A Deadly Edition Read online

  A Deadly Edition

  A BLUE RIDGE LIBRARY MYSTERY

  Victoria Gilbert

  For my brothers and sisters-in-law:

  George and Jennifer

  and

  Joel and Soledad

  “You don’t choose your family. They are God’s gift to you, as you are to them.”

  —Desmond Tutu

  Acknowledgments

  Tossing bouquets of thanks to:

  My amazing agent, Frances Black of Literary Counsel.

  Everyone at Crooked Lane Books, especially my editor, Faith Black Ross. Also, thanks to Matt Martz, Jenny Chen, Melissa Rechter, Madeline Rathle, and Rachel Keith.

  Richard Taylor Pearson, a great author and critique partner. Also thanks to author Lindsey Duga for her advice and support.

  Booktubers Angela Hart of Books are My Hart and Courtney of Courtagonist.

  Podcasters Kristine Raymond of Word Play and LeAnna Shields of The Cozy Sleuth.

  Bloggers Dru Ann Love from Dru’s Book Musings and Marie McNary from A Cozy Experience.

  All of the other bloggers and reviewers who have mentioned, reviewed, and recommended my books.

  My husband Kevin, my son, Thomas, and the rest of my family, who support me as well as my writing career.

  My friends, including the online writers’ community.

  My readers. Without you, these books could not exist!

  Chapter One

  Sometimes chocolate is the only thing standing between me and murder.

  I popped another delicious truffle into my mouth and peered out the half-closed door. From the intermittent bustle in the kitchen and the sound of music wafting throughout the house, I could tell the party Kurt Kendrick had thrown to celebrate my upcoming marriage to Richard Muir was still in full swing. I knew I should be mingling with the guests in the spacious living room of Kurt’s historic home, Highview. Instead I was hiding in his pantry. All because my future father-in-law had decided to launch into a monologue about the decline of the arts in modern society.

  Not that James “call me Jim” Muir knew anything about the arts. He simply “knew what he liked,” or so he’d informed our host, who was, among other things, a respected art collector and gallery owner.

  As I pressed my face to the crack in the door, a bright-blue eye peered back at me.

  “Amy Webber,” said my friend Sunshine “Sunny” Fields. “What in the world are you doing in there?”

  “Hiding out long enough to conquer my urge to shout down my future father-in-law,” I replied, opening the door.

  Sunny’s golden eyebrows shot up. “Do you think there’s enough time in the world to accomplish that?”

  “Probably not. But maybe at least I can now speak without sputtering out obscenities.” I brushed a few traces of confectioners’ sugar from the full skirt of my poppy-patterned sundress.

  “Well, you’d better get back out here and calm down your fiancé before he resorts to swearing, or worse.” Sunny flipped her long blonde braid behind one slender shoulder. “He’s been furiously rubbing his jaw with the back of his hand, and you know what that means.”

  “Oh dear, I hadn’t thought about that.” I stepped out of the pantry, blinking in the light of the overhead fixtures. Unlike the rest of Kurt’s elegantly restored eighteenth-century home, his kitchen was a paeon to modern functionality, designed for a chef rather than a family cook. Which made sense. Kurt was wealthy enough to hire chefs or caterers on a regular basis. He probably never lifted a finger in the kitchen himself.

  “I can understand not wanting to curse out your future in-laws,” Sunny said, as she turned to cross to the massive work island in the middle of the room. She cast a smile at me over her shoulder. “But maybe abandoning your fiancé wasn’t really the best idea.”

  I sighed as I followed her. Somehow, Richard had grown up to be one of the kindest and most open-minded people I’d ever known, despite his difficult and judgmental parents. I wasn’t sure how that had happened. It was, in my opinion, one of life’s rare miracles.

  “In my defense, Richard knows how to handle them better than I do.”

  “You’d better learn,” Sunny said. “You’re going to have to deal with them for the rest of your life. Or at least I hope so.”

  “I hope so too.” I grabbed a napkin from the work island to wipe any traces of chocolate from my fingers. “I certainly don’t plan on ever divorcing Richard, no matter how difficult his parents are.”

