Secret at Skull House
Secrets and Scrabble Book 2
by Josh Lanyon
Genre: M/M Cozy Mystery
Ellery Page is back--and poking his elegant nose into trouble again!
Unlike everyone else in Pirate's Cove, Ellery Page, aspiring screenwriter, reigning Scrabble champion, and occasionally clueless owner of the village's only mystery bookstore, is anything but thrilled when famed horror author Brandon Abbott announces he's purchased legendary Skull House and plans to live there permanently.
Ellery and Brandon have history. Their relationship ended badly and the last thing Ellery wants is a chance to patch things up--especially when his relationship with Police Chief Jack Carson is just getting interesting. But then, maybe Brandon isn't all that interested in getting back together either, because he seems a lot more interested in asking questions about the bloodstained past of his new home than discussing a possible future with Ellery. What is Brandon really up to?
Ellery will have to unscramble that particular puzzle post haste. Because after his former flame disappears following their loud and public argument, Ellery seems to be Police Chief Carson's first--and only--suspect.
***This story contains no on-screen sex or violence
Murder at Pirate's Cove
Secrets and Scrabble Book 1
First in an adorable new cozy series!
Ellery Page, aspiring screenwriter, Scrabble champion and guy-with-worst-luck-in-the-world-when-it-comes-to-dating, is ready to make a change. So when he learns he's inherited both a failing bookstore and a falling-down mansion in the quaint seaside village of Pirate's Cove on Buck Island, Rhode Island, it's full steam ahead!
Sure enough, the village is charming, its residents amusingly eccentric, and widowed police chief Jack Carson is decidedly yummy (though probably as straight as he is stern). However, the bookstore is failing, the mansion is falling down, and there's that little drawback of finding rival bookseller--and head of the unwelcoming-committee--Trevor Maples dead during the annual Buccaneer Days celebration.
Still, it could be worse. And once Police Chief Carson learns Trevor was killed with the cutlass hanging over the door of Ellery's bookstore, it is.
**This story contains NO on-screen sex or violence.
Chapter
One
Murder
is fun.
At
least, a lot of otherwise nice, normal people seemed to think so.
Having
recently gone through the ghastly experience of finding a body in
his
bookshop—oh, and of being suspected of murder—Ellery Page was
less
thrilled by the notion of violent death. He couldn’t deny it was good
for
business, though.
Something
about the idea of murder in a mystery bookstore really
captured
people’s imagination. True, a third of the tourists wandering into
the
Crow’s Nest this beautiful sunny June morning were there specifically
to
see Where It Happened. But because they felt a little guilty for their
ghoulishness,
they almost always bought a couple of books before they
left.
So while business wasn’t booming, it had certainly picked up.
Which
was a good thing because Ellery’s screenwriting career was
going
nowhere fast. He glanced down again at the latest rejection letter
from
his agent.
The
worst part was, while the rejection stung—rejection always
stings,
even when you’re getting rejected by people you would reject—he
just
couldn’t get too worked up about it. Not on such a beautiful day.
And
it was a beautiful day. Like a painting by one
of those 19th
century
artists who went in for seaside postcards of gentlemen in straw
hats
and striped one-piece bathing suits and ladies with—well, frankly,
Ellery
was more interested in the gentlemen.
Anyway,
really nice weather. The sky was a soft and languid blue,
swirled
with clouds as filmy as smoke. The sand sparkled, the water
sparkled,
the sunlight sparkled. Brightly colored boats bobbed in the
harbor,
flags snapping in the sea breeze.
The
only thing that could have made it better was if it had been
Saturday
rather than Monday. The weekends meant more visitors to Buck
Island,
and more visitors meant more business, and Ellery was going to
need
more business—a lot more business—to keep the Crow’s Nest sailing
along.
Seeing that Ronny had no interest in pitching Night Chess to
anyone.
The
scenes are void of meaningful or compelling conflict.
What
did that even mean? Well, okay, Ellery knew what it meant, but
he
didn’t like conflict. Not in his movies and not in real life.
