Proof of Murder (Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery #4) - Lauren Elliott Page 0,84

like I did.” Her voice cracked. “I only wanted to say I’m sorry”—sniffle—“but it couldn’t be helped. I was forced to leave. There was no option. I’m okay and will call back and explain later. Bye.”

“What’s the matter?” Simon scanned her face. She had been so intent on the message she hadn’t even noticed him walk up to her.

“It’s Kalea. She left a message. Listen to this.”

“I think,” Simon said, after listening to the message, “we can write number one beside Kalea’s name on your list of suspects.”

“Sounds like it. She was forced to leave? I need to find out more about her boss, the antique collector. Maybe he forced her to steal the books, or he was actually in town and did it, and then ended up killing Charlotte in the meantime.”

“Would he have knowledge about the hidden chamber?”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s not a stranger to Greyborne Harbor. After all, she said they lived in Cape Cod. He might know about Hill Road House.”

“That’s a lot of speculation.” Simon placed his hand on the small of her back, ushering her through the door of the restaurant where they were greeted by Serena and Zach.

* * *

Addie pushed her half-eaten seafood salad away. It was no use. She couldn’t stay focused on the spirited conversation around her. The concern for her cousin played heavily on her mind. As though reading her thoughts, Simon asked for the check, paid the bill, and hurried the little group out into the bright afternoon sunshine. His fingers laced through hers, and the four of them walked along the seawall in the direction of the new pier and information center built on the rocky outcrop where the old lighthouse stood.

It only was a week since they’d been down here. At the time, there was a hum heavy in the air with the construction crews putting the final touches on the glass visitor’s center. Today, there was still a buzz, but it was interested locals flocking to the site for a peek at what the future held in store for their sleepy little town.

If the cruise line information and shore excursion itineraries were any indication, harbor residents’ summers were to be nothing like they’d ever experienced before. The local festivals and annual summer sailing regatta would be dwarfed by the ships’ eager tourists inundating the area every Tuesday for the next five months. Tourists who were ready and willing to see what the little town had to offer in the way of dining experiences, culture, and local history.

Greyborne Harbor locals were pulling out all the stops to remain competitive with the adventures that lay just thirty minutes up the coastal highway in Salem, a longtime favorite shore excursion for this particular shipping line’s clients. Addie wondered if Art was on the right track with his idea to market Hill Road House as a major tourist destination.

* * *

Hot and tired of being jostled around by the hordes of curious onlookers in the center, Addie hunted out some peace. Through the window, she spotted an ice cream truck in the parking lot. Grabbing Simon’s hand, she tugged him along behind her as she zigzagged her way through the crowd. Her heart sank at the long line up at the take-out window, but at least she was back in the fresh sea air and sunshine.

As they waited their turn, Addie’s gaze checked out the parking lot that a small carnival had commandeered. Judging by the number of visitors waiting for rides and buying cotton candy, it meant the amount of people attending the Hill Road House yard sale would be few and not enough to help Blake clear out the rest of the merchandise. Her heart went out to him. Right from the start his auction had its challenges, and had not only hurt him financially, but with the thefts and Charlotte’s untimely demise, his reputation was also at stake.

When they reached the front of the line, Simon stepped up to place their orders. As she leaned in to tell him what flavor she wanted, a familiar form caught her attention. Over on the seawall overlooking the lighthouse, Philip Atkinson sat, licking the melting ice cream from around the top of his waffle cone. Addie muttered, “I’ll have a double-chocolate fudge,” and skirted around Simon.

She made a direct line toward the man she least wanted to talk to on an otherwise pleasant Sunday afternoon. But they had unfinished business, and she needed to find out if his uncanny