Poisoned Pages (A Booktown Mystery, Band 12) - Hardcover

Barrett, Lorna

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0451489837 ISBN 13: 9780451489838

Verlag: Berkley, 2018

Inhaltsangabe

Mystery bookstore owner Tricia Miles learns that nothing kills a good party like a murder in the latest entry in the New York Times bestselling Booktown Mysteries.

Tricia Miles, mystery bookstore owner and amateur sleuth, throws a housewarming cocktail party in her new apartment and has cooked all the food by herself—quite a feat for someone who previously couldn't boil water. Then one of her guests is poisoned and dies. Tricia's left to wonder if her cooking is to blame or if there's something much more sinister at play. Either way, Tricia's once again in hot water with her ex-lover, Chief Baker.

Meanwhile the charming town of Stoneham is being disrupted by a vandalism crime wave. It's the hot topic in the race for Chamber of Commerce president which sees Tricia pitted against two bitter rivals. With all that's going on can she find the killer before she's the next item on the menu?

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Lorna Barrett is the New York Times bestselling author of the Booktown Mysteries, including A Just Clause and Title Wave.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

One

Never had 221b Main Street, Stoneham, New Hampshire, seen so many people enter its doors. Instead of customers arriving for a book signing at Haven't Got a Clue, the village's vintage mystery bookstore, this gathering was of friends, sort-of relatives, and business associates from the local Chamber of Commerce. It was also Tricia's first stab at entertaining more than one or two people. Perhaps, she thought as another guest entered the newly refurbished living room of her loft apartment, she should have started with a more modest get-together. The space had more recently been a storeroom filled with shelves and boxes full of vintage mysteries. That stock now resided in the basement, which had also been renovated. The open-concept space was now bright, inviting, and—more importantly—felt like home.

 

"Isn't this a wonderful party?" Pixie Poe called, Tricia's newly married assistant. Pixie looked radiant in a vintage black, tight-fitting cocktail dress with a beaded bodice. Where she continually found those flirtatious frocks was a mystery to Tricia, but the style fit her to a T.

 

"Thanks for making the music mix CDs. They're perfect for a cocktail party."

 

"When it comes to entertainment, ya can't beat der Bingle, Frank, Dino, Tommy Dorsey, and the boys."

 

Before Tricia could reply, Angelica swooped past with a brightly polished silver tray of stemmed wineglasses filled with Chardonnay. "We've run out of red," she called as she began worming her way through the crowd.

 

Tricia's former assistant, and now step-niece and adopted little sister, Ginny Wilson-Barbero, had donned an apron that Angelica must have supplied and was passing around yet another silver tray with salmon cucumber rosettes. They looked adorable on the frilly paper doily-covered platter-just as Tricia had hoped they would.

 

As she passed by the floor-to-ceiling antique mirror that stood against the east wall of her new digs, Tricia noted she looked pretty good, too—considering she'd spent an hour or so crying her eyes out after returning from the cemetery. But now that the trial was behind her, she was determined not to think about it or Christopher's killer. When redecorating the apartment, she had allowed herself to display one framed photo of Christopher and her, taken on their honeymoon in Cancún, but that was it. She'd even stopped wearing his engagement ring on a chain around her neck. She now thought of herself as free to move on with her life, and the party was one big step in that direction.

 

Contractor Jim Stark and his team had finished their work on the transformation more than a month before, but Tricia had wanted to settle in—finding just the right places to set her treasures, some of which had been boxed up for years—and, more importantly, to test the recipes she'd serve at her first (and possibly only) big bash. The ones she'd fed to her pseudofamily at their weekly Sunday dinners. Nobody had complained, and, in fact, the praise had been effusive, which had given her a much-needed boost of confidence in her burgeoning culinary skills.

