A NOVEL DEATH written by Elizabeth Ashby and Ellie Ashe, is
another book in the
Danger
Cove Mysteries that you will be sure to enjoy from the
first chapter. Like
most cozy mystery it has your humor, a touch of romance, and
of course...the
murder! This writing duo team added spunk to their main
character that will
have you liking her from the start. A NOVEL DEATH has many
other interesting
characters that have you wondering who done it. As most
mysteries go you look
at the least likely person to be it because there are always
surprises. However,
Ashby and Ashe did a great job at the end at totally
throwing me off as to whom
the murderer is.
Meri Sinclair has just moved back to Danger Cove because she
inherited her
grandma's bookshop, Dangerous Reads. After dealing with a
nasty breakup with
her boyfriend that went public it seemed like a low-key
thing to do. Until their
first author and old resident Cal Montague who she invited
to do a reading from
his autobiography was found murdered in the back alley of
her shop. What
secrets did he have to hide and who would want to kill him?
Meri tries to get to
the bottom of it as she feels the local police are trying to
target her as the guilty
party. With the help of the town's hot veterinarian they
both get into a tough
situation that could become deadly.
This mystery had me giggling at Meri's sense of humor, even
when she is being serious. This is what I love about cozy
mysteries. The idea of a
mystery excites the reader but the characters make you fall
in love with the story.
I enjoyed reading A NOVEL DEATH written by Elizabeth Ashby
and Ellie Ashe and
hope to read more about the residents from Danger Cove.
When Meri Sinclair inherited Dangerous Reads, she didn’t
just get a
bookshop. She inherited a legacy. It’s Danger Cove’s only
bookstore,
and her grandmother had made sure that it's a warm and
friendly places
for readers of all ages.
Determined to get off on the right foot, Meri has
organized
a series
of author readings, starting off with Cal Montague, a
Danger
Cove
native who grew up to become a solid B-list actor, and
his
tell-all
his memoirs, Tales I Shouldn’t Tell. Only the actor turns
out to be a
difficult diva, and before the inaugural event can even
start, Meri
finds the guest of honor in the alley—shot dead. Turns
out
someone
else thought Cal shouldn't be telling tales, too.
With motive and opportunity, the police have Meri in
their
sights. To
save her business and her own skin, Meri turns to her
small
staff of
part-time employees for help. Along with some assistance
from Danger
Cove’s hot new veterinarian, Meri, sets out to help the
Danger Cove
police—whether they appreciate it or not—before the
murderer
returns
for a sequel.
Excerpt
The bell chimed as I pushed open the front door to
Dangerous Reads, and the familiar scent greeted me—books.
Lots of them. Mixed with a hint of fresh-cut wood from
the new bookshelves that had just been installed last
week. Beneath that, I could even detect a bit of
something deeper. Shalimar, my grandmother's favorite
perfume. She'd worn it every day, and the notes of spice
and vanilla had seeped into the wood shelves and the
plaster walls of the bookstore.
Despite my best efforts to steel myself, my heart twisted
in my chest with the reminder that she was gone. That I'd
never walk into Dangerous Reads and see her among the
stacks of books or behind the counter. Never hear her
humming along to the music while she restocked shelves or
hear her laughter as she directed a customer to the
perfect book. She'd been gone for two months, and my
grief felt as raw as it had when I'd gotten the call that
she'd died in her sleep.
With a deep breath, I flipped on the lights and
illuminated the store, chasing away the shadows and
trying in vain to do the same with the grief.
Grandma Ruth wanted me to have this, her life's work. Not
only the storefront on Main Street in Danger Cove and all
the inventory but also something more than that. She
wanted me to have her place in this community.
"So don't mess this up, Meri," I told myself. My voice
echoed in the empty store. "You can do this."
It hadn't been a complete surprise that I'd inherited
Dangerous Reads. I was the only child of my father, who
had also been my grandmother's only child. As he had died
20 years earlier, it made sense that I was the only heir.
But Grandma Ruth's death had been sudden, with no health
issues preceding it that would have given me warning.
