Summary:
Nick Williams Mystery #8
Monday, July 5, 1954
Mildred's Diner just isn't the welcoming place it once was. Looking forward to a nice breakfast, including that chewy bacon that Nick and Carter both love, they're asked to leave. Mildred has gone back to Texas and word is they "ain't welcome."
But it's a sunny July day, so Nick puts the top down on the Roadmaster and they head across the Golden Gate to Sausalito for eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. But it seems like trouble follows them along the way and, before they know it, Nick and Carter are sitting in jail for vagrancy.
After making bail, the whole team is on the job figuring what the heck is going on in sleepy Sausalito while also chasing down the missing Mildred, who may have been kidnapped or worse!
Original Review June 2025:
Once again, a typical, nothing special kind of day turns into something bigger for the guys and their friends. Breakfast across the bridge should be harmless but it's Nick and Carter, you know there will be nothing "easy" about this trip😉.
As I stated in my review for The Mangled Mobster, my daily stress levels are factoring into my time and energy for the reviews I want to write. I wish I could step outside myself to convey my love of the story, but unfortunately, it's just not happening right now.
There is so much going on in The Iniquitous Investigator, as it always does, one piece of info and/or action leads to another, and another, and another, etc. Watching the guys navigate each step is a delight and entertaining right to the end.
It's that breakfast mentioned above that leads to, well more than expected, along with the trouble they find themselves facing they might just end up collecting yet another member of their ever-growing found family. Who knows, maybe Nick's matchmaking skills might find a new victim😉. Despite all that the innocent breakfast leads to, the lads are determined to find out what happened to Mildred, the friendly and always welcoming owner of the diner they usually enjoy frequenting. It's that determination in the face of their own battles that speaks volumes to the kind of people they and their found family members are, which is one of the reasons I love these stories so much and conveys how much I recommend this story and overall series more than any words I could put here.
RATING:
The Deadliest Fall by Charlie Cochrane
Summary:Some truths can’t be left buried.
The second world war may be over, but for Leslie Cadmore the scars remain. His beloved dog died, there’s a rift between him and his lover Patrick, and his father inexplicably abandoned the family for life in a monastery. Fate’s been cruel.
A chance meeting with Patrick’s sister stirs old memories, and Leslie starts to dig into both his father’s motives and long-unanswered questions around the death of Fergus Jackson. The worst of a group of disreputable pre-war friends, Fergus was a manipulative rake who allegedly fell on his own knife in a training accident. An accident for which Patrick was apparently the only witness.
Leslie’s persuaded to meet Patrick again, and the pair easily fall back into their old dynamic. They uncover connection after surprising connection between their hedonistic old friends and not only Fergus’s murder, but Mr. Cadmore’s abrupt departure. As their investigation deepens, Leslie and Patrick’s bond deepens too. But no reconciliation can occur until Leslie knows for sure that his erstwhile lover wasn’t Fergus’s killer.
Original Review July 2024:
I'm going to say it: Charlie Cochrane is a Queen of British Mystery. How she can throw in so many curveballs(sorry I don't know much about Cricket so the sport metaphors, despite being a British mystery will be American😉) and keep everything straight, well no amount of post-it notes cluttering one's laptop can negate the talented storytelling.
I love a well developed amateur sleuthing mystery but I find it rare where both MCs are the amateur which is exactly what Leslie and Patrick are. Yes, Leslie's reasonably hush hush role on the homefront during the war probably elevates him to semi-amateur but you get the idea. Trying to decide just what went down when one of their younger years acquaintances died a few years earlier, the old flames hope to repair their friendship while putting their heads together and wrinkle out the truth. Turns out there appears to be a long list of possibilities with motives considering the dead man's behavior and personality, problem is the list of possibilities with the means to do so is not nearly as long and yet long enough that there is no clear cut without a doubt suspect. By all accounts Fergus was not the nicest of men but did someone kill him? Was it a training accident? or Was it self-inflicted? So many questions, will the renewed friends find enough evidence to turn theory into fact and will it be enough to bring the truth out or just enough to satisfy their curiosity?
These are all questions I won't spoil but boy is it fun riding along on Leslie and Patrick's armchair detecting.
Leslie and Patrick's previous falling out should have been one to easily rectify especially when so many lost so much during the war and made what's truly important first and foremost in one's life. HOWEVER, stubbornness is a plenty between these two and it takes a phone call or two in subterfuge from Patrick's twin sister, Marianne, to get them face to face. Sometimes it's that first step that is the hardest and with that out of the way, their chemistry is once again enflamed although both parties(reluctantly yet honestly IMO) decide not to act beyond friendship and detecting until an answer is found or all possibilities have been exhausted. Certainly doesn't stop Patrick from flirting though😉😉.
Their "friend's"(and I use that termly loosely) death may be the main arc of The Deadliest Fall but Leslie is also dealing with his father having abandoned family life for a monastery with no reason given. It's the "no reason given" that spurs Leslie into some personal snooping as well. Will he accept what he finds? Will the answers even be given? And are the two cases connected somehow? Once again, you have to read yourself to find the answers but I promise you will love every minute of it.
The Deadliest Fall has so much to offer the reader with emotions all over the place. Some might use the term "convoluted" due to all the questions that keeping popping up but you really can't have an armchair detective story without a certain amount of convulsion, it goes with the territory. It's how an author manages it that makes it messy or not and trust me Charlie Cochrane, a Queen of British Mystery, presents not a mess in sight. I was left guessing up until nearly the our-evidence-points-to reveal but even then I had fluttering flags of doubt. As it turns out I was correct in my guessing. Steven Spielberg, while discussing Jaws, said he learned you can only truly shock an audience once but I don't believe that, an author can shock the reader as many times as they like if done properly and Cochrane does it properly.
One last note: I don't often comment on slangs and quotes in a book but I had to in this case. I've been watching/reading British shows/books most of my life and I gotta say I don't recall ever hearing this one before, "If 'ifs' and 'ans' were pots and pans, there'd be no need for tinkers." I imagine there are variations of this saying in all parts of the world but here in the US(at least to my knowledge) we say "If 'ifs' and 'buts' were candy and nuts, we'd all have a wonderful Christmas." Just wanted to put that out there and to thank Charlie Cochrane for teaching me something new😉.
Mine to Keep by Davidson King
Summary:Saint Brothers #3
Matt lives a pretty simple life. A physical therapist, he helps people to heal and become their best selves once again. When he’s offered a live-in position at the Saint residence, he accepts easily and for a while, things go smoothly. But then there’s a drunken night…and a possible stalker. Matt is really starting to miss that simple life.
Nick likes computers more than people…except maybe his twin brother. Matt living with them for months on end doesn’t affect him much…until one weird night. Now Nick sees Matt in a different light, and when someone else starts looking at Matt in a very dangerous way, he is filled with a need to help. But will Matt let him? And who is stalking Matt?
When the situation begins to escalate and it appears that Matt’s life may be on the line, Nick refuses to stand on the sidelines—he calls for his family to step in and help. As Nick and Matt get closer in every way, so does the threat. Can Nick and Matt keep one step ahead of danger, or is luck not on their side?
Mine to Keep is book three in the Saint Brothers Series. While the story is a standalone, characters from past books appear in this story so for the full experience I suggest reading in order Book one: Slay Ride. Book two: Kill Me Sweetly.
Original Book of the Month Review April 2025:
Davidson King brings everything to the kitchen and delivers a 5-star meal once again with Mine to Keep. The title gives you an idea the featured subject: stalking and she shines a spotlight on so many disturbing emotions felt when one is stalked. I don't speak from personal experience but from everything I've watched and read on the subject over the years, is within the pages of Mine. I certainly hope the author speaks from research and not experience but either way the respect for the topic is shown on every page. Don't get me wrong, there are many scenes of humor, generally between the Saint brothers and their loving banter we've come to know them for, to help balance the overall story.
