A Killer Edition Read online

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Lorna Barrett

  MURDER IS BINDING

  BOOKMARKED FOR DEATH

  BOOKPLATE SPECIAL

  CHAPTER & HEARSE

  SENTENCED TO DEATH

  MURDER ON THE HALF SHELF

  NOT THE KILLING TYPE

  BOOK CLUBBED

  A FATAL CHAPTER

  TITLE WAVE

  A JUST CLAUSE

  POISONED PAGES

  A KILLER EDITION

  Anthologies

  MURDER IN THREE VOLUMES

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  1745 Broadway, New York, NY 10019

  Copyright © 2019 by Penguin Random House LLC

  Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY and the BERKLEY & B colophon are registered trademarks and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Barrett, Lorna, author.

  Title: A killer edition / Lorna Barrett.

  Description: First Edition. | New York: Berkley Prime Crime, 2019. | Series: A booktown mystery; 13

  Identifiers: LCCN 2019011733 | ISBN 9781984802729 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781984802743 (ebook)

  Subjects: | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3602.A83955 K55 2019 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019011733

  First Edition: August 2019

  Cover art by Teresa Fasolino

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  For Nancy Cooper

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m so grateful that so many of my readers have become my friends. They let me pick their brains for details that help bring my books to life. Thank you, Mare Fairchild, for schooling me on high school procedures. My cruising pal and good friend Nancy Cooper reminded me that candy is important. And Darcy Fechner is a walking reference for information on New Hampshire and its wildlife.

  CONTENTS

  Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Lorna Barrett

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Recipes

  About the Author

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Tricia Miles, owner of Haven’t Got a Clue vintage mystery bookstore

  Angelica Miles, Tricia’s older sister, owner of the Cookery and the Booked for Lunch café and half owner of the Sheer Comfort Inn. Her alter ego is Nigela Ricita, the mysterious developer who has been pumping money and jobs into the village of Stoneham

  Pixie Poe, Tricia’s assistant manager at Haven’t Got a Clue

  Mr. Everett, Tricia’s employee at Haven’t Got a Clue

  Antonio Barbero, the public face of Nigela Ricita Associates; Angelica’s stepson

  Ginny Wilson-Barbero, Tricia’s former assistant; wife of Antonio Barbero

  Grace Harris-Everett, Mr. Everett’s wife

  Grant Baker, chief of the Stoneham Police Department

  Marshall Cambridge, owner of the Armchair Tourist

  Joyce Widman, owner of Have a Heart romance bookstore

  Russ Smith, owner of the Stoneham Weekly News

  Nikki Brimfield-Smith, owner of the Patisserie; ex-wife of Russ Smith

  Midge and Muriel Dexter, elderly twin sisters who reside in Stoneham

  Donna North, cake decorator and candy maker

  Cindy Pearson, a member of the Stoneham Police Department

  Toby Kingston, president of the Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue

  Adelaide Newberry, president of the Booktown Ladies Charitable Society

  Bonnie Connor, secretary of the Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue

  Rebecca Shore, executive committee member of the Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue

  Mrs. Randall, principal of Stoneham High School

  Cori Haskell, volunteer at the Pets-A-Plenty Animal Rescue

  ONE

  Tricia Miles gripped the steering wheel so tightly, her fingers were white. A death grip like that wasn’t healthy, not if one intended to use one’s fingers for other purposes—like turning the page of a book or holding a cup filled with coffee. Or perhaps strangling someone.

  Okay, strangulation was perhaps too harsh a punishment for someone who supposedly had your best interests at heart, but of late, Dr. Kendra Vought had inspired thoughts of little else. Her specialty was grief counseling, but she didn’t seem particularly good at her profession. Though she said things like “Time is your greatest friend,” her body language, bored expression, and an eye on the clock conveyed another message: “Move on, already.”

  Moving on was proving to be a lot more difficult than Tricia had anticipated. Not that she hadn’t already experienced a prolonged period of grief when her beloved grandmother had died—and at far too young an age. But she had been older than Tricia’s ex-husband, Christopher Benson, who hadn’t died of disease but had been murdered.

  Maybe that was why after almost two years, Tricia still thought about him daily. And it wasn’t like he had been an everyday part of her life. After their divorce, it got so that she thought of him only now and then—until he’d reappeared practi
cally on her doorstep with requests to “get back together,” all of which she had ignored.

  But it wasn’t Christopher who was on her mind just then. After that morning’s session, Tricia and Dr. Vought were officially through. Her last piece of advice had been ludicrous, to say the least. “Go read a sexy romance novel, and then visit your friend with benefits.”

