Summary:
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.
Summary:
Ellery Page is back--and in hot water 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
An M/M Cozy Mystery.
I want to start by commenting on a couple of points.
1. I love a good cozy mystery, though to be completely honest, I never see them as "cozy" just mystery.2. I love the name Ellery Page. I don't know if it was intentional on the author's part by possibly making it a nod to the Ellery Queen Mysteries, but as a lover & collector of old radio shows and films, I thought of it right away.3. In the same fashion as 2, I loved that the cop's name is Jack Carson. Again I don't know if it was intentional but I immediately pictured the comedic actor Jack Carson of the 40s and 50s. From physicality to downplayed wit, it made perfect casting in my brain.4. The idea that Ellery inherits from his great great great aunt was a nice twist. Personally I was always closer to my great aunts(only one great not 3đ) than my actual aunt, but great-anythings tend to get overlooked or not used in fiction. Extra kudos for that.
Back to Murder at Pirate's Cove.
I won't say much about the mystery itself but I'll admit the "who done it?" crossed my mind early-ish in the investigation. Having said that, Josh Lanyon is brilliant when it comes to twists and turns that keep me on my toes so I was never 100% sure until the reveal.
The connection between the characters, and I don't just mean Ellery and Jack, is wonderful. Small town gossips, small town reporting, small town politics, and small town cops is all spot on. I can't speak for living in a touristy town but I can attest to small town atmosphere and everything Lanyon brings to the story definitely hits the nail on the head.
I guess I can't say too much more without leaking some spoilers and even though this is more than a year old release, I'm sure there are plenty who like me just got around to reading it. Normally I gobble everything by Josh Lanyon instantly but 2020 really screwed with my reading mojo so I just got around to Secrets & Scrabbles. I love the combination of mystery, wit, friendships, mayhem, possible romance and it's that blending that makes Murder at Pirate's Cove such a delightfully fun read.
Secret at Skull House #2
Cozy mystery or just mystery, whatever your terminology of choice is, Secrets of Skull House carry on the brilliance of who done it? that Josh Lanyon created with her newest series Secrets and Scrabbles.
When the romance of the book is secondary or maybe even smaller element than that and yet still pulls the reader in, you know the story is intriguing and fun. It's hard to imagine murder and mayhem being fun but when done right it is most definitely a fun read and that's what Skull House is.
Ellery and Jack have this amazing connection that may or may not lead to more but now that Ellery finds himself the main suspect in yet another murder, what kind of future can possible lay ahead for the pair?
I won't say more as I don't want to spoil the mystery but I will say it's a great read that leaves you with nothing but entertainment and keeps you guessing right to the reveal.
Murder at Pirate's Cove #1
Prologue
The damp night air was bracingly cold and, as always, suffused with the distinct ocean smell. Supposedly that seaside scent came from bacteria digesting dead phytoplankton. Ellery had picked that tidbit up that afternoon from a Tripp Ellis thriller.
The streets were quiet and strangely deserted as he walked back from the pub to the bookstore. His carâwell, Great-great-great-aunt Eudoraâs car, if someone wanted to get technicalâwas still in the parking lot. Captainâs Seat, Great-great-great-aunt Eudoraâs decrepit mansion, was about a fifteen-minute drive from the village. Walking distance for someone who hadnât been on his feet all day and didnât mind a stroll down a pitch-black country road. None of which described Ellery.
His thoughts were preoccupied as he turned the corner onto the narrow brick street that held the little bookshop that had brought him to Pirateâs Cove in the first place.
The tall Victorian buildings cast deep shadows. Most of the storefronts were dark or illuminated only by the faint glow of emergency lights, so he was startled to see the bright yellow oblongs stretching from the tall windows of the Crowâs Nest across the gray pavement.
Thatâs weird.
He was positive he had locked the place up after shutting all the lights off. A larger than usual electricity bill was the last thing he wanted.
He sped up, his footsteps echoing down the silent street as he hurried toward the Crowâs Nest. He grabbed the doorknob, guiltily recalling that the first words Chief Carson had ever spoken to him concerned replacing the sticky old lock with a new deadbolt. His dismay ratcheted up another notch as the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Oh no.