  “Good to hear,” Sunny said with a grin. “Of course, you know I’ll be waiting to scoop him up if you ever kick him to the curb.”

  I smiled in return, knowing my friend was just teasing. Not only was I certain that Sunny viewed Richard as simply a good friend, but I also knew she was not interested in marrying anyone. She was a free spirit who preferred to date men on her own terms, without any serious commitments. And that sort of relationship wouldn’t suit Richard at all.

  “Sorry, but I’m afraid you’re never going to get that chance,” I said.

  “Figured as much. I mean, you two are so obviously in love, it’s disgusting.” Sunny’s indulgent tone took any sting out of her words. She tugged up the drooping shoulder of her white peasant blouse. “But before you face the outlaw in-laws again, you might want to wash your hands. There are still a few smears of chocolate you missed with that napkin. As for me, I think I’ll make a stop in the little girls’ room. All that champagne.” She grinned. “But I promise to wait for you in the hall. We can make a grand entrance into the living room.”

  “One for all and all for one,” I said, giving her a mock salute before she exited the kitchen.

  I crossed the room to reach the sink, tossing my napkin into one of several metal trash containers stationed along the way. A movement in an adjacent room—a narrow butler’s pantry that housed a wine fridge and Kurt’s eclectic collection of spirits—caught my eye.

  An older woman with the slender but well-toned build of a dancer was pouring some type of amber liquor into a cut-crystal tumbler. She turned at the sound of my approach and set the bottle down with so much force I was afraid it might crack.

  “Oh, hello, Amy,” said Adele Tourneau, Richard’s coach from his early days in the dance world. Although in her seventies, she was always stylish. Today she wore a short-sleeved eggplant-purple dress that featured tiny fabric-covered buttons running from its high neckline all the way across one shoulder.

  “Sneaking a little something stronger than champagne?” I asked, with a smile. “Not that I blame you.”

  “Not really. I’m just … fixing a drink for someone else.” Lines creased Adele’s forehead, and she fiddled with one of the silver Art Nouveau–style combs that held her silky white hair away from her face.

  My curiosity was piqued by this display of nerves. I wouldn’t have expected fluttering hands and hesitant speech from the normally serene dance instructor. “Are you okay? You look a little flustered.”

  “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Just getting too old for these types of events, I guess.” Her laugh rang false to my ears.

  I pointed at the glass. “Kurt’s hired plenty of waiters who could take care of that. I know you’ve been acquainted for many years, but I’m sure he doesn’t expect you to serve the guests.”

  “Oh, it isn’t that.” Adele stared down into the depths of the tumbler. “This was something I just wanted to do. Sort of a surprise, really.” As she looked over at me, she kept her eyes shadowed by her pale lashes. “Something I wanted to take care of myself.”

  “Okay, sure,” I said, certain my confusion was evident in my tone. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” I turned, but paused to add, “Maybe we can talk more later?”

  “That would be lovely,
” Adele called out as I walked away.

  When I left the sink area after washing and drying my hands, I noticed that Adele was still in the pantry, stirring the contents of the glass with a swizzle stick. I shrugged and walked out of the kitchen, convinced that she was fixing the concoction for herself. Why she felt the need for a strong drink was another question. But then again, I didn’t know her that well. I was aware that some performers were shy offstage. It was possible that large social gatherings unnerved her.

  Sunny was waiting for me in the wide main hall, which looked more like a museum than part of a private home. Paintings lined the walls, and antique tables held a variety of beautiful—and extremely valuable—artifacts.

  “Ah, ladies, how lovely you look, standing side by side.” A short, rotund man wearing an immaculately tailored gray suit blocked our entry to the living room. His silver-streaked dark hair was swept up and away from his face with copious amounts of gel, creating a pompadour that would’ve been the envy of any 1950s dandy. He pressed together his plump, beringed hands. “One so tall and fair, and the other petite and dark. It’s like a portrait from Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. The beautiful Helena and exquisite Hermia in the flesh.”