I gotta say it. Mine to Keep freaked me out more than the first two entries in the author's Saint Brothers series. The first two were definitely more violent, more action-packed, frankly they bordered on horror as much as you can without a paranormal or slasher element in my book. To be honest, Mine was less bloody, less gory, less in your face violent mayhem and yet it terrified me more, or at least more deeply, it spoke to the fear inside me more. Stalking is scary and creepy on multiple levels but it is also something that happens every day, can happen to anyone at anytime. Does it happen that often? More than you probably realize but no, not often. But it can. Stalking speaks to the inner demon that we all have, of course only a select few actually act on it but the idea it can happen on any given day to any and every one you know, that is what makes it such a horrifying event. This is why Mine to Keep scared me more than the first two.
Really the above statement is surprising because just as you think Davidson King might have went a little soft with this entry, she kicks back, kicks butt, and terrified me to the very core. The author's last release in February did something that I wasn't expecting, it gave me moments of respite from the grief of losing my mother. I mention this not because the books are related as that was a standalone nor am I making any kind of content comparisons but because today I'm still grieving but also preparing to find a job and dealing with health issue with my dad so I'm crippled in fear most days. Davidson King has once again given me moments of respite so that I can step outside my inner fear and yes, she has catapulted me into a fear-filled realistic fictional world but it is so entertaining and so heart-grabbing that it was a distraction from my reality fear. For all the fear Matt and Nick face you allowed me to recharge here and there and I can't thank you enough, Davidson King for those moments that allowed me to breathe.
I want to mention Matt and Nick but I don't want to spoil anything so all I'll say is I wanted to wrap Matt in a giant Mama Bear hug to protect him just as Nick does but I also wanted to shake him to make him listen to Nick and his family before things escalated too far. As for Nick, well how can you not love him? He has super mad computer skills, which come in handy in this case, and he just wants to protect Matt even before they connect. The Saint brothers may not see him as family at first, but as JJ's physical therapist helping him heal after what occurred in Kill Me Sweetly(book 2) Matt is as close as one can get without a romantic connection but not so much as they want to break the family rules of voting on interfering. Even vigilantes have a playbook😉.
I feel like I've descended into rambling here so I'll finish with this: Mine to Keep will hit you in all the feels that will keep you hooked till the end and guessing right to the reveal, I know I was wrong. A winner on all fronts.
Lament at Loon Landing by Josh Lanyon
Summary:Secrets & Scrabble #6
Fakes, folk music, and ghost fires
When legendary folk singer Lara Fairplay agrees to make her comeback debut at Pirate’s Cove’s annual maritime music festival, everyone in the quaint seaside village is delighted—including mystery bookstore owner and sometimes amateur sleuth, Ellery Page.
Better yet, Lara is scheduled to perform a recently discovered piece of music attributed to “The Father of American Music,” Stephen Foster, which will hopefully bring large crowds and a lot of business.
Several mysterious accidents later, Ellery is less delighted as his suspicion grows that someone plans to silence the celebrity songbird forever.
Original Review April 2023:
Josh Lanyon has once again proven she is not only in her element when writing mystery but she is in fact a Queen of "who done it?" storytelling. Lament at Loon Landing may fall under cozy mystery due to it's lack of descriptive detail on the violence end but for me "cozy" is just straight out mystery and boy does Loon Landing keep you guessing right up to the big reveal(or perhaps reveals in this case but you'll have to discover that for yourself😉). Keeping me guessing is at the top of my must-have-to-make-a-good-mystery-great list and Loon Landing is definitely on the great list.
For those who have been reading Secrets and Scrabble as released know that book 7, Death at the Deep Dive, was released before Lament at Loon Landing(book 6). The author having done this hasn't ruined anything in the spoiler front other than a few minor character and relationship growing.
Speaking of characters, Ellery and Jack continue to be brilliant together. That's not to say they don't have a few hiccups where I want to knock their heads together and in Loon Landing they butt stubbornneses😉, not over Ellery's detecting but where the evidence leads. I won't say more about the mysteries in this entry so as not to spoil it for anyone but just know that their determination to find answers takes a couple of turns neither expected. On the relationship front the men keep moving forward in a way that is not only entertaining but realistic.
The city of Pirate's Cove is truly beginning to feel like home, both for Ellery and this reader. It's a village that may have a dangerously high crime rate that has a knack of pulling the book owner in but it's also a village with a wide variety of characters, some loveable, some likeable, some tolerable, and there are some who you really hope will be the next murder victim😉😉. And of course then you have Watson. Watson is a little yapper of a dog who Ellery discovered, or maybe better said who discovered Ellery and he brings a whole new level of adorability and many, many moments of "awwww, I want one" to the story.
I'd have to say friendships are tested in Lament at Loon Landing more than any of the other Secrets & Scabble entries, some of which may not survive or maybe grow stronger but that too adds another level of realism to this dangerous tourist destination. It's like I say about my favorite mystery television series, Midsomer Murders(super fun British mystery series for those who aren't familiar I highly recommend looking it up), "Why does anyone still live in Midsomer County?" well I find myself saying "Why does anyone stay in Pirate's Cove?". Perhaps they are all a glutton for punishment, maybe not punishment but definitely glutton for danger. But then again, truth be told I'd probably stay in Pirate's Cove just for the people😉.
Lament at Loon Landing is a winning gem of mystery, romance, friendship, and danger that I highly recommend. If you haven't been reading the series so far, I strongly suggest starting at the beginning. There are a few comments regarding previous cases but it's the relationship journeys that are ongoing and will help the reader connect stronger to said characters when experienced from Ellery's arrival at Pirate's Cove in book 1, Murder at Pirate's Cove.
Shield by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:LA Storm #3
Can Jackson ensure the safety of his loved ones when the darkest elements of LA's underbelly seek retribution?
Oliver knows the clock is ticking on his dream of winning the Stanley Cup. After fourteen years playing for New York, he’s beyond frustrated to leave friends behind when traded to the LA Storm. As a widower and father of two girls, he’s facing the twilight of his career, and, worst of all, he’s lonely. Making friends is easy enough, but he craves someone to hold him at night. When Jackson, equal parts grumpy chaos and charm, lands in his life, friendship turns to lust, and love isn’t far behind. He finds himself drawn to Jackson, and as their relationship deepens, they become each other’s haven amidst the chaos of their lives. However, danger from Jackson's work threatens their peaceful world, challenging their relationship and forcing love to take a backseat to survival.
After bringing down a notable money launderer, Jackson's small team receives orders to delve deeper into the world of organized crime in Hollywood. His early success quickly spirals into an overwhelming web of criminal intrigue. In this new, uncharted territory, he feels increasingly isolated, both personally and professionally. The more issues he uncovers, the less he seems to close. Meeting Oliver shakes his world even more, especially when he accidentally falls for the widower and father of two little girls. A few nights of fun is one thing, but deeper feelings and kids are something he is not at all prepared for. Yet, despite his reluctance, he becomes deeply attached to the little family who has embraced him with so much love. Now, he just has to shield them from the dangers that have followed him to their doorstep.
This opposites attract romance features a single dad hockey player grappling with personal loss, a grumpy detective entangled in the complexities of organized crime, and a love story that happens despite the odds.
Original Review June 2024:
I just knew we'd see Jackson again after he was introduced in Second(ironically the 2nd entry in the LA Storm branch of the Scott/Locey Hockey Universe😉) and I was not disappointed. You couldn't help but feel he was straddling the line between good cop/bad cop(or perhaps good cop/overworked-potentially-leading-to-bad-decisions cop) and yet you also knew his heart was always on the good side of that thin line that is too often overlooked these days.