  Friend with benefits? That wasn’t how Tricia thought of her relationship with Marshall Cambridge. Okay, they were friends, and they did sometimes have the occasional sleepover, but that didn’t mean . . .

  Good grief, Tricia realized. She and Marshall were friends with benefits!

  And oddly enough, that was all Tricia really wanted from the relationship.

  At least . . . for now.

  But read a sexy romance?

  Forget it.

  Tricia braked as she approached the Stoneham municipal parking lot, which was pretty full on that sunny morning in late June—a morning that was quickly slipping toward noon. After locking the Lexus, Tricia headed for the sidewalk along Main Street, but first she had to pass the Have a Heart romance bookstore, run by her fellow shopkeeper Joyce Widman.

  Tricia paused in front of the big display window.

  Romance.

  It had been a long time since romance had been part of her life. For her, romance had died when Christopher had asked for a divorce. Not counseling, not a trial separation, but divorce. Then he’d gone to the Colorado Rockies to contemplate his navel for several years until he realized what and whom he had discarded.

  Tricia took in the book covers of the paperbacks that populated the display. Bare-chested Scottish heroes with six-pack abs dressed in bold tartan kilts appeared to ravish long-tressed heroines in flowing gowns that flaunted their heaving bosoms. Bold romances reflecting a bolder time. But she wasn’t into historicals and knew the store stocked more than just that subgenre.

  Romantic suspense . . . now, that she would enjoy. A kick-ass story with an adventurous heroine who could not only take care of herself but save the day and have a successful romantic relationship as well. Not with a man who’d abandon her. Not with someone who would turn on and stalk her. Not with a man who feared commitment.

  And not with somebody like Marshall Cambridge?

  That was a tougher question. Their relationship was satisfying in so many ways—but mostly because Marshall let her do her own thing because he was busy doing his own thing. For both of them, it meant running their businesses and their lives without asking permission and without making excuses.

  But if she was honest, Tricia did miss the romance. The weekend trips to quaint locales. Dinners in exclusive restaurants. Snow skiing in the winter, water-skiing in the summer. Giving and receiving little gestures of affection that made her heart sing.

  Tricia sighed. Maybe Dr. Vought was right. Maybe what she needed was to lose herself in the pages of a romance novel. At least temporarily. Because she knew what the real problem was.

  Tricia Miles was bored. Ever since she had given her assistant, Pixie Poe, the job of assistant manager of her vintage mystery bookshop, Haven’t Got a Clue, she’d felt rather lost. And oddly enough, Dr. Vought just couldn’t seem to accept that. Well, it wasn’t her problem.

  Heaving another sigh, Tricia entered the bookshop.

  Joyce had done a nice job decorating her shop with pastel-colored walls, comfortable upholstered chairs in reading nooks, romantic prints decorating the walls, and lots and lots of shelves filled with paperback novels, stock that had been carefully sorted according to genre.

  “Tricia, fancy seeing you here.”

  The voice had come from behind the cash desk. “Hi, Joyce. I came by to find a little reading material.”

  Joyce did a classic double take. “Really?”

  Did she have to sound so skeptical?

  “Yes. Something a little—”

  “Racy?” Joyce suggested and giggled.

  “Not exactly. Something with a lot of suspense and with a heroine who can take on the world.”

  “I should have known you’d like some intrigue.”

  Tricia nodded.

  “I can recommend a number of different series and stand-alone books by a variety of wonderful authors.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Before Joyce could walk around the counter to help Tricia, the door burst open and a matronly woman with a mop of gray hair and an expression filled with fury bounded into the shop.

  “You had to call that tree surgeon when I specifically asked you not to!” the woman protested in what was definitely an outside voice.

  “Hello, Vera,” Joyce said politely, if curtly. “And yes, I did. We talked about it and I told you what my insurance company said. That limb was over my yard and fence and legally I had the right to trim it and its branches.”

  Tricia started to edge away from what might well become a confrontation, but Joyce’s voice stopped her. “Vera, have you met Tricia Miles? She owns the Haven’t Got a Clue mystery bookstore down the street.”

  “No, I haven’t—and why would I care? I don’t have time to read stupid books.”

  Them was fightin’ words, but Tricia didn’t respond to them. She simply said, “Hello.”

  Vera ignored her.

  “That giant limb could have come down in my yard during the next windstorm, and when it did—!”