  I narrowed my eyes, suspicious of the man’s effusive praise. I was rather short but, with my curvaceous figure, not exactly petite. However, his voice held a trace of an Italian accent that leant grace to such flattery. I forced a smile, assuming it was his habit to speak admiringly of all women. “Thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t know you. Should I?”

  “Excuse me, I forgot that we had not yet been introduced.” The man extended his hand. “Oscar Selvaggio. A friend of your host, Mr. Kendrick.” The man’s dark eyes sparkled almost as brightly as the gold cuff links studding his pale-blue shirt. “Or, perhaps not quite a friend, to be honest. We have been simpatico in the past but unfortunately are currently engaged in a bidding war over a rather delightful little artifact.”

  “You’re an art dealer as well?” Sunny gripped Selvaggio’s hand with a firmness that betrayed a lifetime spent milking the cows and goats on her grandparents’ organic farm.

  “Exactly.” Selvaggio shook out his fingers before taking hold of mine. “You must be the bride. I just spied a picture of you and your fiancé in Kurt’s living room.”

  “Yes, I’m Amy Webber. Nice to meet you.”

  Selvaggio released my hand. “Your photo doesn’t do you justice, Miss Webber. You are much prettier in person.” He tipped his head and studied me for a moment. “I think the picture doesn’t quite capture the charming expression in those lively dark eyes, yes?”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps. I don’t photograph very well.”

  Sunny tugged on my arm. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Selvaggio, but we really must be getting back to the party.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. “We don’t want the groom thinking the bride has run off, now do we?”

  “No, no, that would be terrible.” The sardonic edge to Oscar Selvaggio’s tone clued me in to his true personality. His charm is all on the surface. I bet he’s totally ruthless when he needs to be. This didn’t surprise me. It was in keeping with Kurt’s business acquaintances, or at least the few I’d met.

  Selvaggio stepped out of the way and motioned for us to move forward. “I was just heading into the dining room to grab another one of those exquisite canapés.”

  Walking past him, I couldn’t help but notice Oscar Selvaggio’s gaze darting from the back end of the long hall to the front door. Like he’s looking for something, I thought. Or someone.

  As Sunny and I stepped into Kurt’s spacious living room, I once again noticed how it resembled a gallery rather than a room in a typical home. Although buttery leather sofas and upholstered chairs anchored by worn Oriental rugs offered comfortable seating and a stone fireplace provided a rustic touch, paintings and objets d’art dominated the spacious room.

  Catching sight of the photo Oscar Selvaggio had mentioned, perched in a place of honor on the fireplace mantel, I pondered the odd feeling the art dealer had sparked in me. I whispered to Sunny, “I think Selvaggio had an assignation. But with who?”

  Sunny cast me an amused glance. “Don’t be silly. Not everything is a mystery. Even if you do tend to stumble over dead bodies far too often.”

  I groaned. “Don’t remind me. Hopefully, I’ve left all that behind.”

  Sunny elbowed me. “Unless Richard decides to shut his dad up for good.”

  Jim Muir, abandoning what appeared to be a heated conversation with Kurt, stalked off to the other side of the room, where his wife Fiona was sipping a glass of champagne while staring darkly at one of Kurt’s more explicit nudes.

  “Fortunately, Richard isn’t violent. Despite the provocation offered by his parents,” I said, as Sunny and I joined a group that included my fiancé, Aunt Lydia, her boyfriend Hugh Chen, and Kurt.

  “Where did you run off to?” My aunt, the picture of elegance in a lilac dress tailored to hug her slender figure, nudged my sandal-clad foot with one of her beige pumps.

  “Just had to get some air,” I said. It wasn’t a good excuse, but it would have to do.

  Richard wrapped his arm around my shoulders and drew me close to his side. “The air in here wasn’t quite fresh enough?” As he gazed down at me, his dark lashes, far thicker than any man deserved, fluttered over his gray eyes in mock dismay.

  I wrinkled my nose at him. “To be perfectly honest, I was afraid I might turn it blue.”