Again, I was not disappointed.
What is there not to love about Oliver? You just want to wrap him in the tightest Mama Bear Hug to protect him from the hurt he's dealt with but also to reassure him that this new start is truly that "a new start". Athletes who spend most of their career with one team and find themselves being traded as their career reaches the later stages can't help but have conflicting and crippling moments of doubt. Those crippling doubts can manifest in multiple internal questions: "how could they toss me away after all the years I've given them", "did they see something in my performance that I didn't", and "can I actually make a positive contribution to the new team" just to name a few. Oliver has to deal with that as well as being a single parent after the death of his wife and doing it in a strange city. Don't get me wrong, yes these raw emotions are there and important but Oliver doesn't let it bog him down, he's prepared to do what he must for his girls, for his team, and for himself.
Then a big monkey wrench is thrown in and he finds himself dealing with an attack to a friend and that's where Jackson enters the picture possibly complicating things even more.
Jackson, what can I say? As stated above he's overworked but good at his job and as for after hours Jackson time, well let's just say he has his fun when and where he can. When thrown together at a crime scene sparks may not beam but they definitely do more than flicker. Both men are ready and/or willing for a new start but just how bumpy or smooth that road is . . . well that's where the fun lies. There is no secret that both RJ Scott & VL Locey are all about the HEA so the end result is really never in doubt(and that's no spoiler). These authors are all about the journey and boy what a journey they bring to life in Shield.
I love when a book has more than one sub-genre and Shield is definitely first and foremost: romance, yummy, yummy, yummy romance. But in Shield we also get a little mystery and I can never say no to a good who-done-it?. Add in a little friendship, family, hockey(can't forget the hockey😉), and what you have is a lovely entertaining piece of reading magic.
How could I forget little Scarlett & Daisy? Oliver's little girls are a pure delight, they may not have a lot of page time but every scene they are in they completely own it. I loved how there is no accepting or not accepting when it comes to Daddy's first date with Jackson, it's just how it is and I firmly believe one day all of society will be in frame of mind but unfortunately we aren't there yet but having Oliver's daughters be there gives a sense of hope for the future. Maybe I read more into that scene than the authors put in to it but that's what I took from it.
What about Jamie? Oliver's old nanny-turned-BFF comes for a visit but stays when his occupational situation changes and from the looks of it, we'll get to see loads more of Jamie in the next Scott/Locey Hockey Universe LA Storm installment, Spiral and I for one can't wait.
The Iniquitous Investigator by Frank W Butterfield
Prologue
The San Francisco Examiner
Page 12, Column 4
Monday, June 28, 1954
Needed: A Cleanup
The police department and the district attorney's office are to be commended for their initial effort in attempting to clean up an unwholesome condition in San Francisco.
The condition is marked by the increase of homosexuals in the parks, public gathering places and certain taverns in the city.
It is a bad situation.
It is a situation that has resulted in extortion and blackmail. Even worse, these deviates multiply by recruiting teen-agers.
It is true that complex medical and psychiatric problems are involved.
Eventually these may be solved and the problem eliminated.
But until that happens there must be sustained action by the police and the district attorney to stop the influx of homosexuals. Too many taverns cater to them openly. Only police action can drive them out of the city.
It is to be hoped that the courts here will finally recognize this problem for what it is and before the situation so deteriorates that San Francisco finds itself as the complete haven for undesirables. The courts heretofore have failed to support the arresting and prosecuting authorities.
Without the support of the courts, the police and the district attorney cannot attack the problem effectively.
Now, we need action.
We have had enough eye shutting.
The Deadliest Fall by Charlie Cochrane
Chapter One
Hampshire, 1947
“Come back, you menace!” Leslie Cadmore broke into a run, but his dog was fleeter of foot than him and absolutely determined, it appeared, to stay at a distance from him. He shouldn’t have let the hound off the lead, although wasn’t it easy to be wise after the event? “Max! To heel.”
Leslie might as well have tried to catch the wind in his cap. The black Labrador was evidently under the impression that this was an incredibly enjoyable game, given the way he repeatedly looked back to encourage him to come closer, before setting off again. Thank God the common was wide, provided good visibility and was always kept clear of livestock at this time of year.
“Max! If you don’t come here, so help me, I’ll—” He never managed to finish the threat, a pair of young women having come into sight. They’d rounded a stand of trees and would soon be within earshot. Damn it.
The dog, still capering about, spotted the newcomers and made for them, slowing to a respectable trot and no doubt putting on his most friendly expression, the devious little sod. The swing of his tail gave every indication of a happy, amenable hound.
“You swine,” Leslie muttered, annoyed that the women had clearly worked the kind of magic he couldn’t, although grateful that Max’s interest in making new friends might allow him to be put back on the lead.
By the time Leslie reached them, Max had transformed into the most well-behaved pet a man could wish to own, sitting compliantly at the women’s feet and letting himself be stroked.
“I’m so sorry.” Leslie raised his cap. “He’s such a pest. Oh.” He paused, breaking into a grin and holding out his hand towards the taller of the women. “I didn’t recognise you, Marianne. How lovely to see you again.”
Marianne warmly clasped his hand in both of hers. “I thought it was you, Leslie, although this fellow made me think I had to be mistaken. Where’s Towser?”
“Gone to his long home, I’m afraid. Four years ago.” He turned to the other woman, who was owed an explanation. “He was my retriever, Miss . . .?”
“Geraldine Simpson.” Marianne’s friend extended her hand. “So pleased to meet you. I’ve heard about Towser already and the fun you all used to have walking him on the common, although Marianne told me less about his owner.”
“She would.” Marianne Sibley had always given the outward impression she was fonder of Towser than she’d been of him, although for a while Leslie had suspected that had borne an element of subterfuge. “I’m far less interesting than my dogs. Leslie Cadmore, late of this parish and a very old friend of the family Sibley.”
“Your mother still lives here, I believe?” Geraldine made such a contrast to Marianne. Compact where her friend was willowy; cheery faced where Marianne always seemed so cool and aloof; brightly dressed in contrast to the autumnal shades the other young woman had always favoured. Leslie had valued his friend’s calmness in those younger days and how different she was to many of the local young women.
“Mother does live here,” he replied. “In Larkspur House, where I was born and grew up. Marianne knows the place well. Do you remember the tennis parties?”
“I do. Towser always had to be tied up, poor lamb, because he wanted to join in. I hope this chap is better behaved.” Marianne bent to pat Max, who was wearing a saintly expression.
“He’s an absolute scoundrel, although I couldn’t guess how he’d conduct himself at a tennis match, as he’s never had the opportunity to experience one. He’s a town dog, Miss Simpson, so doesn’t know country manners.” Strange, though, that Marianne wasn’t aware of what had happened to Max’s predecessor, because Leslie would have expected her and his mother to pass the time of day on occasions. Had the Sibleys also moved away—his mother hadn’t mentioned it, if so—or was there something else that had prevented the doings of Leslie Cadmore being passed on to her? And Geraldine knowing that Mrs. Cadmore was still a local proved she must have been discussed. Marianne’s expression was no help, her face, as it had been from a child, proving unreadable.
“Did I hear you calling him Max?” Geraldine asked.
“Yes. After a distant cousin who once came to visit Larkspur with his family. It’s proved an apt name.”
Marianne burst out laughing. “I remember him. He was what my mother would call a spoiled brat. If he was my child, he’d have spent more time confined to his room than out of it. Any idea what he’s doing now, Leslie?”
“Working his way through the ranks at Scotland Yard, believe it or not. Perhaps he’s seen the light, or it’s a case of poacher turned gamekeeper.”
