Murder in the Reading Room Read online

  Praise for Ellery Adams’s Previous Mysteries

  The Secret, Book & Scone Society

  “Adams launches an intriguing new mystery series, headed by four spirited amateur sleuths and touched with a hint of magical realism, which celebrates the power of books and women’s friendships. Adams’s many fans, readers of Sarah Addison Allen, and anyone who loves novels that revolve around books will savor this tasty treat.”

  —Library Journal, Starred Review, Pick of the Month

  “Adams (Peach Pies and Alibis, 2013) kicks off a new series featuring strong women, a touch of romance and mysticism, and both the cunning present-day mystery and the slowly revealed secrets of the intriguing heroines’ pasts.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  “This affecting series launch from Adams provides all the best elements of a traditional mystery . . . Well-drawn characters complement a plot with an intriguing twist or two.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Adams’s new series blends magical realism, smart women, and small-town quirks to create a cozy mystery that doubles as a love letter to books. Readers will fall in love with Nora’s bookstore therapy and Hester’s comfort scones. Not to mention Estella, June, hunky Jed the paramedic, and Nora’s tiny house-slash-converted-train-caboose.... Overall this is a book that mystery fans—and avid readers—won’t want to put down until they have savored every last crumb.”

  —RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

  Praise for Murder in the Locked Library

  “Creating a group of suspects that will keep readers intrigued until the last page, Ellery Adams has proven one thing with this book: this is one series that should and will go on for a long time to come. In fact, the author has done such a brilliant job, readers will find themselves wanting to live in Storyton, no matter how many people end up dead there.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  “Ellery does a wonderful job of capturing the essence of this whodunit with visually descriptive narrative that not only lends itself to engaging dialogue but also to seeing the action through the eyes of Jane and her fellow characters.”

  —Dru’s Book Musings

  “In Murder in the Locked Library . . . there is a very old pile of bones, an old book buried with the bones, and plenty more bodies are discovered. There are laugh-out-loud moments along with the serious which makes for a most enjoyable read. Avid readers will keep this novel on their keeper shelves! Ellery Adams is a marvelous writer; she intertwines famous quotes, famous authors, and famous books to create mystery magic.”

  —RT Book Reviews, Top Pick

  Also by Ellery Adams

  THE SECRET, BOOK & SCONE SOCIETY MYSTERIES

  The Secret, Book & Scone Society

  The Whispered Word

  BOOK RETREAT MYSTERIES

  Murder in the Mystery Suite

  Murder in the Paperback Parlor

  Murder in the Secret Garden

  Murder in the Locked Library

  MURDER IN THE RENDING ROOM

  ELLERY ADAMS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Ellery Adams’s Previous Mysteries

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Epigraph

  Also by

  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

  Epilogue

  THE SECRET, BOOK & SCONE SOCIETY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 Ellery Adams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

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

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  KENSINGTON BOOKS and the K logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1565-4

  Electronic edition:

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1566-1 (e-book)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-1566-7 (e-book)

  They were going to look at war, the red animal—war, the blood-swollen god.

  —Stephen Crane

  I am sure that if the mothers of various nations could meet, there would be no more wars.

  —E. M. Forster

  Welcome to Storyton Hall

  OUR STAFF IS HERE TO SERVE YOU

  Resort Manager—Jane Steward

  Butler—Mr. Butterworth

  Head Librarian—Mr. Sinclair

  Head Chauffeur—Mr. Sterling

  Head of Recreation—Mr. Lachlan

  Head of Housekeeping—Mrs. Pimpernel

  Head Cook—Mrs. Hubbard

  SELECT MERCHANTS OF STORYTON VILLAGE

  Run for Cover Bookshop—Eloise Alcott

  Daily Bread Café—Edwin Alcott

  Cheshire Cat Pub—Bob and Betty Carmichael

  The Canvas Creamery—Phoebe Doyle

  La Grande Dame Clothing Boutique—

  Mabel Wimberly

  Tresses Hair Salon—Violet Osborne

  The Pickled Pig Market—the Hogg brothers

  Geppetto’s Toy Shop—Barnaby Nicholas

  Hilltop Stables—Sam Nolan

  The Potter’s Shed—Tom Green

  Storyton Outfitters—Phil and Sandi Hughes

  BILTMORE ESTATE PERSONNEL

  Manager – Ramsey Parrish

  Former Manager – Julian Douglas

  Head Gardener – Gerald Tucker

  BACKSTORY CLUB OFFICERS

  Clarence Kelley

  Michael Murphy

  Archibald Banks

  Chapter One

  Jane Steward was heading straight into the storm.