I walked back to the break room-slash-stockroom, my boot
heels echoing on the hardwood floors. I hung up my coat,
made a pot of coffee, and turned on the heat. My staff
would be coming in early for a meeting, our first all-
staff meeting since I'd become the new owner of Dangerous
Reads.
I shouldn't be worried, yet here I was, wiping damp palms
on my gray wool skirt. It wasn't like I hadn't been in
charge of things before. I'd once held a very responsible
position as director of public relations for a major tech
start-up in Seattle. I had confidently held forth with
reporters from major publications and on television and
radio. This was just a meeting of me and my three part-
time employees at Dangerous Reads. So why was I so
nervous?
Maybe because I'd screwed up and gotten fired from that
responsible position. No one could fire me from this job,
I reminded myself. The worst thing that could happen
would be that I'd run my beloved grandmother's bookstore
into the ground and destroy everything she had built over
her lifetime.
So, no pressure.
The bell chimed, and I poked my head out to see Alicia
Holmes walk in, carrying a signature box from the
Cinnamon Sugar Bakery. Bless her heart. Alicia always
knew the perfect accessory for any occasion.
"I hope that coffee's ready, because I was up until after
midnight sewing a skirt for Jessa's ballet recital, which
she told me she needed only yesterday," Alicia said,
placing the box on the counter next to the coffeepot. She
shrugged out of her long wool coat, hung it in the small
closet, and then adjusted her silk scarf and smoothed her
long brown hair away from her face. "How are you doing? I
know this is a big day for you. Your first staff meeting.
That's why I brought donuts."
I took two cups down and filled them with the dark brew
while Alicia set donuts out on a plate for our meeting.
Alicia liked celebrating milestones. I was still working
off the sweets she'd brought over the last month for
"Meri's first day," "Meri's first book club meeting," and
"Meri's first tax inventory." She'd at least brought wine
for that last one. I hadn't been in charge of Dangerous
Reads very long, and I hoped the inaugural celebrations
would start to die out, because I wasn't a fan of
exercise.
"Thanks for bringing the food," I said, finding a stack
of paper napkins in the drawer.
"It's not just your first staff meeting. None of us have
had one of these before. Ruth never had a staff meeting.
This is exciting," she said.
Alicia was in her mid-40s and had worked for my
grandmother for seven years, ever since the youngest of
her five children went to kindergarten. Her husband was a
successful tech consultant, and Alicia didn't need the
part-time work. But she loved the bookstore as much as I
did. My grandmother used to joke that Alicia probably
spent her entire paycheck to support her book habit.
"It's just a meeting," I cautioned. "And we'll be done in
time to open at ten."
"Is there an agenda?"
"No. Sorry." I had never met anyone so enthusiastic about
a meeting before. Before Grandma Ruth died and I got
myself fired, my life had seemed to consist only of
meetings. If I wasn't in a meeting, the odds were good I
was trying to schedule one. And no one I knew ever looked
forward to them. It was nice to just call a casual
meeting of my entire staff—and we could all sit around
the round oak table in the break room.
I heard the back door open, and a second later Burt Lewis
walked into the break room. Like Alicia, he had worked
for my grandmother for nearly a decade after he retired
from the military. An avid reader of mysteries, history,
and biographies, he was a great resource to the
bookstore. And despite his gruff exterior, he was a
softie on the inside. Or so I suspected. I hadn't
actually seen too much of that soft-on-the-inside aspect
of Burt yet.
"Morning, ladies," he said in his gravelly voice. "I
brought more receipts."
He dropped a stack of carbonless paper receipts on the
break room table. It was a point of contention between
us.
"We've got the computer tablets all set up now, Burt. No
need for this."
"I prefer paper," he said, pouring himself a cup of
coffee. "The customers do, too."
We'd had this discussion several times before, and it
never failed to leave me flustered. Sure, I was about
one-half his age and his size, but I was the owner of the
bookstore now, and I should be able to choose whether to
adopt new technologies.
"The computerized system will help with inventory, taxes,
and other paperwork," I said, giving him my sternest
look.