Conflict
arrives, is instantly resolved, and the narrative course
continues
unaffected.
Ellery
muttered, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
The
bells on the front door jingled merrily as Mrs. Nelson swept in.
Ellery’s
heart sank.
Hermione
Nelson was a heavyset woman in her late sixties with
startlingly
blue eyes, hair as red as a rusty battleship, and a small,
pinched-looking
mouth that gave the impression that the effort of keeping
her
thoughts to herself was starting to give her heartburn. Except, she
never
kept her thoughts to herself, so…
Mrs.
Nelson was under the impression she was Ellery’s best customer,
and
she would’ve been if she didn’t return three quarters of everything she
bought.
“Ellery,
this book was a complete waste of my time. I can’t believe
you
recommended it.” Mrs. Nelson reached the wooden counter, fished
around
in her patchwork bag, and thrust a battered copy of The Better
Sister
by Alafair Burke at
him.
“I’m
sorry. It made pretty much everyone’s Best Of lists for 2019.”
Ellery
took the hardcover, wincing inwardly at the sight of folded page
corners.
“I
don’t want to read about nasty people.”
“Well,
we’re a mystery bookstore,” Ellery pointed out. “Safe to say, at
least
one character in every book is going to be kind of nasty.”
Mrs.
Nelson was not amused. “I like my murders to happen to nice
people.
What about that new one from Joanne Fluke? I think I might like
that.”
“I’m
not sure we have any copies le—”
Mrs.
Nelson beamed. “I’ll just go and check. We can do an even
exchange.
That will keep things simple for you.”
Uh,
no, actually that would complicate everything, but Mrs. Nelson
was
already bustling away, making a beeline for the Cozy Mystery section.
Ellery
swallowed his exasperation. He was still trying to build his
customer
base—and being suspected of murder had not helped matters
along—so
he felt he had to be extra accommodating to the customers he
did
have, even if some of them were using him more as a library than a
bookstore.
He
gazed out the large bay windows at the people strolling past, icecream
cones
in one hand, shopping bags in the other. A former fishing
village—actually,
a former pirate sanctuary, if you wanted to go way back
—Pirate’s
Cove was working hard to transform itself into a premium
tourist
destination. Things were pretty quiet in the fall, winter, and spring,
but
once summer arrived, the little windswept island offered biking,
hiking,
sailing, fishing, and lots of sunny beaches to explore.
The
island also boasted two historic lighthouses: North Point and Half
Moon
Bay, as well as the partially buried ruins of a pirate fortress. Nearly
half
the island had been set aside for conservation, with the northwestern
tip
serving as a resting stop for birds migrating along the Atlantic flyway.
The
potential for business was definitely there. The business itself…
not
so much. Not yet.
But
the citizens of Pirate’s Cove were working to change that, and no
one
was working harder than Ellery.
The
Crow’s Nest had been underwater when he’d inherited it from
Great-great-great-aunt
Eudora, and it was still leaking like a sieve, but the
sight
of all those ice-cream cones and shopping bags gave him hope.
Even
better than ice cream and shopping bags was the sight of
Police
Chief Jack Carson heading toward the front door of the Crow’s
Nest.
Jack’s gaze met Ellery’s through the glass, and Ellery’s heart skipped
a
beat. He smiled. Jack smiled back.
Over
the past weeks, he and Ellery had become friendly—which was
not
exactly the same thing as being friends, but they were moving in that
direction.
Ellery was happy. He liked Jack. He was also attracted to Jack—
and
he wasn’t alone in that; most of the fairer sex of Pirate’s Cove was
attracted
to the handsome, widowed chief of police. Jack was in his late
thirties,
a lean six-foot-nothing with sun-streaked brown hair and piercing
green-blue
eyes. He had a terrific smile, which he kept mostly in reserve.
It
was because
Ellery was attracted
to Jack that he was grateful their
friendship
was developing slowly, maybe even cautiously.