No way had he forgotten to lock up. He had lived in New York most of his life, for heavenâs sake. Locking doors was second nature to him. Sure, Pirateâs Cove was a small town, but all you had to do was flip through a couple of titles in the cozy-mystery section to know that evil lurked in the cutest, quaintest corners of the universe.
âHello?â he called.
His uneasy gaze fell on the thing lying just a few feet inside the shop. A purple-plumed green tricorn hat. He looked past the hat, and his breath caught. His heart shuddered to a stop.
âNo,â he whispered. âNo wayâŠâ
At first glance there appeared to be a drunken pirate passed out on the floor of the Crowâs Nest. His disbelieving eyes took in the glossy boots, black velvet breeches, long, plum-colored coat and gold-trimmed vest, the scarlet lace jabotâŠ
Scarlet.
Because the lacy folds were soaked in blood. The same blood slowly spreading around the motionlessâterrifyingly motionlessâform sprawled on newly sanded hardwood floors.
He put a hand out to steady himselfâexcept there was nothing to grabâso he stumbled forward, landing on his knees beside the body. He instinctively reached to check for⊠But there was no need. The eerie stillness of the manâs chest, the glassy stare, the gray and bloodless face⊠Trevor Maples was dead. Tiny, twin, horror-stricken reflections of himself in those sightless blue eyes.
He drew back, climbed clumsily to his feet, and staggered out the open door to the uncannily silent street.
âHelp!â he cried. âHelp! Murder!â
One by one, the streetâs lamps turned on as residents in the apartments above the shops surrounding the Crowâs Nest woke to the cries of death and disaster. The windows of normally sleepy little Pirateâs Cove lit up like the stars winking overhead.
Secret at Skull House #2
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 bookshopâoh, and of being suspected of murderâEllery Page was less thrilled by the notion of violent death. He couldnât deny it was good for business, though.
Something about the idea of murder in a mystery bookstore really captured peopleâs imagination. True, a third of the tourists wandering into the Crowâs 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 wasnât booming, it had certainly picked up.
Which was a good thing because Elleryâs 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 stungârejection always stings, even when youâre getting rejected by people you would rejectâhe just couldnât 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 withâwell, 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 businessâa lot more businessâto keep the Crowâs 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 didnât like conflict. Not in his movies and not in real life.
Conflict arrives, is instantly resolved, and the narrative course continues unaffected.
Ellery muttered, âYou say that like itâs a bad thing.â
The bells on the front door jingled merrily as Mrs. Nelson swept in. Elleryâs 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, soâŠ
Mrs. Nelson was under the impression she was Elleryâs best customer, and she wouldâve been if she didnât return three quarters of everything she bought.
âEllery, this book was a complete waste of my time. I canât believe you recommended it.â 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.
âIâm sorry. It made pretty much everyoneâs Best Of lists for 2019.â Ellery took the hardcover, wincing inwardly at the sight of folded page corners.
âI donât want to read about nasty people.â
âWell, weâre a mystery bookstore,â Ellery pointed out. âSafe to say, at least one character in every book is going to be kind of nasty.â
Mrs. Nelson was not amused. âI like my murders to happen to nice people. What about that new one from Joanne Fluke? I think I might like that.â
âIâm not sure we have any copies leââ
Mrs. Nelson beamed. âIâll just go and check. We can do an even exchange. That will keep things simple for you.â
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 baseâand being suspected of murder had not helped matters alongâso 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, ice-cream cones in one hand, shopping bags in the other. A former fishing villageâactually, a former pirate sanctuary, if you wanted to go way backâPirateâs 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 itselfâŠnot so much. Not yet.
But the citizens of Pirateâs Cove were working to change that, and no one was working harder than Ellery.
The Crowâs Nest had been underwater when heâd 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 Crowâs Nest. Jackâs gaze met Elleryâs through the glass, and Elleryâs heart skipped a beat. He smiled. Jack smiled back.
Over the past weeks, he and Ellery had become friendlyâwhich 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 Jackâand he wasnât alone in that; most of the fairer sex of Pirateâs 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 thatâs what Ellery told himself.
