A Killer Clue, page 1
A Killer Clue
A HUNTER AND CLEWE MYSTERY
Victoria Gilbert
Dedicated, with thanks, to my editor, Faith Black Ross—who makes all my books so much better.
Chapter One
I’ve often been told that one shouldn’t live in the past. Which is good advice, but ignores one crucial fact—the past lives in us.
Although he was only in his thirties, I knew his past weighed heavily on my boss, Cameron Clewe. Slumped against a bookshelf in the library of Aircroft, the elegant estate he’d inherited from his wealthy stepfather, Cam appeared defeated.
“So the latest private investigation came up empty, just like all the others?” I asked, rolling my chair away from the large antique desk I used as a work space. I studied Cam for a moment. Dressed in tailored ivory linen pants and a pale jade polo shirt, the tall, slender young man looked like he’d stepped out of an advertisement in an upscale men’s magazine.
“Unfortunately. It seems my father remains a ghost.” Cam shrugged. “Perhaps because that’s what he is. We don’t even know if he’s still alive.”
The polished walnut of the bookcase made the perfect backdrop for Cam’s shaggy auburn hair. He had the lean build of a runner or swimmer; sports he’d told me he enjoyed. Although knowing what a loner he was, I doubted he’d ever been part of a team. He was definitely handsome, but his good looks were somewhat dampened by the anxiety haunting his sea-green eyes.
“Maybe,” I said, “but it’s just as likely he’s simply disappeared. I’m guessing he’d be somewhere in his mid-sixties, so there’s no reason to think he’s dead.”
A faint smile curved Cam’s thin lips. “True. That isn’t extremely old.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not just saying that because I’m sixty-one.”
“I’d never imagine you would.” Cam strolled over to the desk and picked up a hardbound book before peering at the screen of my laptop. “I’m always fascinated by this, Jane. All the information you have to enter, in a specific order, and with just the right punctuation. It’s almost like a code.”
“No mystery, just cataloging,” I said.
Cam flipped open the book. “Dance of Death by Helen McCloy. Her first novel, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes, published in 1938. You know, she lived to be ninety, and was still having books published in her late seventies.” I leaned back in my chair and met Cam’s amused gaze.
“Point taken.” Cam’s expression sobered. “But even if my dad is still alive, it seems he doesn’t want to be found. Not that it should surprise me. He’s never tried to contact me.”
“To be fair, your stepfather told him you’d died only a few months after your mom passed away.”
“Good old Albert Clewe. He definitely didn’t want me to know he wasn’t my biological father.” Cam laid the book back on the desk. “He could’ve told me, you know. It wouldn’t have made that much difference. We weren’t terribly close anyway.”
“I think maybe it was more about pride than anything else,” I said.
“He certainly had plenty of that.” Cam looked over at the open door of the library. “I hear Lauren.”
The staccato beat of high heels tapping against wood floors grew louder. That’s definitely Lauren. The new housekeeper, Jenna Brown, wears flat shoes, like me, and we’re the only other women on the estate.
Lauren Walker stepped into the library. An attractive young woman, she always dressed the part of a personal assistant to a wealthy boss. Today her shantung silk dress discreetly displayed her lovely figure, its peach shade a perfect complement to her dark complexion.
“There you are, Cam. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Lauren swept a hand through her black curls. Her stern expression softened as she examined the two of us. “Of course, I should’ve known you’d be in here if you weren’t in your office.”
“Cam was just sharing some news with me,” I said.
Lauren’s dark eyes narrowed. “About the ongoing search for your father, I suppose.” She shared a sympathetic glance with me. “I know you’ve been preoccupied with that lately, Cam, but you still need to keep track of meetings and other business dealings. Did you forget you have an appointment today?”
“Refresh my memory—who’s coming?” Cam’s tone was tinged with wariness. He wasn’t fond of people visiting Aircroft unless they were friends or, at the very least, acquaintances he knew well.
