👻🎃Monday's Memorial Moment 🎃👻: Lion's Tail by Jordan L Hawk

Summary:

The Pride #2

Control the booze. Control the magic. Control Chicago.

Sam Cunningham just wants a quiet life with his lover, the cheetah-shifter Alistair Gatti. But that hope is dashed when a member of Mickey Sullivan’s gang dies inside the Gatti family’s speakeasy.

Sullivan wants Sam to work for him, deciphering long-forgotten hexes as part of his illegal hexworks operation. At the same time, a corrupt prohibition agent demands Sam and Alistair investigate the gang member’s murder. Caught between gangster and agent, they must walk a fine line just to stay alive.

Because the sinister forces behind the killing are still out there, and now they have Sam in their sights…

I remember reading Blind Tiger when my mom was in the hospital in 2021 and how much de-stressing the story gave me.  It blends several of my faves: paranormal, historical(prohibition, 1920s, post-WW1 to be precise), romance, and loads of mayhem.  I can't deny that I've been waiting on pins and needles ever since for another story from The Pride but I also know authors can only give us the stories when the characters are ready to tell them.  So yes, it's been a bit of a wait but oh so worth every single painstakingly aching second of it😉.

Lion's Tail is one of the best follow-up stories I've read in a long time.  Sam and Alistair are just as yummy as I remember.  Alistair is a bit overprotective but never in a malicious way so despite a few times of wanting to smack him upside the back of the head and telling him to chill, I loved that he cared so much.  Sam is finally finding his place, although at times it seems he is still not quite suited for the mayhem around him but then he says or does something and you realize that perhaps he isn't quite as out of his depth as you might think.

Sam's family plays a part in this entry and boy, talk about characters I wanted to . . . well let's be ladylike here and say they aren't exactly what I call "good stock" and leave it at that😉.  Where as the found family that makes up the cast at the Pride speakeasy, they are "good stock" and have Sam and Alistair's back.

As to the mystery element of Lion's Tail?  Well no spoilers here but it kept me guessing upto the reveal, not completely on the who but definitely the why and how.  I got shivers just thinking about it as I type this, heebiejeebies but perfect for Halloweeny reading.

The Pride is a spinoff of the author's Hexworld series. Even though you need to read Blind Tiger before Lion's Tail you really wouldn't have to read Hexworld first.  There are some hex-terminology that might smooth over a bit if you read Hexworld but by no means is it a necessity.  I do highly recommend checking out Hexworld for it's brilliant storytelling and world-building but you wouldn't have to do so before Blind and Lion.

However you choose to read them, Jordan L Hawk is a master of paranormal mayhem, so you will definitely enjoy the world they've created.

RATING:

1

May 1924

Alistair folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes as he stared up at the sky.

Rumrunners used every mode of transportation available to bring hooch down from Canada or up from Mexico…but an airplane? At night?

Airplanes were a bad idea to start with. Avian familiars could already fly; why did ordinary people need to be up there, too? Sure, it might make the mail faster in some cases, but if a letter was that damned urgent, you were better off hiring a falcon courier in the first place.

But here he was, freezing his tail off on an unseasonably cold night in May, in the middle of some farmer’s field north of Chicago, tending a line of fires to signal the airplane where to land in the otherwise dark countryside. Doris waited in the truck—engine running, of course, in case the prohees showed up.

Damn Camille. She’d been their old supplier, but then blown things by acting suspicious, like she was thinking about passing them some bad hooch. Plenty of speakeasies got by serving yack yack bourbon, but that wasn’t The Pride’s style. Alistair had killed enough men with his bare claws in France. Killing more of them with poisonous booze wouldn’t have sat right with him, even if Wanda would have tolerated it.

The silence was broken by the low growl of an engine overhead. Doris switched on the headlights, and he retreated to wait near the truck with Philip.

A few minutes later, the airplane set down, bumping merrily over the uneven ground until coasting to a stop. A middle-aged man flung open the door, grinning from ear to ear.

“Evening, folks!” he yelled as they jogged over. “Sure hope you ain’t the, what do you call ’em, prohees.”

“Not a chance.” Philip took the lead, walking to the man and extending his hand. “Philip Gatti. This is my brother Alistair and my sister Doris.”

The rumrunner did a double-take, since Doris with her bronze skin and Alistair with his olive complexion were clearly not related by blood to either the pale Philip or each other. But he didn’t comment. “Frankie Malone, at your service.”

“You own the distillery that produced this alcohol, correct?” Alistair asked, impatient for the preliminaries to be done with.

Malone grinned proudly. “Sure do. I gotta say, you Americans banning liquor has been a hell of a boon for us over the border. But I guess I don’t need to tell you that, seeing as you’re in the business yourself.”

He wasn’t wrong; the price of a barrel of beer had gone from seven dollars to fifty-five thanks to the Volstead Act. Men like Mickey Sullivan, whose gang controlled a big chunk of Chicago, were making a fortune.

Sullivan would rather they’d bought from him, given The Pride operated within his territory. But his supply consisted of booze made from wood alcohol, often enhanced with gasoline, and Alistair wasn’t about to touch the stuff. Given everyone in the Gatti family could turn into a big cat, Sullivan’s men left them alone.

For now, anyway.

Philip gave Malone his usual charming smile. “I don’t suppose you’d mind us using a hex to check your supply? No offense, but I’m sure you’ve heard the stories, and poisoning our customers is bad for business.”

Malone chuckled. “Not much repeat business to get from a corpse, eh? Go right ahead. I take pride in my product.”

That was a good sign. In Alistair’s mind, anyone balking at the use of a hex to detect impurities was either up to some shady business or thinking hard about it. As Malone and Doris began to unload the crates of bourbon, Philip produced a hex from his wallet. Choosing a random bottle, he held the hex over it and said, “Reveal to me the impure.”

If the booze was diluted with fusel oil or embalming fluid or some other impurity, it would glow yellow. The color of the liquid inside the bottles remained the same, however, which meant Malone was probably as good as his word.

“Told ya,” Malone said with another grin. “This here is pure old Canadian bourbon, good as it comes. Got a flask on my hip if you want to share a drink…?”

“No thank you,” Alistair said, before Philip could agree. “The longer we hang around here, the bigger the chance we’ll be spotted.”

“Good point.” Malone started back for his plane. “I’ll see you next week, then.”

“We could have at least had one drink,” Philip complained, as the airplane turned around and trundled off down the field, taking flight dangerously close to the tree line.

Alistair climbed into the truck. “We’re not here to make friends, Philip.”

Doris snorted from the driver’s seat. “You don’t make friends anywhere.”

“That’s not true,” Alistair said, even though it absolutely was. “Come on, let’s get this back to Chicago and under wraps. The sooner we’re off the road, the better.”

Sam fumed quietly ashe cleared the tables at The Pride speakeasy.

