Tall Tails Secret Book Club (The Secret Library Cozy Mysteries 1) Read online

  Tall Tails Secret Book Club

  CeeCee James

  Copyright © 2020 by CeeCee James

  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, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Mariah Sinclair*

  For my Family— love you all soo much! xxx

  And for longtime family friends, Brian and Corbi. We never really grow up. We only learn how to act in public.

  Blurb

  A mysterious mansion, a suspicious death, and a cat too smart for its own good. When Laura Lee took the summer job as a housekeeper at the old Thornberry Estate, she knew it was a creepy place, but she had no idea how creepy. The death of a chauffeur changes everything and suddenly creepy turns to deadly as Laura Lee finds herself in the middle of a murder investigation. Can Laura Lee and her intrepid club find the killer before the killer finds Laura Lee?

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 28

  29. Afterword

  Chapter One

  If ever a house had a name, this one would be called Fortitude. I noticed it the first day I arrived. Though the beautiful pillars, the spacious foyer, and the deep walnut hand-hewn floors spoke of a decadence only the very elite experienced, an observant eye discovered the fabrications. Cracks, rotting roof tiles, moss… tiny details that spoke of years of neglect and an indulgent staff who catered to the owner’s mistaken beliefs that all was well.

  Three days had passed since I’d first arrived on the front steps, suitcase in hand. A bored man with slight balding and obvious far-sightedness had opened the great front door. He’d blinked sleepily, and I’d expected a yawn at any moment. Instead, he lifted glasses from his front pocket and positioned them on his nose. “How may I help you?”

  “I’m Laura Lee Smith. Mrs. Thornberry has hired me.”

  “Of course. The new housekeeper. Please go round to the door in the rear.” With those words, the door was shut practically on my nose, leaving the brass lion knocker to stare balefully at me.

  I stood there in shock and questioned all my life’s decisions that had brought me to this point. The back door? How deeply in the past was this place mired?

  I had no choice but to comply. Though the heavy suitcase made my arm ache, I hauled it back down the stairs to follow the brick cobbles around to the side of the manor. I gazed up at the ancient trees. Branches creaked and Spanish moss swayed in the wind.

  My first introduction to the manor owner, Miss Janice, had hardly been more remarkable. At four-foot-eleven Janice Thornberry’s steely gray eyes swung between stormy and irritated, to occasional amusement. Although I noticed the amusement most often seemed aimed at someone’s expense. She glided through the room with an air of properness, swathed in exquisite linen, silks, and cultivated taste, her bouffant of white hair still sprinkled with some surviving brown from her youth.

  She hated books. It was among the first things she’d told me, just prior to being led up four flights of stairs to my own cold bedroom, but after I’d made introductions with Marguerite, the head housekeeper.

  “One thing will not be disobeyed in my house. There will be no books. Not a single story.” And Miss Janice caught me in the trap of her icy gaze.

  I’d thought that rule had been among the most bizarre I’d ever heard. Of course, I’d never dare to utter those words out loud. I may not have graduated college, but I was quite smarter than most people gave me credit for. I’d been at the top of my studies for three years, until Mom had fallen sick, and I’d had to drop out. Mom was better now, actually living with Grandma, and the two together were double trouble with a pinch of sass. Still, with the bills adding up and jobs scarce, I’d felt lucky to have landed this. Room, board and a healthy paycheck that I could save for school and to help Mom get back on her feet.

  These past three days, although not nearly enough time to make friends with the other help, had been quite enough to learn to be wary of Miss Janice’s sharp tongue. Especially when she rang her bell for her headache tonic.

  Like now, for instance. Miss Janice impatiently waggled the bell again even though she could see me hurrying over to the buffet.

  Ring! Ring!

  I bit my tongue and forced my lips into a smile, even as I churned the metal shaker. Carefully, I poured the mixed liquids into Miss Janice’s special crystal goblet. I’d measured too much, and the alcohol filled to the brim. Slowly, so as not to spill on her Persian rug, I tiptoed over to her.

  “What’s taking you so long, young lady? Look at those mincing steps. Didn’t your mother teach you how to walk?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I stammered. I really spoke on auto pilot, not being able to take my eyes off of the shimmering liquid.

  I held it out to her, not daring to breathe. For one horrid second it threatened to slosh over, and then, defying the laws of gravity, the liquid gathered itself back together inside the silvery crystal rim.

  Miss Janice’s eyebrows puckered together, highlighting those gray eyes. “My goodness. What a production. And what are you smiling for, anyway?”

  I winced, imagining how macabre my smile must now appear, first being faked, and now frozen during my concentration. “Sorry.”

  Miss Janice studied me for one more moment, and then, with a light sureness that spoke of many years handling expensive glasses filled with precious liquid, she lifted the goblet from my hand and raised it to her mouth to take a small sip.

