Murder in the Paperback Parlor (5 page)

Leaving Tom to his work, Jane headed to her office. She tried to focus on mundane tasks but was unable to concentrate. Again and again, her gaze traveled to her Hopes and Dreams board. When she couldn't sit still another second, she left her office and stepped into the room across the hall. The space was crammed with a massive copier, multiple fax machines, file cabinets, and a bank of monitors showing live feeds from spots all around the resort.

Jane peered at the screen showing the front entrance and smiled. Two Silver Shadows had pulled up to the curb and guests were exiting the vehicles. The first guest caught Jane's notice because she looked like a movie star arriving at a premier. A mane of platinum hair cascaded over the shoulders of her winter-white coat and her bright red lipstick matched the red dress peeking out from beneath the coat's hem. After gesturing languidly at a bellhop, she mounted the stairs. A second woman scrambled up the steps and grabbed the blonde's arm. Jane watched, intrigued, as the blonde lowered her enormous sunglasses and peered at the
Rolls-Royce in line behind their own. After a brief pause, she raised her arm and waved regally.

“Rosamund York has arrived.” Jane allowed herself a small sigh of relief. Ms. York was the event's headliner. Without her, Romancing the Reader wouldn't have had the same appeal. Fans devoted to Regency romance novels had made the majority of the week's bookings. Many of these ladies were also coming to Storyton to see Rosamund York as well. Jane was eager to discover why Ms. York held such a powerful allure.

Rosamund and her fellow passenger disappeared from the screen and, half a minute later, another woman came into view. Jane assumed this was the woman Rosamund had been waving to.

“It's Georgia Dupree,” Jane murmured.

Georgia's trademark red curls were unmistakable. Unlike Rosamund, who wore the self-satisfied expression of one who has achieved a notable measure of fame and fortune, Georgia's mouth was set in a deep frown and she stomped up the stairs as though she were marching to battle.

Perhaps she is
, Jane thought and felt a momentary pang of sympathy for the romance writer. Although Georgia Dupree had achieved a great deal of success in her own right, Jane imagined it would be difficult to remain in another author's shadow year in and year out.

“If Rosamund York is the First Lady of Romance, then what does that make Georgia Dupree? A lady in waiting?”

Jane returned to her office and grabbed a compact from her desk drawer. Satisfied that her hair was still in place and that she didn't have lipstick on her teeth, she gave her suit jacket an officious tug and emerged behind the reception desk. She found Sue Ross, one of Storyton's best clerks, engaged in conversation with Ms. York.

Sue was always on duty whenever important guests checked in. Not only was she adept at remembering Storyton Hall's repeat customers but she also had a way of appeasing the prickliest guests. Her kind face and soothing voice put
people at ease. She was also an excellent listener and held people's eyes while they were speaking, making it clear that she cared about what they had to say. Jane was thankful to have her manning the desk today.

“You must get comments like that all the time, but it's true,” Sue was saying to Ms. York.

The romance writer smiled prettily. “I never tire of hearing how Venus has had a positive impact on women. She's touched people across the globe, even in this delightful little hamlet.” Ms. York gestured at her companion. “This is Taylor Birch, my publicist. I believe she has a few items to review with you. Do you mind if I pop up to my room while she handles the sundry details? I was so inspired during the drive here that I want to jot down some ideas before they flit away like butterflies.”

Jane stepped forward and introduced herself to Rosamund and Taylor. “I'll grab your key posthaste, Ms. York. I'm sure you'd like some time to yourself before your fans arrive.”

“You understand me completely,” Rosamund said gratefully.

She doesn't act like a diva,
Jane thought as she removed the brass key to the Romance and Roses Suite from the key case. “Here you are. Room 402. This is one of our tower rooms. It commands breathtaking views of the mountains and will hopefully continue to inspire you. Billy will see to your bags. Please don't hesitate to call if you need anything.”

“Thank you, but I doubt I'll have the chance,” Rosamund replied. “Taylor always seems to know what I need before I do.” She laughed gaily and then turned to find herself face-to-face with Georgia Dupree.