He’d come to work early, because he and Alistair were supposed to go apartment hunting in the afternoon. But when he’d arrived, it was to find Alistair in the process of leaving to meet with a new rumrunner, without a single indication he even remembered their appointment.

Maybe Sam should have said something. But he’d bitten his words back, put on a smile, and mumbled something about getting an early start on his shift. Leaving his hurt feelings to fester, just like always.

Though Alistair still technically had a room at The Pride, they’d been staying in the house that had belonged to Sam’s dead cousin, Eldon. It was convenient, spacious…and didn’t legally belong to either of them. At some point, his aunt and uncle were going to show up and throw him out. Better to clear out beforehand, so he didn’t have to face their recriminations.

Except Alistair didn’t seem to want that.

Sam pressed his lips into a thin line and reminded himself that he loved Alistair. Alistair loved him. They were taking things slow; Alistair’d had a bad experience with his first witch and they’d agreed to put off bonding until he was ready.

But they were meant to have an apartment together by now, something legitimate. Instead, they were squatting amidst a dead man’s things, just waiting for the day they’d be ordered to leave.

It was the uncertainty he hated. Sam wanted stability, and why shouldn’t he? An apartment with a lease in his name, a better job to pay for it—that wasn’t too much to ask for, was it?

Given Alistair’s absence, apparently it was.

He cleared the used silverware and plates from a table just as Zola, the hostess, swooped in with four new patrons. Weaving his way back across the room, he passed the waitress, Teresa, whose yellow-green eyes were the same as in her cougar form. She shot him a cheery wink, a tray laden with oysters on toast balanced on one hand. Her other arm was still in a sling from the bullet she’d recently taken while caught in the crossfire of a gangland war.

Norman Rose, a regular at the speakeasy, lifted his glass in salute when he spotted Sam. Wanda Gatti, The Pride’s owner, let customers in through the steel door, shaking their hands as they entered. Her girlfriend, the robin familiar Holly Savine, drank champagne at the bar, served by Wanda’s witch Joel Hunt. Though Joel had an above-board business as a tailor, he occasionally covered the bar when Philip was out.

They all smiled when they met his eye, and Sam felt his bad mood dissolving. This strange collection of familiars and witches, criminals and artists, were his friends. When Eldon’s death had left him alone in Chicago, they’d stepped in to fill the gap, drawing him into the warmth of their odd little family. For the first time in his life, he had people he could turn to who wouldn’t let him down.

Breaking free of the crowd, Sam escaped through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Though a couple of electric fans valiantly strove to circulate air, the kitchen simmered in the heat from the stove and the humidity from the hot water in the sink.

Reinhold—the cook and Teresa’s witch—slid lobster canapés deftly onto a plate, while Sam emptied his tub into the sink. “Busy night, huh, Sam?” Reinhold asked. One side of his face was creased and distorted from a war wound; according to him, the surgeons had performed a miracle of restoration. “Have you taken your break yet?”

“Haven’t had a chance,” Sam said, brushing sweat off his brow.

“Why don’t you nip outside, get some air?”

The offer was tempting, but he instinctively balked at it. Back when he’d worked at the family pharmacy, Dad had frequently berated him for his laziness, reminding him no one but family would tolerate such slacking. “I’ll do a quick round of the dining room,” Sam hedged, hefting his tub again. “Collect anything that needs collecting.”

Reinhold rolled his eyes good-naturedly and turned back to the stove. A few seconds later, Sam was back out into the chaos. The Pride was bustling tonight, every table jammed with flappers and sheiks. Cocktails bloomed in every color magic could provide: royal purple, peacock blue, bloody red. Over the sound of jazz from the band, there could just be heard the pop of champagne corks, the raucous laughter of drunk women, and the boastful toasts of businessmen. Twisting figures packed the small dance floor, sending the scent of sweat to mingle with perfume, booze, and cigarette smoke.

All of the tables were occupied at the moment, so he threaded between them, snatching up empty glasses and clearing away bare plates as he went. A few of the regular customers greeted him, and he found himself smiling.

He was going to miss all of this when he got another job. If he got another job.

At the far end of the bar from the kitchen was the coat check and front door, where Wanda had taken over Doris’s duty tonight. Her yellow suit contrasted beautifully with her dark skin and matched her golden lion eyes.

As he rounded the last tables, she swung the heavy steel door open to let a new customer in. “Are you all right, Bobby?” she asked. “Maybe you need some coffee.”

The young man who entered seemed vaguely familiar, though Sam couldn’t immediately place him. Dark hair, medium build, with a pleasantly handsome face. His eyes, however, were glassy, and sweat sheened his pale skin.

“Help me,” he mumbled. “I don’t feel good.”

Wanda sniffed the air and frowned. “What’ve you been drinking?”

Bobby didn’t seem to hear her. Instead, he staggered inside, his gait unsteady, as though his knee joints didn’t work properly.

Sam hurried forward and caught him before he could careen into one of the other tables. Bobby clutched at him desperately, like a drowning man. “What was in that drink?” he slurred. “I think…I think he poisoned me. You got to help me!”

Sam cast a desperate glance at Wanda, who sighed and put a hand to Bobby’s shoulder. “Come on. You need to sleep it off.”

Bobby didn’t answer. He seemed to grow heavier on Sam’s shoulders as he went limp. Then, with a final gurgling sigh, he slid to the floor dead.

A group of cat-shifters run a speakeasy amidst the magic and violence of 1920s Chicago.

The Pride takes place in the same universe as the Hexworld books.

Saturday's Series Spotlight

Hexworld

Part 1  /  Part 2

Monday's Mystical Magic

Hexhunter

Saturday's Series Spotlight

The Pride

Part 1

Jordan L Hawk

Jordan L. Hawk is a trans author from North Carolina. Childhood tales of mountain ghosts and mysterious creatures gave him a life-long love of things that go bump in the night. When he isn’t writing, he brews his own beer and tries to keep the cats from destroying the house. His best-selling Whyborne & Griffin series (beginning with Widdershins) can be found in print, ebook, and audiobook.

If you want to contact Jordan, just click on the links below or send an email.

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EMAIL: jordanlhawk@gmail.com

Lion's Tail #2

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The Pride

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Hexworld

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The 13th Hex #.5

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A Christmas Hex #2.5

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Wild Wild Hex #3.5

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🎭Week at a Glance🎭: 9/23/24 - 9/29/24

Monday's Mystical Magic: For the Love of a Ghost by Jackie North

⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳: Bulletproof by Mary Calmes

📘🎥Friday's Film Adaptation🎥📘: Telling Tales by Ann Cleeves

Saturday's Series Spotlight: Secrets and Scrabble by Josh Lanyon Part 4

Sunday's Short Stack: Harvest Kisses for the Omega by Lacey Daize

Sunday's Short Stack: Harvest Kisses for the Omega by Lacey Daize

Summary:

Mountain Springs Omegas #9

Sam has always dreamed of moving out west, and as he approaches his 30th birthday, it's time to make that happen.

