she was about to be eaten alive.
“Well, no. But my husband, Carl, and I are young. We—”
“It’s a common misconception by the uninformed that estate planning is only for the elderly.”
Attack!
“We just haven’t had time to—”
“If you were in an accident and unable to talk, does your husband know your wishes regarding medical care?” Jenna asked in a soft tone.
Attack!
“We’ve never discussed it, but I’m sure he—”
“If something were to happen to your husband, do you know where your life insurance policy is? Or which company holds the policy?”
“I don’t—” A red flush rose up Bethany’s neck.
“What about something easier.” Jenna squinted and leaned forward.
Ouch!
“If something happened to your husband, could you pay the bills to keep a roof over your head and the lights on for a year or two, which is the average time for probate?” Jenna raised one perfectly arched brow and tapped her pen.
“Two years?” Bethany’s eyes widen to the size of a half dollar. “You’re joking, right?”
“Nope.” Jenna popped the P on the word and held up the documents that Bethany had brought in, which gave an estimate of Alva’s assets. “Even with a will, an estate the size of Mrs. Tarkington’s could take two years or more to clear probate.”
Bethany gaped.
“Are you even listed as a beneficiary on these accounts?” Jenna pointed at the documents.
“Carl handled all of that.” Bethany swallowed hard. “We’re married, so if something happened, then I would get it, right? I mean … I’m his wife.”
“It depends on how everything is set up, but probate could still take ye
Jenna’s killer instincts had gotten her labeled as a pit bull. Although, most of the pits I’ve met were more marshmallows than my toy poodles, Snickers and Oreo. Still, she pushed down her inner pit bull and channeled her inner golden retriever instead.
“Pit bull: One. Mean Girl: Zero.”
I nearly jumped out of my seat when my grandmother whispered in my ear. I hadn’t realized she was so close until she spoke.
“She’s good,” I whispered.
Jenna forced a smile. She had Bethany Tarkington’s full attention now. The woman had scooted to the edge of her seat, pulled out a pen, and furiously scribbled on the back of an envelope as though Jenna was revealing the secrets to eternal life.
“That’s my girl.” Nana Jo chuckled and walked away, and I glanced over at Alva.
Alva Tarkington was a frail woman with fluffy white hair that reminded me of cotton candy. Her skin was wrinkled, but free of age spots with only a mole near her right ear. She slumped in her seat. Head down. Her gaze had been focused on a handkerchief that she twisted in her hands.
I glanced at my phone. Only thirty minutes to go and we could call it a day. I wasn’t a lawyer like my older sister and her husband, Tony, but Nana Jo was no respecter of persons. When she volun-told Jenna that she was teaching a class on “Getting Your Ducks in a Row,” which was part of the bucket list courses offered at Shady Acres Retirement Village, I was volun-told that I was helping. My role was easy. I didn’t have to deliver the content. I merely had to provide the venue, snacks, and assistance to my sister.
I stole a glance at Jenna. I had been glad to see the spark in her eyes as she took down Bethany. That gleam had also been there while she delivered her seminar. As a former high school English teacher, I spent years learning to take boring content and make it interesting. Jenna hadn’t been a teacher, but as a lawyer, she was accustomed to talking to jurors and making her point. She’d done an excellent job with the seminar. For a few hours, she was her old self.
Both Nana Jo and I had been worried. Jenna didn’t have that killer instinct that she once did. Instead of the lioness that walked proudly around the Serengeti, prepared to take down any interloper or antelope that crossed its path, she was the toothless, declawed aging lion at the local zoo napping on the concrete waiting for meat to be tossed through a sliding door.
When Nana Jo confronted her, Jenna mentioned being restless. Her blood pressure was high. Her energy was low. Plus, now that the twins had graduated from college and flown the nest, she wasn’t sure what her next steps should be. Nana Jo hoped that teaching this seminar would help Jenna remember why she became a lawyer in the first place and would help her get her own ducks in order.
The seminar had gone well. Jenna’s presentation was well received, and she was asked to repeat the course. Jenna did most of the discussion, but I helped by providing icebreakers and helping with discussions and the Q and A. Despite our differences, Jenna and I worked well together. Teaching is different from arguing in front of a jury, but I could tell that Jenna enjoyed herself. Without the state and local school boards dictating a curriculum, I enjoyed myself too. In fact, I was contemplating adding classes at the bookstore. Now that I was a published author, I’d met several other authors. I also learned that many of my patrons weren’t just mystery readers, but like me, they were also aspiring authors. I was seriously thinking about adding a few classes on writing and publishing to the bookstore events calendar. The information Jenna provided was useful for everyone, not just mystery readers. Maybe I could attract new people into the bookstore.