“That woman who runs the bookshop in Chapel Hill. Eloise something. She’s delivering a book you requested.” Lauren glanced at the delicate gold watch encircling her slender wrist. “She’ll probably be here any minute. Do you want me to bring her here, or would you rather meet in your office?”
Cam thrust his hands into his pockets. “Here is fine, and it’s Eloise Anderson. She runs Last Chapter Bookshop. I’m sure you’ve seen that name on invoices.”
“Oh, right.” Lauren fixed Cam with an inquiring stare. “Why is she driving an hour and a half to deliver a book? She’s always shipped everything before.”
“I think she may have another agenda.” Cam rocked back on his heels. “At least, that’s my educated guess.”
“And what might that be?” Lauren asked.
“Not to tap me for money, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Cam straightened and slipped his hands from his pockets. “I’d rather not say more, if you don’t mind. It would be a shame to share her personal information if I’m wrong.”
The doorbell chimed. “Well, I’d better go and welcome her.” Lauren turned and tip-tapped her way down the corridor that led to the front entry hall.
I stood. “If you have a meeting, I should probably disappear for a bit. Honestly, I don’t mind the break. Cataloging your book collections is interesting, but sometimes I need to get up and walk so my knees don’t stiffen up.” I shot Cam a grin. “You know, since I’m so old.”
“You’re not, and I’d like you to stay,” Cam said as footsteps rang out again from the hall. “If Eloise is here for the reason I suspect, her business may involve you.”
“Really? Why would that be?” I circled around the desk to stand next to him.
“You’ll see. If I’m right, that is.” Cam brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead as Lauren reappeared in the doorway, accompanied by a short, curvaceous, young woman. She wore emerald-green glasses and her round face was framed by a sleek bob of dark blonde hair.
“Cam, Jane—this is Eloise Anderson.” Lauren waved a hand toward us. “And this is Cameron Clewe, along with Jane Hunter, who’s a librarian hired to catalog Cam’s book and ephemera collections.”
The young woman offered a tentative smile. Her eyes—clear blue as a summer sky—shone brightly behind the lenses of her glasses. “Very nice to meet you both,” she said. “Of course, I know Cam, if only through the emails and texts we’ve shared over the last few years.”
“Right, well, I’ll leave you to your meeting.” Lauren took a few steps before turning around in the doorway. “Sorry, I should’ve asked if you’d like something to drink, Ms. Anderson. I’m happy to get some water or tea or whatever you might want.”
“No, no, I’m fine.” Eloise clutched the wrapped package she was holding closer to her chest. “But thanks so much, Ms. Walker.”
“Just Lauren is fine.” Flashing a bright smile, Lauren disappeared into the hall.
“Is that the book you brought?” I asked, pointing toward the package. “It must be quite valuable for you to want to hand-deliver it.”
“Oh no, that isn’t it. I mean, the book is something you wanted, Cam. That first edition of The Cape Cod Mystery by Phoebe Atwood Taylor. But I could’ve sent it to you, only …”
Cam’s fingers beat a tattoo against the top edge of the desk. “Only that’s not why you decided to come in person, was it, Eloise? The book was an excuse.”
“Okay, now you really need to explain,” I said, allowing exasperation to color my tone. Sometimes Cam’s directness registered as rudeness.
“Eloise is actually here because she wants my help.” Cam lifted his hands. “And yours, Jane, since you’re my partner in our amateur sleuthing operation.”
“What do you mean?” I turned to Eloise. “I thought you were a book dealer.”
“I am,” she said, meeting my inquiring gaze. “But your boss is right—I’m also here to ask a favor.” She squared her shoulders and shifted her focus to Cam. “I want you to help me prove my mother was not a murderer.”
Chapter Two
“A little late, isn’t it? From what I’ve read, she was convicted after a lengthy trial and spent many years in prison.” Cam’s gaze remained laser-focused on Eloise, despite my attempt to get his attention.
Eloise lifted her chin and met Cam’s intense stare with a defiant glare of her own. “It’s true that my mother was in jail for fifteen years. She died recently, still in prison, but I suppose you already know that.”