“He could be paying off the sins of his childhood. All I have to do is think of him pulling my pigtails and my scalp hurts. Worse than your brother was, Geraldine.”
“Oh, George isn’t that bad. Settling down with Victoria and finding himself articled has bridled any wild tendencies.” Geraldine cast her friend a sidelong glance that could only be described as sly. “Like Patrick.”
“How is your brother, Marianne?” Leslie had anticipated Patrick would be mentioned sooner or later and was pleased he hadn’t had to raise the topic. Despite being twins, Patrick and Marianne were as different in personalities as any siblings could be. Chalk and cheese didn’t come near it.
“Working too hard. Throws all of his time into his practice.” She patted the dog’s head. “He’d like you, boy. Prefers his patients with a bit of character.”
Leslie nodded. Patrick had always liked dogs to be dogs and not pampered lap pets. He’d also appeared to prefer animals to the majority of humans. “You can trust them,” he’d say, “unlike much of the human species.” Even as a child, Patrick had seemed to be a veterinarian in the making. He’d no doubt have a successful practice and that wouldn’t simply be a testament to his skills or training. Patrick had the same lean, dark, handsome looks his sister was blessed with. Looks that would see a stream of female clients bringing their pampered pooches to his door.
“You’re right about the hard work. He never seems to be available, that’s certain.” Geraldine’s voice bore a distinct hint of annoyance. “My mother has invited him to a number of events, but he pleads pressure of time. She’s rather given him up as a lost cause.”
“Many people have.” Marianne tossed her head.
“He’ll settle down one day,” Leslie said, not sure that he believed that any more than Patrick’s sister would do. They both knew him too well. Had known him, in Leslie’s case, given how long it was since they’d last spoken. Suddenly, Leslie was filled with a fleeting memory of the three of them as children, the last time they played hide and seek: him, Marianne, Patrick, all of them around twelve years of age. She’d said afterwards they were getting too old for such childish things, possibly because she’d taken umbrage at Patrick being so slow at finding her. Best not to mention that, since it probably still rankled, and the day itself had ended sadly, with a tramp being found dead of exposure in the church porch. Mr. Cadmore had been called on to handle the affair, being churchwarden and with the vicar away on holiday. Still, such rare instances apart, those had generally been very happy days.
“Give my very best to your mother. I do feel guilty for not having kept in touch with her as I should.” Marianne fixed her eyes on Max. “Like you, Leslie, I don’t get down here as often as I would like.”
That provided a partial answer to some of his questions, although moving away from an area didn’t mean she couldn’t send a letter if she really wanted to. Perhaps, like Patrick, Marianne was simply busy. Leslie’s mother had told him that she worked as a legal secretary in Winchester, and he’d assumed—evidently mistakenly—that she travelled there from the Sibley home.
“I will pass on your regards, with pleasure. Are you here for long?” Leslie added. His mother might be pleased to have Marianne over for tea in order to talk over old times.
“Until Monday morning, when my nose goes firmly back to the grindstone. Albeit returning to work will make a pleasant escape from Father’s hunting stories. His enthusiasm hasn’t dimmed over the years.” Marianne gave the dog a final stroke, then took her friend’s arm. “We must get back. Terrible trouble if we come in late for luncheon.”
“Blame me and my wretched hound.” Leslie tipped his cap again. “Nice to have met you, Geraldine. Fond regards to your parents, Marianne, and to your scapegrace of a brother.”
“I’ll tell them all that I spoke to you. Although I’d always assumed you’d have kept in touch with Patrick.” Marianne waved her hand airily. “It shows how mistaken we can be.” She set off slowly, pausing after a few steps to turn and say, “It really is lovely to see you again. We shouldn’t have let it be so long. All of us.”
“Indeed.” Leslie watched the women go, momentarily unable to move himself and not only because he was thinking about the assumption Marianne had made about him and Patrick keeping in touch. Her gait bore the same easy grace as her brother’s, bringing to mind the last time Leslie had seen him. At Waterloo station. Walking away and out of Leslie’s life.
“We’re back,” Leslie called, entering the hall of Larkspur House and letting Max off the lead from which he was clearly anxious to be freed.
“In the drawing room, dear.” His mother’s voice sounded as sweetly as a woman’s half her age.
Alexandra Cadmore was still a handsome woman, despite the events of the past few years. Not for her, however, the lot of so many of her friends during wartime, a telegram bringing the news no wife or mother would wish to receive. Leslie had been based at home, doing something he could never divulge the details of, apart from hinting that it had been vitally important. “Logistical and extremely boring if crucial to the war effort” was how he’d described his work, and that was what his mother had told her friends. He wasn’t convinced she believed the “boring” part, although she’d always kept up the pretence. So, he’d remained physically safe, returning to civilian life tired but intact, if a touch emotionally battered.
It was his father, Jerome Cadmore, who’d been torn from her and not by death. Unless finding a vocation and entering a Benedictine monastery could be defined as crossing into—or having one foot on the doorstep of—one’s eternal rest. It was marginally better, she’d confessed to Leslie when the news had broken, than his having run away with a WAAF, which had happened to one of her old school friends. Worse in some ways, though, because anybody could understand the attractions of a woman in uniform; the attractions of God weren’t so obvious. It had been the third year of the war, so Leslie hadn’t been on hand much to give her support, but she’d coped, as she always did.
“Did you have a nice walk?” His mother glanced up from her knitting.
“Very, apart from Max exhibiting wanderlust. I ran across Marianne, out taking the air with one of her pals. I didn’t realise she no longer lived here with her parents.” Leslie flopped down into his favourite chair.
“I’m sure I told you. I daresay you weren’t listening at the time.” She grinned. “How is she?”
“Not a jot different from how she was at nineteen. Or indeed nine. I was surprised that you haven’t kept in touch with her.”
“I see her parents at church. They keep me abreast of all things Sibley. Marianne’s doing splendidly at work and has a little flat of her own, now.” She paused to count her stitches. “They worry about her living alone, but that’s a cross all parents bear. Which friend was with her?”
“A girl called Geraldine something-or-other. Simpkins. Simpson. Max was most taken with them both.” The dog, who’d sprawled himself on the fireside rug, glanced up at the mention of his name. “Thank goodness they came along or I’d still have been out on the common, trying to get this wretch back on his lead.”
“Marianne always had a knack with animals. Her father’s daughter, every bit, although she’s a better hand with a rod and fly than he is.”
Leslie chuckled. Mr. Sibley had been continually vexed at the fact. “She’s better at taking a trout than most of us. Some zoologist chap once told me that women have a natural unfair advantage when fishing. A natural aroma they produce that attracts their prey.”
“Does it work with men, dear? Is that why some women appear to be irresistible?” She held her handiwork up to the light, nodding approvingly at it before resuming knitting. “Although in Marianne’s instance, I’d say it’s likely a case of her not rising to the male fly. Not yet, anyway.”
Leslie wasn’t sure she ever would. Not every mare had a hankering for the stallion.
“Should we invite her and her friend to tea today?” She continued, with an air that was a little too nonchalant to be entirely convincing. Was this a repeat of the getting-my-son-in-a-room-with-eligible-women ruse? “I’m sure that young Edwin would take an invitation across, on his bicycle. Would sixpence be over-generous as payment?”
“I couldn’t say, not having a housekeeper’s son to run errands for me and so being oblivious to the going rate.” It wasn’t spoken unkindly: Mrs. Edwards was an absolute treasure, a war widow without whom the running of Larkspur House would no doubt grind to a halt. Leslie’s mother was lucky to have her and to be able to keep her. At least his father had only dedicated himself to God and not included his considerable worldly wealth, so his wife had been left with enough to live comfortably.