Sam knows that his future is out west. He has a good job and a good apartment, but it's time to make his dream come true. So he gets on the back of his motorcycle to ride across the country. Unfortunately, an accident outside Mountain Springs causes an extended stop in the idyllic town.

Ethan wants a mate and family of his own, but isn't interested in any of the available omegas. At least he can watch his twin's kids to get his baby fix, right?

Ethan is content enough in life, but after years of watching everybody, including his twin brother, find omegas and start their families, he's ready to settle down himself. If only he had the perfect omega. But he's dated more than he can remember, and none have stuck. At least his twin lets him babysit the kids. Then a new omega rolls into town, and he can't tear his eyes off him.

The attraction is mutual, and instant. But can love flourish when one man has a plan that doesn't include staying in Mountain Springs?

Recipe for Romance

One Lonely Alpha

An omega ready for a change

An lucky accident

The intervention of old friends

Harvest Kisses for the Omega is a 15.5K word , non-shifter, M/M, Mpreg romance, featuring an omega in search of something new, and alpha ready to settle down, and realization that love happens where you lease expect it.

It seems that 2024 has become the year to throw my series-read-in-order policy completely out of whack.  Once again I delved into the middle but as Mountain Springs Omegas is a standalone series it really wasn't too affected, though I will state rightaway that I'm glad I read entry #6, Gemini Kisses, prior.  It didn't really play a part in keeping things straight or effect the plot but as one of Harvest Kisses' MC is Ethan who is the twin brother of Evan, one of the stars of Gemini, I just think a few scenes and mentions flowed better having read Evan's story first but certainly not a necessity.

Onto Harvest Kisses.

Sam is moving west for a fresh start where he is sure his future awaits.  Fate throws a monkey wrench into his trip with transportation breakdown.  It's pretty obvious he and Ethan have a connection but will Mountain Springs be west enough or is Sam an omega determined to go further?  You know my answer to that: read for yourself, you won't be disappointed.

When we first met Ethan during his brother's story in Gemini I felt he came across as a bit of a player, not a bad guy just not looking for his forever omega anytime soon so I was surprised to see he was getting a journey of his own.  Surprised but not disappointed.  His love of family just proves his genuineness is the real thing.  He knew his brother's romance was the real thing but watching Ethan discover his own chemistry with someone is a beautiful and fun experience.

I feel like I've said too much already but just know that I was not ready to say goodbye to these two when I swiped the last page and for me that is the sign of a topnotch read.  I can't think of a better more fitting explanation of the joy that Harvest Kisses brought to my heart than not wanting to see the book end.

RATING:

Chapter 1 - Sam 

I took a look around my empty apartment and grinned. 

If anybody had asked a few days earlier I might have admitted to being nervous—even wondering if I’d gone slightly crazy—but now I was excited. 

Granted, I still wondered if I’d gone crazy, but it wasn't as prevalent an emotion as it had been before. 

I mean, who leaves a damn good job and gives up a rent-controlled apartment in an expensive city on a whim? But that’s exactly what I was doing. 

Go west young man…

I couldn’t remember the first time I’d heard the old quote about westward expansion, but somehow it had always stuck with me. I’d even considered heading out to the west coast for college, but then I received an in-state scholarship that I would have been insane to turn down. 

For years it had only been a lingering thought in the back of my mind, but as I approached thirty it had started to nag at me again. Finally, as I was handed the renewal paperwork for my lease, I decided: for my thirtieth birthday, I was going to move out west. 

The thought was half-energizing, and half-terrifying. I didn’t have a new job or apartment lined up, and had no idea how long I’d be living off savings in motels. But I was doing it. I was listening to that voice that had called me westward for at least a decade and a half. 

I’d managed to prepare for the move in record time too. Almost all my stuff was in pod storage, just ready for me to call. And I’d decided to leave my car with my parents until I’d settled into a new place. 

But that also left me the ability to fulfill another dream: drive across the country on the back of my motorcycle. 

I made one last sweep of the apartment, making sure everything was ready for the inspection with the property managers, then pulled out my phone one more time to go over my map.

As soon as I finished the walkthrough I would be on my way. 

I’d picked as many backroads and small highways as I could. Sure, the interstates could get me there faster, but I wanted to see the country. I wanted to be able to roll into a quiet town, visit the shops and restaurants, then continue on my way, and the fact that the trees were just starting to display their fall colors would make my journey even better. 

Immediately following the walkthrough I went to get breakfast, then checked my bike over one final time. 

I wove through city traffic, allowing both nostalgia and excitement to exist side-by-side. A part of me would always miss my home in the big city, even if I landed in another. But I was ready for a new adventure. 

I’d find a new corner deli for lunch, and another mom and pop grocery store to get essentials at. I’d discover my new favorite dive bars, and maybe—if I was lucky—I’d find the alpha for me. 

Most of my omega friends had been mated and with kids for several years already. I was the old man of my childhood group, and while I wanted it all, I’d never found my alpha. 

In a city of millions, I somehow knew that my match wasn’t there. 

My alpha was out west. I was sure of it, and with any luck, I’d find him.

I couldn’t wait to tell my eventual children the story of how papa decided to leave the east coast, and how that led him to his alpha. 

The wind whipped at my leathers as I got my bike up to speed, the city shrinking behind me. 

Some might say that, at thirty, I was starting over. But to me, I was finally getting started in the first place.

Saturday's Series Spotlight

Part 1

Bunny  /  Gemini  /  Harvest

Lacey Daize

Lacey lives in New Mexico with her four critters. She’s a Jill-of-all-trades by day, but loves writing in her spare time. She dabbles in a variety of pairings, but jumped feet-first into the deep end of omegaverse the first time she read it. She loves the play on social expectations and the different ways to express romance.

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Harvest Kisses #9

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Series

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Saturday's Series Spotlight: Secrets & Scrabble by Josh Lanyon Part 4

Death at the Deep Dive #7

Summary:

We only see the things on the surface…

When Pirate Cove's mystery bookstore owner and sometimes-amateur sleuth Ellery Page discovers a vintage diving collection bag full of antique gold coins tucked away for safe keeping in the stockroom of The Crow’s Nest, it sets off a series of increasingly dangerous events, culminating in meeting Police Chief Jack Carson’s parents. Er… Culminating in murder.

Corpse at Captain's Seat #8

Summary:

And Then There Were…Some

At long last, the renovations of stately Captain’s Seat are mostly complete!

To celebrate, mystery bookseller and sometimes amateur sleuth Ellery Page decides to throw a house-warming party and invite his New York theater friends to stay for the weekend. When a freak snowstorm leaves the house party cut off from the village of Pirate’s Cove, there’s nothing to do but drink, reminisce, and play games.

Or so Ellery thinks—until he finds himself trapped in a real-life game of Clue.