Standing your ground. Good for you. I turned to Eloise and waved a hand toward one of the wingback chairs placed on either side of a small cherry table. “Have a seat, Eloise.”
“Oh right, I forgot that.” The color rose in Cam’s face, throwing his smattering of freckles into high relief. “Please sit down.”
Eloise sank down into the upholstered chair, setting her package and purse on the table beside her. From the appreciative gaze she cast around the room, I could tell that she was as impressed by the library as I’d been when I’d first seen it.
Cam shot me a she epish look before grabbing the task chair at the desk and rolling it over to face the two armchairs. “You take the other comfortable chair, Jane. I’ll use this.”
“Thank you.” I cast him a smile. I made it a point to acknowledge Cam’s attempts to be more socially aware.
As I sat down, I observed Cam sneaking speculative looks at Eloise. He’s finally realized how cute she is, I thought. Eloise fortunately didn’t notice his scrutiny. She was too busy examining every inch of the library.
I could understand her interest—while the library didn’t possess the grandeur of many other spaces at Aircroft, it was still beautiful, and certainly a room any book lover would appreciate. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, but wooden bookcases polished to an ebony sheen flanked the fireplace and covered all the other walls. Beneath some of the bookcases were cabinets in the same dark wood, their brass hardware dulled by years of use. Gold and silver flourishes tooled into the leather spines of the older book volumes glinted under soft white lighting hidden beneath the shelves.
“What a magical library,” Eloise said, her face glowing with appreciation.
This elicited a rare unforced smile from Cam. “Definitely one of my favorite rooms in the house. You’ll have to examine the collection more closely before you leave.”
Eloise smiled in return. “I’d love to.”
I cleared my throat, hoping to get the conversation back on track. “You two have only spoken via email until today?”
“Some texts as well.” Cam settled into the task chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “But it’s been just a business relationship up to this point, continuing an arrangement started by my father long before I was born.”
“We’ve worked with Cam for a few years. I mean, I have.” Eloise dropped her gaze to her hands, which were tightly clasped in her lap. “My parents used to track down books for Cam’s father, Albert, and I did too, up until he died. It’s just me and a few part-time salespeople now. Our one long-term business partner retired a few years ago.”
“You seem young to have taken all that on,” I said. “But obviously you’ve handled it well, since you’re still in business.”
“I’m thirty-three.” Eloise shrugged. “I know I don’t look it, which everyone tells me is a good thing.”
“It is. You’ll be happy to look five to ten years younger than your actual age when you’re as old as me,” I said.
“Now Jane, I thought we’d established that you weren’t that ancient,” Cam said with a wry smile. He swiveled the task chair to face Eloise more directly. “Getting back to the reason for your visit, I confess I suspected it was the motive for this in-person delivery. When you said you were coming, I remembered reading up on your mother’s case several years ago. It’s a fascinating mystery. Supposedly solved, but in my opinion, as well as some other investigators’, there are more than a few loose ends.”
Eloise sat back. “And that’s why I’m here. I discovered a lot of online chatter about how you’d gotten involved in some cold cases and uncovered the information needed to solve them. Which gave me hope. I thought maybe you’d be willing to help clear my mother’s name.”
“Most of those cases didn’t involve murder, though.” I frowned. The one murder case Cam and I had investigated had involved more danger than I was comfortable with.
“Only the first one, which wasn’t exactly a cold case, although criminal actions from the past did play a part. Still, you have to admit, Jane, that the process is the same, murder or no murder.” Cam leaned forward, gripping his knees with both hands. “Tell me, Eloise, why are you so sure your mother is innocent?”
“You mean beyond the fact that I loved her and know she wasn’t capable of killing anyone, much less my dad?” Eloise’s feathery brows drew together over her pert nose. “It’s a lot of things. Evidence that didn’t add up and the lack of a real motive, as well as her inability to kill an insect, much less a man. Over the years I pleaded with her to allow me to fight to reopen the case, but she always begged me not to. Then, a few months ago, she died suddenly.” A tremor rippled through Eloise’s voice. “When I saw the brief, but damning, news reports written about her after she passed, I knew I had to at least try to clear her name.”
