Book Fair and Foul (Ashton Corners Book Club) (17 page)

Which left me wondering: what was the liar?

TOPPED CHEF
—LUCY BURDETTE

T
he thing about conversations left for the morning is they never seem to fit at that point. Lizzie and Mark finished a breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast with a second cup of espresso while Patchett sat at the back door, slobbering on the screen while watching them. The cats had retreated back upstairs after vacuuming up their breakfasts while the dog searched the backyard.

“Are you coming to Molly’s for dinner tomorrow?” Lizzie finally asked.

“For sure. All the suspects in one room. Rather Poirot-like, wouldn’t you say?”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Molly. I hope you’re not including me in that bunch.”

Mark stood and kissed her on the top of her head. “Not you. That would mean I’m sleeping with the enemy. I’d better get going, though, or I might not get out of the office in time to eat.”

“What about Patchett?”

“He’s coming with me today. I need to drive out in the countryside later and he can have a nice long walk out there.”

“Countryside. You mean to the Huxton Hotel? You do think it’s suspicious that Ashley was so interested in it?”

Mark sat back down for a minute. “Interesting, not necessarily suspicious. I want to talk to Richard Huxton-Parson and see if Ms. Dixon actually visited out there and maybe had a meeting with him.”

“What would her reason be? We were wondering if she was planning on writing a book and wanted to set it there, for some reason. Do you have her computer? Have you checked what she’s googled?”

Mark shook his head. “You don’t quit, do you? Yes, to both. She did google the hotel and the family several times but that doesn’t tell us much more. Do you know for sure she was going to write a book?”

“No, in fact, the divas think not. What about checking with her publisher?”

“I’ll do that. Now, I’d better get going. Thanks for . . . everything.” He pulled her out of her chair and kissed her lightly.

“Entirely my pleasure,” she murmured as he walked out the back door and whistled to Patchett.

Lizzie was dying to drive out to the Huxton Hotel and ask some questions of her own but she knew better than to try it with Mark likely to show up there at any time. So, he did have his suspicions about the authors. They’d all be at the library this afternoon. She needed to think of how to approach each of them to find out what they were hiding.

Because she was now pretty certain they were all hiding something. Maybe it was only petty arguments, as Mark classified them. But often that could mean something bigger was lurking far deeper. The other question was, were they all in on it and hiding the same thing? She couldn’t for a minute imagine what that would be, though.

The fact that her sandals were sticking to the kitchen floor next to the fridge made her realize it was time to wash the floor. She devoted the next couple of hours to giving the house a thorough cleaning, an especially good idea since she’d be back at work the next week. She also found the repetitive motion, which did not require a lot of thought, gave her brain time to wander through various scenarios.

She decided to start with the most outlandish thing she could think of as a reason for Ashley moving to Ashton Corners. Love. It had to be love. She was jilted by one of the Huxton family and never got over him, that’s why her engagement to Nick hadn’t worked. And that’s why she’d finally given in to her desires and followed Mr. X to town. That would explain her interest in the hotel and the family. She wanted to know her enemy before approaching because she was certain that family was at the root of the failed relationship, them not wanting him to marry a Northerner. She made contact and they killed her.
Ha.
The plot for a romantic-suspense possibly, but how probable in reality?

Okay, next up. She did, in fact, have the promise of a book contract for a series set in a small Southern hotel. She made contact, got her information and what? They’d have no reason to kill her. So maybe it was one of the authors after all. Here again, what was the motive?

Third scenario. That was the problem, she couldn’t think of another one but certainly neither of the two she had so far seemed likely.

One thing Lizzie did realize is that she had to talk to someone in the Huxton family as well as someone who worked at the hotel. She had to take a chance on running into Mark. She’d done it before and eventually his anger would subside. It was just a chance she had to take. This was too important and she couldn’t afford to lose any more time.

She quickly changed into a pale orange sweater set and tan pants, spotting the cats curled up next to each other on her bed, obviously catching up on the sleep they’d lost keeping track of Patchett overnight.

The drive took half an hour by the time she’d waited for a funeral procession of about twenty cars to slowly make their way through an intersection and out toward the Memorial Gardens cemetery. She found a parking spot just a few steps from the main entrance. No sign of Mark’s Jeep or a police car in the parking lot. A good start. It was only as she entered the massive lobby that the thought hit her. What if no one from the family was working today? Well, she’d start with the front desk person and work her way through the staff until she found someone who had talked to Ashley.