“Hello, Rosamund. It's lovely to see you again.” Georgia's tone was cordial but noticeably cool.

“When I saw someone with flaming red hair getting out of the car behind us, I knew it had to be you!” Rosamund kissed the air next to Georgia's cheeks. The display was rather phony and Georgia didn't seem to know how to respond.
“It's been ages since we were at an event together. You'll have to catch me up on your recent, ah, career developments. I don't even know what you've published recently.”

Jane wondered if Rosamund honestly didn't take note of what her competition was doing or if she was merely trying to belittle Georgia by pretending that she didn't pay attention to her work.

Judging by how quickly Georgia's forced grin faded, she'd taken Rosamund's comment as a slight.

“I'm just writing away. There's always a deadline looming.” Georgia tried to sound breezy but failed. Her voice was low and husky and reminded Jane of Katharine Hepburn's. But the comparison ended there. The romance writer lacked Hepburn's natural poise and commanding bearing. She had a nervous energy about her that put Jane on edge.

“Yes. Deadlines.” Rosamund was already looking over Georgia's head toward the center of the lobby where the elevator banks were located. “If you'd excuse—”

“Actually, I'm doing something exciting at
this
event,” Georgia quickly added, flicking a lock of red hair off her shoulder. “I'm going to unveil the cover of the forthcoming Fitzroy Fortune novel,
The Lady and the Highwayman
. And during tonight's auction to benefit the Literacy Society, one lucky fan will win the chance to name the male lead.”

A shadow of cruelty surfaced in Rosamund's green eyes like a leviathan rising from the depths of a dark sea. “That
is
exciting. I hope the fans will still have enough enthusiasm—and enough
cash
—left to bid on the item I'm offering. In exchange for a monetary donation to the literacy fund, each and every lady will receive an advanced reading copy of the first novel in my new series. If they thought Venus was groundbreaking, wait until they meet Eros, my sexy, domineering, too-much-to-handle hero. He's going to turn Regency's high society upside down!”

Georgia was gaping. “You brought that many ARCs to give away?”

Rosamund shrugged. “When you're one of your publisher's top sellers, you get perks. I bet if you asked your publisher . . .
well, never mind.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I'm also debuting an
amazing
book trailer for
Eros Steals the Bride
—that's the title of my new contemporary romance—and handing out posters of the full-page ad that will run in
People
,
Vogue
, and
Romantic Times.
” She tapped her chin pensively. “I wonder what I should wear for the
RT
cover shoot. Last year, I opted for a fabulous Oscar de la Renta dress, but I think I'll go for vintage Chanel this time. You can never go wrong with Chanel.” She wiggled her fingers at Georgia. “See you at the auction!”

Georgia's eyes darkened with anger and her lips compressed into a tight line.

Jane didn't want to let it be known that she'd overheard the entire exchange, so she grabbed the clipboard sitting on Sue's desk and feigned great interest in the chauffeur schedule.

Luckily, no one else was around to witness Georgia's humiliation. Taylor, who'd been busy reviewing Rosamund's itinerary, circled something on a piece of paper and showed it to Sue. While the two women spoke, an elderly couple pulling carry-on bags got in line behind Georgia. As a rule, departing guests checked out by eleven in the morning and check-in began at three in the afternoon. However, Jane had e-mailed the most prominent Romancing the Reader attendees and invited them to check in early. These fortunate people included Rosamund and her publicist, Georgia, two other authors named Ciara Lovelace and Barbara Jewel, a journalist, and the woman nominated as the Regency Romance Fan of the Year.

The clerk next to Sue waved politely at Georgia. “Ma'am? May I be of service?”

Georgia didn't seem to hear him, and the elderly couple, taking advantage of her hesitation, hurried up to the desk. As for Georgia, she walked over to the nearest chair and dropped into it, still gazing across the lobby. Rosamund was nearly out of sight, but as she walked under a massive crystal chandelier, her hair caught the light and shone like a halo.