“But should I invite her? I noticed that expression of disdain at the suggestion, dear.” How his mother could have seen any expression on Leslie’s face, given the way her eyes were fixed on her knitting needles, was a mystery of the arcane maternal arts.
“I wasn’t aware of feeling disdain. Perhaps it was indigestion. Invite her by all means. It’s not like she’ll have that rogue of a brother with her, to drop a teacup or trip over the rug.” Leslie wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to mention Patrick. Maybe it was simply to divert his mother from any further discussion of Marianne and her matrimonial prospects. It was a topic she’d aired on many an occasion over the years, and one that had subtly featured Leslie as a possible candidate for the woman’s affections, although not so often recently. Could this be her idea of reviving a notion that was always doomed to fail?
“Patrick was certainly the clumsiest child I ever met. He must have grown out of it, or else he’d not have anyone bringing their animals to him. With the exception of women of my age who should know better.” There was very little that escaped the notice of Leslie’s mother, despite the fact that she didn’t do much socially anymore, outside of the church or the local causes she supported. “Is he staying with his parents too?”
“Not that I’m aware of, although to be honest I didn’t ask Marianne the question.” Nor had she offered the information. “I don’t think he works locally.”
“He’s based in Surrey, I believe. Near Epsom, so he can work with horses as well as his beloved dogs. I’d have thought you’d have known that.” That remark was evidently worthy of a direct glance, over the top of her spectacles.
“I haven’t spoken to Patrick in years. Same as I’ve not spoken to Marianne.” Leslie shrugged. “You know what it’s like. People knock around together and are great pals, then they go off in different directions and suddenly find they’ve not spoken in ages. And the longer it goes on, the harder it is to get out one’s pen and paper to jot down a line. It takes an errant hound and some good fortune, like this morning on the common, to re-establish communication.”
It wasn’t just a matter of the length of time. Somehow, the closer you had been to somebody, the trickier it was to make that first move and the more awkward that reconnection might prove. The conversation with Marianne had felt stilted, to say the least.
“Then perhaps a chat over a pot of tea and a scone is exactly what’s called for. I’ll compose a note to Marianne. Was the friend called Geraldine? I shall invite her too.”
Leslie confirmed the name, accepting his fate. He excused himself, saying that a short turn around the garden would be pleasant, before luncheon, although he insisted Max should stay inside, as punishment. The dog snored happily, oblivious of what was being said about him.
Leslie lit a cigarette, hands cupped to protect the match’s flame from the wind. No sooner had he taken the first draw than he heard Edwin leaving the house, heading for the garage where he kept his bicycle. Once Leslie’s mother got an idea in her head, she lost no time on it. Marianne would no doubt accept the invitation, unless she had another engagement that couldn’t be broken. Leslie should use the next few hours preparing himself to be a welcoming host, which was longer than he’d had to gather his wits on the common.
He strolled along the path, glancing with pleasure over the rolling Hampshire countryside. Whoever had laid out the gardens at Larkspur House had known their business, making the most of the south-facing aspect. People were said to have lived in this area for thousands of years, probably enjoying the same view from their villa or roundhouse. When Leslie was a boy, he’d turned up pieces of pottery in the local mole hills, pieces that his father had assured him were Roman. He’d believed it at the time and it might have been true, although Mr. Cadmore did have a plausible way about him.
It was a skill that he’d developed further in the running of his business, gently planting ideas in other people’s heads when it would prove useful, such as the time he’d employed a young man only to find him unsuited to his role. Via a couple of seemingly innocuous conversations, focussed on the young man’s ambitions and happiness, they’d soon reached the point where he’d decided he’d made the wrong choice and would be joining a local brewing company. Leslie grinned in remembrance of the tale.
He’d reached the Larkspur orchard—if half a dozen apple trees and a similar number of both plums and pears could be given that title—which was the place where he’d always been happiest. Sitting in a deckchair in the dappled light or swinging in a hammock, when reading, dozing, studying for exams, or simply enjoying the thrill of being alive in a world untouched by the fingers of war. As a small child, carefully scribing his name and address in his little notebook. Leslie Simon Cadmore, Larkspur House, Kinebridge, Hampshire, England, The World. That world had changed, as so many had warned it would, although some people had still retained the over-optimistic view in 1939 that this time it really might all be over by the first Christmas. Would people ever learn from the past?
The hammock had long since been taken down, and as Leslie wanted to rest his limbs, he had to make his way to the rose garden, where a sturdy wooden bench had been well placed to benefit from any sunshine. Today’s light was watery but bore a hint of warmth to come, and though it would be too early in the year for buds or blossoms on the roses, it wouldn’t be unpleasant to finish his cigarette there, coat wrapped around him.
The bench seemed to fit his shape. When younger, he’d found it too hard, smacking of self-punishment, but now the solidity of it was better suited to his tastes, after years of getting used to discomfort. Bletchley chairs in Bletchley huts. Strange to think how he’d assumed back then that he could easily put the war years and all they’d brought behind him, to return as quickly as possible to his previous life, only to find that the time he’d spent in that place couldn’t be unspent. It would always be part of him.
Be grateful you made it through in one piece—thousands of men and women would have given their right arm to be home for another spring. Some of them did.
It could have been Patrick’s voice in his ear, saying those words, rather than the voice of conscience, but he hadn’t spoken to Patrick in ages and couldn’t even say with certainty when the man had last visited Larkspur House. Yet his presence somehow still seemed to fill the garden, this place where they’d played so often as young children and later as boys on the cusp of manhood. The mentions of Patrick that morning rang accusatorially in Leslie’s ears. How the hell could they have let so much time pass without making contact?
Because you’re a coward. One who didn’t have the guts to ask Patrick either of the two questions you wanted to, afraid that the answers would be too hard to bear.
How easy it should have been to frame the first. “Do you really love me, Patrick, as I really love you, despite everything?” Seeing Marianne had brought that more clearly into focus, had reawakened the need to have Patrick at his side again, whether it was out on the common walking a dog or sitting in the orchard or lying in a bed between cool linen sheets.
The other question would have been trickier, as impossible to ask Patrick as it would have been for Leslie to tackle his father about why he had gone into Combe Abbey. Either question would have risked receiving an answer full of peril, in terms of how it might have irrevocably changed a relationship. Leslie often wondered if he’d somehow driven his father into leaving, perhaps unconsciously forcing the man to consider what it would be like to live a family life in the knowledge that his son was different, and all the disgrace that might bring were it made public. It might have been a safer choice to cut himself off from continually dealing with that. It was easy to love your neighbour—or your family—if you didn’t have to live with them.
But if that hadn’t been his motivation, what had? He must either have been running towards a life of contemplation or running away from something in his secular life that could no longer be borne. Leslie couldn’t shake from his mind the great scandal of 1938, when there’d been an attempted strangling in one of the nearby hamlets. A farmer had given himself in at the local police station, confessing that after fourteen years of constant nagging, he’d snapped and nearly killed his wife. Surely that sudden outburst of violence could never have happened with Leslie’s parents?
There had only been one instance when Mr. Cadmore had shown real aggression, and that had been when on a holiday. He’d killed what had appeared to be an otter with a heavy blow to the skull, much to young Leslie’s horror. It had turned out to be an escapee from a local—illegal—mink farm, about which Mr. Cadmore had been warned.
“Evil creatures, Leslie. Best to get rid of them quickly, before they can cause any harm.” Most anglers would have agreed with him.
More comically, there was a family story about him having boxed the ears of a rival for the love of Leslie’s mother. Yet Mr. Cadmore could be so soft he’d wept at a sermon about the massacre of the innocents.