She paused at the end of the front walk and took a slow look around. The Huxton Hotel still retained the charm of its plantation house beginnings, helped along with a recent fresh coat of paint. The wraparound porch was dotted with groupings of dark green wicker chairs, love seats and coffee tables. Virginia creeper wrapped along the porticos at either end of the porch. The fact that it was open to the lawn, without any railings, made it look all the more welcoming. Lizzie could imagine herself lounging for many hours on such a porch, an iced tea close at hand and a book in the other.

The grounds around the hotel hadn’t changed much since her last visit, about sixteen years earlier. It had been for a Sunday lunch, with her best friend Paige Raleigh and her parents. But Lizzie had been too busy as a young teenager gossiping with Paige to take much notice of where they actually were.

The double front door was opened for her by an elderly man dressed in brown pants and a crisp beige shirt with the hotel logo in green on the pocket. She looked around her while she waited patiently for the young man at the desk to finish with a customer. The lobby, done in shades of rose and mint green, was set up in two sections. To the right of the front door were four large sofas, two facing the front lawns and the other two at right angles. Three smaller chairs in a coordinating striped microfiber fabric were in a small grouping to one side.

To the left were six chairs around a coffee table. These were placed close enough to the entrance to the restaurant, the Essence, to be of use if guests were waiting for tables. A combination of enticing smells drifted from that direction.

Finally, the fellow turned to her. His name tag said Dillon. “How may I help you today?” he asked, with a smile that Lizzie knew ensured he was never without female company. Maybe he was the guy. He could be the new generation of Huxton learning the family business. He looked a bit on the young side but that wouldn’t stop Ashley, not if he appealed to her.

“I’d just like to ask you a few questions about a friend of mine, Ashley Dixon, who stopped by the hotel sometime in the last week, or maybe longer ago.” She smiled what she hoped was a nonthreatening smile. “I know it’s a long shot that anyone will remember her, but it is really important.”

“Of course. But I can’t really give out any information about our guests.”

“That’s all right. She wasn’t a guest, at least I don’t think she was. She was probably just asking some questions about the hotel for a novel she’s writing.”

His smile grew wider. Did he envision spin-off increased bookings for the family business when the novel became a bestseller? Perhaps it was a starring role in the movie adaptation he had on his mind. “Yes? Well, that should be all right then. What was her name, or better yet, do you have a photo?”

Lizzie thanked her stars she’d thought to pull one out of her college photo album. It showed Ashley and her sitting on a park bench out front of Auburn U. In early days, before Ashley had shown her true colors. She handed it over to Dillon.

“It’s a few years old but I’ll bet you’d remember her if you spoke to her.”

He let out a soft whistle. “Cool. You two were sure something to look at.”

Were?
Lizzie suddenly wanted to grab a mirror for a close look at the new her. Dillon looked like he was giving it a lot of thought. At least he didn’t say no right off the bat. She saw the light dawning.

“Say, isn’t that the name of that body that was found at the funeral home?”

Lizzie nodded but he shook his head.

“Sorry. But I never saw her here. Of course, I’ve been off for a couple of weeks.” He stood a little straighter. “Was in New York for a modeling gig.”

Lizzie made the appropriate admiration noises. “Can you suggest someone else I should talk to?”

He gazed around the lobby, held up his index finger in the universal “one moment” sign and went into the office behind the counter. A couple of minutes later, he reappeared followed by an older woman, probably in her late fifties, with silver streaks in her dark hair, carrying a large green binder. The smile she gave Lizzie was pleasant but inquisitive.

“May I help you?” she asked, placing the binder on the desk and now openly curious. “Why, you’re Evelyn Turner’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m Delilah Yates. I knew your mama in high school. How is she doing?”

“About the same. Thank you for asking.” Lizzie felt a little less comfortable proceeding, now that someone could put a name to her face, in case a police officer or such should ask.
Oh well
.

“I’m asking about a friend of mine who had probably stopped by the hotel sometime within the past month, asking about its history. I think she might have been planning on using it as a setting in a book. Does that sound familiar?”

“Dillon said she’s the person whose body was found earlier this week? That’s such a shame. She was such an inquisitive young woman and very personable. Such a tragedy to die so young and violently, too.” Delilah shook her head. “I did speak to her but not for very long.”

