Murder, p.1
Murder, page 1
First Edition Murder
A Sandie James Mystery, Volume 1
Tessa Kelly
Published by Tessa Kelly, 2022.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Copyright @ 2019 by Tessa Kelly.
No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system — except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the web — without expressed written permission from Tessa Kelly.
First published in 2019
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Get Tessa Kelly’s | Prequel to the | Sandie James Mysteries | FOR FREE
Sandie and Family
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
Thank You for Reading!
THE DEADLY ART | Chapter 1
Chapter 2
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To my mom, who remains my biggest cheerleader. Thank you for believing in me!
With special thanks to my editor, Gail Lambert.
I'd also like to thank Anne Raven, Debbie Hunter, Joni Pope, and Laney Kaye for their advice, ongoing support, and inspiration.
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end of FIRST EDITION MURDER
Sandie and Family
Sandra (Sandie) James. Sandie is almost thirty, five foot seven, slender and attractive with hazel eyes and wavy, chestnut hair. Rather graceful from years of ballet classes. Has a Master’s Degree in Literature which doesn’t pay the bills, so she works part-time in her sister’s bakery. Sandie lives with her best friend, Felisha.
When not working at the bakery, she loves gardening and playing with her dad’s springer spaniel, Marlowe.
Katherine (Kathy) Thompson, older sister and owner of Kathy’s Bakery, the best bakery in the world (according to Sandie, anyway).
Kathy is thirty-eight, petite, dark-haired, and thin despite being a bakery owner. Or perhaps because of it—the job does take a lot of energy. She is married to Jeff Thompson, but the two have a strained relationship. Her husband is often disrespectful toward Kathy. Sandie does her best to keep her opinions about Jeff to herself.
William (Will) James, younger brother, police detective at the local precinct.
Will is twenty-eight, tall and lanky with blond hair and deep-blue eyes. Has a strong penchant (some would say obsession) with XTRA Screamin’ Dill Pickle Pringles, which he superstitiously must eat every morning before going on shift as he believes they bring him luck. When not preoccupied with his job, his smile can light up the whole room.
Will is fiercely protective of his sisters.
Nicolas Andrew James, the gang’s father. Retired. Runs a used bookstore from the first floor of his two-story brownstone with the chipped yellow façade, where the siblings grew up. Considers the bookstore more of a hobby than a business.
Nicolas is sixty and is in decent shape. Has dark-brown eyes, salt-and-pepper shaggy hair, and a strong nose. Dresses mostly in faded t-shirts and jeans. Is the owner of a happy springer spaniel named Marlowe and two temperamental cats, Asimov and Hemingway.
Marlowe, of course, is named after the famous literary detective from the mysteries of Raymond Chandler, the writer with whom Nicolas is obsessed. (Perhaps even more so than Will is with the Pringles.) Nicolas’s collection of Raymond Chandler first editions is still missing The Big Sleep, the first mystery in the series. This fact is a source of great distress to Nicolas.
Chapter 1
Whoever said weddings are a joyous occasion never catered one in high heels and an evening gown.
I winced behind the extravagant buffet table in my silver stilettos and threw a cheerless glance across Luce della Vita’s main dining room. The newlywed Mrs. David Sorrento, and the reason for my current suffering, wore a strapless white sequin and lace ball gown with a daring neckline and a lengthy train.
Marrying for the second time at forty-one, Angela’s first wedding took place at City Hall when she was three months pregnant with her daughter, Kimberly. In Angela’s own words, this time was her first “real” wedding. Her opportunity to sparkle.
The only thing that stopped her from taking the reception out of Cobble Hill, our cozy little corner of Brooklyn, and ritzing it up at the Manhattan Four Seasons, was her fiancé’s insistence on setting a budget. David saw no excuse for wasting a fortune at someone else’s establishment when his restaurant could provide the perfect venue. It took some arm twisting for Angela to agree to settle for a humbler location, but she was adamant that everything should be as “fancy-schmancy” as she could make it, and that included the wait staff.
Over the course of a week, the entire first floor and rooftop of Luce della Vita had been scrubbed clean of its laid-back neighborhood vibe and transformed into something barely recognizable. Hanging installations of white flower garlands with twinkling lights covered every inch of wall space and hundreds of pillar candles in tall glass cylinders accentuated the lavish centerpieces on every table.
At any other time, I wouldn’t begrudge Angela her dream wedding or grumble about having to wear heels and the flowy dark-blue halter dress another caterer lent me on short notice, but after three hours of dashing up and down the restaurant stairs with wine bottles, I wanted to say addio forever to all evening wear. Still, the reception wasn’t likely to wind up anytime soon. I had to resign myself to another two to three hours of glamorous misery.
At least I could give my tired feet a small break.
The guests, drinks in hand, milled around by the champagne fountain; the bruschetta and crab cakes I was serving had less allure now than an hour ago. Which meant, no one would notice if I took off my shoes for a few minutes.