On the way home he’d explained his distress. “If it’s true—and you take all these Bible stories with a pinch of salt because men wrote them down—then it’s beyond wicked.”
He’d always shown a similar desire to protect his family from harm. Until, of course, he’d broken their hearts by his act of retreat into the life of the cloister. That decision had been so out of character—assuming they had really understood what the man was like and what he wanted. Maybe some part of his father was, and always would remain, hidden and unknowable. Leslie had spent many hours brooding on the subject, having nobody he could discuss such personal things with. Had his father harboured a self-denied yet lifelong devotion to God, one that he was always going to manifest at some point or else be driven mad? He’d left no clue behind when he’d made his abrupt departure, his final note to them, I’ve left you well provided for money-wise. I can’t let you suffer, ringing hollow. Emotional anguish was as hard to bear as financial.
If Leslie was unclear about his father’s motives, he had still less clarity in his thinking about Patrick. The other question Leslie had left unasked was more serious by far. It was almost unthinkable to air, no matter how close the two men had been. Leslie whispered it now, the calm of the garden—as well as the knowledge that nobody could hear—bringing him courage.
Did you murder Fergus Jackson? And how the hell did you pull it off?
Mine to Keep by Davidson King
CHAPTER ONE
One Month Ago
Matt
“I’m so happy you finally agreed to come out with us.” Joan’s violet-painted lips were wide, her eyes glassy. She’d been drinking a lot since we arrived…which had been only an hour ago.
“Sorry. I wanted to hang sooner, but this new client, he was in bad shape. I had to be more hands-on than normal. The first month was a lot of recovery, but they still needed me there. By the end of every day, I was beat.”
She nodded. “Camie gave you that assault victim.” She snapped her fingers. “J something.”
“He’s a great guy—he’s come a long way. I know Camie gave him to me, thinking I’d quit when I found out it was in-house physical therapy, but it’s cool. Pay is amazing, and the house is gorgeous.”
“This the house with all those guys living there…brothers, right?” Lewis, who worked with me and Joan, came to the table with a cold beer.
“Saint brothers. Yep, that’s them.” I pursed my lips as I thought about those men.
It was a huge house, and they were all foster brothers except for the twins. Those two were blood related. I hadn’t seen a lot of them—mostly just my patient, JJ, and his boyfriend, Shepard. I’d been there every day, even the weekends, until recently. JJ was doing a lot better. Another month and he’d cut down to maybe two days a week.
Joan fanned herself. “That’s some serious hotness. They run that bakery, Saintly Sweets. Delicious food—even yummier owners.”
I rolled my eyes. “Joan, go dance and work off some of that…” I made a figure eight with my hand. “Whatever that is.”
She laughed, pulled Lewis up, and dragged him to the dance floor. The Alibi was our favorite club. I loved its diversity and while loud at times, there was never any drama, fights, or major issues.
“All alone?”
I looked up to see Darnell holding two drinks. “Joan forced Lewis to dance.”
Darnell sat and pushed one of the drinks over to me, then sipped his own. “They need to just fuck and be done with it.”
I guffawed. “Lord, no. That can’t happen.”
Darnell hummed. “She’d eat him alive.”
“True facts, my friend.”
Darnell, Joan, Lewis, and I worked at Rybelt Physical Therapy and Sports Management. Once a month, we’d get together at The Alibi and decompress. This was the first time I’d been able to join them since I’d started working with JJ.
“I gotta ask.” Darnell leaned forward. “What’s it really like being in a house with all those guys?” He jerked his head toward Joan and Lewis. “I heard them talking to you about it.”
I had to be careful. While Darnell was my closest friend at work—hell, we’d dated for a few months a while back—I still had to maintain privacy.
“It’s different. I hadn’t done live-in therapy before, so if I’m being honest, it took me more time to adjust to that than to get to know any of them.”
“Well, what’s a typical day for you?”
I sipped my drink, wondering what I could say to appease him. “Get up, eat, then usually meet JJ. We do morning routines, break, and after that do afternoon ones. In the evening, it’s mostly massage and relaxation—things like that. Then I pass out.”
He nodded. “Was that why Tony and you broke up, you not being around?”
I snorted, thinking about that asshole. “No. I mean, it wasn’t the final straw for him, but Tony and I were never going to work. He was demanding, a serious control freak, and closed-minded.”
“How so?” Darnell cocked his head.
“About two weeks before I’d started working for JJ, I came out of the shower and he was looking at one of my photo albums. And not just any—the one Trinity made me.”
“You just had that laying out there?”
“Nope. It was in my closet. But that’s the least of it. He pointed to a picture of Trinity and said, what’s that?”
“That?” Darnell whistled.
“Mmmhmm. Trinity was dressed up in one of their awesome creations, and I told Tony they were my ex, Trinity. He slammed the book closed and yelled that he thought I was gay.”
Darnell held his hands up. “Whoa, he looked at Trinity and…I don’t get it.”
“You know how Trinity hates labels: pangender, nonbinary. I told him Trinity was fluid, didn’t conform to one gender, and in this picture Trin was wearing a dress and makeup.”
“And he thought they were a woman?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter; I didn’t feed into it. I just told him that I never said I was gay, and that I was, in fact, pansexual. Then I explained that Trinity was nonbinary, and did my best to educate him as well as I could. He shook his head and was all, ‘No, there’s only straight, gay, or lesbian.’ ”
“No, he did not!” Darnell pressed a palm to his chest.
“Oh, he did, and I explained that he needed to go home because if he felt that way, we weren’t a good fit.”
Darnell slapped the table. “Good on you. How’d that go?”
I chuckled. “We broke up, remember?”
“Shit…well, you dodged a bullet with him. What a dickhead.”
“For sure.” I drained my drink and stood. “I’m going to get another. I’d like to be drunk tonight.”
Darnell beamed. “Fuck, yeah. That’s why we Ubered it here. Go get all the alcohol.”
I headed to the bar to order myself and Darnell the next round of drinks since he’d gotten the last. While I waited, I scanned the club. Lewis and Joan were really going at it…Hmm, maybe they should fuck and get it over with.
“Here you go.” The bartender slid the drinks to me, and I tossed him a twenty.
For the next hour or so, I drank, danced, and drank some more. I had nowhere to be tomorrow, and I was going to stay in bed in my apartment. It was nice to have weekends back.
“Shots!” Lewis shouted.
“I’ll go up with you.” I followed Lewis cautiously. Seriously, the floor moved when my feet touched it.
“Four Nasty Nipples,” he ordered, and I glared at him.
“What the fuck is that?” I thought that was what came out of my mouth, but judging by the look on Lewis’s face, maybe not.
“Hey.”
I spun around…too fast actually, and stumbled. Steady hands gripped my arms. “Careful there.” The man’s voice was low and gravelly.
“Sorry.”
“I got him,” Lewis said as he tried to pull me away.
“I don’t need to be gotten.”
The stranger smiled with perfectly straight white teeth. Oh, he was lovely. “You carry the drinks; I can walk…what’s your name?”
“Matt.”
“I can walk Matt back.”
“Fine.”
We followed behind Lewis. No one else was at the table; I could see them on the dance floor.
Lewis took his shot and faced me. “I’m gonna let them know their shots are here.” He pointed at the stranger. “I’ll just be a minute.”
The guy chuckled. “He’s protective.”
I looked at the man. He was tall, built, and I tried to focus on his face but couldn’t really. “Wanna make out?”
The man grinned even wider. “Very much.”
I couldn’t believe that had worked. “Come on, fast, before Lewis returns.”
I dragged Hottie Stranger with me toward the bathroom. There wasn’t a great place for any quickies at The Alibi, so a stall would have to do. We were halfway down the hallway when I heard someone call my name.