“When was that?”

“Early last month. She said she was from New York and in town for a few days. I was very surprised to see that she’d been killed here. I assumed she’d come back again but I hadn’t seen her a second time.”

“Do you mind telling me what she was asking about?”

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter if I tell you. Excuse me, one minute.” She turned to take the phone receiver that Dillon passed to her after answering.

When she hung up and turned back to Lizzie, her eyes were kind but she shook her head. “I’m sorry but that was Police Chief Dreyfus on the phone telling me he was on his way out here and not to answer anyone’s questions, especially from, and I quote, ‘a beautiful nosy woman who is bound to come poking around.’”

Lizzie felt her face turn the shade of the fuchsia in the vase at the far end of the counter. “Oops, I don’t want to get you in any trouble with the law.”

“Well,” Delilah said, patting Lizzie’s hand that was resting on the counter, “if you don’t ask me any more questions I think I should be able to have a polite conversation with you and maybe suggest that you talk to Bertha Redding. She’s the head housekeeper and it’s her day off, but I’ll bet you’ll find her at the folk museum over on Penrod Street. She’s a volunteer there most of her days off.”

Lizzie grinned. “Thank you so much, Ms. Yates. It was a real pleasure not asking you anything.” She winked and turned to walk hurriedly to her car. Best to avoid seeing Mark at the moment and she wanted to get to the museum before he did. She knew a hot lead when she heard one. She drove out the long sloping driveway and turned right onto Sheridan, rather than retracing her earlier route out to the hotel. It wouldn’t add too many minutes to cut over at the junction and take another road into town.

Right now all I had was a whole lot of nothing for a whole lot of trouble.

KILLER IN CRINOLINES
—DUFFY BROWN

T
he parking lot at the museum was jam-packed, not a surprise since it was a small lot and the museum café served the best pumpkin and sweet potato pie in town. Lizzie chose one of the few remaining spots at the rear, next to a very familiar black Porsche. What would A.J. Pruitt be doing here, she wondered as she took a final look around before entering. She asked the woman sitting at a small round glass table that doubled as the information desk where she might find Bertha Redding. Following the directions, Lizzie chose door number two on the left side of the hall and knocked briefly before opening it. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d find inside but she was certain nothing could have prepared her for the bright display of colors that drew her eyes to the large black desk to the left of the doorway.

“Are you Ms. Redding?” Lizzie asked when the aged woman finally looked at her.

She squinted and leaned forward a bit, giving Lizzie a thorough once-over before answering. “I am, and who might you be?”

“My name is Lizzie Turner and I wondered if I might ask you a few questions.” She kept her fingers crossed. The woman’s face gave nothing away. Lizzie took her to be in her mid-seventies, her face more greatly lined than Molly’s, with a nose that looked too big in the space provided and eyes that were too small but such a piercing blue that she felt mesmerized. Her jet-black hair, pinned into a bun at the nape of her neck, looked like it was straight out of a 1950s magazine. The lace collar on her long-sleeved white blouse, which stretched to bursting over her large frame, completed the time-warp look.

After a few minutes, which seemed more like hours to Lizzie, Bertha nodded. “About what?” She indicated a comfortable-looking chair to the left side of her desk.

Lizzie breathed a sigh of relief and took a quick look around the room while sitting down. The cream walls were covered with a variety of sizes of posters of quilts. Flashes of color leapt out from an American quilt poster from the Metropolitan Museum of Art that almost filled the entire left wall of the small room. Behind Bertha, three posters from various exhibits over the years livened the wall. And to Lizzie’s right, there were ten posters, different sizes that, upon second look, focused on different parts of the same quilt.

“A friend of mine visited the Huxton Hotel early last month. She was from New York. I’m wondering if she spoke to you? Her name was Ashley Dixon.”

That got a reaction. Bertha looked startled then quickly composed herself. “You mean the young woman who was murdered. Yes, I spoke to her but I’m not sure what business that is of yours.”

“I don’t mean to be nosy and I wouldn’t ask you to say anything you’re not comfortable telling me, but I’m trying to find out what she was doing here and why she died.” There, it was out. She was officially poking her nose into police business.

Bertha seemed to be giving it much more consideration than Lizzie had hoped. Perhaps she wouldn’t get any information after all. She had a moment’s regret for even coming. What good could come from this? Would anything she might hear have any bearing on Ashley’s murder? And Mark would hear about this, for sure. She steeled herself for any consequence.