Jane moved behind Georgia with the intention of offering her a cup of tea. Because Georgia didn't hear Jane's approach,
she didn't realize she was being overheard when she muttered, “I will take your place.” She curled her hands into such tight fists that her knuckles went white. “I've been waiting for years to get rid of you.” Her voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “The time has finally come for you to disappear. And I promise you this, Rosamund. Yours will
not
be a happy
ending.”

Several minutes later, Andrew, the other front desk clerk, came out from behind the desk and cleared his throat to secure Georgia Dupree's attention.

“Sorry,” she said, getting up from the chair and moving to the counter. “I lost myself for a moment. I can picture this manor house in the British countryside. It would make the perfect setting for a novel. And you, young man, are as handsome as any of my captivating characters.”

Smiling politely, Andrew told Georgia how Storyton Hall was dismantled, stone by stone, and shipped across the Atlantic. “Walter Egerton Steward's English neighbors thought he'd gone off the deep end,” the clerk added. “And yet, over a century later, Storyton Hall is still a reader's paradise.”

Joining Andrew behind the desk, Jane introduced herself to Georgia. Smiling, she handed Georgia her key. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”

“I plan to,” Georgia said and Jane saw a flash of cold light in her eyes.

I'll have to tell the Fins about Ms. Dupree,
Jane thought.
We need to watch her closely, in case what I overheard was a genuine threat.

Taylor, who'd finished reviewing the itinerary with Sue, started taking photos of the lobby with her cell phone. Sue shot Jane a worried look and Jane mouthed, “I've got this.”

“Are you all set, Ms. Birch?” Jane asked the publicist.

“I need to post pictures to Ms. York's Facebook page all week long. Tons of pictures.” Taylor snapped photos in rapid-fire succession. “That way, the fans who couldn't make it to the event will feel like they're here. I'll take videos of the panels and demonstrations and lots of candid shots of Rosamund. They'll eat it up.”

Jane frowned. “Did your chauffeur explain our technology policy, Ms. Birch?”

The publicist shrugged. “He said something about not using gadgets in public areas.”

“Storyton Hall is a retreat from the modern world and all its demands. Cell phones, tablets, laptops—these types of devices are only permitted in the privacy of one's room,” Jane said. “There is absolutely no video recording permitted during this week's events. I believe we stated that very clearly in the documents we sent well in advance of—”

Taylor shook her head in disbelief. “Surely those rules don't apply to Ms. York. The event wouldn't be sold out without her.” She glanced slyly at Jane. “Don't you want Ms. York's fans to hear good things about Storyton Hall?”

Jane bristled. “Ms. Birch, we've had previous guests who refused to abide by our technology policy. After repeated warnings, we promptly drove those unfortunate people to the train station. They were asked to pay for the full length of their stay before departing.” She smiled, but kept her voice firm. “If we must inconvenience the few to maintain an atmosphere conducive to reading, we will do so without regret. Am I making myself clear?”

Taylor stared at her phone in dismay. “What about my job? I'm here to promote Ms. York. How can I do that without technology? The publicist before me lasted less than three months. The one before that was fired after two weeks. I don't want to end up like those girls. If I can stick with Ms. York for a year, I can get my foot in the door of a major publishing
house. It's such a competitive field and I need an advantage if I want to get hired. That's where I really want to be. Right now, I'm just a glorified servant.” She chewed a nail. “Please don't tell anyone I said that.”

Jane heard the anxiety in Taylor's voice and softened her tone. “Why not post a teaser chapter of Ms. York's new book online? The readers at Storyton are getting copies of the entire novel, but I bet the rest of her fans would do anything to feast their eyes on a sample of what's to come.”

“That's a good idea, but I still need photos.” Taylor folded her arms obstinately. “People want to see images.”

“Tell you what. I'll let you come backstage before the Regency fashion show. You can photograph the models in their outfits.” She raised a warning finger. “But that's the only time I'll allow you the use of technology.”

Taylor looked crestfallen. “What about the male cover model contest? It's the most anticipated event of the week! I
have
to post a pic of Ms. York with the winner.”