We stopped and I turned to see a figure walking our way. There was something familiar about him.
“Matt, hey.”
“Hi?”
“You know this guy?” Hottie Stranger asked…and that was annoying.
“What’s your name?” I squinted so I could focus on his pretty face.
He smirked. “Steve.”
I was staring at him, feeling all warm and gooey inside, and then my bubble burst.
“Mattie, what’s up?”
Mattie, literally nobody called me that.
“Who are you calling Mattie?” I squinted at the man…Oh, he was pretty too. So many gorgeous specimens. He truly was familiar. I knew him from somewhere.
“Sorry, dude, I’m not letting you take him to the bathroom to do whatever it is you think you’re about to do.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but Steve beat me to it. “I’d never do anything without consent, Matt invited me.”
Hottie-familiar-man quirked a brow…I think. “An inebriated person.” He eyed me from head to toe. “A very inebriated person invited you? Anytime someone is this drunk, there’s no consent.”
“Who are you to police his choices?”
This was right out of a fantasy. Two delicious guys fighting over little old me. I leaned against the wall…Oh, it was nice and cool.
“He can barely stand, shitdick, so if you want to keep your legs, face, and arms intact, I suggest you piss right the fuck off!” Familiar man was winning.
“Fuck this. No one is worth this drama.” Steve glared at me and stormed off.
“Bye, Steve,” I yelled, then ogled the hottie blond. “So, you win…Do I get my surprise?” I reached for his belt, but he backed away.
“I’m taking you home.”
“Pardon me? I mean…did I say pardon? Did that come out right?”
“Jesus,” he mumbled. “Come on, Matt, I already told your friends I’d take you home.”
“Who are you? They’d never let a stranger whisk me away to the whatevers.”
“It’s Nick, Matt. Nick Saint. You’ve been staying at our house for five months, and you can’t recognize me? You’re trashed. Let’s go.” He went to grab me, but I pulled away.
This of course made me spin, the room spin…my stomach spin, and that was when I threw up all over Nick.
Lament at Loon Landing by Josh Lanyon
Chapter One
Whoooo…. Whooooo…. WHOOOOO!
Ghostly wailings seemed to issue from the blackened rafters of the Crow’s Nest bookshop.
“What the hell is that noise?” Pirate Cove’s Police Chief Jack Carson stared ceilingward, his blue-green eyes wide with alarm.
Ellery Page, mystery bookshop owner and Jack’s boyfriend, took his oat milk-laced coffee from Jack’s unresisting hand. He said glumly, “The building is haunted.”
“Since when?”
“Since the Sing The Plank organizers announced there’ll be an amateur talent stage at the festival.”
“Ah.”
They listened in silence for a moment to the muffled twang of a banjo and plink of a…ukulele?
WHOOOOO… Whoooo…. Whooooo….
“Despite evidence to the contrary, the only souls suffering the torments of the damned are yours and mine.”
Jack grinned, sipped his coffee. “Is this going on during business hours?”
Ellery nearly choked on his coffee. “Don’t even joke!”
“Sorry. Have either of them ever performed before an audience?”
“It seems so. Kingston and his late wife were active in their local folk music club and Nora used to perform regularly at Pirate Cove’s Traditional Music Society.”
Jack’s brows rose. “I didn’t know we had a Traditional Music Society.”
“We don’t. Not anymore. I have my suspicions.”
Jack chuckled, started to speak, but was interrupted by Watson, Ellery’s black spaniel puppy, who dropped his squeaky toy and began to howl.
Aaah-oooooooh… Ow… Ow… Ow… Aaah-oooooooh…
Ellery sighed. “Right. That started yesterday. I’m not sure if he’s protesting or auditioning.” He called to the puppy, “It’s okay, buddy. It’s almost over.”
“Speaking of almost over.” Jack’s tone was regretful. “I’ve got to get down to the station.”
“Coward.”
Jack shook his head, leaned across the sales counter and kissed Ellery lightly. “I came for the drinks not the band.”
Ellery laughed.
Jack headed for the door, bending to tap Watson’s upturned nose with his finger. Watson cut off his serenade mid-note, looking ever so slightly sheepish. “Working late tonight?” Jack asked Ellery.
Ellery nodded.
“Are you staying at my place or heading out to Captain’s Seat?”
“Your place if that’s okay.”
“Best news of the day.” Jack winked and went out.
The brass bell on the front door swayed, chiming a fond farewell.
It was the autumn equinox and summer was officially over.
September on Buck Island was lovely. The sun cast its lazy spell over glittering water and silky sand. The skies were blue, the breezes balmy, and the crowds had thinned.
Considerably.
Which was the not-so-good news if you were in the business of selling stuff to tourists.
The Crow’s Nest clientele was not primarily of the tourista variety, but there was no denying the influx of summer visitors had plumped up their coffers considerably.
If autumn on Buck Island was anything like winter, trade was going to get pretty lean pretty fast, and Ellery was reluctantly considering whether he did in fact need two full-time employees, in addition to himself, to meet the needs of their fairly slim customer base.
He was fond of both Nora and Kingston, so the idea of letting either go—and really, there was no question of who was on the chopping block—brought him zero pleasure.
“What if we carried a few book-related gift items?” Nora mused as they drank their coffee and gazed out at the largely empty harbor.
Nora Sweeney was Ellery’s right-hand man. Er, woman. A small but stalwart seventy-something Buck Island native, she favored skirts and sensible shoes, and she always wore her long, silver hair in a ponytail.
“Why? We’re a bookstore.”
Nora shrugged. “A few extra dollars here. A few extra dollars there. It all adds up.”
“If we start selling gift items, it’s liable to look like we’re trying to compete with some of the gift shops, which is not going to go over well.”
He was thinking specifically of Janet Maples and Old Salt Stationery. Janet had only recently begun to warm up to him.
As usual, Nora understood him perfectly. “What if our book related gift items were mystery-themed?”
“Hmm.”
“I’ve been looking through that pile of catalogs in the junk room—”
“You mean, my office?”
“Er, your office, and I’ve come up with a list of possibilities.” She fished around in her pocket and handed over a long and crumpled list.
Ellery smoothed out the paper and squinted at Nora’s cramped writing. “Cozy mystery coloring books? Murder mystery dinner party game? Cozy mystery day planner? Nancy Drew jigsaw puzzles? Mystery-themed Christmas ornaments?”
“The holidays are coming.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.” Nora looked at him in surprise. “I’m kidding,” Ellery said, although he wasn’t entirely sure about that. Jack had mentioned in passing that his family really, really wanted him to come “home” for Christmas this year.
Nora said, “There are key chains, pins, earrings…”
“There’s a lot to choose from,” Ellery agreed. “My concern is the financial outlay.”
“You have to spend money to earn money.”
“You have to have money to spend money,” Ellery retorted.
“We could start with a few choice items and see how it goes.”
Ellery sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Nora’s idea. But, having only recently pulled out of the red, he was understandably cautious. Last year, he’d had his savings to fall back on. This year, he had no savings left with which to weather the inevitable inevitables.
Nora studied him, said, “Or not. Kingston’s come up what I think is a very good idea for bringing in new customers.”
“Kingston has?” Not that Ellery didn’t think Kingston was full of good ideas. He was just surprised to hear Nora touting them. Not so long ago, Nora had viewed Kingston as a rival and competitor if not outright villain. Slowly but surely, that had changed, which was yet another reason Ellery really didn’t want to have to break up the act.
Nora said—in the tone adults use to try to convince toddlers that vegetables are delicious mealtime treats, “What if we were to offer a children’s story hour on weekends?”
Ellery gazed at her in alarm. “We who? We don’t sell children’s books. Do they even make mysteries for children?”