Death at the Deep Dive #7

Original Review October 2022:

This series just keeps getting better and better. Cozy mystery or just mystery, however you label it, Death at the Deep Dive(the whole Secrets and Scrabbles series really) is amazingly fun.  Some might think "fun" is an odd word to label any kind of mystery but not me, when done right, mysteries are not only fun but exhilarating and believe me, Deep Dive is done right!

Again, no spoilers of any kind, every little tidbit of info can tell too much and I don't want to ruin anyone's experience.  I will say that Ellery and Jack are closer than ever, cuter than ever, and becoming quite a crime-fighting duo.  Okay, "crime-fighting duo" is a bit of a stretch but this time around Jack isn't against Ellery's investigation, which I really love because it shows not only that Jack is accepting of what is but also that sometimes outside help can offer intriguing insight.  I should add that despite Ellery's penchant for being a trouble magnet, this time around he didn't go looking for anything, it came to him in the form of Vera Shutton-Shandy wanting to hire him to look into what happened to her brother, Vernon all so many years ago.

Through his investigations, Ellery finds a way to connect to his great great aunt who left him everything, which I found interesting and heartwarming.  Add in the silver sleuths wanting to offer help and gossipy nuggets of info and you have an old fashioned mystery that reels you in and keeps you hooked till the very end.  Can't wait to see what Pirate Cove has next up it's sleeves, or buried in it's caves, to rattle Ellery's chains.

Corpse at Captain's Seat #8

Original Review Book of the Month July 2024:

To return to Pirate's Cove again, always fun.  In Corpse at Captain's Seat we see Ellery finally getting his home nearly completely restored, a few projects remain for future completion but for now it's time to enjoy the quiet.  Quiet and Ellery just don't seem to go together since he came to the island, he always has good intentions but a trouble magnet he definitely seems to be.

Ellery and Jack are in the best place relationship-wise, engaged and looking forward to the future.  Combined with the restoration completion and it's the perfect time to have a housewarming party and reunion with old school friends.  Well, we all know Ellery's timing doesn't always go to plan but this time he may have met his match in Mother Nature.  A not-quite-freak-but-still-very-freaky snowstorm cancels the party and strands his old friends a few extra days.  Truth is it sounds like the perfect setting for both a good-old fashioned catch up and classic slasher film. Did I forget to mention there may or may not be an escaped bad guy on the island😉?

I won't give anything more away so I don't spoil anything just know that with every oddity Ellery finds it seems to bring up more questions.  I'll admit, my mind was going in a different direction as to the culprit so I truly was surprised up until about 2 pages from the reveal.  That rarely happens to me, not because I have superior powers of deduction but because I've been watching/reading mysteries since I was old enough to sit-up so you can imagine in my 50 years on this planet there have been very few fictional mystery scenarios I haven't seen/read.  So when I find one that truly has me stumped, well I know I found a keeper.

Corpse at Captain's Seat is the last entry the author has mapped out but says it won't be the last we see of Ellery, Jack, and the whole Pirate's Cove crew.  So glad because even though Ellery and Jack may not beat Adrien and Jake(the author's Adrien English Mysteries) in my heart they more than give the men a healthy run for their money.  Truth is I think the only thing that puts A&J on top is I read them first wayback when I first ventured in published MM genre.  Now having said that, I'm not comparing the author's couples in character development, traits, coupledom but more to the emotions they incite in me. I would never compare characters when & if there are similarities because no matter how much they make appear similar, characters like people on the street have their own original journeys that help make them who there are and comparing that would negate that. So any "this couple to that couple" is all about the powerful reactions I get from them inside and their ability to pull me in. And boy do Ellery and Jack(and little Watson too) pull me in to their adventures.

Corpse at Captain's Seat may be the last Secrets & Scrabble book for now but when Ellery & Jack have more they wish to share with the author, I'll be first in line to follow along.

RATING:

Death at the Deep Dive #7

Chapter One 

Eight gold coins gleamed and glinted in the lamplight.

Make that eight gold coins and one silver.

Ellery Page, owner and proprietor of the quaint mystery bookshop known as the Crow’s Nest, let out a long breath and picked up the silver coin, fingertips tracing the unfamiliar size and design. It looked old. Very old. On one side a woman held two wreaths aloft. He could just make out the (Latin?) words SÆCVLA VINCIT and below: VIRTVTI ET HONORI. The other side was etched (engraved?) with the profile of a young man and the words PHILIPPUS D.G. HISPAN INFANS

So… Spanish?

Was the image supposed to be King Philip?

He had no idea. He wasn’t even sure if the coins were real.

Granted, they looked real. The details of the gold pieces—the believably worn engravings, the rough, slightly misshapen edges, even the heft of the coins—doubloons?—felt real.

Seemed legit.

Appearances could be deceptive. But if this was indeed Vernon Shandy’s diving collection bag—and whose else could it be?—was it likely the coins would be fake?

Granted, when it came to the Shandy clan, some kind of elaborate scam was always a possibility, but given Vernon’s untimely and mysterious disappearance in the 1960s…

Eyes still on the small pile of coins, Ellery reached for his cell phone and pressed the contact number for Pirate Cove’s chief of police Jack Carson.

Jack’s phone rang once and then Jack, who also happened to be Ellery’s boyfriend, said, “Hey, I’m not quite done here. Did you want to go ahead and grab a table?”

“Uh… Do you think you could maybe stop by here for a couple minutes?”

Jack’s tone changed. “You okay? What’s up?”

“I’m okay, but…I’d rather not say any more until you get here.”

“Are you being held hostage?”

Jack was kidding, of course, though given Buck Island’s—and Ellery’s—history, maybe anything seemed possible to him.

“No. I’m alone. I…found something.”

Jack said crisply, “On my way,” and disconnected.

Poor Jack. He probably thinks I found another body.

Ellery started to put his phone down, but stopped. If these coins were the real thing, how valuable were they?

A quick search of Wikipedia elicited the following information:

The doubloon (from Spanish doblón, or “double”, i.e. double escudo) was a two-escudo gold coin worth approximately $4 (four Spanish dollars) or 32 reales, and weighing 6.766 grams (0.218 troy ounce) of 22-karat gold (or 0.917 fine; hence 6.2 g fine gold).

Translation please?

More searching unearthed a 1989 Los Angeles Times article and the news that early pieces of eight were handmade and known as cobs. Higher quality versions were machine-made. And Spanish milled dollars were worth about $50 to $350.

So, if a gold doubloon was worth $350. in 1989, presumably it was worth more now?

As a last resort, Ellery tried eBay. As he scanned the listings for gold coins dated circa 1700s (just on the off-chance that these really had come from the legendary wreck of the pirate galleon known as the Blood Red Rose) he sucked in his breath and let it out in a sound typically only heard from maiden aunts when their prize Pekingese tried to, er, get jiggy with a stray.

US $32,500.00

US $39,500.00

US $46,500.00

US $75,000.00

US $124,500.00

“Yikes.”