“Absolutely not.” Jane fixed Taylor with the steely stare she used on the twins when they were misbehaving. “Heartfire, the publishing house sponsoring the contest, has expressly forbidden the use of photography or recordings. And they'll have an editor in attendance to present the winner with his contract, so it would be unwise to break the rules. If you want to be in the publishing business, offending an editor isn't the way to get noticed.” She came around the desk and put a hand on Taylor's shoulder. “You can be creative without technology. Ms. York could send Storyton Hall postcards to some of her readers. I bet they'd love to receive a personalized card from her.”

Taylor seemed confused by the concept. “Wouldn't I need stamps? Do you even have a post office around here?”

“We do. In the village.” Jane continued smiling patiently, but she felt as though the muscles in her face were getting tired. “Why don't you talk it over with Ms. York? I'm sure she wouldn't mind signing a few postcards.”

“I'm the one who signs everything,” Taylor corrected her. “But I bet she'll really like this idea. People were always mailing stuff during the Regency era. Thanks. See you later.”

Behind Jane, Sue was trying to suppress a giggle. “I hadn't realized that postcards belonged in a museum case.”

“Right next to phone books, rolls of film, pay phones, paper maps, or—”

“I love maps!” Andrew interjected. “I used to go on road trips with my grandfather and we always used a map. I have a huge collection of them. Every time I unfold a map, I can picture my grandpa behind the wheel of his big Oldsmobile, singing along to the radio.” His gaze was wistful. “Those old maps are full of memories. They smell like summer and asphalt and my grandpa's cologne.”

“You
would
make a wonderful hero, Andrew.” Sue gazed at her coworker with affection. “You'd better watch out. After the ladies see you in the fashion show, you could end up with all sorts of proposals.”

“With Landon Lachlan and Edwin Alcott respectively channeling Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, no one will notice me,” Andrew replied amiably.

“I thought they both turned Mabel down,” Jane said in surprise.

Sue threw out her hands in a show of helplessness. “How she convinced them is mystery.”

“We seem to be surrounded by those,” Jane murmured.

*   *   *

Throughout the day,
the rooms of Storyton Hall became permeated with perfume, chatter, and the click of women's heels. There were women everywhere. They exchanged animated snippets of dialog in the elevator, lined up for afternoon tea, and explored the reading rooms with wide-eyed wonder. By the time the Romancing the Reader participants gathered for supper outside the Madame Bovary Dining Room, the resort's noise level had risen to a fever pitch.

“They're like a flock of twittering birds,” Jane heard one of the bellhops say.

“Yeah, Alfred Hitchcock's birds,” added a member of the maintenance staff who was industriously polishing the brass kickplate. “They've been searching all over for that
famous lady author. They're practically stalking the poor woman.”

The bellhop shrugged. “They're just really into romance novels. Personally, I'm glad they're here. These ladies are good tippers.”

“That's because they're away from their husbands for the week. They can do whatever they want.”

“Then let's hope they want to spend lots of money,” the bellhop said. “Everyone knows about the board in Miss Jane's office. I'd like her to be able to put a check mark next to one of those projects.”

The maintenance man nodded. “I would too. She's a good egg, our Miss Jane.”

Jane felt a rush of affection for her employees, but she couldn't thank them for their kindness without revealing that she'd been eavesdropping, so she entered the dining room and offered to help the hostess seat the first wave of diners.

The women were frenzied with anticipation. As Jane walked among the tables, she heard the same questions and comments from the majority of the diners.

“Have you seen Rosamund York?”

“Someone said she's working on the next Venus Dares book. At this very hotel! Can you imagine?”

“I cannot wait for the auction!”

“Me either, but I also don't want to rush through this meal. This coq au vin is
divine
.”

Eventually, the ladies finished their entrées and the waitstaff came around with coffee and dessert carts.

“After all those teatime treats, I shouldn't even look,” declared one lady. But look she did. In fact, she ended up ordering a slice of chocolate and hazelnut cheesecake and a cup of decaf. “Wait!” she cried when the waiter turned to leave. “You'd better make that full octane. I don't want to fall asleep in the middle of the auction.”

“I'll have the toffee cake with the nut brittle ice cream and an espresso,” the woman sitting beside her told the waiter. She smiled at her tablemate. “I saved every dollar to
win one of those name-a-character lots, so I want to be as alert as possible.”