“They do, dearie, but we wouldn’t have to limit ourselves to mysteries.”
“We’re a mystery bookshop.”
“Yes. We are. We’re also the island’s only real bookstore. Which presents us with a unique opportunity to serve Pirate Cove’s littlest customer base.”
“Littlest and most financially strapped.”
Nora laughed. “If there’s one thing people like to spend money on, it’s their children. And, even more so, their grandchildren. Pirate’s Cove doesn’t have endless amusements for little ones.”
“These kids are the descendants of pirates. Maybe they prefer brawling and boozing.”
Nora snorted. “While the children are listening to such classics as Pete the Pirate and The Pirates Next Door, their parents can browse our mystery-themed gifts or pick up something they might like to read.”
“And who exactly would be conducting this story hour?” Ellery asked warily.
“Kingston.”
“Kingston?” Ellery relaxed. “Oh. Well, in that case, yeah. That’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s kind of a good idea. Are we going to purchase copies of these story books?”
“A few. I’m sure we’d sell a handful or so.” Nora eyed him knowingly. “In fact, you could probably come in an hour or so later on Saturdays. Kingston and I can easily handle the sales floor during that period. Especially during our slow season.”
Ellery considered the possibility of a little extra time with Jack. “Actually, Nora, that’s a great idea.”
Nora beamed. “I’ll let Kingston know you’ve given us your seal of approval.”
Dylan Carter, one of Ellery’s closest friends in Pirate’s Cove, phoned shortly after Ellery returned from lunch on the pier.
“What do you say to lunch?”
Watson, with his tendency to bark at the ever-present seagulls—as well as other dogs, babies in strollers, and every stray piece of trash the wind picked up, was not always the ideal mealtime companion, but he was Ellery’s most frequent, so it was disappointing to have to turn Dylan down.
“I’d have said sure, but I already ate.”
“Ah. I see.” Dylan sounded more distracted than disappointed. “Well, what about joining the rest of us for a drink or dessert? Or both?”
“The rest of us who?”
In addition to owning to owning the Toy Chest and managing the Scallywags, Pirate’s Cove’s local theater guild, Dylan was also one of the organizers of Pirate Cove’s annual Sing the Plank maritime music festival, but Ellery’s fear was that by the rest of us Dylan meant Summer Simmons, his girlfriend.
Dylan’s relationship with Summer had grown increasingly rocky over the past couple of months, and Ellery wanted to give wide berth to any potential public uproar.
But Dylan said, “Lara Fairplay and her entourage, for starters. The Sing the Plank organizers…”
“Lara Fairplay?” Singer-songwriter Lara Fairplay was headlining Sing the Plank, and while Ellery was not a huge fan of folk music, even he was aware that getting Lara Fairplay to appear at their relatively small festival was a huge coup for the island as a whole and the organizers in particular.
“Lara, her husband, her sister…Sue.” Dylan’s tone seemed to grow vague.
“Wait a sec,” Ellery interrupted. “Her sister, Sue or her sister and Sue. As in Sue Lewis, my arch-nemesis.”
Sue Lewis was the owner and editor in chief for the Scuttlebutt Weekly, Pirate Cove’s newspaper. Unfortunately, from their first meeting, Sue and Ellery had rubbed each other the wrong way—and things had gone downhill from there.
“Now, you don’t really think Sue is your arch-nemesis,” Dylan chided. “That’s ancient history, isn’t it?”
“I don’t consider Sue my arch-nemesis, no. She considers me her arch-nemesis.
“She really doesn’t. Sue’s…er…she’s a kinder, gentler Sue. You’ll see.”
“I’ll see from a distance,” Ellery said. “Seriously, though, I already took my break. I can’t just leave Nora and Kingston to—”
“Yes, you can!” Nora chirped from behind him.
Ellery scowled at her.
“We’re fine here. Go. Have fun!” Nora made shooing motions.
“See?” Dylan put in. “Nora’s got it under control.”
“Yeeeah. Just a reminder to you and Nora: I’m actually the one in charge here.”
Both Nora and Dylan chortled at this quaint notion.
“Okay, whatever, but I really can’t just—”
Dylan cut in with an apologetic, “The thing is, I have an ulterior motive in asking you to lunch.”
Ellery sighed. “Believe me, I already figured that much out.”
“But before you agree, you need to, well, see the lay of the land.”
“Before I agree?” Ellery gave a disbelieving laugh. “That’s taking things for granted.”
“Well, after all, everyone in Pirate’s Cove knows this kind of thing is like catnip for you.”
“What kind of thing?”
“Mysteries. Puzzles. Who-dunnits.”
“You want me to solve a mystery?”
“It’s a paying gig. We want to hire you.”
If anything, Ellery’s wariness grew. “You want to hire me to solve a mystery. What kind of mystery?”
Dylan hesitated. “I suppose it’s a little bit of a…a who-dunnit.”
Uh oh. “Who done what?”
Dylan said airily, “If you want to learn the answer to that—and other questions–you’ll just have to come to lunch. The Seacrest Inn at one o’clock.”
And with that, he hung up.
Shield by RJ Scott & VL Locey
I parked my Ducati in a small lot next to the clinic, the familiar sounds of the neighborhood enveloping me as I dismounted. The laughter of children as they played on the sidewalks, the distant buzz of traffic, and the occasional shouts from windows were more real to me than the place I’d grown up in affluent Dallas suburbs where money was king. I could do some good here.
As I walked into the clinic, I immediately felt at home. There was a warmth and bustle to the place, volunteers chatting, trying to make a difference, kids crying, parents in groups. I waved to Lazlo on reception. He’d changed the color of his hair again—now blue from green—and he grinned at me.
“Yo, Cowboy,” he called.
I headed that way. “Hey Laz, is Joe in?”
Lazlo frowned, leaned closer, and lowered his voice. “He gone all do-not-disturb, not seeing patients, and he’s losing his shit with everyone who knocks on his door.”
That didn’t sound good. Joe was former military, a medic, and the guy who ran this place on nothing but fluff and buttons. He was ruthless at recruiting volunteer doctors and nurses, an expert at guilting big pharma to donate, rough and ready, and dragging this entire community to good health one case at a time. But he was also a gentle giant, loved people as much as they loved him, and losing his shit didn’t sound like him at all. Maybe it was a money thing? I could help with that. I saved money every year for my girls, a trust fund that would see them happy and settled with a good start, but after that and my sole luxury—the Ducati—everything else I gave away.
Not that anyone knew, and they never would.
“Had a couple of referrals for you,” Lazlo said, slapping some files down. “Why don’t you take them, and this…” He placed a coffee next to it, “… see if you can cheer Joe up.”
Referrals were about moms with breast cancer, the same cruel disease that had taken Melissa, or those newly diagnosed with diabetes in fact, any families who struggled where Lazlo thought I could help I picked up the files, headed through the door to the consultation rooms, passing walls adorned with handmade posters and kids’ art, and finally through the last door, marked staff only, with my key card
I knocked on the door, juggling paperwork and the coffee, using my elbow on the handle, and tumbling inside with a grin on my face, all ready to cheer Mr. Grumpy up.
Only to find him at the wrong end of a gun, bleeding from a head wound, and barely able to move.
Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she’d tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you’re afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Josh LanyonBestselling 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.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.
RJ ScottWriting love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Frank W Butterfield
Charlie Cochrane
NEWSLETTER / KOBO / RIPTIDE
EMAIL: cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
Josh Lanyon
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net
RJ Scott
The Iniquitous Investigator by Frank W Butterfield
The Deadliest Fall by Charlie Cochrane
Mine to Keep by Davidson King
Lament at Loon Landing by Josh Lanyon
Shield by RJ Scott & VL Locey