  “You would have been compensated by insurance. I spoke to my insurance agent, too. But I specifically asked you to wait—”

  “Well, my garden couldn’t wait. It needs full sunlight if I’m to grow vegetables to can for the winter.”

  “Don’t give me that bull. You can buy vegetables at the grocery store or the farmers’ market for a lot less money and effort.”

  Joyce let out a sigh of disgust and looked away.

  “If you touch anything else that grows in my yard, I will sue you for every penny you have. I’ll take this precious shop of yours, too, you—you smut peddler!”

  Vera may as well have slapped Joyce across the cheek as insult her beloved romance novels. Joyce’s mouth dropped open and her cheeks went a vivid pink, but despite that, she did not raise her voice. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  Vera defiantly crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  It was then that the newest hire at the Stoneham Police Department stepped around one of the tall shelves. “Is there a problem here?” asked Officer Cindy Pearson. She looked to be in her mid- to late twenties and stood five ten or so, with a blonde ponytail that stuck out the back of her ball cap with the Stoneham Police Department emblem emblazoned on the front, and her thumbs hooked on her thick leather belt, her service revolver resting on her right hip.

  Vera’s eyes widened in anger, and for a moment Tricia thought the woman might explode, but then she averted her gaze. “The problem is Joyce’s.”

  “I believe Ms. Widman is correct about her right to take care of her property as she sees fit. If you have questions, feel free to contact the Stoneham Police Department to clarify your homeowner rights,” Officer Pearson said.

  Joyce let out a breath and gave the officer a grateful smile. Vera, however, wasn’t placated. She turned her baleful gaze on the bookseller. “You haven’t heard the last of this, Joyce.” And with that parting shot, she turned and bolted from the shop.

  For a long moment, Joyce and the officer just looked at each other, and then the cop spoke. “My lunch break is over. I need to get going. I’ll come back another time to get some books. Feel free to let me or the department know if you have any other problems with your neighbor.”

  “Will do. And thank you,” Joyce said gratefully.

  Officer Pearson touched the brim of her hat and headed out the door.

  “Wow,” Tricia said, “that was uncomfortable. I’m glad the officer wa
s here to defuse the situation.”

  “So am I,” Joyce said. She gave herself a little shake. “Living next to Vera has been a trial. She’s angry that her good friend no longer lives next door and that I bought the property.”

  Frannie Mae Armstrong, who had been Tricia’s sister Angelica’s assistant at the Cookery for almost six years, had had to sell the house in order to pay her legal team’s fees. They had so far not been able to get her released from the county lockup after she’d killed someone and then attempted to kill another. Joyce had swooped in to buy the property and had moved in just after the vernal equinox. Since then, she’d been taking time off from work to make the house and garden her own. Like Tricia, she had a dependable assistant in Lauren Squire.

  “So, you enjoy gardening?” Tricia said, eager to change the subject.

  Joyce nodded. “My parents were organic gardeners long before it became a trend. Their flower gardens were magnificent, but they weren’t much into growing vegetables. I like to do both.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t have much of a green thumb,” Tricia admitted. “I have a couple of pots of herbs on my balcony, but I’d like to try something more ambitious. Would you be willing to give me some pointers?”

  “I’d be happy to. I have some errands to run this afternoon but will be home around three. Why don’t you drop by then and I’ll give you some lettuce and herbs fresh from my garden.”

  “That’s very generous of you. Thank you. See you then.”

  “Wait! What about that book you wanted?”

  Tricia laughed, having forgotten why she’d come into the store in the first place. “Yes, please pick out a few titles for me.”

  “I’m happy to do so,” Joyce said and led Tricia to the nearest bookshelf.

  * * *

  * * *

  It was almost noon when Tricia entered her vintage mystery store, Haven’t Got a Clue. As usual, her former assistant and now assistant manager, Pixie, was speaking with a customer. Tricia’s sister, Angelica, also known as the owner of Nigela Ricita Associates—albeit by not too many—had wanted to poach Pixie, whose checkered, lady-of-the-night past couldn’t belie the fact that she was an extraordinarily talented woman. So Tricia had elevated Pixie from assistant to assistant manager, giving her the responsibility that went with the title, and Pixie had excelled far beyond Tricia’s expectations. So much so that Tricia now felt like an extraneous cog in the machinery that was Haven’t Got a Clue. Tricia had no husband, and now she didn’t seem to have a store to run, either. Oh, she still handled the bookkeeping and other sundry tasks for the business, but Pixie had quite successfully taken over the rest of the operation.