Watson, Ellery’s the black spaniel-mix puppy stopped gnawing his chew toy to gaze in startled inquiry.

Granted, the coins listed for sale were in mint condition with certificates to prove their provenance, but this answered one question: yes, the items in the collection bag were valuable. In fact, that small mound of metal on his desk probably qualified as treasure.

Pirate’s treasure.

Eight gold coins worth—just taking the low-end figure—two hundred and sixty thousand dollars? People committed murder for less.

Ellery glanced instinctively up at the ceiling entrance to the bookshop attic. Little more than a month ago, someone—and he had a pretty good idea who—had broken into the Crow’s Nest searching for, most probably, this very collection bag.

Alarm coiled down his spine. Never mind the attic. Had he locked the front door? Ellery couldn’t remember.

He rose, left his office, striding past the sales desk, the large oil paintings of pirate galleons battling stormy seas and changing tides, hopping over Watson, who thought this was a terrific new game, down the aisles of towering bookshelves. He reached the front entrance, . He moved to slide the lock. At the same moment the brass bell chimed as someone started to open the door.

Ellery exclaimed in alarm, and slammed shut the door.

On the other side of the divided glass panes, an exasperated Jack called, “You called me, remember?”

Ellery yanked the door open. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Jack ignored Watson who, wishing to claim his share of the welcome, was jumping up and down. “Why are you so spooked?”

“I— It might be easier if I show you.”

Jack’s dark eyebrows shot up. He said cautiously, “Are you going to show me something living or something…no longer living.”

Ellery laughed shakily. “I’m going to show you an inanimate object.”

“Thank God for that. One more body and people will start to talk.”

Ellery, headed back toward his office, threw over his shoulder, “I’m pretty sure they’re already talking.”

Jack, stopping to pat Watson, replied, “I’m pretty sure you’re right.” He straightened, followed Ellery into his office, stopping short in the doorway.  He took a moment to study the litter of water-stained diving bag and coins. “I thought the collection bag was stolen when the bookshop was broken into.”

“I did too. But I decided to finally reorganize the storage closet, and when I started pulling stuff out, I found the bag in the very back.”

“How is that possible?”

Ellery shook his head. “But this explains why Tackle Shandy—or whoever it was— thought it was worth the risk.”

“I’d say so.” Jack sounded grim. “If these coins are genuine, they must be worth a fortune.”

“I did a little comparison shopping on eBay while I was waiting for you to arrive, and this haul could be worth anything from a quarter of a million to more than a million. Depending on where and when the coins were minted.”

Jack’s blue-green gaze held Ellery’s. “A million dollars?”

Ellery nodded.

“That’s a lot of clams.”

“If they’re genuine.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, first things first. This haul is going straight into the evidence locker down at the station. Tomorrow I’ll phone the Rhode Island Marine Archaeology Project in Newport.”

“I’m just going to grab some quick pics.” Ellery held his phone up.

Jack nodded absently. He was studying the ceiling entrance to the attic. He did not look happy.

Ellery moved around the desk, snapping photos of each coin, front and back. He wasn’t sure why, exactly. Once the coins were in the hands of RIMAP, they were no longer his problem. He might never even see them again, outside of a museum—ideally, a Buck Island museum.

He paused to examine one coin, then held it out to Jack. “Can you tell what that says? The tiny writing to the left of HISP? Is that a date?”

Jack held the coin beneath the lamp, squinting at the worn engraving. “Maybe 1611?”

“Could that be right?”

“1611? Yes. If these are the real thing, well, the 1650s to 1730s were the golden age of piracy.”

“You know what this means?” Ellery glanced at Jack, who looked resigned.

“What do you think it means?”

“Everyone seems to think that diving suit we found in Buccaneer’s Bay originally belonged to Vernon Shandy.”

“And the collection bag was part of the suit.”

“Right. And Tackle himself said Vernon was obsessed with finding the Blood Red Rose. That he spent all his spare time hunting for her.”

Jack smiled. “You think these coins are from the Blood Red Rose. You think Vernon found Captain Blood’s ship.”

“Yes. I do.”

“But don’t you think, if Vernon found the Blood Red Rose, he’d have told someone?”

Ellery considered. “Yeah. He would. He’d have to. He couldn’t retrieve her treasure on his own. He’d probably share that information with certain family members. I don’t know that he’d share it with everyone and no way with anyone outside the Shandy family circle.”

Jack grunted. The Shandys were one of Buck islands oldest and most notorious families. They kept themselves to their selves and their relationship with law enforcement was wary at best.

Wary on both sides, truth be told.

Jack said, “If the coins are real—and they look real, I agree, but neither of us are experts—then you could be right.”

“And if we’re right about that,” Ellery said, “then you know what else I think?”

Jack studied him for a thoughtful moment. He sighed. “You think Vernon Shandy was murdered.”

“I sure do,” Ellery replied.

 

“What’ll you have to drink, gents?” Though the pub was nearly empty, Tom Tulley appeared to be in a jovial mood when Ellery and Jack sat down at their usual table at the Salty Dog.

By October, the tourists were mostly gone and the island was returned to its (in the view of the citizens of Pirate’s Cove) rightful owners. The days were cool and crisp, luminous with autumn’s gorgeous, golden light. The ocean was still warm enough for swimming and it was easy to get a good table in any restaurant or bar without a wait. The chilly nights were fragrant with the scent of woodsmoke and damp earth. Twilight strolls along the beach were lit by meteor showers and the white, silky filaments of milkweed pods.

“What was that blue cocktail you made for me last Friday?” Ellery shrugged out of his jacket with Jack’s help. Jack had the unobtrusive, courtly gesture thing down to a science. He moved away to hang their jackets on the hooks near the door.

“Blueberry iceberg,” Tom answered. “Libby came up with that recipe. Blueberry vodka, blue curacao, lime juice, and a splash of sparkling water.”

“That was great. I’ll have that again.”

Tom nodded, asked Jack, “How about you, Chief? The usual?”

Jack’s usual was whatever was on tap. He nodded. “How’s Libby doing?”

Tom’s daughter Libby was away at college on the mainland.

“Thriving,” Tom said gloomily. Libby was the light of his life and he missed her dearly.

Ellery, studying the new addition of a blackboard menu, inquired, “What’s the End of Summer Special?”

“Secret family recipe.”

Jack and Ellery exchanged looks. Jack said, “What do you want to bet Fritos are involved?”

Tom looked outraged. “Hey, how dare you reveal my secrets!” He grinned broadly and departed with their drink order.

“He’s in a good mood,” Ellery remarked.

“It’s October. Everyone cheers up once the tourists leave.”

Which seemed counterintuitive for a community that pretty much subsisted on the tourist trade, but even with only one summer under his belt, Ellery got it. Buck Island during tourist season was a different planet from Buck Island the rest of the year.

