A Novel Death: a Danger Cove Bookshop Mystery (Danger Cove Mysteries Book 10) (11 page)

The mourners hadn't lingered in the cold drizzle after the service, and the parking lot between the church and the cemetery was nearly empty. I glanced back toward the large wooden double doors of the church, now closed against the drizzle, as I started to climb into my car. A movement on the edge of my peripheral vision drew my attention, and I turned toward the cemetery gate again and made eye contact with the gray-haired woman.

I had the distinct impression that she'd been studying me, watching me as I walked from the cemetery. Her expression was stony, and even from a distance I could see the lines around her eyes and mouth deepen into a scowl. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I froze in place, one hand on the door to my car.

She turned quickly and slipped behind a hedge, and I waited to see if she emerged. After a long, eerily silent minute my nerves got the best of me, and I got into the car and locked the door before driving away as fast as I could.

But I had a feeling that I would be haunted by the woman's intense stare for a long time to come.

At first glance, the store looked busy when I came in the front door. A clutch of people mingled in what was quickly becoming our most popular section—the corner where biography met true crime. But a check of the daily totals revealed otherwise. Sales were dropping, and fast. All the books sold so far today were nonfiction crime books too.

While I wasn't going to complain about having those sales, which were keeping us afloat, I wanted to build the entire business, not just the morbid sections. Plus, the goth kids who like murder books were scaring off other customers.

As the cash register wasn't at all busy, I sat behind the counter and flipped through Cal's book. We were getting into the midcareer blues, where Cal was a working actor but not a star. His television series was canceled after one season, and none of the many pilots he shot were picked up for development. His love life, though, seemed to flourish, despite the career plateau. He went on and on about the many actresses whom he seduced over the next decade. I made a mental note to never date an actor, but otherwise skimmed these pages.

"How was the service?" Burt asked, joining me behind the counter. He was just back from his lunch break, and I noticed he was holding a copy of Cal's book.

"It was nice, I guess," I said. "You're reading the book?"

He shrugged. "My brother reminded me that in high school he and Cal once got into a fistfight in the library. I thought I'd see if that rated a mention."

I grinned. "Sure, Burt."

"Well, maybe I'm a little interested in what he did after he left Danger Cove," he said. "He worked with a lot of famous people. He does have a few good stories."

I opened my book to the black-and-white photo section in the middle and turned to the page that had pictures from Cal's early years, including a shot of his Danger Cove senior photo. Burt poked at a photo to the left of the formal portrait where a group of about six teenage boys were standing around some woodworking equipment.

"That's my brother, Bill, there on the left, next to Cal."

Burt's brother had the same crew-cut hairstyle that Burt still sported. Even without that, I would have pegged young Bill Lewis as Burt's brother. They had the same eyes and square jaw. I glanced at Burt's plaid cotton shirt and then back at the photo and noted that Burt might be wearing a hand-me-down shirt from his brother—about 50 years later.

"I didn't read anything about a fistfight in the library," I said.

Burt shook his head. "Yeah, that's a shame. Bill's one shot at fame."

Katya leaned over my shoulder. "Did you see the photos of the film sets? I loved those. It's so fun to see all the actors hanging out behind the scenes."

I turned the page and nodded. There were dozens of these photos, most featuring Cal hanging out with the stars of movies in which he was a minor player. One large photo showed Cal and several actors in period dress from the Regency era, toasting with cans of beer. A familiar face caught my eye, but the photo caption didn't identify the woman with long blond hair.

"Who is that woman?" I asked.

Burt adjusted his reading glasses and looked at the page, and Katya leaned in too.

"That's Astra Clements," Burt said. "She was quite popular in the eighties. I had a huge crush on her."

I squinted at the face—very pretty, pert little nose, and big eyes framed by long lashes. She was staring at Cal and the lead actor, a square-jawed action hero, with a shy smile.

"I wonder what happened to her. She sort of dropped out of sight," Burt said.

Katya sighed and picked up a tablet from the counter. "You guys are useless. Just check online."