"It's okay," Burt said. "I save the receipts for Katya,
and she puts them in your fancy new computer."
Frustration filled my chest, and I took a deep breath.
It's my store, I told myself. Burt works for me.
But I also knew that Burt didn't need the paycheck, and I
did need him—locals relied on his recommendations for
nonfiction books, and tourists loved his knowledge of
Danger Cove's history.
The back door opened again, and the last employee skipped
in.
"Good morning!" Katya Potter said, her blonde ponytail
swinging as she bounced into the break room, which was
now at capacity. She took the last seat at the round
table. For a 17-year-old high school student, she was
incredibly responsible and mature. And she had the energy
of 10 adults. Somehow she managed a full schedule of
classes, plenty of extracurricular activities,
cheerleading practice, and working a part-time job on the
weekends.
"Katya, you're entering Burt's sales into the computer
system?" I asked.
"Sure, it's no problem," she said, grabbing a donut off
the plate. "It takes him forever to do. It's just faster
if I do it."
That was probably true, but it still bothered me that
Burt was ignoring me and my "fancy" new computerized
inventory system. As his precision crew cut would imply,
he was a military man. What happened to his respect for
chain of command?
"See? Everyone's happy," Burt said with a short nod of
his head.
I tried to keep the frown off my face and focus on the
purpose of the meeting.
"We'll talk about that another time," I said. "The reason
I asked you all to come in early today was because of the
new promotions we're going to be doing."
Katya perked up. "I had an idea. We should get a bookshop
cat! Lots of bookstores have a cat. Customers love them."
"That's a nice idea, but I'm allergic to cats," I said.
Her face fell. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Cats are great."
"I'm sure they are," I said, eager to keep on track.
"Anyway, there's been a small change to the upcoming
author visits."
This was my attempt at jump-starting my management of
Dangerous Reads. I had immediately updated the cash
registers to tablet computers that took up less space on
the counter and also kept better track of the purchases
and ordering. And in consultation with Alicia and Burt,
I'd rearranged the layout of the floor—moving the
children's section to a corner in the back, sale books to
the narrow upstairs loft, and adding more shelves to
accommodate new releases in the front of the store.
But the series of author visits was the biggest change.
In the next few months, we'd have multiple authors
speaking and signing books at Dangerous Reads. Some of
the authors had connections to the area, and others were
just happy to come to Danger Cove for a little break on
their West Coast tours.
"We have a new author who has agreed to come here as the
first stop on his national book tour," I said. I couldn't
help but pat myself on the back for landing this one too.
Those PR skills were proving very handy.
"Who is it?" Alicia asked with an excited smile.
"He's a Danger Cove native who became very successful and
famous," I said.
This was met with blank stares, and then my employees
exchanged curious looks with each other.
"Who would that be?" Burt asked.
"He's an actor. He's been in hundreds of films in the
last forty years."
Burt shook his head. Alicia tilted her head. Katya
shrugged. I pushed my chair away from the table, grabbed
a box of books from the floor, and pulled out a hardback
copy of an autobiography.
"It's Cal Montague." I held up the book Tales I Shouldn't
Tell. The cover was a black-and-white photo of the man's
face, so there was no way they could say they didn't know
who he was.
"Oh, of course," Alicia said.
"Oh, him," Burt said with a grimace.
"Who's that?" Katya asked.
That wasn't the chorus of awe at my coup that I was
hoping for, but granted, Cal Montague wasn't exactly a
household name. He was one of those actors who had been
in a ton of movies but never as the star. His career was
as a solid B-list actor. Constantly working but never the
leading man.
"He's a character actor. He's been a working actor since
the early 1970s," I said. "And he's a Danger Cove native.
He grew up here."
Katya took the book from me and squinted at the face on
the cover. "Yeah, he sort of looks familiar. Was he that
guy in that thing? The mob movie? You know, about Vegas?"
I actually didn't know much about Cal's career, but I
didn't want to admit that, so I bluffed. "You'll have to
read the book to find out."