“Earth to Sam.” Nana Jo tapped my arm.
“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
“Make sure Jenna stays hydrated. She’s been talking for hours.” Nana Jo passed two bottled waters to me.
Jenna had spent hours talking about wills, trusts, and estate planning and was now providing private one-on-one consultations. Alva was the last.
I unscrewed the cap for my sister and slid a water to her. Then I prepared to zone out for the next thirty minutes while she talked. My skin tingled. Feeling that I was being watched, I looked up. Alva’s eyes were focused and alert and directed at me. Earlier, Alva’s eyes appeared cloudy. Now, the eyes gazing at me were sharp and aware.
I smiled.
That’s when she blinked. And blinked. Over and over again, Alva blinked.
I wondered if an eyelash had gotten in her eye, but Alva never rubbed her eye, even though she had a handkerchief in her hand. Hypnotized, I sat and watched. That’s when I noticed a pattern to the blinking. Three fast blinks. Pause. Three long blinks. Pause. Three fast blinks. There was a pattern that never changed. Three fast blinks. Pause. Three slow blinks. Pause. Three fast blinks. A chill went up my spine. OMG! That was Morse code. It had been more than thirty years since I learned basic Morse code as a Girl Scout, but that code was one that I would never forget. Alva Tarkington was blinking an SOS.
Chapter 2
Holy freakin’ cow! I must be imagining this. She can’t really be blinking an SOS in Morse code. Right? I blinked several times to clear my brain and shook my head like my chocolate poodle, Oreo. Jeez Louise.
Alva stopped blinking. Her gaze drifted over to Bethany before quickly locking back on me. Three quick blinks. Pause. Three slow blinks. Pause. Three quick blinks.
Alva was sending me a message and whatever that message was, she didn’t want Bethany to hear.
I pulled out my cell and sent a quick SOS of my own. This time to my grandmother, Nana Jo, asking her to get rid of Bethany for fifteen minutes.
Within seconds, Nana Jo was by my side. “Bethany, dear. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Do you have a few minutes?” Nana Jo gave Bethany a broad smile.
“No. I don’t. Alva’s paying for this private consultation, and we only have a few minutes left. I need—”
“Oh, pish posh. Sam and Jenna will be able to finish up without you. I really need to discuss something urgent with you.”
Bethany scowled. She clearly had no intention of going off with Nana Jo. She opened her mouth to protest. Obviously, she didn’t know that resistance was futile with my family. She would have had an easier time convincing an angry rhino to roll around in the grass on its back like a puppy than she would in getting Nana Jo to let go of something once her mind was set. Yet Bethany’s expression looked as if she was prepared to dig in her heels.
Jenna must have sensed that something was up because she stepped in. “Actually, that would be perfect. Why don’t you go off with my grandmother? I have some routine documents I need to fill out anyway. And because of your inconvenience, I’ll even throw in a free thirty-minute consultation tomorrow. That way, I can talk to both you and your husband.”
Bethany hesitated.
I could see the gears moving in her head: Dig her heels in for the last ten minutes of Alva’s consultation? Or get an extra thirty minutes free? You didn’t have to be a financial genius to recognize the better deal.
“Well, I think that would be great, but I don’t know if my husband can make the consultation. He works a lot. Maybe we could meet … just the two of us.” Bethany shot a glance in my direction that indicated clearly I wasn’t invited to the consultation.
Well, thank heavens, I would gladly forego any additional time with you too. I flashed a genuine smile.
Jenna’s smile was more of a grimace, but she held it.
Bethany shoved the envelope she’d used for notes and her pen into her purse. Then she glanced at Alva, who had retreated into her dream world.
“You wait right here. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,” Bethany shouted in Alva’s ear.
Nana Jo steered Bethany toward the front of the bookstore.
Jenna stared at me. “What was that—”
Alva rubbed her ear. “I have no idea why people think just because someone is older, that they must also be deaf and barmy as a hatter.”
Jenna had taken that moment to take a swig of water and nearly choked at Alva, who was anything other than barmy. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting … you’re …”
