It's been awhile since I did straight up cozy mystery. So this is quite an interesting creative experiment.
The thing about cozies...it's not just the no onscreen violence and sex. It's the whole tone. The whole attitude. The point of cozies is...COZINESS.
The rule about NEVER KILL A CAT? That came from the world of cozy mystery. And the sacrosanctness of kitty-cat life--it's not just symbolic. It's fundamental. There is a reason there is no cursing in the world of cozy mystery. WHAT IS THERE TO CURSE ABOUT (unless you're a villain) WHEN YOU KNOW YOUR CAT (AND DOG--AND THEREFORE, NATURALLY, YOUR CHILD AND MOTHER AND BOYFRIEND) IS SAFE.
The point of the cozy mystery is a story where even murder can fray, but not really tear the fabric of society. Which is certainly a comforting thought. And sometimes you need those comforting thoughts.
Anyway, a sneak peek at MURDER AT PIRATE'S COVE, first book in the Secrets and Scrabble series.
BLURB:
First in an adorable new series!
Ellery Page, aspiring screenwriter, Scrabble champion and guy-with-worst-luck-in-the-world-when-it-comes-to-dating, is ready to make a change. So when he learns he's inherited both a failing bookshop and a falling-down mansion in the quaint seaside village of Pirate's Cove in Rhode Island, it's full steam ahead!
Sure enough, the village is charming, its residents amusingly eccentric, and widowed police chief Jack Carson is decidedly yummy (though possibly as straight as he is stern). However, the bookstore is failing, the mansion is falling down, and there's that little drawback of finding rival bookseller—and head of the unwelcoming-committee—Trevor Maples dead during the annual Buccaneer Days celebration.
EXCERPT:
Ellery was quickly getting over his slight and very brief interest in Chief Carson. Chief Carson had turned out to be an insensitive, unimaginative jerk.
Anyway. It had been several hours since Ellery had first crept into The Crow’s Nest store and found Trevor Maples clad in pirate’s costume dead on his floor. Chief Carson had been first on the scene, but to Ellery’s relief, the chief was not the only law enforcement officer in Pirate’s Cove. He actually had a couple of officers in his teeny tiny police department—and the full resources of the Rhode Island State Police. In fact, Ellery had sort of assumed the State Police would take over the investigation, but no. It seemed that at least for now, Chief Carson was still in charge.
And covering the same ground over and over. For example, this was the second time they’d been over the subject of how and why Trevor had decided to turn up dead in Ellery’s bookshop. What else was there to say beyond I. Don’t. Know?
Of course, murder had to be a new experience for the chief too. The nearest thing to crime Pirate’s Cove experienced was a bit of drunk and disorderly on the weekends. Maybe Carson was also feeling defensive. Maybe he was worried the State Police were going to take away his first and only murder case.
“When was the last time you spoke to Maples?” Carson asked. This too was not a new question. Did he think if he changed his wording, he might get a different answer?
“I told you,” Ellery replied. “This afternoon. He offered to buy The Crow’s Nest again. He told me I could name my price—within reason.”
Were Carson’s eyes more green than blue? It was hard to tell. The only thing for sure was they were as bright and hard as sea glass. “And what was your price?”
“I told him I didn’t want to sell.”
The dark and forbidding line of Carson’s brows rose skeptically. “And did he buy that?”
Ellery was momentarily confused. “Did he—?”
Carson said with a trace of impatience, “Did he accept your refusal?”
“Oh. No. I don’t know. I think he thought I was still negotiating for a better price.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“No?” Carson didn’t bother trying to hide his disbelief.
Ellery shook his head. “I like it here. I told him that. I wouldn’t be going to all this trouble of renovating the shop if my plan was just to sell.”
Carson looked taken aback. Or at least as taken aback as someone like he could look. “You’re planning to stay in Pirate’s Cove?”
“Well, yes. That was the idea. That was my great-aunt’s idea.”
Brow furrowed, Carson jotted down a couple of notes in a small black book. He had long fingers. His hands were tanned and strong but the nails were neatly trimmed and filed. Not exactly conclusive proof, but… The scratching of his pencil was the only sound filling the void of silence stretching between them.
Ellery watched uneasily. His mind was racing. Carson couldn’t think he’d done it. Could he? That was preposterous. And yet, there was something going on here, something in Carson’s attitude that made Ellery nervous. What was it that Carson knew and Ellery didn’t?
“How’s the shop doing?” Carson asked, without looking up from his notes.
Ellery shrugged.
Carson raised his head. “Could you be more specific?”
“From what everyone tells me, this is the slow season.”
Carson’s mouth curved without humor. “But you’re turning a profit?”
“No.”
“You’re breaking even?”
Ellery grimaced. “No.”
“You’re losing money.” It was not a question.
Why was Carson hammering away on this point? Ellery said cautiously, “The renovations cost money, but that’s to be expected.”
Carson pushed back in his chair, said almost conversationally, “I remember your aunt. She was quite a character. And not one to beat about the bush. According to her, The Crow’s Nest had been running in the red for some time. The last time I spoke to her, she was weighing whether to sell up or close the doors for good.”
Ellery’s sinking confidence sprang another leek.
“Was she going to sell to Trevor Maples?”
“You tell me.”
Ellery stared into Chief Carson’s eyes. He could see Carson wanted to get his reaction, so okay. His reaction was confusion and guilt. If Aunt Eudora really had agreed to sell to Trevor, Trevor’s persistence made more sense.
“All I know is my great-aunt left the bookstore and her house to me, and I’m doing my best to turn things around. The business is doing as expected for this time of year. If there was an agreement with Trevor, I’m unaware of it. And Mr. Landry, Aunt Eudora’s lawyer, was unaware of it.”
Chief Carson nodded, made another note. “How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Maples?”
Trevor had been telling the truth the whole time. No wonder he had been so impatient and exasperated with Ellery’s decision to stay in Pirate’s Cove. Especially when it was probably obvious that Ellery had no more chance of making The Crow’s Nest a success than Aunt Eudora had.
“Mr. Page?” Chief Carson’s voice broke through Ellery’s reverie. He stared at the chief. Carson was tall and lean. He had an athletic build, but he didn’t tower, he wasn’t physically imposing. So why did it feel like he was taking up all the space in the small office?
“What?”
“Tell me about your relationship with Mr. Maples.”
“There was no relationship. He wanted to buy the bookstore. I didn’t want to sell. He wasn’t used to being told no.” Ellery shrugged.
“It’s fair to say the relationship was contentious?”
“I don’t know that it’s fair to say that. It’s not like we exchanged words.” Actually, yes, today’s encounter probably qualified as exchanging words. Both he and Trevor had been testy, and toward the end, Trevor had bordered on threatening. Ellery revised, “It’s not like we came to blows.”
“How many times would you say you and Maples argued?”
Meeting Carson’s cool and steady gaze, Ellery felt the hair on his scalp prickle with unease. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Chief, but you saw me in the Salty Dog this evening. I have an alibi. You can confirm my alibi. Right?”
“I saw you in the Salty Dog around eight o’clock this evening. You were there for about forty-five minutes,” Carson agreed. “The ME’s preliminary examination puts Maples’ time of death between five and seven p.m. So as alibis go…”
Ellery could think of nothing to say. Should he keep quiet? Should he keep trying to explain? What was the real-life protocol? He had nothing to hide, and yet it was increasingly clear that Carson believed he was somehow involved.
I have a number of manuscripts like that which came to light when the SO was emptying out our old house. I think it's a sign of trust when you let another person--even your SO--sort through your old journals, manuscripts, love letters, etc. The most embarrassing part is seeing through his eyes the items I saw fit to keep for thirty years. WHY?