"That's an interesting choice, Meri," Alicia said with
less enthusiasm than she usually showed. "He hasn't been
back here in years."
Burt snorted. "Cal Montague is a jerk who has a head
shaped like a butternut squash."
Katya giggled and flipped the book back to look at the
photo, then nodded in agreement. The man was a little
jowly, but—okay, I could see the resemblance to a gourd.
Still, he was an actor and a Danger Cove native and my
chance to kick off the new series of author appearances
with a bang. Or at least with the closest thing Danger
Cove had to a celebrity.
"Well, he's bringing his squash-shaped head here, and
I've ordered a lot of copies for him to sign," I said,
handing books to everyone. "We all should read the book
so we can answer customers' questions. Who knows—maybe he
writes about growing up in Danger Cove."
Burt frowned, the tan skin on his face wrinkling around
his mouth and eyes. "I don't need to read the book to
know it's gonna be Cal rambling on about how great he is
and how everyone loves him."
"Do you know him?" Alicia asked.
"Sure do. He was a couple years ahead of me in school,"
Burt said. "Always thought he was a bigger deal than he
was."
"Now he is a big deal," I reminded him.
Burt took the book like I was handing him a full diaper
or a live grenade.
"Also, because this was a last-minute addition to his
schedule, he's coming next weekend, so we don't have a
lot of time to get ready." I handed a book to Alicia, who
read the back-cover copy with a raised eyebrow. "I'm
going to need everyone to work on Saturday. Is that
okay?"
Katya nodded but kept her eyes on the first page of Cal's
book. "I was already scheduled to work on Saturday, so
it's fine with me. Maybe there will be other Hollywood
actors here."
"Sure, who knows?" The odds that Cal traveled with an
entourage of celebrities were nearly nonexistent, but I
didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm.
"I'll call the bakery and order some refreshments,"
Alicia said. "And we can use the front area for the
reading, where the tables are. Those will be easy to move
around."
"Thanks, Alicia. That's what I was thinking too. I'll
order some rental chairs, and we can have Cal stand at
the podium near the bookshelves," I said, starting to
feel something that was at once familiar and yet had been
absent from my world for two months—perhaps it was
excitement. I had always loved having a large event to
organize, and I did miss that part of my former job.
I took a folder out of my black leather bag and handed
out stacks of flyers announcing the event. "Feel free to
hand these out."
I set a stack aside to take to The Clip and Sip when I
went to get my hair cut later in the morning and glanced
at my watch.
"I'll go unlock the front door," I said. "I have a list
of things that need to be done this week, starting with a
display for Cal's book."
Burt snorted again but picked up the box of books. "I
guess we should put them in the front window for maximum
exposure."
"Thank you, Burt," I said.
I put a copy of the Tales I Shouldn't Tell into my bag to
read later. When I walked through the shop, I saw my
mother on the other side of the glass door.
"Good morning, Mom," I said, letting her in. "What brings
you downtown so early on a Saturday?"
"Garden club meeting, of course," she said. "And I wanted
to see the new layout you were talking about."
She swept into the store in a long wool coat in a
stunning shade of ivory, with a cloud of Chanel perfume
trailing behind her. She was tall and slender, and her
blonde hair was perfectly coiffed into a French twist.
Her makeup was subtle and tasteful. And that was just for
a meeting of the garden club.
Despite her professed interest in the bookshop, I had my
doubts. Kimberly Sinclair wasn't much of a reader, and
the only thing she and my grandmother had had in common
was their love for me.
My mother looked around the store, and I could see the
disapproval lurking below the surface. "It looks better,"
she said. "Is there any way to, you know, maybe lessen
the clutter?"
"That's not clutter, Mom. It's books," I said.
"Of course, but maybe you could have fewer on display?"
"No. It's a bookstore. The books stay."
She sighed and forced a smile. "Of course, dear. It's
your store."
That's right, I thought but smiled back.
My mother picked up a book from the box Burt had left in
the front window where he was starting to clean out the
last display.
"Cal Montague wrote a book?" she asked. Her voice implied
that she didn't know he could write his name. "I think I
might have to actually read this."