  With a delicate smack of her lips, Miss Janice nodded her approval. “Good. Better than yesterday. I’d like it a little dirtier next time. Two slices of limes.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

  “Now, go shut those curtains while I rest for a moment.”

  I walked to the great bay window which overlooked an expansive pasture of a lawn. The grass stretched beyond view, emerald green from the summer’s sun, with a driveway traipsing through it. The driveway had seen many visitors over the one hundred years this house had stood, first arriving by carriages, and then those new-fangled motor cars, limousines, even sports cars. Now, nobody came down it, with the exception of a few delivery people and Mark, the chauffeur.

  Mary, my interior housekeeping colleague, with her quick smile and frizzy hair, told me of how a pizza delivery driver once upset the whole household. He’d brazenly walked up the white steps and past the pillars (which spoke of grandeur from afar but up close showed desperate need of repair) to use the brass lion knocker. She shook her head in pity that the poor boy hadn’t known the rules about the back door. I, of course, did not share my own gaffe with Mary.

  I glanced over now to see Miss Janice watching me with narrowed eyes.

  “Are you done lollygagging?”

&n
bsp; I quickly pulled the curtains closed.

  “Very well, then. Finish your duties, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

  Flushed from her scalding tone, I hurried from the room. As the monstrous doors closed behind me, I closed my eyes in relief.

  “How is it in there?” Marguerite asked. She was about the age of my grandmother, with the same kind eyes and firm inflection.

  This time, however, she startled me. I jumped and spun, a movement elegant in a ballerina but somewhat all elbows and knees with a bony body like mine. “Fine. Everything’s fine.”

  “Fine, eh?” Marguerite arched a nearly nonexistent eyebrow, her hair pulled back into a tight white bun. She folded her arms over her exceptional tummy and dipped her chin toward the room. Her voice lowered, “You make her the headache tonic like I told you?”

  I nodded.

  “Nice and strong then, eh?” Marguerite smiled with satisfaction. “She’ll be asleep before three, I reckon. Well, come along then. We’ll finish our chores and then spend a moment tipping some tea. I dare say we’ve earned ourselves a break.”

  For the next hour, the two of us hustled about dusting rooms, pulling curtains shut, and vacuuming rugs. I found it interesting they closed the house so early in the day, but kept that opinion to myself.

  Later, we headed to the kitchen where the scent of bread, fresh from proofing and warm out of the oven, roasted meat, and cherry pie wafted out like the ghost of Christmas Day. Gossip shot about inside the room in excited but unintelligible burbles before I even entered. As Marguerite pushed open the door, the words burst into understanding.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “And just what will they think of next?”

  The two women fired glances at us and the conversation dried up, replaced by the sounds of thumping dough against the counter.

  “Well, what’s going on? What’s the scoop?” asked Marguerite. “I’ve had a long day, and my dogs are barking. And where’s the tea?”

  “On the stove,” nodded one of the women, known as Cook.

  Marguerite bustled over to the stove and poured steaming water into a cup delicately painted with blue flowers. “Come along, Laura Lee. Don’t stand there with your mouth open. Or at least fill it with a cookie. You’re thin enough we don’t want you to disappear.”

  “Don’t need any more ghosts around here,” said Cook grimly.

  “So, she’s back, then?” asked the other woman Cook had been talking with.

  “No!” gasped Mary, who’d scooted in behind us, her arms full of clean dishtowels.

  I filled a cup with the hot water and set my tea bag in to steep. It wasn’t lost on me that Mary knew exactly who “she” was, even with no name mentioned. And by the look of horror on Mary’s face, I didn’t think I wanted to make “her” acquaintance.

  “Back after all this time. You know what that means. Mark my words.” Cook touched the side of her nose and then pointed at Mary.

  Mary did the sign of the cross. “Will we be bringing her up tonight?”

  Cook blanched and set her lips in a prim line. Mary cut a sideways glance at me, and her cheeks grew pink. Both women returned to sipping their cups until Mary brought up something about a sale at Barneys. The women pursued the subject change as if nothing strange had transpired.

  I allowed them their little deception. But Mary’s slip hadn’t passed by me unnoticed. Tonight, I would be watching.

  Chapter Two

  In the past, I’d worked in fast food, been a clerk at the college admission boards, and even held a job for a short period as a receptionist at the local hardware store. In every case, the first few weeks at a new job always struck me as a little awkward.

  However, being the new girl in a close-knit (clannish, really) household had to be one of the most uncomfortable employee situations I’d ever found myself. It included the added difficulty that we all lived together. There was no escape.

  I held the advice close to my heart that my mother had given me on my thirteenth birthday. She’d inscribed her words inside the locket I now wore, its silver surface always warm from my body heat. “You’ll find your way, Laura Lee.” I clutched the locket whenever I needed the little reminder to lift my head and soldier on.