I slipped out of my stilettos and wiggled my aching toes on the cool floor. What a relief. The polished wood felt like heaven under my feet.
“Sandie, it’s almost time to cut the cake!” My older sister nudged me as she hurried past in her slim black gown, carrying a tray of prosciutto, and goat cheese stuffed figs. “Go around the room and see that everyone has a dessert plate. And please, put your shoes back on! The last thing I need is a fight with Angela.” She dashed into the kitchen in the back, and I stifled a groan.
At thirty-eight, petite and dark-haired, Katherine was as tireless as she’d been at twenty—and with feet made of steel, apparently. Her heels, even higher than mine, hadn’t stopped her from flying around the place all evening.
Of course, Kathy was used to being on her feet. She must’ve given up sitting fifteen years ago when she opened her bakery down the street. These days she was a well-known baker with clients all over the neighborhood, and even several in Manhattan. She didn’t usually cater weddings but agreed to help out as a favor to Angela and David after Luce della Vita’s chef fell ill at the last minute.
The carrot that had roped me in was Angela’s promise of double pay. As a recent Master’s in English graduate with the rent looming in five days and zero news from the ninety-eight job applications I’d sent out, I couldn’t afford to be picky about work.
All things considered, I was lucky. Most of my former classmates were in the same boat as me, with no successful siblings to give them a job. The only problem was that baking and catering had nothing to do with my career aspirations.
“Hey, Sandie-rella! You heard your sister: get those glass slippers back on.”
I whirled around to face Sonny, Luce della Vita’s landlord and David’s silent business partner. He was also Angela’s ex-husband, and the only guest at the wedding who hadn’t bothered to put on a tie or to shave for the occasion.
In his fifties and looking not a day over sixty, Sonny’s sloppy appearance was nothing new. Given the special occasion, though, I wondered if the missing tie was meant as a silent protest against the wedding.
According to Kathy’s nosier customers, Sonny hadn’t taken it well when David and his ex-wife suddenly became an item. This, and the fact that David was to be the new stepfather to Angela and Sonny’s nineteen-year-old daughter, had been the subject of much gossip at the bakery lately. Angela, of course, seemed blissfully unaware of this gossip as she floated among her tipsy guests through the candlelit fairyland she’d worked so hard to create.
Sonny leaned toward me, invading my comfort zone. “I’ve got an idea, Sandie-rella. Why don’t I make like Prince Charming and put those babies on for ya?”
I did my best to keep from smiling as I rolled my eyes. “Try that and you’ll find yourself ver
“Ahh, you’re breaking an old man’s heart. I only wanted to help!”
He made a pouting face, though his eyes expressed a sentiment that was anything but heartbreak.
“Thanks, Sonny. I think I’ll manage.”
I slipped into my shoes again, instantly growing two inches taller than he. My eyes fell on his wife, alone at a table next to the wall. Lauren hadn’t moved from her spot all evening; the plate in front of her looked untouched and she was nursing the same glass of wine I’d poured for her at the start of dinner.
“I have a better idea,” I said. Taking a plate off a stack on the side table, I piled it with Gorgonzola and strawberries and handed it to Sonny along with a sparkling flute of the bubbly. “Instead of playing Prince Charming, why don’t you take these to your wife? She doesn’t seem to be enjoying her food.”
A little smile played on Sonny’s lips and he cocked his head at me.
Had I overstepped my boundaries implying he was neglecting his wife? I simply felt sorry for her, forlorn in her corner. But, after all, Sonny’s marriage was his business.
He waved his hand, dismissing the food and the champagne. “Don’t worry about Lauren. She’s fine, just keeps complaining of a headache. I told her to go upstairs and lie down, but she won’t.”
“Probably doesn’t want to miss out on the fun.” Or to leave Sonny alone in proximity of his ex. The latter explanation seemed more likely.
I put the plate down and adjusted my dress, wishing the hem were a few inches shorter. Not that I considered myself a klutz, but the thought of tripping and sprawling out on the floor in front of everyone had been haunting me all evening. I touched my fingers to the Connemara pendant hanging from my neck. Set in a delicate silver setting of swirly shamrocks, the rare green Irish marble was thought to bring luck. I hadn’t taken it off since I picked it up in Dublin four years ago, and it’s become my habit to hold it whenever I felt worried or anxious. Hopefully, with its help, I would get through this evening unscathed.
The clicking of heels on the polished floor announced the approach of several young women, then Sonny’s daughter broke away from the others and waltzed over to us, her sleek, dark hair swinging behind her. She looked like the younger, taller version of Angela
“Dad, they’re going to cut the cake. Let’s go!”
Sonny appraised her with a proud grin, put an arm around her, and kissed her on the forehead. He beamed at me.
“Just look at her. Isn’t she gorgeous?”
“She sure is.” I returned Kim’s bright smile, but a part of me wondered what she felt about the wedding. Her mother, marrying her father’s business partner. The bakery’s rumor mill had been strangely silent on that count.