The bell offered a silvery welcome as Jack stepped inside the Crowâs Nest.
âWhy, howdy, Sheriff,â Ellery drawled in his best minor-character-in-a-made-for-TV-Western accent.
âWhy, howdy, Mr. Page,â 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 rĂ©sumĂ©.
Good intentions notwithstanding, something about Jackâs deep, pleasant voice always gave Ellery a little tingle at the base of his spine. It was distracting, to say the least.
âTâwarnât fixinâ to see you quite so soon.â
Jack grimaced and dropped the drawl. âI know. I have to take a rain check on lunch. Emergency town-council meeting.â
âOh.â Ellery didnât bother to hide his disappointment. He and Jack had lunch together about once a week. Jack had also twice come out to Captainâs Seat, the falling-down 18th Century mansion Ellery had inherited, to help with renovations. âThatâs too bad. Whatâs the emergency?â
âThe lack of any game plan to handle the media once they arrive for the trial.â
âUgh. Right.â
Elleryâs recent experience with the editor of the Scuttlebutt Weekly had left him with a sour taste in his mouth for members of the media.
âYeah, anyway, I was wonderingââ 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. âHey, you little rascal.â
Watson threw himself on his back, wriggling in delightâwhich was the typical reaction of most Pirateâs Cove citizens when Jack Carson appeared.
Sure enoughâŠ
âOh! Chief Carson. I thought I recognized your voice.â Mrs. Nelson came around the corner of tall bookshelves.
Jack rose. âMrs. Nelson. How are you?â
Mrs. Nelson proceeded to tell him in detail.
Mrs. Smithâsmall and slender, with thinning sandy hairâappeared at the counter, a stack of used paperbacks from the bargain bin in hand, and beamed at Ellery. âRing these up, dear.â She turned immediately to Jack. âChief Carson, how is the Maples case coming along?â Mrs. Smith was a devoted viewer of the Investigation Discovery channel and believed herself to be an expert in criminal investigations.
âWeâre gathering evidence and building our case, Mrs. Smith,â Jack said politely.
âThe circumstantial evidence alone ought to be enough to secure a conviction.â
âI prefer direct evidence.â 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. âCall me old-fashioned, but I donât trust a doctor younger than my grandchildren.â
âIsnât your youngest grandchild around eight years old?â Jack inquired.
Mrs. Nelson ignored that.
âI always suspected there was something up with that man,â said Mrs. Ferris, materializing out of the brand-new True Crime section, to join in the conversation. âHis taste in sports coats was a clear indicator of a deranged psyche.â
âJuries like circumstantial evidence,â 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 Jackâs gaze. Jack looked resigned, as well asâŠsomething else. Ellery didnât 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. Jackâs fan club was not going anywhere soon.
Ellery returned Watson to his crate, gave him a chew toy, and began to ring up Mrs. Smithâs 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 Jackâs 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 lookedâbroad shoulders and narrow hips, muscular arms and long legsâin his trim navy-blue uniform. He liked the way Jackâs smile formed little crinkles around the corners of his eyes.
Jack started to speak, but Mr. Starling appeared at the counter with Lee Childâs latest. âEllery, my boy, could you tell me the price of this book?â
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.
âChief Carson, I didnât see you there!â
Ellery resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
âMorning, Mr. Starling.â Jack glanced instinctively at the door, and Ellery bit back a grin. Everyone had their breaking point, and Mr. Starling was usually it.
âNice day today, eh, Chief?â
âYep.â
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. âHowâs your wife, Stanley?â
Mr. Starling waved dismissively. âDoing fine, I suppose. Spends her days staring at the boob tube.â
Mrs. Nelson began, âI donât believe televisions still have tubesââ
Mr. Starling ignored her. âChief, Iâve meaning to talk to you about those young hooligans hanging out on the beach every evening. It wouldnât surprise me if they were doing drugs and whatnot.â
âSure,â Jack said, edging toward the door. âWhy donât you come down to the station later and have a chat with Officer Martin.â
âIâm not sure young Martin is old enough to know whatâs what.â
Mrs. Smith was also angling toward the door with Jack and Mr. Starling. âLovely visiting with you all, but I must pick up some scallops from Finnâs.â
Ellery opened his mouth, but Mrs. Nelson was there before him.