  At least I can see the storm in front of me, she thought as she turned on her windshield wipers. The other storm I’m racing toward is invisible.

  The rain struck the pickup truck with timidity, but Jane knew that it was only a matter of moments before the drops changed from hesitant taps to a machine-gun hammer.

  Ahead, the sky was smudged with gray. Soot-colored thunderclouds hovered over the ridges of the Appalachian Mountains. In some places, the clouds had descended low enough to cover the valleys in mist. There were farmhouses and fields in those valleys, but Jane couldn’t see them. Her world consisted of a dark road and a darker sky.

  And noise.

  One of the windshield blades squeaked with every pass, and as the rain picked up its pace, Jane had to turn the wipers to a higher speed setting. This made the squeak sound like the whine of a petulant child.

  Between the rain, the wiper blade, and the groan of trac
tor-trailer engines adjusting to the winding road, Jane was glad for her taciturn passenger. Landon Lachlan, head of Storyton Hall’s Recreation Department, rarely spoke. He’d spent most of the trip from Virginia staring out the window in contemplative silence.

  Jane could guess his thoughts. Or more accurately, she could guess which questions were whirling inside his head. The same questions whipped around in hers, echoing the wind that threatened to push their vehicle into the next lane.

  Gripping the steering wheel harder, Jane focused on what awaited them once they were clear of the storm.

  Ahead, in Asheville, there would be new hazards. If Jane’s theory that her lover was being held captive at Biltmore Estate was correct, there would be danger.

  If she was wrong, then Edwin Alcott was beyond her reach. She was certain he would die if she and Lachlan didn’t rescue him, so here they were.

  Edwin had been gone for nearly two months. During that time, his sister, the manager of his restaurant, and Jane had all received postcards written in Edwin’s hand. Jane didn’t think the words were his. However, she’d had no way to prove this until her twin sons, Fitzgerald and Hemingway, were kidnapped. It was at the abductor’s house that she discovered a clue to Edwin’s whereabouts.

  The clue had been a Templar cross pinned to a map. The location was Asheville, North Carolina. Jane was positive that the pin marked Biltmore, and she was equally sure that the Templars were responsible for Edwin’s disappearance.

  How I wish I had that map, she thought mournfully. But the map was gone. It had burned, along with the rest of the kidnapper’s house. That despicable man had taken Jane’s sons. He’d threatened what she held most dear. He’d taunted her, deceived her, and laughed at her. He’d also provided invaluable hints about Edwin. And while it seemed like madness to take a madman at his word, Jane was doing just that.

  Her sons had come out of the ordeal unscathed. As for Edwin’s welfare, Jane couldn’t say. She needed to see him, face-to-face, before she’d believe that he was okay.

  Not too long ago, she would have laughed over the absurdity of her mission. If someone had told her that she came from a long line of Stewards who vowed to guard a secret library filled with rare and potentially dangerous, books, she would have called them crazy. If she’d had an inkling that the Knights Templar was still a functioning society, and that it had split into multiple brotherhoods, one of which was determined to locate Storyton Hall’s hidden library at any cost, she would have gone elsewhere following her husband’s death.

  “We’re not making very good time,” she said to Lachlan as lightning rippled over the dark sky. Seconds later, there was another brilliant fracture. And a third.

  “I have a feeling caution won’t be a priority once we get to Biltmore,” Lachlan said.

  Lachlan was part of an elite group called the Fins. These former military men had specialized combat training and had pledged to protect the members of the Steward family with their lives. Despite this, they managed to pull off their Storyton Hall staff member personas with conviction.

  Jane glanced at him and shrugged. “I’m just a resort manager attending the Luxury Lodging Symposium, and I plan to use that cover to my full advantage. We have three days to find Edwin. We don’t have time for caution.”

  “If Biltmore is a secret Templar hideout, their people will monitor everyone who passes through their doors. Just as we do,” Lachlan said. “We might be able to count on one employee. When I met Master Gardener Gerald Tucker at a lecture on rehabilitating raptors, I knew he was a really decent person. After researching Mr. Tucker, Mr. Sterling agrees that the veteran gardener could be helpful. But he’s very devoted to Biltmore. He won’t tell us a thing unless we gain his trust.”

  “Mr. Tucker is Army Retired? Like you?” Jane asked.

  A curtain fell over Lachlan’s features. He didn’t like to discuss his time as an Army Ranger. The atrocities he’d witnessed during his tours still haunted him. These ghosts from the past appeared without warning, paralyzing his emotions and causing him to withdraw deep inside himself. Jane had witnessed this sad transformation, but Lachlan always came through for her and her family when called upon. Jane just hoped that his PTSD would remain dormant over the next few days. Lachlan was the only person she had to rely on, and Jane needed his fighting and tracking skills. In addition to these talents, women of all ages found Lachlan irresistible. If Jane could exploit his roguish good looks and quiet charm to save Edwin’s life, she would.