  “You shouldn’t have worried. I’ve dealt with much more difficult people than Richard’s father. One must simply smile and nod and not actually listen to anything they say.” Kurt Kendrick, who at seventy-three looked every bit as fit as men half his age, offered me a smile as he swept his hand through his mane of white hair. In his youth, Kurt had been called “The Viking.” It was still a fitting nickname for the tall, broad-shouldered man who’d made a fortune by mysterious, and undoubtedly dubious, means and now owned a few prestigious art galleries along with this gorgeous home and a townhouse in Georgetown.

  “I wish I could learn to do that,” Richard said. “I’m afraid I tend to lose my temper when Dad goes off on one of his tirades.”

  I slipped my arm around his waist. “Me too, which is why I disappeared. I was afraid I’d say something that would enrage both your parents. I’d hate to be the cause of their refusal to attend the wedding.”

  “Four weeks to go, so there’s still time,” Sunny said with a grin.

  Hugh Chen, who was a match for my aunt in height and build but whose dark hair and eyes were in vivid contrast to her pale coloring, cleared his throat. “I doubt you have to concern yourself with that. I’m sure Richard’s parents wouldn’t think of missing their only child’s wedding.”

  Hugh’s earnest statement garnered a side-eyed glance from my aunt. “I’m afraid not everyone has your manners and good sense, dear.” She patted his arm.

  “Sad but true,” Sunny added.

  “As for Richard’s parents refusing to show up for the wedding … If necessary, I will find a way to ensure that the Muirs attend the ceremony.” Kurt’s grin displayed large, white teeth.

  A shiver tickled the back of my neck. As the director of the Taylorsford Public Library, I’d cataloged several picture books featuring the Big Bad Wolf. Ever since meeting Kurt, I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he could pass for a humanized form of that creature.

  I pressed closer to Richard as I surveyed the handsome older man who’d taken such an interest in me and my family. While I didn’t believe wolves were violent creatures, I suspected Kurt could be. He was certainly capable of blowing someone’s house down—figuratively, if not literally.

  Sunny, never intimidated by anyone, slipped her hand through Kurt’s bent arm and playfully leaned into him. “That sounds like a plan. I’ll assist, if it comes to that.”

  “Now, wait a minute. You’re my maid of honor. You’re supposed to be helping me.” I glanced
up at Richard. “Buttoning my gown, adjusting my veil, making sure my makeup is on point, and keeping me from bolting at the last minute. You know, that sort of thing.”

  “Hey now.” Richard tightened his grip on my shoulders. “Running away is definitely not on the agenda.”

  I laughed and pulled free to turn and face him. Standing on tiptoe, I brushed his lips with mine. Before I could step away, he pulled me close and gave me a proper, passionate kiss.

  “That’s to remind you what you’ll be missing if you leave me at the altar,” he murmured in my ear before releasing me.

  “I call that an unfair advantage,” I replied, before turning the meet the amused gazes of my aunt and friends.

  Sunny slipped her arm free of Kurt’s and stepped forward, her smile almost as bright as her blue eyes. “Perhaps I should misbehave around you, Richard, if that’s the result.”

  Richard shook his head. “Sorry, I reserve such kisses for Amy. I know better than to use my superpowers on others,” he added, before giving Sunny a wink. “At least, not while Amy is watching.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” I said, but I didn’t resist as his arm slipped back around my shoulders. “Oh, by the way, Kurt, Sunny and I just met a friend of yours. I’ve never seen him at your parties before. Someone called Oscar Selvaggio?”

  Kurt’s expression froze into stony displeasure. “Sorry about that. I had no idea he planned to turn up on my doorstep today. With his assistant, no less. But once he was here, I figured he might as well join the party. At least until I had time to properly deal with him.”

  “Selvaggio?” Hugh’s dark eyes narrowed. “The art dealer?”

  “And one of my colleagues. Although”—Kurt rubbed the back of his neck with one hand—“at this juncture, something of a rival.”

  “I think I know what that’s about.” Hugh’s serious expression brightened as he turned to Aunt Lydia. “There’s a rare book up for sale in the art market. Many collectors are vying for it. Including, I suspect, our host as well as Mr. Selvaggio.”