“Come on, kiddo.” Sonny squeezed Kim’s shoulder. “You can stand next to your old man when they cut the cake.”
They walked off toward the champagne fountain where Kathy and Valeria, her long-time employee, were wheeling out the cart with the five-tier chocolate cake my sister had decorated with white roses. I started on the way to them. At the same moment, the door to the restaurant banged open and my dad, who hadn’t been invited to the reception, stormed in. His shaggy salt-and-pepper hair stuck up in all directions as if he’d been running. Heads turned to follow him as he marched straight into the bar.
From across the room, Kathy shot me a look of alarm. I nodded and hurried after him.
“Dad, what are you doing here?” I kept my voice low. “Can’t you see there’s a private event going on?”
He slammed a twenty on the polished counter. “A brandy. Keep the change.”
Liam, the bartender, poured Dad’s drink with a deadpan expression as if serving a reception crasher was a normal event.
Dad picked up his brandy, the muscles in his jaw twitching. I couldn’t imagine what had made him this angry.
“I want to have it out with that weasel,” he muttered.
Before I could stop him, he stormed past me into the main room where everyone was watching the newlyweds feed each other forkfuls of my sister’s chocolate creation.
Kathy tried to block his way. Her loud whisper carried over to me: “Dad, what are you doing?”
Dad nudged her aside and got into Sonny’s face. He waved the brandy in front of his nose. “See this drink? Bet you don’t even know what it means. Do you? Philistine!”
Sonny’s eyebrows shot up and he quickly took a step back. “Take it easy, old man! What’s your problem?"
“You’re my problem!” Dad yelled. “Snatching that book out from under me again. That’s the second time now. Second! You haven’t even read it, have you? I know you haven’t!”
Kathy sidled up to me, her forehead riddled with deep frown lines. A few paces away, her husband, Jeff, was shaking his head in disapproval. He didn’t attempt to intervene, though. Big surprise.
“Dad,” I touched his forearm. “Settle down. Please.”
He shook me off without taking his eyes off Sonny. “Okay, I’ll give you a hint: this is a brandy I’m holding. What does it mean? Go ahead, tell me!”
Sonny’s expression darkened. “You’re off your head, old man. Get out of my face!”
Dad’s voice went quiet, though it carried clearly across the hushed restaurant. “Is it for you at least? The book. Tell me it’s for you. Your father was a collector, right?”
A deep crease appeared between Sonny’s eyebrows as if the question pained him. “I’ve got no use for collecting stuff anymore. I sold off my dad’s collections, put the money in this restaurant.”
Dad took a step closer to him. “Brandy,” he said, raising his highball glass to eye level. “It’s what Philip Marlowe drinks at General Sternwood’s in chapter one.”
“How interesting.” Sonny rolled his eyes. “So what?”
“So, you don’t deserve that first edition! You’ve got as much use for it as a dog has for a diamond tiara.”
Sonny shrugged. “It’s not for me. I have a collector client who commissioned me to bid on it. I won it fair and square, so quit acting like a lunatic.”
Dad’s nostrils flared. To dramatic gasps, he threw the contents of his glass in Sonny’s face.
Sonny went livid. “What the—?” He swung at Dad but David caught his fist, stopping it in mid-swing. He pushed Sonny aside, then he and his brother Alex forced Dad out of the room.
I hurried after them while Kathy and Angela stayed behind to assure the guests that the incident was over.
At the bar, Alex had Dad by the shirt collar. David stood next to them, glaring.
I knew Dad was in the wrong, but the thought of watching him being thrown out in front of everyone was intolerable.
“Alex, just let me handle this,” I pleaded. “Go back in there and enjoy the party.”
Alex didn’t take his eyes off Dad, but he relaxed his grip on his shirt. Taking a step back, he smoothed his tuxedo front and nodded at Liam.
“Give me another brandy.”
He took the drink from Liam and put it on the counter next to Dad. “Look, Nicolas, only reason I’m not kicking you out is that you’re Katherine’s dad. But if you stay, you keep quiet. And keep away from Sonny. Get it? I won’t have you spoil my brother’s wedding.”
Dad’s expression was still dark, but he nodded.
“It’s alright,” I said. “I’ll stay with him until he’s calmed down.”
“Fine by me.” Alex pointed a finger at me. “But you better keep him in check.”
“I will.”
With another warning look at us, Alex and David returned to the party.
I leaned on the bar and waited for Dad to say something. He emptied his glass and stared into it for a long moment. Finally, he muttered: “The Big Sleep. A first edition, signed by Raymond Chandler. That weasel outbid me for 8,000.”
I sighed.
Since Mom died two years ago, I worried that Dad’s enthusiasm for collecting everything Raymond Chandler related had turned into an obsession. It haunted Dad that The Big Sleep, Chandler’s first Philip Marlowe mystery, was the only title he was missing; he’d searched for months for a signed first edition.