"You should read it," I said. I couldn't remember her
reading anything longer than an in-depth article on
interior design in one of her fashion magazines. "And
then bring it back here next weekend, and you can have
him sign it."
Mom's eyes widened. "Cal Montague is coming back to
Danger Cove?"
"He is, on next Saturday. Please tell your friends," I
said and rang up my mother's purchase.
"Well, that is certainly news," she said. "The Garden
Club is going to want to hear about this."
The last part of her statement seemed to be her talking
to herself. I handed her a stack of flyers anyway. "Here,
take these."
She put them in her bag with the book and then smiled at
me. "Do you have time for coffee?"
I shook my head. "I don't. I have a haircut, and then I'm
working until closing," I said. "I can get away for
lunch, if you're free."
"I'll be by around noon," she said. "It's so nice having
you back home."
She reached out and smoothed my hair with a smile that
meant she was thinking of my dad. I had inherited his
dark hair and brown eyes. Twenty years and she was still
not over his sudden loss. I never knew if my presence
helped or hurt her in that regard.
"You should grow your hair long again," she said, tilting
her head. "You look so pretty with long hair."
With her left-handed compliment, my well of sympathy
started to dry up a little.
"I like it short," I said.
"Maybe just a little longer," she said. "I hear a long
bob is coming back in style."
My chin-length bob was very chic, according to the
expensive stylist, to whom I used to pay a lot of money
for the world's most simple haircut. And it was easy.
Wash, brush, and go. No muss, no fuss.
I made a show of looking at my watch. "Oh, wow, I should
get over to The Clip and Sip. Have fun at your garden
meeting," I said, then grabbed my bag, waved to Burt, and
left the store before my head exploded.
It was taking some adjustment coming home to Danger Cove.
Part of the problem was that it hadn't really been my
choice. I'd had a perfect life in Seattle. I had a great
job at HunTech, which was the technology start-up my
boyfriend, Hunter, had founded. We'd had a fun social
life, and things had been going so well.
And then my grandmother had died, and Hunter had e-mailed
me to say he wasn't going to go to the funeral with me,
and by the way, he thought we should take a break from
being exclusive.
Maybe it was the fact that he'd broken up with me by e-
mail, or more likely, that he'd actually used this
particular e-mail chain to break up with me—but I hadn't
handled it well. And unfortunately, in my haste to reply,
I hadn't notice that my e-mail program had automatically
filled in HunTechAll instead of Hunter, and the
righteously angry response had gone out to the entire
company. And then it had gone viral.
I'd been unemployed by sundown. Also, single. Obviously.
It had been a dark time.
Frankly, finding out that I was also the sole heir to my
grandmother's estate didn't make me feel one bit better.
I loved her so much, and now I was living in her house
and running her business. I could understand how my
mother never moved on, seeing a small version of her dead
husband across the dinner table every night. Being around
Grandma Ruth's things was both comforting and a constant
reminder of my loss.
I was a good 15 minutes early for my haircut at The Clip
and Sip. It was a little early in the day to enjoy the
complimentary wine and liqueurs, so I settled in with a
coffee and my new book while I waited for Cassidi Conti
to finish with her earlier appointment.
Cassidi was one of the newer additions to Danger Cove.
The town hadn't changed that much since I'd gone off to
college. It was still the same charming coastal town that
I loved. Cassidi, a sunny, blonde Texas transplant, had
recently taken over The Clip and Sip salon and was
bringing a fresh sense of style to my hometown.
It was nice being back in Danger Cove. I'd been gone for
a little more than a decade, though I visited two or
three times a year. I just wasn't yet sold on the fact
that I was back here on a permanent basis.
When I'd lost my boyfriend and my job, I knew that my
cute one-bedroom loft in downtown Seattle would soon be
out of my budget. My grandmother's bequest solved those
problems—well, not the boyfriend one. But still, a
solution had fallen into my lap, and I hadn't had much
choice but to return to Danger Cove. It wasn't where I
thought I'd be at this point in my life, but I was
determined to make the best of it. Having a fresh start
was what I needed.