“I’m so sorry. What happened? She couldn’t have been very old,” I said.
“She had a bad heart. No one knew it, though, because she didn’t share her symptoms with the prison health facility.” Eloise lifted her free hand and wiped a tear from her cheek. “She was only fifty-seven.”
“Younger than me,” I said under my breath before adding, “Why do you think she was opposed to a reexamination of her case? That doesn’t sound logical, especially if she was innocent.”
Eloise shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to put me through the horrors of another trial.”
“Or she was protecting someone.” Cam’s knee bounced as he tapped his heel against the floor. He stilled his leg when he caught my warning look. “Is it possible your mother suspected that someone she cared about, like a family member or close friend, had killed your father?”
Eloise straightened and fixed Cam with a sharp stare. “I can’t imagine who that could’ve been. She wouldn’t have hesitated to expose anyone if she truly thought they’d murdered Dad.”
Cam settled back in his chair, his eyes as bright as his jade shirt as he intently studied Eloise. “Even you?”
Chapter Three
Eloise leapt to her feet. “What are you suggesting?”
“Only that the one person your mother was most likely to protect was her daughter, even if that meant she ended up in jail instead of you.” Cam clasped his hands in his lap.
To keep from anxiously gripping the chair arms, I thought as I turned to Eloise. “It’s one possible reason your mom wouldn’t let you reopen the case.”
“You think she suspected me?” Eloise’s voice rose to a squeak on the last word.
“Hard to say,” Cam replied, pressing his palms against his thighs. “But to be clear, I don’t think you’re a murderer, Eloise. Nothing I’ve uncovered has made me question your innocence.”
“You’ve already conducted some significant research on the case?” I asked.
“Several years ago. I might not remember it that clearly.” Ignoring my snort, Cam gazed speculatively at Eloise. “Do you mind if I share the story, as I understand it?”
Slumping back down in her chair, Eloise murmured her assent.
Cam leaned back, cradling the back of his head in his linked fingers. “Eloise’s mother was Abigail Anderson, called Abby by everyone who knew her. Her dad was Kenneth, better known as Ken. They owned Last Chapter Bookshop in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, along with a partner …” He looked toward Eloise.
“Neil Knight,” she said.
“Right. Anyway, the shop specialized in vintage and rare books, which is why my father, who was nothing if not a collector, used their services.”
Stepfather, I thought, but didn’t correct Cam. That fact wasn’t exactly public knowledge.
“By all accounts, Abby and Ken had a happy marriage, although like most small businesses they often faced financial challenges. They had one child, a daughter.” As Cam lowered his arms, he indicated Eloise with a flourish of his fine-boned right hand.
“Mom was only twenty-three when I was born,” Eloise said. “She took on a lot of responsibility pretty young.”
“But so did you. I think you were still a teenager at the time of the murder, right?” Cam’s expression softened, giving him a more boyish appearance.
Eloise nodded. “I’d just turned eighteen. Which was lucky, as it turned out.”
“Because you weren’t forced into the foster care system? Yes, that was fortunate.” Cam continued his recitation of facts in a more dispassionate tone. “The family lived in an apartment above the shop. That was important to the case, because when the police arrived at the murder scene, they found all the entrances to the store locked.”
“Or so they said,” Eloise interjected. “Who knows if that’s actually true?”
The gleam in Cam’s eyes betrayed his increasing interest in Eloise, who was, I admitted, cannier than I’d initially thought. “Ken Anderson was discovered behind the bookshop counter, stabbed to death. The murder weapon, an ordinary knife that Abby confessed was kept at the counter to cut strings on packages, was later found in a far corner of the bookstacks. There were no prints on the knife, so the authorities assumed that the perpetrator had worn gloves.” He shot me a glance. “It came out during the trial that Abby Anderson regularly wore gloves to bed because she had severely chapped hands and used a thick lotion she didn’t want to get on the sheets. Those gloves were never found.”