The
fact was, he did not have good luck with relationships. Not
romantic
relationships. So, thinking of Jack as strictly friends took the
pressure
off.
At
least that’s what Ellery told himself.
The
bell offered a silvery welcome as Jack stepped inside the
Crow’s
Nest.
“Why,
howdy, Sheriff,” Ellery drawled in his best minor-characterin-
a-made-for-TV-Western
accent.
“Why,
howdy, Mr. Page,” Jack drawled back, and maybe it was being
from
California, but he did that Home
on the Range accent
better than
Ellery,
who even had three minor second-cowpoke-from-the-left credits on
his
acting résumé.
Good
intentions notwithstanding, something about Jack’s deep,
pleasant
voice always gave Ellery a little tingle at the base of his spine. It
was
distracting, to say the least.
“T’warn’t
fixin’ to see you quite so soon.”
Jack
grimaced and dropped the drawl. “I know. I have to take a rain
check
on lunch. Emergency town-council meeting.”
“Oh.” Ellery didn’t bother to hide his
disappointment. He and Jack
had
lunch together about once a week. Jack had also twice come out to
Captain’s
Seat, the falling-down 18th Century mansion Ellery had
inherited,
to help with renovations. “That’s too bad. What’s the
emergency?”
“The
lack of any game plan to handle the media once they arrive for
the
trial.”
“Ugh.
Right.”
Ellery’s
recent experience with the editor of the Scuttlebutt Weekly
had
left him with a sour taste in his mouth for members of the media.
“Yeah,
anyway, I was wondering—” Jack broke off as Watson, the
black
spaniel-mix puppy Ellery had adopted, wandered out of his crate
behind
the counter to say hello. Jack squatted down. “Hey, you little
rascal.”
Watson
threw himself on his back, wriggling in delight—which was
the
typical reaction of most Pirate’s Cove citizens when Jack Carson
appeared.
Sure
enough…
“Oh!
Chief Carson. I thought I recognized your voice.” Mrs. Nelson
came
around the corner of tall bookshelves.
Jack
rose. “Mrs. Nelson. How are you?”
Mrs.
Nelson proceeded to tell him in detail.
Mrs.
Smith—small and slender, with thinning sandy hair—appeared
at
the counter, a stack of used paperbacks from the bargain bin in hand,
and
beamed at Ellery. “Ring these up, dear.” She turned immediately to
Jack.
“Chief Carson, how is the Maples case coming along?” Mrs. Smith
was
a devoted viewer of the Investigation Discovery channel and believed
herself
to be an expert in criminal investigations.
“We’re
gathering evidence and building our case, Mrs. Smith,” Jack
said
politely.
“The
circumstantial evidence alone ought to be enough to secure a
conviction.”
“I
prefer direct evidence.” Jack glanced at Ellery, and Ellery
grimaced.
There had been plenty of circumstantial evidence against him in
the
Maples case, but luckily Jack had dug deeper.
Mrs.
Nelson, who had not finished detailing the delights of her
gallbladder
surgery, cut in. “Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t trust a
doctor
younger than my grandchildren.”
“Isn’t
your youngest grandchild around eight years old?” Jack
inquired.
Mrs.
Nelson ignored that.
“I
always suspected there was something up with that man,” said
Mrs.
Ferris, materializing out of the brand-new True Crime section, to join
in
the conversation. “His taste in sports coats was a clear indicator of a
deranged
psyche.”
“Juries
like circumstantial evidence,” Mrs. Smith
insisted.
Watson,
wearying of so many conversations that had nothing to do
with
how adorable he was, waddled toward the front door. Ellery dashed
around
the counter to scoop him up as two young women opened the door,
saw
the crowd at the counter, and ducked back out.
He
sighed, glanced back at the huddle in front of the cash register,
and
caught Jack’s gaze. Jack looked resigned, as well as…something else.
Ellery
didn’t know him well enough to interpret his every expression, but
he
had the impression Jack had been about to ask him something.
Well,
whatever it was, it would have to wait. Jack’s fan club was not
going
anywhere soon.
Ellery
returned Watson to his crate, gave him a chew toy, and began
to
ring up Mrs. Smith’s books. He listened with half an ear to the
conversation
around him. He was surprised Jack had not already extricated
himself
and escaped, something he was very good at in such situations.
He
looked up, feeling Jack’s gaze, and they smiled at each other
again.
It warmed Ellery. He really did like Jack. He liked his easy,
straightforward
manner. Nothing ever seemed to fluster Jack. He liked the
way
he was with Watson. He liked how Jack looked—broad shoulders and
narrow
hips, muscular arms and long legs—in his trim navy-blue uniform.
He
liked the way Jack’s smile formed little crinkles around the corners of
his
eyes.
Jack
started to speak, but Mr. Starling appeared at the counter with
Lee
Child’s latest. “Ellery, my boy, could you tell me the price of this
book?”
Ellery
was about to rattle off the price, which happened to be clearly
labeled
on a sticker on the back of the book, when Mr. Starling turned to
Jack.
“Chief
Carson, I didn’t see you there!”
Ellery
resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Morning,
Mr. Starling.” Jack glanced instinctively at the door, and
Ellery
bit back a grin. Everyone had their breaking point, and Mr. Starling
was
usually it.
“Nice
day today, eh, Chief?”
“Yep.”
Ellery
handed the receipt with the stack of paperbacks to Mrs.
Smith,
who dumped everything in her canvas shopping bag. She turned to
Mr.
Starling. “How’s your wife, Stanley?”
Mr.
Starling waved dismissively. “Doing fine, I suppose. Spends her
days
staring at the boob tube.”
Mrs.
Nelson began, “I don’t believe televisions still have tubes—”
Mr.
Starling ignored her. “Chief, I’ve meaning to talk to you about
those
young hooligans hanging out on the beach every evening. It wouldn’t
surprise
me if they were doing drugs and whatnot.”
“Sure,”
Jack said, edging toward the door. “Why don’t you come
down
to the station later and have a chat with Officer Martin.”
“I’m
not sure young Martin is old enough to know what’s what.”
Mrs.
Smith was also angling toward the door with Jack and Mr.
Starling.
“Lovely visiting with you all, but I must pick up some scallops
from
Finn’s.”
Ellery
opened his mouth, but Mrs. Nelson was there before him.
“You’ve
forgotten to pay, Jane.”
Mrs.
Smith looked startled and then laughed gaily. “Oh dear. I’m
always
doing that!”
Yes,
she was, but Ellery chuckled too. Politely.
Jack
said mildly, “Uh-oh, Mrs. Smith. Should I save space for your
mug
shot on the station bulletin board?”
Mrs.
Smith turned red. Her laugh sounded a little hysterical that
time.
The others joined in. She hurriedly dug her pocketbook out and
handed
over a twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change, dear.”
In
fact, she was twenty-three cents short, but Ellery knew to choose
his
battles. “Thanks, Mrs. Smith.”
The
shop door flew open, the bell clanging wildly, and Nora Sweeny
rushed
in, narrowly missing colliding with Jack and his entourage.
“Ellery,
dearie! So sorry I’m late, but you won’t believe what’s
happened!”
Nora
was Ellery’s shop assistant. She was about seventy, small but
mighty.
In spirit, at least. Her hair was gray, her eyes were gray, but her
personality
was bright and cheerful as the gold and blue city flag she had
helped
design. Once upon a time, Nora had been president of the Pirate’s
Cove
Historical Society, and it was her life’s ambition to bring that now
defunct
organization back to life.
“What’s
happened?” Ellery and everyone else in the Crow’s Nest
chorused.
Nora
skidded to a stop, looking nonplussed. “I didn’t realize—well,
the
news is bound to be all over the village by now. I still can’t believe it.
It’s
a…a calamity.”
“What’s
a calamity?” Jack, being in the calamity business, was
frowning.