And I was pretty close to believing my internal pep talk.
I'd even convinced myself to come up with the author
events. If nothing else, it was definitely keeping me
busy.
It was a fairly quiet morning at The Clip and Sip, so I
jumped into Cal Montague's book, starting with the
dedication—a vague appreciation of his family's support
through the years. I was just starting the lengthy
acknowledgments, when I noticed the stout, older woman
next to me craning her head to look at the cover. When
she realized I caught her, she gave me a knowing stare.
"That's Cal Montague."
I nodded and held up the book. "Yes, his autobiography.
He's coming next Saturday to sign his book at Dangerous
Reads."
Before she could object, I shoved a flyer into her hands
and introduced myself.
"Oh, yes, Meri Sinclair. I knew your grandma, may she
rest in peace. I'm Donna Bocca," she said, shaking my
hand with a bone-crushing grip. "So you're running the
bookshop now? Why on earth did you invite Cal Montague
back to Danger Cove?"
Donna took the book from my hand without asking and
studied the cover with a frown that emphasized her faint
mustache.
"Well, it's his hometown," I said. "Do you know him?"
She smirked, and her wide nostrils flared. "Years ago,
sure. And I know his ex-wife."
Gia Di Mitri, a young and flashy stylist, teetered over
to us on stiletto heels that made me nervous just
watching her. She took the book out of Donna's hands with
a curious look. "Who's this?"
"Cal Montague," I said. "He's an actor. Grew up here in
Danger Cove."
I stuffed a flyer into Gia's hand, too, just for good
measure.
"An actor, huh?" Gia said, tossing her hair as she
flipped to the back cover.
"He used to be married to Pippa Montague," Donna said
with a knowing nod at Gia before she ripped the book away
from the stylist. "And I have to tell you, Pippa Montague
is not going to be happy about this."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Oh, honey. Their divorce was legendary back in the day.
It was all anyone talked about for months," Donna said,
handing me the book. "This could get interesting. I may
have to come by the bookstore and check it out."
"It's been a long time since the divorce, right? I'm sure
things have settled down," I said, handing Gia a stack of
the flyers. "The reading will be fun. Can I leave these
here for your clients?"
"Oh, yeah," she said, putting the papers on the counter
near the cash register. "Sounds like fun. Especially if
Pippa Montague comes."
"What do you mean?"
Donna and Gia exchanged a glance, and the stylist tilted
her head a little. "Pippa's a little, I don't know,
uptight?"
"Angry. Bitter. Snooty," Donna said, helping round out
the description of Cal's ex-wife. "And let's just say
that Cal isn't the only overly dramatic one in that
family. You're too young to remember the drama. But it
was a big deal when Cal married Pippa. She was just out
of high school, and he was off working in movies. Then
they moved off to New York City for a time, but she hated
it there. He got a part in Hollywood, so they moved
there, and oh, she really hated that."
Gia plopped down on a padded ottoman like it was story
time at the library. "What happened next?"
Donna leaned forward, happy to have an audience. "When
their son was born, they moved back to Danger Cove and
bought a house in Craggy Hills Estates. But Cal was
rarely there—always flying off to Los Angeles or New York
or London."
"Is that why they divorced?" I asked.
Donna shrugged. "I heard it was because Cal was quite the
ladies' man. But you know, that's just gossip. Pippa made
out like a bandit in the divorce though. Which was only
right, after a decade of putting up with Cal."
I was beginning to think that Cal's book might be more
interesting than I originally estimated, and it sounded
like it was of particular interest to the local
community.
"Well, I'm just so excited that we'll get to hear him
read portions of it at Dangerous Reads, six o'clock on
Saturday." I gave them my best public relations
professional smile, and they each tucked a flyer into
their pockets.
"Meri, I'm all ready for you," Cassidi said, walking to
the front of the salon and greeting me with a warm,
lopsided smile. "Your mom says you're growing your hair
out."
Of course she did. I stuffed Cal's book into my bag and
headed back to the shampoo center. "No, I am not. In
fact, take another inch off."
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