He and Jack chatted about the ongoing renovations at Captain’s Seat. The previous month, Ellery had finally received a nice chunk of change from Brandon Abbott’s estate, allowing him to move ahead with crucial if unglamorous things like electrical repairs and replacing the roof.

Tom returned with their drinks. They both ordered the fish and chips, to Tom’s disappointment, and then, as he once more departed, clinked their glasses.

“Cheers,” Jack said.

“Yo ho ho,” Ellery replied. He sipped his cobalt cocktail. “Mm.” The tart sweetness of the cocktail and the crackling warmth of the nearby fireplace were the perfect pairing for a chilly autumn night.  He sighed. “I have to say I’m very relieved you-know-what is you-know-where. The thought that it was just lying there in that cupboard all this time makes me feel a little queasy.”

“Any chance that it wasn’t in the cupboard the whole time? I thought Felix said he left it out on a storage shelf.”

“He must have been mistaken. It was his last day at work and his last day on the island, so no wonder he was distracted. When I asked him, he barely remembered Cap giving him the bag at all.”

Jack made a noncommittal noise and sipped his beer.

“Whoever broke in would have to have been in a hurry.”

Jack conceded, “The assumption would be you had looked in the bag and so it was unlikely to have been left in the shop at all.”

“Exactly!”

Jack studied Ellery for a moment. His smile twisted. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First off, there’s no proof the collection bag you found belonged to Vernon Shandy. The assumption is the deep dive suit was his, but there are plenty of other divers on this island. No one knows for a fact who hid that suit in the warehouse with the Historical Society’s collection. Or for what reason.”

“To hide those coins,” Ellery said.

Jack shook his head. “That’s an assumption.”

“It’s a working theory. And it’s the most logical.”

“Maybe. But let’s say you’re right. Let’s go with your theory that the suit belonged to the Shandys and that the suit was stashed away to hide the coins.”

“Doubloons.”

Jack laughed. “You really do love the idea of pirate’s treasure, don’t you? If your eyes were any shinier, they’d be glowing.”

Ellery laughed and sat back in his chair. He shrugged. “Okay, yes. I do love the idea of pirate’s treasure.”

“Especially pirate’s treasure with a mystery attached.”

Ellery couldn’t help pointing out, “Wouldn’t all pirate’s treasure have a mystery attached?”

“Hm. Good point. But here’s what I was getting at. Even if we go with your theory about who owned the collection bag and why it was concealed, it still doesn’t prove those coins came from the Blood Red Rose.”

“Ah. Okay. You’re right.”

“There are a lot of wrecks in the waters around this island.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll give you that one.”

Jack laughed. “Thank you. And finally, even if your theories are correct about who owned the diving suit and collection bag, where the coins came from, and why they were hidden in the Historical Society’s collection, there’s still no proof that Vernon Shandy was murdered.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Ellery objected. “Something happened to him.”

“Something, yes. He left the island, that’s for sure. But the surrounding circumstances are unknown.” As Ellery opened his mouth to debate this, Jack continued, “And there are plenty of reasons the Shandys might want to conceal those circumstances.”

Tom returned to the table bearing platters of golden deep fried fish, crispy french fries, and tangy coleslaw. He set the sizzling plates before them. “Another round?”

Jack asked Ellery, “Are you driving back to Captain’s Seat or staying over?”

There had been a time, not so long ago, when Jack would not have so casually or so openly asked that question.

Ellery smiled. “If Watson and I haven’t worn out our welcome?”

Jack gave him the slightest of winks and said to Tom, “Another round, thanks.” He added to Ellery, “We can always walk home.”

Tom gave Ellery a droll look. “Coming right up!”

Tom departed, Ellery and Jack reached for the salt and pepper shakers, exchanged the vinegar bottle, repositioned the little jars of tartar sauce.

Jack broke off a piece of fried cod and said, as though there had been no interruption, “I’m not trying to bust your balloon. Obviously, there’s an element of mystery surrounding these events. It just doesn’t automatically, inevitably indicate murder.”

“Well, no, of course not.” Ellery chewed thoughtfully on a french fry.

Jack observed him for a moment. “Which isn’t going to stop you from poking your nose into other people’s business and asking a lot of awkward questions, is it?”

Ellery’s brows shot up in surprise. “Me? Come on, Jack, whatever happened to Vernon Shandy is none of my business. Anyway, whatever happened, it was over half a century ago. Nobody’s going to remember anything this long after the fact. Assuming anyone involved is still around. Which is unlikely. Right?”

Jack sighed, shook his head. “That’s what I thought.”

Corpse at Captain's Seat #8

Chapter One

“Another secret passage?” Ellery Page, owner and proprietor of Pirate Cove’s only mystery bookshop, balanced the phone receiver between his cheek and shoulder as he hurried to finish the Crow’s Nest’s payroll. With house guests arriving for the weekend, he was in a rush to wrap things up within the next hour, so he could get over to the ferry landing.

“We can’t be sure unless we open the wall up,” Tony Brambilla, Ellery’s contractor, was saying.

Brambilla and Sons had managed to pull off something close to a miracle as they’d worked to finish renovations on Captain’s Seat before the winter—and Ellery’s guests—set in. When Ellery had inherited the dilapidated 18th century mansion after the death of his Great-aunt Eudora nine months earlier, the place had been just about ready for the wrecking ball. A recent fire on the second floor had not helped matters.

Ellery said quickly, “No! Don’t open any walls. My friends are arriving on the one o’clock ferry.”

“All righty. Well, that door on the leeward side bedroom no longer sticks and the loose floorboards have been repaired. If there is a passage behind that wall, it probably connects to the tunnel opening onto the library.”

During the extensive renovations, no less than two separate secret passages had been discovered within the walls of Captain’s Seat. That was not unusual for the oldest buildings on an island that had once served as a pirate hideout. However, as exciting as was the sound of secret passages, the walkways inside Captain’s Seat had turned out to be dank, dark tunnels filled with empty broken crates, spiders—one of Ellery’s least favorite things—and not much else. One day he’d get around to fully exploring those interior alleys, but they were low priority. After all, he’d happily lived nearly a year in the old mansion without even realizing they were there.

“Enjoy your house,” Tony was saying. “In the spring, we can talk about tackling those structural cracks in the cellar.”

Ellery’s heart sank at the words structural cracks, but he said with determined good cheer, “Yes. Thanks for all your hard work, Tony. Captain’s Seat is like a different house.” A house not in imminent peril of spontaneously combusting every time he flipped a light switch.

“It’s good to have Pages on the island again.”

That sentiment seemed to be broadly held on the island, but it still surprised and touched Ellery. Prior to inheriting Captain’s Seat, he hadn’t even known Buck Island existed—let alone his Great-aunt Eudora.

He ended the phone call with Tony, firmly blocking out all thoughts of structural cracks. He was just finishing up the payroll as the doorbell chimed in welcome and Nora Sweeney, his assistant manager, returned from lunch.