 

Tricia headed toward the dry bar she'd set up on a vintage glass-topped patio table. It had been a housewarming gift from Pixie and her groom, Fred Pillins, and it went perfectly with the eclectic furnishings she'd chosen. Although the table was laden with the best alcoholic spirits, Tricia decided she'd better keep a clear head. She plunked some ice into an old-fashioned glass, poured club soda from an opened bottle, and took a sip. Eh.

 

"Great party," Russ Smith said from behind Tricia, startling her.

 

"Hi, Russ. So glad you could make it." Although he certainly hadn't dressed for such a party, wearing instead his usual attire of a plaid flannel shirt and rather grungy jeans. His only concession was a tired-looking corduroy sport coat with leather patches on the elbows that he'd probably worn since college. "Is Nikki here, too?"

 

Russ tipped his glass, with what looked like Scotch in it, toward his wife, who was standing near one of the windows overlooking Main Street and conversing with Frannie Armstrong.

 

Nikki looked fabulous in the proverbial little black dress, with her hair pulled back in a chignon, looking much more sophisticated than she did when behind the counter of the village's only bakery, the Patisserie, which she owned. However, the effect was spoiled, as she looked to be bored out of her mind. In contrast, Frannie, who managed Angelica's store, the Cookery—a cookbook and sundries store—looked like a tourist who'd lost her way en route to our fiftieth state. Tricia had only ever seen Frannie wear something other than a loud aloha shirt on rare occasions. Frannie, a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, seemed to be snagging anyone who would listen so that she could introduce her latest gentleman friend, whom she'd met via an online dating service. She found a lot of guys that way, but none of them seemed to last long. Tricia had already forgotten the poor man's name. The tall gent, with a graying beard and sparse hair, didn't seem all that enthused to be attending the party, nor being shown off like Frannie's pet dog. Tricia felt sorry for him.

 

"It sure feels good to be out and about—and on a weeknight," Russ said, eyeing the Scotch bottle on the table. "That's just about unheard-of for us." He took a hearty slug of his drink.

 

"Is it tough finding a babysitter?"

 

"More like tough getting Nikki to leave little Russell. She feels guilty for plunking him in day care most of the week. It's not like the kid is even up this late," he lamented. Not for the first time, Tricia got the impression that Russ wasn't exactly thrilled to be a daddy.

 

Antonio Barbero—whom Tricia referred to as Angelica's secret stepson—passed by. It looked like he'd been enlisted to help pass out canapés as well, and he offered the mini spinach quiches around, with just about everybody taking and enjoying one. Unlike Russ, Antonio loved being a dad to his daughter, little Sofia, born the very same day as Russ's son. And though Antonio sometimes worked hellish hours, he always found time for his precious bambina. Of course, Antonio was a good ten or twelve years younger than Russ, who Tricia suspected had never contemplated marriage, let alone fatherhood, when he'd worked out his life's plan.

 

C'est la vie.

 

"Angelica said you'd made all the food," Russ said, grabbing a quiche off the tray as Antonio passed.

 

Tricia took a sip of her club soda. "Almost. A number of people brought goodies as well. Mary Fairchild brought some hot artichoke dip, and, of course, Nikki brought some of her marvelous mini cream puffs. A lot of people brought wine." She gestured toward the console table near the entryway, which was covered in bottles. Hmm, she ought to have mentioned that to Angelica when she'd stated they'd run out of red wine.

 

"Speaking of food, I'd better get back in the kitchen and make sure there's enough for everybody."

 

"And I'll just pour myself another drink," Russ said, but he didn't sound all that pleased about the prospect.

 

Tricia made her escape and found Angelica leaning against the large white-and-black-veined granite island, presumably taking a breather. Or was it her four-inch stilettos that caused her discomfort—not that she'd ever admit it? "Ange, why don't you go sit down in the living room and relax."

 

"Me, relax at a party? Unthinkable," she said, and picked up a cookie-crumb-littered plate from the...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Berkley
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2018
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0451489837
• ISBN 13: 9780451489838
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 320
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar