A Murder Between the Pages Read online

  Also by Amy Lillard

  MAIN STREET BOOK CLUB MYSTERIES

  Can’t Judge a Book by Its Murder

  OTHER MYSTERIES

  Unsavory Notions

  Pattern of Betrayal

  O Little Town of Sugarcreek

  Shoo, Fly, Shoo

  Stranger Things Have Happened

  Kappy King and the Puppy Kaper

  Kappy King and the Pickle Kaper

  Kappy King and the Pie Kaper

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

  Brodie’s Bride

  All You Need Is Love

  Can’t Buy Me Love

  Love Potion Me, Baby

  Southern Hospitality

  Southern Comfort

  Southern Charm

  The Trouble with Millionaires

  Take Me Back to Texas

  Blame It on Texas

  Ten Reasons Not to Date a Cop

  Loving a Lawman

  Healing a Heart

  AMISH ROMANCE

  Saving Gideon

  Katie’s Choice

  Gabriel’s Bride

  Caroline’s Secret

  Courting Emily

  Lorie’s Heart

  Just Plain Sadie

  Titus Returns

  Marrying Jonah

  The Quilting Circle

  A Wells Landing Christmas

  A Mamm for Christmas, The Amish Christmas collection

  A Summer Wedding in Paradise, The Amish Brides collection

  A Home for Hannah

  A Love for Leah

  A Family for Gracie

  HISTORICAL ROMANCE

  The Wildflower Bride

  The Gingerbread Bride, 12 Brides of Christmas collection

  As Good As Gold, The Oregon Trail Romance collection

  Not So Pretty Penny, Lassoed by Marriage collection

  Thank you for downloading this Sourcebooks eBook!

  You are just one click away from…

  • Being the first to hear about author happenings

  • VIP deals and steals

  • Exclusive giveaways

  • Free bonus content

  • Early access to interactive activities

  • Sneak peeks at our newest titles

  Happy reading!

  CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2020 by Amy Lillard

  Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks

  Cover art by Brandon Dorman

  Internal images © Shutterstock

  Sourcebooks, Poisoned Pen Press, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  www.sourcebooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Lillard, Amy, author.

  Title: Murder between the pages / Amy Lillard.

  Description: Naperville, Illinois : Poisoned Pen Press, [2020] | Series:

  Main Street Book Club ; book 2

  Identifiers: LCCN 2020018072 (print) Subjects: GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3612.I4 M87 2020 (print) | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020018072

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  I’m always asked if I make characters who are representative of real people in my life. Well, yes and no. Most times, the characters come to me with their own set of quirks and baggage, but there are occasions when I add a little something to reflect people I know. Camille’s handbag is one such incidence.

  My best friend’s mother always carried a handbag with remarkable things inside. Need a tissue? Mary’s got it. Fingernail clippers? Just ask Mary. Lotion? Lipstick? Three-eighths socket wrench? Mary. And the most interesting thing about her handbag is she never set it down. Even when she was at my friend’s house! She would have it sitting primly in her lap, as if guarding its secrets.

  Her family always swore that if anything happened to her, they would call 9-1-1, then dig through her bag to see what all was in there while they waited for the ambulance.

  Then this past year something did happen, and her family forgot all about that vow. Until later, that is. So what was in Mary’s handbag? It’s a secret that I will take to my grave. But if you want an idea, watch Camille and see what she drags out of her bag, for her character was inspired by Mary. So it is to her that I dedicate this book.

  To Mary Falkenhan, wonder woman, stroke victim, and now, angel. A wonderful lady (in every sense of the word) who I am sure is in heaven right now, sitting with her handbag resting in her lap and telling God her favorite joke. “Sue’s mom had three children…”

  Chapter 1

  “Let us come too. Please…” Fern lifted her chin, sensing what was coming next.

  “No.” Arlo’s voice was clipped as she set down the stack of books she had been shelving and made her way over to the reading area where the book club ladies held their daily meetings. She knew Fern was only trying to drag her into their conversation, and she had taken the bait, but ever since the book club started meeting at Arlo and Chloe’s Books and More, she’d been forced to keep them all in line. “You are not going out to Lillyfield mansion and bothering Mrs. Whitney under the guise of me picking up a donation.”

  “But—”

  “No,” Arlo repeated. “I have to collect a box of books, but that doesn’t mean I need any help.” Or distraction.

  Book club. She almost snorted at the title. It had become a hen party, plain and simple, but there was no way she was telling them they couldn’t meet. Not only had they helped solve Wally Harrison’s murder just a few months before, but one of the members was her guardian. Well, at least she had been back when Arlo had needed a guardian.