“Skull
House has been sold!”
“Isn’t
that good news?” Ellery was confused. “I thought the
historical
society was planning to buy it for their new home base.” It was
pretty
much all Nora had been talking about for the last two weeks, ever
since
the news broke that Skull House was going on the market.
“But
that’s just it. It’s not us. The Historical Society hasn’t
purchased
the house. We were outbid. We didn’t even know we were
bidding.
Someone—an outsider—swooped in at the last moment and stole
the
house out from under us!” Nora reached the counter, resting her
elbows
on it and dropping her head in her hands.
Ellery
bent over her. “Are you all right?”
Nora,
still clutching her head, shook no.
Everyone
else—with the exception of Jack—was talking at once:
who,
what, where, when, why…
The
why was the real question, in Ellery’s
opinion. Why anyone, let
alone
the Pirate’s Cove Historical Society, would want to buy Skull House,
was
a mystery to him. For one thing, it was out on Pequot Bluffs, miles
from
the village. For another, the house was a wreck. Not as much of a
wreck
as Captain’s Seat, maybe—or maybe it was, because no one had
lived
there for the last fifty years. That amount of dust was probably
lethal.
“I’m
sorry. But, you know, maybe it’s for the best,” Ellery said.
“Skull
House would probably cost a fortune to get in shape, and it isn’t
exactly
conveniently located. There are other houses.”
“No,
there really aren’t,” Mrs. Nelson informed him. “When was the
last
time you saw property for sale on the island?”
Well…never.
Granted, he had only lived on Buck Island for four
months.
“And
no new construction,” Mr. Starling said. “Per the Buck Island
Conservancy.”
“The
Maples’ properties are going to come on the market
eventually.”
“Eventually,”
agreed Mrs. Nelson. “Which could be years from now.
You
know how courts are.”
Nora
moaned. “I know! I know all that.”
The
bells on the door chimed softly as Jack eased it open. He raised
a
hand in farewell to Ellery, who nodded back regretfully. He couldn’t
blame
Jack for making his escape. He just wished Jack had taken the
others
with him.
“To
think an outsider could just come in and buy one of our
historical
landmarks.” That was Mrs. Ferris.
“It’s
not actually a landmark, is it?” Ellery asked. “Not technically.
Not
legally.”
No
one bothered to reply.
Mrs.
Smith asked, “Who is
this mysterious
outsider? Who has
bought
Skull House?”
Nora
raised her head. Her eyes were dry, so that was good. In fact,
she
looked more mad than sad.
“He’s
a writer. Very popular, if you like that
kind of thing.”
“What
kind of thing?” Ellery asked. If this mysterious someone was
a
mystery writer, this might not be a total disaster. It was very hard to get
authors
to appear for book signings when they had to travel by ferry to a
small
island in the middle of nowhere. Okay, Rhode Island. Still.
“Sex?”
Mr. Starling asked hopefully.
Nora
said in tones of loathing, “I’m speaking of Brandon Abbott.”
Ellery
stared at her. “Brandon?” he repeated. “Brandon Abbott?” He
heard
and understood the words, but somehow they seemed to have shortcircuited
his
brain.
“Brandon
Abbott. Yes.” Nora’s gaze grew curious at his obvious
shock.
“I
know him!” Mrs. Smith exclaimed. “He’s like Stephen King. He
writes
all that spooky stuff.”
“Horror,”
Ellery said, which pretty much summed up his feelings
regarding
Brandon Abbott.
“Do
you know Brandon Abbott?” Mrs. Nelson asked,
surprised.
“I
used to. He’s my ex.”
“I
thought—” objected Nora.
“My
other ex,” Ellery said.
Josh Lanyon is the author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance.
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first Male/Male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place). The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male/Male Series in the 2nd Annual contest held by the 20,000+ Goodreads M/M Group. Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist (twice for Gay Mystery), and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads M/M Hall of Fame award.
Josh is married and lives in Southern California.
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