A third woman at the same table ordered a martini. Unlike her dinner companions, who wore colorful dresses and glitzy jewelry, this woman had opted for a plain white blouse and a black bead necklace. And while her tablemates were talkative and merry, this much younger woman didn't seem to be enjoying herself.

Worried that a guest was dissatisfied with her dining experience, Jane leaned close to the woman. “Hello, miss. I'm Jane Steward, the resort manager. I just wanted to make sure that everything's to your liking.”

“I'm Maria Stone, and I prefer
Ms.
to
Miss
,” the young woman said brusquely and then quickly modified her tone. “I'm very satisfied with everything, thank you. I'm just anxious for the auction to begin. I feel like I've been waiting my whole life for the chance to talk to Ms. York—to tell her what a wonderful character she created. Venus Dares is a model of female empowerment.”

Maria's dining companions exchanged befuddled glances.

“Are you referring to her support of the emancipation movement?” the woman with the cheesecake asked.

“That and much, much more!” Maria's eyes gleamed and she leaned forward eagerly. Jane guessed that the younger woman had been waiting a long time to find people who shared in her devotion for Venus Dares. “Think of what a rare woman she was for that day and age! She did what she wanted, when she wanted, how she wanted. She was respected and admired. Even the men who believed they were superior to her in every way end up paying her homage. Not only that, but Venus always rescues other women from bad situations. In every novel, she saves a woman from an abusive relationship, servitude, slavery—all sorts of indignities. It's part of the subplot, but Ms. York never fails to raise awareness of a particular social injustice. We're still battling some of those issues. Like sex trafficking, for example.”

At this, someone at the table seemed to choke on her cheesecake.

“Well, my dear, I sincerely hope you'll be able to meet Ms. York.” A matronly woman seated across from Maria smiled warmly. “But don't be too disappointed if it doesn't happen. She's famously elusive at these events. According to one of her fan websites, she tends to hole up in her room. But if she's writing, that's good for us because that means more Venus Dares stories, correct?”

Maria grinned and Jane realized that she was the youngest fan in the room. Most of the diners were between forty and seventy, but Maria wasn't a day over twenty-five. Jane waited until the gong signaling the end of the dinner service sounded and then followed Maria into the lobby. “Ms. Stone,” she whispered. “I know you're in a hurry to secure a seat for the auction, but I wanted to share some information with you. The authors have graciously agreed to stop by tomorrow's truffle-making workshop to sample the finished products, so if you haven't signed up for that yet, you might want to as soon as possible. Maybe, just maybe, you'll get a chance to speak with Ms. York.”

Maria's face glowed. “This is going to be the best week of my life.” And with that, she rushed off toward Shakespeare's Theater.

“Mine too,” said a familiar voice. Jane turned to find Eloise pressed against the wall to avoid the stream of women. Hooking her arm through Jane's, Eloise led her down the hall to where the rest of the Cover Girls were gathered beneath a still life of irises.

“The best week of your life, eh?” Jane asked Eloise. “Are you expecting a record number of book sales?”

Eloise beamed. “I am! I can't believe how many customers I had today. I thought the ladies would spend all afternoon exploring Storyton Hall, but they visited Run for Cover in droves and left with armloads of books. Honestly, they were like locusts. Enthusiastic, credit-card-carrying locusts.”

“The same thing happened to me,” Mabel said. “It looks like a tornado hit La Grande Dame. However,
this
tornado left piles of money behind, so I'm not a bit troubled by the mess. It feels like we're having two Christmases this winter.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Though I'm thrilled for you both,
I
had to dash around the pharmacy in search of obscure lipstick shades, unusual herbal remedies, and lavender hand lotion while Randall lectured any customer foolish enough to go near him on how to avoid the flu.”

Jane started to laugh, but the sound came out as a strangled squeak.

“What's wrong?” Violet asked.

“Don't look now or the guests might follow your gaze, but Muffet Cat is heading our way,” Jane whispered. “And there's something in his mouth.”