Proof of Murder (Beyond the Page Bookstore Mystery #4) - Lauren Elliott Page 0,3
lamp displayed on a side table alongside a rare Georgian Irish decanter marked WATERLOO CO. CORK, circa 1815.
She blinked. Twice. This was tempting. Even though she knew they would be pricey, she hesitated, but then . . . Nope, she was on a quest and couldn’t allow herself to be sidetracked by all the bright, shiny objects around her. She had another goal on her mind. Addie excused her way through a logjam of people to the library. For her that was where the real treasures would be found.
She stood openmouthed in the double-wide doorway. Now this was a bibliophile’s paradise. Her eyes widened as they took in the splendor of the room. It was everything her own library wasn’t, and she could see now why the front study was half the size of hers. The missing square footage in the other room had been added to this one. This was exactly what she’d always dreamed a home library should be, starting with the large, ornately carved desk set in front of an inglenook fireplace that was flanked on either side by built-in bookshelves that extended floor to ceiling around the perimeter of the massive room. In front of each of the three, lead-pained windows were six leather armchairs placed in groups of twos, each pair snuggled up into cozy reading nooks created by their placement on Oriental throw rugs laid over the polished wooden-planked floor. This was her Disneyland, and her heart danced like that of a ten-year-old girl who had just entered the library in Beauty and the Beast.
She inhaled the stale, dusty, aged-leather scents hovering in the air and stepped inside. An icy chill wrapped around her. Glancing at the large closed windows, she rubbed her hands over her arms and took stock of the bookshelves. In the light of the room—growing muted by the increasing storm clouds outside—she spied a woman crouched down in front of a barrister’s bookcase. The woman shook the unyielding door latch and stood up, her long, wavy, auburn hair swinging across her back. She straightened her embroidered suede bomber jacket and adjusted the sunglasses propped on top of her head, then tapped her bloodred manicured fingernails on the glass door.
Addie squinted. It can’t be. “Kalea Hudson? Is that you?”
The woman swung around. Her face lit up with recognition. “Hi, cuz.”
“What on earth are you doing here?” Addie dashed toward her and flung her arms around Kalea’s neck, squeezing her in a tight hug.
“I was just in the neighborhood.” Kalea squealed, returning her embrace.
“I’m not buying that.” Addie eyed her. “Greyborne Harbor is hardly on a direct route to anywhere, and an auction preview is the last place I’d expect to find you lurking about.”
“What? Can’t a cousin drop into town unannounced?” She shifted her weight onto one beige, skinny-panted hip and fluttered her long false lashes. “And, I’ll have you know”—she flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes—“that I’m not the same party-girl you once knew. I have expanded my horizons.”
“I always did hold out hope that you’d come to your senses.” Addie smiled and held her by the shoulders. “But it’s been years. Since college, if I remember correctly. Why didn’t you call and tell me you were coming to town?”
Kalea’s cheeks rosied against her porcelain complexion. She draped an arm around Addie’s shoulders and squeezed. “I was going to drop in on you after I finished here. You know, a surprise, but it looks like you’ve found me out. So, surprise!”
“Aw, I’ve missed you. Ten years is way too long.”
“I totally agree.” Kalea grinned at her cousin. “But I promise now to keep in better touch since I’ve settled down in Cape Cod—”
“What are you doing in here?” a voice shrieked from the doorway.
Addie spun around and looked at the enraged birdlike woman looming in the door.
“Didn’t you see the door sign?” The woman’s beaked mouth set firm-lipped. “This area is not prepared for viewing.”
Addie glanced at the open door. A NO ENTRY sign was taped on what would have been the exterior side. She could tell by the set of the woman’s jaw that she expected an answer. “I’m terribly sorry. It was open when I came in and I didn’t see—”
The woman crossed her long, slender arms in front of her navy two-piece, pencil-skirted suit that cried Saks Fifth Avenue, and flipped her brown, up-swept haired head, tapping her foot, glaring at them.