  “Elly,”
Arlo started, using the special name she had for Helen. Her plea didn’t work. The ladies were already in full let’s-solve-a-mystery mode. And their latest centered on their most recent book club read.

  “But what about the book?” Camille asked.

  “There’s no mystery to be solved there,” Arlo said as gently as she could. Behind her, Chloe Carter, her best friend and bookstore business partner, slammed a cabinet shut in the coffee bar that sat opposite the reading nook.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, still loud enough for them to hear. Whatever. She wasn’t fooling Arlo. Chloe had made the noise to camouflage her own laughter. She thought it was brilliantly funny that Arlo had to spend most of her time these days making sure the book club members didn’t get in the way of the police and their real investigations. Well, it had been when they were trying to uncover who killed Wally. This time they had simply made up a mystery. Or rather, Wally had.

  Wallace J. Harrison was the closest thing Sugar Springs had to a celebrity. More so now that he was…well, let’s just say that he was even more popular posthumously. Not even Mads Keller, current police chief and former running back for the Sugar Springs Blue Devils, could touch his celeb status. And Mads had spent years playing for the San Francisco 49ers. Wally was a writer. Had been, anyway. He had written a runaway bestseller before his death. Missing Girl had spent many weeks at number one on the New York Times bestseller list and even longer in the top ten.

  “There most certainly is.” Fern nodded her head emphatically, while Helen and Camille mimicked the sentiment.

  When Arlo had put out the notice that she was starting a Friday night book club, she had hoped to get the young and hip citizens of Sugar Springs to come and chat. Okay, maybe not hip, but at least people who weren’t decades past retirement. Instead she had gotten three of the oldest and most unique residents who were now determined to actually solve mysteries instead of reading them.

  There was Camille Kinny, who had never managed to lose her Aussie accent though she had been in America for longer than Arlo had been alive. She had taught English at the high school to almost everyone in town. And she had forgotten more about books than most people learned in a lifetime.

  Helen Johnson, who owned the Sugar Springs Inn, had become Arlo’s guardian when Arlo’s hippie family had decided that six months in Sugar Springs was more than plenty. They had liked the town well enough; they just didn’t like staying in one place for too long. While Arlo’s brother, Woody, loved the lifestyle, Arlo had had enough. She dug in her heels and demanded she get to stay. She had been sixteen at the time, old enough, her parents decided, to make up her mind about such things so that’s exactly what she did. And she had been in Sugar Springs with Elly ever since.

  Then there was Fern Conley, who was as grumpy as Helen was welcoming, but Arlo loved her all the same. There was a freshness about Fern. She didn’t sugarcoat things, preferring the direct route. Sometimes her words came out harsh, but they were always the truth. Or at least, the truth as she saw it.

  “In fact,” Fern continued, “it’s the biggest unsolved mystery in Sugar Springs.”

  “You cannot go out to Lillyfield mansion and bother that poor woman,” Arlo insisted.

  “You’re going,” Camille pointed out.

  “To pick up a box of books they want to donate to the store.” Arlo kept a case of used books in Books and More, classics and donations mostly, but it did offer a variety for the readers in town. And she was always willing to sift through donated boxes for anything acceptable. “I was invited.”

  “It’s been a month since her stroke,” Fern protested.

  “A month is not nearly long enough for someone to recover,” Arlo returned.

  “Every stroke is different,” Helen chimed in.

  “The internet says six months to two years. But after about six months a person has gained back all the mobility and skills that they most probably will.” Camille had looked up the information on her phone.

  “See? Judith Whitney has not had time to recover properly. Which is exactly why you should remain here and, gee, I don’t know…talk about the book.” Arlo frowned. “You are a book club, remember?”

  Helen glared at Camille. “Thanks a lot.”

  “We are talking about the book,” Camille explained sweetly, ignoring Helen’s sarcasm. She shifted her purse in her lap but never made a move to set it on the floor. Or anywhere for that matter; the square white handbag was always solidly perched on her knees. The ladies had already told her that if she ever collapsed, they were looking in her purse before they called 9-1-1. No one knew what all she had in that mysterious receptacle of hers, and once she started digging around inside, only heaven knew what object she would unearth or what repercussions might follow.

  “Asking Judith Whitney about a disappearance that happened forty years ago—”

  “Fifty,” Helen corrected.

  Arlo sighed. “Fifty years ago is not talking about the book.”

  “It is if said disappearance is the subject of the book,” Fern countered.

  Arlo might as well face it. Her arguments were pointless—at least when Helen, Camille, and Fern were involved. She moved around the couch and plopped down next to Helen. “Seriously. How do you reckon that Wally’s book is the same as the case of Mary Kennedy?”

  “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty,” Faulkner, Arlo’s African gray parrot, squawked from his cage. He preferred to be let out as much as possible, but with the book club meeting and the fact that Auggie, Chloe’s cat, was still staying upstairs in Sam Tucker’s office, Arlo thought it best to limit his free time.

  Helen leaned over toward the cage. “Gimme a kiss,” she crooned to the bird. She pursed her lips as Faulkner gently nipped at her with his beak.

  Arlo rolled her eyes. She had told Helen too many times to count that the move was dangerous. One day she was afraid that Faulkner would bite too hard and Helen would be lipless.

  When she said as much to her guardian, Helen would just laugh and wave away Arlo’s concern, stating that she would rather live life on the edge.

  Arlo had no argument to that.

  “It’s A to B,” Camille explained. “There’s a missing girl in the book. You know…that’s probably why he named it Missing Girl. And there was a missing girl here.”

  Arlo closed her eyes ever so briefly and even managed to bite back her incredulous sigh.

  “And the last time she was seen, she was leaving Lillyfield after giving Baxter Whitney a piano lesson,” Fern added.

  Sugar Springs folklore. Arlo had heard the story before; everyone in town had. How the woman, Mary Kennedy, piano teacher and organist at the First Baptist, had simply vanished fifty years before. Her car went missing, and there had been no sign of her since she had driven through the gates of Lillyfield mansion. The mansion had always had the large iron gates, but they hadn’t always had security cameras. And once she was out of sight, she was gone.

  Just like the lady in Missing Girl.

  Arlo shook her head. “There are differences between the case and Wally’s book. A lot of them.”

  Fern waved off her protest with a “bah” and a flick of one hand. “It’s fiction.”

  “Right.” Arlo felt as if she were reasoning with a brick wall, or maybe a two-year-old. Same difference. “If it’s fiction, then it’s not true.”

  “Not all of it,” Fern reasoned.

  This was getting her nowhere fast.

  “Hey, ladies.” Sam Tucker greeted them from the doorway that led to the third floor staircase. “What are we talking about?”

  “Sam!” All eyes turned to him.

  The second floor was filled with shelves and comfy chairs, but Arlo and Chloe had decided to rent out the top floor in order to help make ends meet. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that Sam Tucker, her old flame, would set up shop there. He picked up Au
ggie, who had wandered down at his side, and carted him over to the sitting area.

  “Here, kitty, kitty,” Faulkner crooned.

  “I thought you were keeping him upstairs,” Arlo admonished. The words sounded ridiculous. Auggie wasn’t even Sam’s cat, but he had stayed with him a few weeks before when Chloe went to jail during the Wally Harrison investigation. Chloe was worried about moving him again so soon and had asked if Sam could keep him a while longer. It was a fine plan except for Faulkner. He and Auggie saw fit to attack each other on a regular basis. They didn’t come across as outright enemies, but they tussled around enough to worry Arlo that their play could turn dangerous.

  “You know Auggie.”

  She did. And the ginger-striped feline seemed to do whatever he pleased. Wasn’t that just the way with cats? She wouldn’t know. She had never had one. Her family’s nomadic lifestyle had never allowed for one, and when she moved into Helen’s inn, it had always been a health and allergy worry. Faulkner was the closest she had to a childhood pet.

  The bird began to chatter and whistle.

  “Take him back upstairs, please,” Arlo said, with a nod in Auggie’s direction. “I don’t want to have to cover Faulkner’s cage.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?” Sam pouted when he asked the question, but his eyes twinkled. Those baby blues had once been the very reason Arlo had believed they could have a future together. The wishful thinking of a naive eighteen-year-old. And yet there were times when she still wondered…

  “Of course not.” Arlo didn’t have to answer; Helen, Camille, and Fern did it for her. Though she would have said the same thing.

  “Put the cat back upstairs, then come tell Arlo how we really need to go out to the mansion,” Fern instructed.

  Sam chuckled, then scooped up Auggie once again. He disappeared into the stairwell, then reappeared seconds later, sans the cat. “I’m not sure I can do that.”

  It was a miracle they were even thinking about listening to Arlo. Ever since she had started the book club, she had been the voice of reason, an oftentimes ignored voice. And all she was supposed to be was a host. Instead she felt like a babysitter of juvenile delinquents. Okay, maybe it hadn’t been that bad. But in the few short weeks since she posted her flyers about the club, they had certainly had their adventures.