  So I wasn’t about to let a bit of kitchen snobbery bother me, now. With that attitude I finished my tea and brought the cup to the sink to rinse, acting like being left out of the conversation didn’t bother me in the least. I knew once the women had a chance to get to know me, things would be different.

  I continued to wash the remaining dishes I found. It had only taken once to learn Cook preferred the dishwasher to be stacked in a certain order. Her eagle eyes watched me now as I arranged the plates and cups in the tray, and then scrubbed out a pot to set in the wooden rack to dry.

  “Well, thank you, Laura Lee.” Cook smiled kindly as she brought over her own dishes. She was shorter than I and as stout as Marguerite. But where Marguerite’s cheeks were smooth and plump, Cook’s held a ruddy red to match the hair she kept pulled from her face in a sparkling pink headband.

  Points scored! “Anytime,” I answered as I reached for a towel to dry my hands.

  By now, the other women had left the kitchen, so I threw out a question that had been driving me crazy. “I always call you Cook. We all do. Does that bother you?”

  “No, of course not.” She worked her mouth like she was chewing a piece of gum. “What else would you call me?”

  “Maybe by your name?” I refolded the towel to hang it.

  “Cook is my name.” She moved toward the stove.

  My eyes widened, and my hand froze.

  “It is. I swear it’s true. Wendy Cook. With a name like that, I have to use it, right?” She grinned and waved a wooden spoon like a magic wand, dotting the air with a flourish before going back to stirring something wonderful for dinner.

  “And what about Butler?”

  She shrugged. “We just call him that.”

  The back door slammed open, startling us both. A young man burst in, his face tomato red and sweating, his hair the same flaming color.

  “Marguerite!” he screamed. “Mary!”

  “Hush, boy! They’re not here. What’s the matter?” Cook’s mouth shriveled in displeasure at his volume.

  He turned wild eyes on her. “Call the police! Hurry!”

  “What on earth?” Cook sputtered, now taking on his tone.

  Mary flew into the kitchen, her phone already out and ready to dial. “What’s the matter, Eric?”

  The young man’s pupils were like enormous black olives, and I could practically feel fear radiating off of him. “It’s Mark! He’s dead!”

  “Dead!” exclaimed Cook.

  “Where?” yelled Mary.

  “Drove off the side of the road down the embankment about a hundred yards from the estate’s entrance. I don’t know why he didn’t turn. He’s dead, I swear!”

  “Dial, you puppy!” hollered Cook to Mary.

  With trembling fingers, Mary made the call. When the operator answered, she jerked her arm forward to give the phone to Eric.

  He snatched it from her, fumbling the device in the air. “Hello? Police? We have a dead man, here. Please hurry!”

  I reeled back in shock. I’d only just seen Mark that morning as he left for the store. He’d been an odd duck and thrown me a compliment about my eyes. Of course, it hadn’t escaped my attention it wasn’t my eyes he was staring at. I’d dismissed him with a wave of my hand. But not before I noticed he carried one of the delicate teacups out to the car with him.

  “Yes, sure,” Eric continued and covered the phone’s speaker. “The police are on their way.”

  “Oh, my heavens. Who’s to tell Miss Janice?” Cook gasped.

  Three pairs of eyes turned toward me.

  “What? Me? I don’t know her very well, or Mark either. What would I say?”

  I had no power against such a stare down. No one else wanted to broach the
subject with the feisty head of the house, and I was the sacrificial lamb.

  “It will be fine. You’ll see,” said Cook, squeezing my arm to bestow confidence.

  “Just let her know the police are coming and there’s been a horrible accident at the entrance. Tell her Eric found Mark unresponsive. That will soften the blow.” Mary raised her brows earnestly.

  “Find her in the sitting room.” Cook nodded.

  With that, they shoved me out through the kitchen door where I stood both dazed and confused, as well as hoping Miss Janice’s headache tonic had kicked in.

  I followed the lemon polish scented wainscoting down the hallway and then paused outside the sitting room door. As I lifted my hand to knock, my brain rushed through logistical gymnastics in an attempt to convince me that it would be easier to gather my suitcase and abandon this job.

  Before I gave into temptation, I quickly knocked.

  “Come in!” called Janice Thornberry.

  Reluctantly, I turned the knob.

  Miss Janice reclined back on a plush couch. Fortunately, she seemed relaxed and headache free. Scattered on the table before her were several magazines, each one opened to a different page of dining room designs.

  “Excuse me, Miss Janice?”

  “Yes? What do you want?” She frowned and cycled through to the irritated look. “Go find Marguerite. She’ll tell you what’s expected next.”

  “No. It’s not that. I’m here to bring you a message.”

  “Oh?” Her eyebrows delicately rose in question. “What is it then?”

  This was much more difficult than I’d imagined. “Uh, there’s been an accident. The police will be here soon.”