Nora was a wisp of a woman, just over five feet in her sensible shoes. Her eyes were the color of steel and she wore her long gray hair in a severe ponytail. Though prone to gossip and wild flights of imagination, she was clever, loyal, and boundlessly energetic. In addition to her vast knowledge of the island and all its inhabitants (past and present) Nora possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of mystery, which had proved beyond valuable to Ellery. Before inheriting the Crow’s Nest, he’d had zero interest in crime, either real or fictional.

What a difference a few months could make!

Watson, Ellery’s black-spaniel-mix puppy, hopped down from the long wooden library bench where he had been gazing solemnly out the picture windows at the empty cobblestone streets.

Pirate’s Cove in November looked suspiciously like a ghost town, right down to the eerie tendrils of white mist winding around hanging signs and plant urns and porch columns. It was hard to remember that just two months earlier, tourists had crowded the streets, buzzing around in rented golf carts and filling up the beaches, shops, and cafés. Filling up local cash registers as well.

Nora stooped to pat Watson. “Looks like we’re going to have snow this weekend,” she announced.

“You’re kidding.” Ellery went to the windows, gazing out at the ominous leaden skies and white capped harbor. Granted, ominous was normal for this time of year. “A lot of snow?”

Nora unwound her long red scarf. “I shouldn’t think so, dearie. Not this early in the season. February’s the worst month for snow. This time of year, we won’t see much beyond a little powder. It’ll provide a bit of local color.”

“Right.” He was already regretting his decision to not invest in a backup generator. But money only stretched so far, and the roof, plumbing, and electrical wiring had taken precedence.

Nora joined him at the windows, musing, “I hope your friends won’t have too rough a crossing.”

Yikes. “Me too.”

For a moment or two they watched the wind gusting across the waves, rocking the scattered boats in the harbor.

Yes, the island could be a bit desolate this time of year.

As though reading Ellery’s mind, Nora said, “I don’t suppose your friends will be all that interested in outdoor activities anyway.”

“No. True.” Ellery glanced down at Watson, who wagged his tail hopefully. “Let me finish up a few things, buddy. Then we’ll go for a you-know-what.” To Nora, he said, “Tony Brambilla says they think they’ve discovered another hidden passageway, but they can’t be sure without opening the wall up.”

Nora’s eyes kindled with excitement. “That makes sense. Captain’s Seat is nearly as old as the Pirate Eight.”

The Pirate Eight were the first manor houses built on Buck Island. All eight homes had started out as pirate fortresses.

“Why would Captain Horatio Page have needed a bunch of secret passages? He wasn’t a pirate.”

“True, but he was surrounded by pirates.”

Ellery considered that cryptic remark as he returned to his office to make sure he hadn’t left anything pressing undone. This was the first long weekend he’d taken since moving to the island—not counting two weeks of convalescing from a concussion sustained while snooping.

As he was checking his email one final time, Jack phoned.

Jack Carson was Pirate Cove’s chief of police and Ellery’s boyfriend—in fact, he was now Ellery’s fiancé. A delightful fact Ellery was still getting used to.

“Hi, what time are you heading over to the ferry?”

Ellery glanced distractedly at the clock. “Two. Are you going to be able to get away tonight?”

“That’s the plan,” Jack said. “Do you need me to bring anything or—?”

“No. Just you.”

Jack made a sound of amusement. “I think I can manage that. How many of your old crew are arriving this afternoon?”

“Flip, Tosh, Lenny, and Chelsea. Tomorrow we’ve got Oscar, Freddie and Belle.”

“Okay. And Tosh and Freddie used to be married?” That was quintessential Jack, making sure he had the cast of characters straight. Jack was not a play-it-by-ear guy. He was a show-up- on-time-and-know-your-lines guy.

“Correct.”

“But that’s not going to be awkward because it was a long time ago and everyone is over it.”

“Right. Hopefully.”

“And Belle and Oscar used to date, but now she’s dating an English peer.”

It sounded kind of ridiculous when Jack put it like that, but was nonetheless accurate.

“Yes.”

“And you’re confident we’re going to get through the weekend without them killing each other because they haven’t killed each other yet.”

Ellery spluttered a laugh. “Something like that. I mean, it’s all ancient history.”

“Yeah, why doesn’t that reassure me?” Jack sounded wry. “Have you seen the weather report for the weekend?”

“Nora says it’s going to snow.”

“She’s not the only one. You might want to chop some extra firewood. Just in case.”

That was a good thought—and so very Jack.

Ellery said, “Will do. Anyway, getting snowed in could be fun.”

“Getting snowed in could be very fun, although probably less fun with a crowd.”

Ellery’s mouth curved. “I can’t argue with that. But we’ll have other snow days.” He could say that now with confidence.

“That we will,” Jack said, and Ellery could hear the smile in his voice.

 

 

The sea surrounding Buck Island was more than a body of water. For centuries that mysterious deep had created a barricade against the outside world and shaped the character of the islanders. It remained a constant presence, hovering on the edge of the island’s every interaction. The sound of it filled the dark nights, its blue shadow provided the backdrop of every single day.

As Ellery waited for the ferry, he could taste the sea on the raw east wind, smell it as the winter-rough water tumbled and roiled golden strands of seaweed. A clammy mist clung to his skin. Watson repeatedly shook himself as though trying to rid himself of the salty sting.

The ferry was late by nearly twenty minutes, and when it finally docked, only a handful of slightly green passengers stumbled down the gangplank. Most of them seemed to be Ellery’s friends.

“Ellery!” Tosh waved to him, towing Lenny along.

“Ahoy!” Ellery waved back. “Welcome to Pirate’s Cove!”

Tosh and Lenny were followed by Flip, who looked like a well-groomed ghost (right down to the phosphorescent tinge of his face) and Chelsea, huffing and puffing as she dragged a mountain of luggage behind her.

Watson, who had never met any of these people in his brief life, nonetheless began to bark as though he’d spotted long-lost comrades.

Arf! Arf! Arf!

“Oh, my gosh, he’s SO cute!” Tosh’s voice rang across the water.

Unsurprisingly, Tosh—tall, red-haired, and boundlessly energetic—seemed the least bothered by what had clearly been a rough trip from Point Judith.

Ellery started down the concrete walkway, and everyone spent the next few minutes hugging and kissing hello.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Ellery told them.

Arf! Arf! Arf! Watson seconded.

“Same,” Lenny moaned. “If I’d realized we had to round flipping Cape Horn…”

Tosh said, “Ell, you look terrific! You’re like a walking ad for J. Crew. Here, take Lenny before she falls into the harbor. Our luggage is still onboard.”

Ellery stopped hugging Flip—Phillip Daly to talent agents and casting directors—in order to receive Lenny, or “Goth Girl” as they’d referred to her back in the day. Lenny was small and wiry with black-green hair and wide green eyes. Usually, her eyes were wide. At the moment, they showed a tendency to roll back in her head.