  “What about your Biltmore manager friend?”

  “Julian Douglas.” Jane repeated the name for Lachlan’s benefit. “He’s a former manager. He doesn’t have the level of responsibility he once did, but he can access restricted areas of the estate. Mr. Douglas still has the keys to open all those doors closed to the public.”

  Lachlan glanced out the window. “From what I’ve read, that’s a ton of doors.”

  Jane lapsed into a reflective silence. Lachlan was right. There were lots of doors. And rooms. And outbuildings. The French-style chateau had 250 rooms and over four acres of floor space. Storyton Hall was an impressive manor house, but Biltmore was colossal in comparison.

  One of the things that separated the two estates was money. Biltmore’s coffers never seemed to run dry. The gardens and lawns were impeccably manicured, there were multiple inns, shops, and eateries on the grounds, and an army of staff kept everything in tip-top order.

  During the past week, Jane and Sinclair, Storyton Hall’s head librarian, had read everything they could about Biltmore. They began their research by familiarizing themselves with its construction. They studied blueprints, photographs, newspaper articles, letters, and archived materials referring to the chateau.

  Jane felt that she knew George Vanderbilt and his incredible house after reading so much material. However, she was sure there were plenty of details left unwritten concerning Biltmore and its occupants throughout history. She still had much to learn.

  “The house features multiple secret passages,” Jane had said to Sinclair a few nights ago. “Most of the books state that Vanderbilt requested these because he wanted his rooms to have a seamless look.” Jane had pointed at two photos. One showed a door in the billiard room that was noticeable only because it was ajar. Otherwise, it would have been camouflaged by its wood paneling and framed art. The second photo was of a similar door. This one was in the breakfast room. Jane imagined that other doors were better concealed than these and had shared her theory with Sinclair.

  “I have no doubt there are more hidden doors, passageways, and rooms than we’ll read about in books,” Sinclair had said. “There is another resource to consider, Miss Jane.”

  Jane had met her mentor’s kind, intelligent gaze and known what he was implying. He was suggesting she enter Storyton Hall’s secret library to search for material on both Vanderbilt and his famous house.

  Immediately following this discussion, Jane and Sinclair had taken the staff stairs to the only private apartments in Storyton Hall. After greeting the residents of these apartments, Uncle Aloysius and Aunt Octavia, Jane had entered her great-aunt’s closet and removed the tiny key once kept inside a locket around her neck. The key was now hidden in a compartment on the back of her oval wristwatch. Uncle Aloysius did the work himself, astonishing Jane with his cleverness.

  “I can be quite handy,” he’d said, touching the brim of his ratty old fishing cap. “I’ve made my entire collection of flies and hooks, you know.”

  “Your tinkering is most charming, Aloysius,” Jane’s great-aunt had said. “We all need hobbies. They prevent us from becoming dull.”

  As Jane had slid the key into the keyhole behind the air vent in her great-aunt’s closet, she thought about George Vanderbilt’s hobbies. Like the Stewards, he was a devoted reader and collector. His personal library contained over twenty-two thousand books, and he kept a record of all the titles he read. He was also friends with famous authors like Edith Wharton and Henry James.
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  Jane hadn’t wanted to unearth dark secrets about George Vanderbilt—a bibliophile, an art lover, and a conservationist. Luckily, there was nothing nefarious to discover. She and Sinclair had ascended the narrow spiral staircase to the secret library, where they’d searched a document drawer filled with letters. They’d found a single missive written by George Vanderbilt to Uncle Aloysius’s father. The letter was congenial and polite—written to an acquaintance, not a close friend. Vanderbilt praised Storyton Hall and its reading rooms and went on to mention the books he’d recently read. He finished by inviting Cyril Steward to visit Biltmore.

  “I’m not sure why this letter is here,” Jane had said to Sinclair. “It’s completely innocuous.”

  Sinclair had looked pensive. “There must be a reason it was stored here and not with the rest of Mr. Steward’s personal papers.”

  “I’ll take a photo with my phone. We can study it later.”

  Jane and Sinclair had returned to the Henry James Library and resumed their reading on the Vanderbilts and Biltmore.

  The blare of a car horn snapped Jane out of her reverie. She checked her rearview mirror and glared at the minivan behind her. It was within inches of her bumper, and she was already driving over the speed limit.