âYouâve forgotten to pay, Jane.â
Mrs. Smith looked startled and then laughed gaily. âOh dear. Iâm always doing that!â
Yes, she was, but Ellery chuckled too. Politely.
Jack said mildly, âUh-oh, Mrs. Smith. Should I save space for your mug shot on the station bulletin board?â
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. âKeep the change, dear.â
In fact, she was twenty-three cents short, but Ellery knew to choose his battles. âThanks, Mrs. Smith.â
The shop door flew open, the bell clanging wildly, and Nora Sweeny rushed in, narrowly missing colliding with Jack and his entourage.
âEllery, dearie! So sorry Iâm late, but you wonât believe whatâs happened!â
Nora was Elleryâs 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 Pirateâs Cove Historical Society, and it was her lifeâs ambition to bring that now defunct organization back to life.
âWhatâs happened?â Ellery and everyone else in the Crowâs Nest chorused.
Nora skidded to a stop, looking nonplussed. âI didnât realizeâwell, the news is bound to be all over the village by now. I still canât believe it. Itâs aâŠa calamity.â
âWhatâs a calamity?â Jack, being in the calamity business, was frowning.
âSkull House has been sold!â
âIsnât that good news?â Ellery was confused. âI thought the historical society was planning to buy it for their new home base.â 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.
âBut thatâs just it. Itâs not us. The Historical Society hasnât purchased the house. We were outbid. We didnât even know we were bidding. Someoneâan outsiderâswooped in at the last moment and stole the house out from under us!â Nora reached the counter, resting her elbows on it and dropping her head in her hands.
Ellery bent over her. âAre you all right?â
Nora, still clutching her head, shook no.
Everyone elseâwith the exception of Jackâwas talking at once: who, what, where, when, whyâŠ
The why was the real question, in Elleryâs opinion. Why anyone, let alone the Pirateâs 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 Captainâs Seat, maybeâor maybe it was, because no one had lived there for the last fifty years. That amount of dust was probably lethal.
âIâm sorry. But, you know, maybe itâs for the best,â Ellery said. âSkull House would probably cost a fortune to get in shape, and it isnât exactly conveniently located. There are other houses.â
âNo, there really arenât,â Mrs. Nelson informed him. âWhen was the last time you saw property for sale on the island?â
WellâŠnever. Granted, he had only lived on Buck Island for four months.
âAnd no new construction,â Mr. Starling said. âPer the Buck Island Conservancy.â
âThe Maplesâ properties are going to come on the market eventually.â
âEventually,â agreed Mrs. Nelson. âWhich could be years from now. You know how courts are.â
Nora moaned. âI know! I know all that.â
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 couldnât blame Jack for making his escape. He just wished Jack had taken the others with him.
âTo think an outsider could just come in and buy one of our historical landmarks.â That was Mrs. Ferris.
âItâs not actually a landmark, is it?â Ellery asked. âNot technically. Not legally.â
No one bothered to reply.
Mrs. Smith asked, âWho is this mysterious outsider? Who has bought Skull House?â
Nora raised her head. Her eyes were dry, so that was good. In fact, she looked more mad than sad.
âHeâs a writer. Very popular, if you like that kind of thing.â
âWhat kind of thing?â 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.
âSex?â Mr. Starling asked hopefully.
Nora said in tones of loathing, âIâm speaking of Brandon Abbott.â
Ellery stared at her. âBrandon?â he repeated. âBrandon Abbott?â He heard and understood the words, but somehow they seemed to have short-circuited his brain.
âBrandon Abbott. Yes.â Noraâs gaze grew curious at his obvious shock.
âI know him!â Mrs. Smith exclaimed. âHeâs like Stephen King. He writes all that spooky stuff.â
âHorror,â Ellery said, which pretty much summed up his feelings regarding Brandon Abbott.
âDo you know Brandon Abbott?â Mrs. Nelson asked, surprised.
âI used to. Heâs my ex.â
âI thoughtââ objected Nora.
âMy other ex,â Ellery said.
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
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 on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
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