“She did come to see me but only the one time, about a month ago. She had a lot of questions about the hotel in the old days. Her mama was working there the summer of 1983 in the housekeeping department. She wanted to know about that time.”

That was within the time frame Ashley had researched at the library, Lizzie thought.

“Did you know her mama?”

“Yes.” A warm smile lit Bertha’s eyes. “The girl had a picture of her mama and I recognized her immediately. She was such a warm, friendly young thing, full of energy. She’d always bring me a tea midday, without being asked. I was in charge of the girls, new in my role and trying hard to be friendly with my staff but still strict enough to gain their respect. I think Joan sensed that. That was her name, Joan Allen.”

“So, Dixon must be her married name.”

“I don’t know anything about that. Anyway, the mama had a lot of questions, just like her daughter.”

“What were her questions?”

“She was really taken with the hotel. She wanted to know all about its history and the Huxton family. She told me she would daydream a lot and imagine living here. She loved the stories of the cotillions in the old days, when the ladies would arrive in their long finery and the men were dressed in white tie and tails. Of course those were the early days of the hotel, when it was called Huxton’s Dream. I’ve been working there a long time.” She sighed. “Those were fine times. A lot of elegance around. Yes, fine times.”

“And the mama was there for only one summer?”

“Yes. She left rather suddenly before her work time had ended. She told me she had to get back home because her mama was ailing. I never heard from her again although she did tell me she’d write.”

“Mmm. Do you know the Huxton family well? Do you think I could talk to one of them?”

“The grandson manages the hotel these days. Richard. I don’t think his mama goes out much anymore. You know, of course, that her brother, Mr. Ross, died just last month?”

“Yes, I’d heard that. It must have been quite a blow for the family.”

“I expect it was. Although Mr. Huxton and his sister were at odds over the hotel. She’d said it in public just after their daddy had died and left the hotel to the both of them, that she didn’t want anything to do with the running of it but I heard the odd row she’d have with her brother, and she sure as shooting wanted to tell him how to do things.” Bertha paused a moment, as if visualizing the two. “I understand she’s still as feisty as ever, too. Lives with her husband on a large estate, Falling Meadows, out near Brymar.”

Lizzie couldn’t think of anything else to ask. “Thank you, Ms. Redding. I appreciate you sharing your memories.”

Bertha smiled. “I always enjoy taking my memories out of storage. You take care now.”

Lizzie nodded and left. She wanted to talk to Richard Huxton but knew that Mark would be at the hotel by now. Maybe his mama would be the wiser choice. Obviously, next on her to-do list. She left the building and had almost reached her car when she noticed A.J. Pruitt standing behind a hydrangea bush, not far from a window at the side of the museum. Aha, she finally had her chance to ask him some questions.

He was so intent on staring at the building, he didn’t notice Lizzie until she’d almost reached him. He started and then gave a nervous twitter. “My, my . . . you do know how to sneak up on someone, don’t you?”

Lizzie wasn’t sure if he was upset or teasing her. “It wasn’t deliberate, A.J. It’s just hard to be noisy on grass.” She smiled her most charming smile.

He responded and his shoulders relaxed. “So it is. What lovely grounds these are.”

“Very. I’m surprised to see you here.”

He coughed and quickly glanced back at the building. “Someone had recommended this as a must-see while in town.”

“Oh, who?”

“I’m not sure. Can’t really remember. I’ve had so much advice over the past few days. You know, what’s too touristy and what’s really got the feel of the old town.” He looked around suddenly seeming bewildered.

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” Lizzie asked, kindly.

“About what?”

“Ashley Dixon.”

“Oh yes. Very tragic. She was such a charming young woman. Of course. Let’s just wander while we talk, shall we?” He started walking away from the building without waiting for her.

Lizzie had to scramble to catch up. “I was just wondering if Ashley had said anything to you about having another reason for being in Ashton Corners?”

A.J. looked surprised. “No. Not that I can remember. No, I’m sure she didn’t. Why, is it important?”

“It could be. Do you know if she had plans to write a novel?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say. She was charming, as I mentioned, and friendly but we didn’t really chitchat. Not the way she did with the girls. You should ask them.” He glanced behind them and then veered toward a fountain, sitting abruptly on a bench in front of it. “You know, I think the girl had a bit of a devious or mean streak in her.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, both Caroline and Lorelie could be demanding at times but they were both downright venomous about her. That’s not like them. Catty with a bit of trickery thrown in. But not venomous. Good word, that. You should ask them.”