“Ugh,” Lenny moaned, and sank through Ellery’s hold in order to sit on the cement. “Another three minutes and I’d have thrown myself overboard.”

“That happens a lot in these parts.” He moved to help Chelsea with the tower of suitcases she was attempting to haul single-handedly up the walkway. He called after Tosh, “Wait. Isn’t this your luggage?”

Flip and Lenny laughed. “That’s just Chelsea’s gear,” Flip told Ellery.

“Hey, I’m past the age of living out of a knapsack,” Chelsea snapped.

Ellery did a doubletake. Not at the luggage. At Chelsea.

Chelsea was, without question, the most gifted actor in their clique, but off-stage she had always made a point of scorning any kind of (her word) artifice. She was average height, average weight and, regardless of the season, preferred to dress in jeans and flannel shirts. As long as Ellery had known her, she’d worn her lank brown hair to her shoulders and avoided any makeup more elaborate than lip balm. But now?

Now Chelsea’s brown hair was stylishly cut and gilded with coppery highlights. She wore lash extensions and had clearly had lip injections. Like Tosh, she wore combat boots, jeans, and a black parka that, except for the color, looked exactly like Tosh’s teal one.

“Wow. Chelsea. I almost didn’t recognize you behind all those suitcases.”

Chelsea knew exactly what he meant. Her smile was sour. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“And that’s just her hair products,” Flip put in.

Chelsea made a face at him. “Ha. Ha.”

“Help,” Lenny moaned. She was now flat on the cement as Watson worked frantically to deliver mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Ellery abandoned Chelsea’s luggage and went to rescue Lenny. He scooped up Watson who, knowing his life-saving work was not done, objected loudly. An elderly seagull perched on the white railing, was offended by such language, and began to offer his views.

The remaining passengers straggling off the ferry gave their impromptu theatrical production wide berth.

“Where are you parked, Ell?” Flip drew Lenny to her feet.

“It’s the navy-blue VW behind the snack bar. I think we can all squeeze in, but I hired a taxi to bring your luggage to the house.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” Chelsea looked more uneasy than relieved.

But yeah, unless Ellery wanted to make several trips to and from the ferry landing, he had to do that. “Common procedure. No worries. Ezra won’t lose your luggage.”

Chelsea looked unconvinced.

Lenny, half-draped over Flip’s shoulder, said, “Someone should tell Ell about the escaped maniac.”

Naturally, Ellery laughed. Chelsea said, “You only think she’s kidding.”

“Here’s Tosh,” Flip said, and they all turned to watch Tosh ably steering two large suitcases down the gangplank. The wheels of the luggage thumped noisily on the aluminum and carbon fiber ramp.

Watson, firmly clamped beneath Ellery’s arm, wriggled to get down, shouting enthusiastic greetings, as though Tosh had just returned from an overseas voyage.

“Did you tell him about the homicidal maniac?” Tosh was only slightly out of breath as she rejoined them.

Ellery laughed again.

“He doesn’t believe us,” Lenny said.

Flip said, “Yeah, but really.”

“Oh, come on.”

Tosh shook her fiery hair back, saying earnestly, “No, Ell, listen. When we got to the ferry terminal there were all these cop cars with flashing lights. We asked what was going on, and one of the officers said a patient had escaped from the Rhode Island State Psychiatric Hospital, and that they had reason to believe he was going to try to get to Buck Island.”

Ellery rolled his eyes. “Okay. Sure. Do they call him the Cat?”

“What?” Tosh was confused. She looked at Flip.

“Or does he have a hook for a hand?”

Flip snorted, but said, “We’re not making this up.”

“Okay, maybe it’s a mass hallucination. All that fresh air at once could be dangerous for you city folk.”

“City folk?” retorted Tosh. “Who are you supposed to be? Rilla of the Lighthouse?”

Ellery laughed.

“Okay, but seriously,” Lenny said. “And then once we boarded, the crew came around and checked all our tickets again.”

“Well, there you go,” Ellery said. “We all know the only reason to collect tickets is to prevent homicidal maniacs from enjoying free rides.”

“Okay, but there weren’t that many passengers. And after they checked our tickets, the crew started searching the boat. They were trying to pretend it was standard procedure, but come on! They were checking the lifejacket storage bins. They were obviously looking for someone who shouldn’t have been on board.”

Chelsea said, “We’re not saying he actually got on the boat. Just that they were obviously worried he might have.”

Flip said, “I know it sounds like one of those spooky campfire tales, but—”

It seemed some things never changed.

Ellery was half-amused, half-exasperated. “You know, it’s not like I’ve forgotten we did The Cat and the Canary at Tisch.”

Flip, Tosh, Lenny, and Chelsea all looked at each other with varying degrees of blankness.

Ellery prompted, “Eccentric Uncle Cyrus dies and leaves his estate to his niece Annabelle with the stipulation she has to spend the night in the creepy family mansion, but then when Annabelle and the other heirs arrive at Haunted Hollow, they’re stalked by a mysterious figure they believe to be the Cat, an escapee from the local asylum who’s hiding out in the secret passages. I know you remember. Flip was the Cat and Noah played Uncle Cyrus.”

Noah. Wow. He felt a pang at that memory.

“Noah. That’s right,” Flip murmured.

“Oh,” Tosh said. “I do remember. I played Annabelle. You were Charlie.”

“You were terrible,” Chelsea informed Ellery.

“I know.”

Tosh said vaguely, “Noah. God.” She glanced at Lenny, who was frowning at the ferry as if still waiting for a final passenger to disembark.

Ellery uneasily studied the Pirate Queen, rocking back and forth in her mooring.

Was something going on with the crew? There seemed to be a lot of serious-faced conferencing going on between the crew members gathered at the stern of the ship.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who even remembers that production,” Tosh said. “But even if it is a funny coincidence, why on earth would we make up a story like this?”

“Why would you saran-wrap me to the sofa?”

Tosh and Lenny started giggling. Flip looked slightly guilty. Chelsea said, “You looked chilly lying there.”

“Why would you pose a demon mannequin in my closet? Why would you—”

Flip interrupted, “Okay, yes, we all love practical jokes. Let’s not forget, you’re the one who put that demon mannequin in my bed.”

“Oh, that was brilliant!” Tosh exclaimed. “They heard your scream all the way over in Manhattan.”

Flip made a face at her.

“You put a fake tarantula in my oatmeal!” Ellery was laughing though. They were all laughing.

“Oops. That was me,” Chelsea admitted. “I lied about it being Flip’s idea.”

“Anyway,” Flip said, “Your boyfriend’s the chief of police, right? Why not ask him?”

Saturday Series Spotlight

Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4

Josh Lanyon

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.

Josh is married and they live in Southern California.

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EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net

Death at the Deep Dive #7

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Corpse at Captain's Seat #8

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Series

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