With a few taps on the screen, Astra Clements' biography and film credits popped up. According to an online database of movie and celebrity trivia, Astra Clements continued acting into the '90s but then stopped and devoted herself to animal rights causes. She was married to a Hollywood producer and had two children. But except for local theater productions in their small town outside of Santa Barbara, she didn't act any longer.

Suddenly, I knew where I'd seen that face before, and I gasped out loud. "I think I saw her today at the cemetery," I said. "And she did
not
age well."

Burt turned to me, and I swear I saw a bit of a blush sneak onto his weathered face. "You saw Astra Clements? Here? In Danger Cove?"

I nodded, trying to bring up the face of the woman in the cemetery. "I think so."

Then I grabbed the tablet from Katya and brought up the photos from the event. "Look here," I said, enlarging it and zooming in on the gray-haired woman. "See?"

Burt's skeptical glance went between the two images, and I could see why he didn't believe me. "Honestly, I got a better in-person look, and I'm pretty sure it's her."

It was the eyes that sold me. They were round and very blue, with long lashes. Her hair may have gone gray, and she certainly had more wrinkles, but her eyes still looked the same.

"That means I was in the same room as Astra Clements," Burt said, his voice full of wonder. "And I didn't even recognize her. My eyes must be going."

He shook his head and walked off. Katya went back to police the children's section, where two five-year-olds were pulling the picture books off the shelf with abandon. I went back to my book, but now I was focused on the photographs. Cal's life in black and white, laid out on the page for his fans—and those of us who happened to encounter him on the last day of his life.

He had never been a classically handsome man, but he had character. As he aged, his face did get a little fuller and jowly. It only made him appear more approachable and friendly. That was not exactly how he came across in person, as I recalled how he'd snapped at Karen for not getting the right cookies and made Katya make multiple coffee runs to satisfy his picky palate. But Cecilia Evers was certainly heartbroken over his passing, so clearly some people loved Cal. And Astra Clements came all the way from Santa Barbara to attend his funeral.

Or to do something else. The actress had been here before his death. And from the conversation I'd overheard, it seemed that she was in cahoots with Gibson Knox about something. Had she been stalking Cal? I made a note to pass that on to the police and to see if I could find Astra Clements myself, since Detective Marshall might not realize that wrinkle in Cal's case.

I adjusted my position on the stool behind the counter and looked out the window. A group of people walked down the street in front of the bakery, and I recognized Karen Dale's now familiar purple jacket amid the somber suits. She was walking a few feet behind Pippa and David Montague, and behind her was Cecilia Evers, who was focusing on the sidewalk with a sad expression. They walked down the block and then into the office of Aaron Pohoke, attorney at law. The door closed behind them, and I stared at it for a few long minutes.

I'd just been in Mr. Pohoke's office for a meeting not two months ago, when he'd told me that my grandmother had left me everything in her will. I had a very strong suspicion that Cal's family was there for the same reason.

For the next half hour I managed to find tasks that let me work at the front of the bookstore so I could look out the window and watch for the Montague family's departure. I rearranged the window display, neatened up the bags under the counter, and when they still hadn't come out, I even brought out the feather duster. It wasn't like there were many customers to ring up. They kept coming in, but they weren't buying many books. And Burt confirmed my suspicions—they weren't locals. That meant they were either tourists or they were here to attend the only big event in town, Cal's funeral.

And that meant they were at Dangerous Reads to gawk at the murder scene.

Ick.

A sudden movement out the window caught my eye, and I saw Pippa Montague leave the law office in a hurry, David following behind her a second later. Cecilia walked out after another minute and turned in the opposite direction. Then Karen Dale exited, a wide smile on her face, and strolled down the street toward the bakery. She looked like she was on cloud nine. I waved through the glass, and she returned the greeting, then jaywalked across the street and came into Dangerous Reads.

"You look awfully happy," I said and motioned to the stool next to the counter.

Karen climbed up and rested her elbows on the counter, giving me a happy grin. "I am awfully happy."

"Care to share why?"

"An unexpected bequest will put a girl in a fine mood," she said, her eyes twinkling.

"Really?" I scooted my stool a little closer. "I'm very happy that Cal thought of you."