Lizzie joined him, glad to stay put for a few minutes. “I will. You know, I’m just trying to figure out who had a motive to murder her.”

A.J. gave a small chuckle. “I certainly hope you’re not querying me hoping I’ll give away the fact that I did it.”

Lizzie smiled. “No, I doubt you’re a killer.”

A.J. had a wry look on his face. “Not in any way, shape or form.” He glanced at his watch. “Goodness, look at the time. I think we both should be heading home now. The library event starts in just a couple of hours.”

*   *   *

L
izzie sat at the back of the room, trying to count the number of people in front of her in the somewhat uncomfortable folding chairs. She’d bet there had to be about forty eager readers crowded into what she’d thought was one of the larger activity rooms in the library. The walls were painted a lemon yellow as if urging everyone who entered to be happy or at least welcoming to the authors. She realized there were no windows and figured that was just as well. Organizers would not want attendees sitting there, staring outside and daydreaming in case things got too boring inside. She’d often found herself doing just that as she sat reading in one of the comfy stuffed chairs in the main rooms. Although the library was in the center of town, it backed onto some of the prettiest green space in town.

She glanced over at Molly, standing at the bookseller tables placed at the left of the door. Molly looked particularly impressive in her cream jersey-knit pantsuit and white silk blouse. A lime green scarf tucked under the collar gave her a flattering splash of color. Stephanie sat at one of the tables and Andie staffed the other. Both looked keyed up and eager for the event.

Isabel Fox walked to the front of the room and the noise level visibly lessened. Her lightweight quilted navy and white jacket paired nicely with the pale green pants and dark green blouse. She smiled at the audience until the chatter had died to a few whispers.

“I’d like to welcome y’all here to this very special afternoon at the Ashton Corners Public Library. We’re so pleased to have four well-known and very entertaining mystery authors with us today. I know firsthand that it will be an enjoyable time as I was honored to be a part of the recent Mystery Book Fair held by our wonderful bookstore, A Novel Plot. And you’ll notice that Molly Mathews and her pleasant staff have brought some books to make it easy for you to purchase and get autographed copies, right on the spot.

“This afternoon we’ll start with a reading by each of the authors and then finish off, say, the last half hour with questions for them all. Now, let’s get right to it with, and we’re going to do this in alphabetical order, Caroline Cummings reading from
Dishing Out Murder.
”

Caroline stood from her seat in the front row with the other authors, turned slightly and gave a little bow then walked to the lectern at the front.

“I’d like to first off thank Ms. Fox and the library for having us all here. It’s so much fun getting to stand in front of so many avid fans and pour out our humble writings and innermost thoughts to y’all.” She cleared her throat and looked slowly around the room before speaking again. “I want to start by telling a little story about how I came to write this, the seventh novel in my Southern Caterer series.”

Lizzie tuned out for a moment, glancing around the room to see just who was in the audience. She spotted Carter sitting at the back of the room, arms crossed, a look of disgust on his face. No wonder Caroline kept her eyes focused on the first few rows of seats. Not the type of reaction one would want from their loving spouse, Lizzie thought. She wondered what had brought that on, or did he just dislike attending the readings? Or maybe all was not well in the Farrow household. Carter suddenly looked over at Lizzie. His face transferred instantaneously to its usual friendly smiling self. Lizzie felt a tinge of embarrassment but smiled back.

A.J. read next and delighted the ladies in the audience, which amounted to about three-quarters of the crowd, with his use of voices for different characters and his many asides. Lizzie was certain he’d just managed to enlist some new fans from this group. A.J. probably shared her views, from the look of pure delight on his face.

A hush fell over the crowd as Gigi Briggs took her turn in front of them. Lizzie wondered if the reaction was because of her age, compared with her compatriots, or if it had something to do with her outfit. This time she’d chosen all black, leotard, tights and ballet slippers, to suggest perhaps an acrobat. Her first words, a reading that introduced the main character, a circus acrobat, confirmed her vision of her outfit. Of course, thought Lizzie, she certainly had the figure for it. And also, the dramatic reading. It seemed that each time she read in public, her author persona blossomed even more.