She nodded. "It's not much. Just ten grand. But I was touched that he even remembered me. Frankly, I couldn't be sure he even liked me, and I worked with him for seven years. But the bigger gift he gave me was the show I just got to witness."

"Do go on," I said, leaning closer.

Karen gave me a sly smile. "I just got to see Cal's revenge on his ex-wife."

My eyes grew wider. "What happened?"

"Well, he had some specific bequests, nothing out of the ordinary. Me, his agent, his manager, his longtime housekeeper—we all got small amounts. Then Mr. Pohoke told us that he was leaving his estate to be split equally between two people—his son, David, and his niece, Cecilia."

I was a little surprised by this, but David had said that he and Cecilia were raised like brother and sister. Maybe Cal wanted to take care of his sister's only child.

"That's generous," I said.

"Cecilia, poor thing, burst into tears. She was stunned, but David wasn't even surprised," Karen said. "But Pippa? Whoo, she was angry. She started sputtering, and I think at one point said, 'I object,' which was just ridiculous. Her face turned as red as her hair, and then she threatened Mr. Pohoke. That nice old man. Can you believe that?"

I shook my head, trying to imagine the scene.

"And the lawyer just nodded and said, 'Mr. Montague said you'd say that. Here's your bequest.' And then he handed her a copy of his book."

If my eyes grew any larger, I was pretty sure my eyeballs would fall out of my head. "What happened then?"

"She took the book, which was signed, and then Mr. Pohoke handed her a dollar bill."

My hand covered my mouth.

"And he said that Cal wanted her to have that, and that the will had a clause that if anyone contested the disbursement of the estate, they would get no more than one dollar," she said. "And then Pippa stood up and declared, 'My son has been robbed.' And then she stormed out."

"Wow," I whispered. I really would have loved to have seen that in person. But listening to Karen's gleeful reenactment was a close second.

"It was a very impressive snit fit. And I've worked with Hollywood actors for thirty years, so I have seen the best," Karen said.

"What are you going to do now?" I asked.

"Probably go back to the B and B and have a glass of expensive wine, and then tomorrow, I'll head back to Los Angeles. I have another client with a book tour in about six months. Let's hope I can bring this one back alive," she said. "If we're in the Pacific Northwest, I'll try to get you on the schedule. I feel bad that I brought you a murder victim."

She handed me her card, and I stuck it in the drawer below the cash. "It's not your fault. But that would be great, Karen. I'd love to see you again," I said.

"Did you ever track down Gibson?"

I shook my head. "He's not at the B and B, and there are a lot of little motels outside of town where he could be. He's been spotted around town, and I saw him after the funeral, but I, ah, didn't get to talk to him."

I didn't want to have to explain the whole thing with the eavesdropping and the retired actress.

"Well, if it helps, I think I know where he's staying."

My heart skipped a beat. "You do?"

"I saw him this morning when I was driving to the funeral. He was walking out of a house up by the park that's near the school. It's a yellow house, white trim, with a white fence. It's on the corner. You can't miss it."

"You're sure he's staying there?"

"I saw him leave and lock the door behind him," she said.

That was a good sign. Now what was I going to do with that information?

"Before you leave, can you look at something for me?" I pulled out the tablet and brought up the picture of the gray-haired woman at the book signing. "Do you know who this is?"

Karen studied the photograph, then shook her head.

"She looks vaguely familiar, but no, can't say that I know who she is. It was so crowded that night, I didn't get a chance to meet this woman," she said. "Why are you looking for her?"

"Just wanted to talk to her," I said. "Thanks and come back and see us again."

Karen gave me a hug and left, practically skipping down the street. I left Katya and Burt to mind the store and went back to the office to catch up on some paperwork. But Cal's book on the desk distracted me. I flipped through the photos again, looking for any other familiar faces. At the very back was a casual family snapshot of Cal, David, and Cecilia taken outdoors. David and Cecilia were young, maybe 17 and 12, respectively. David was the spitting image of his father, and I stood by my earlier observation that they all had the same eyes. It was even more apparent in the black-and-white photo, where you couldn't really see that Cecilia had fair coloring and that David and Cal had darker hair and ruddier skin.