Death Between the Pages

  Death Between the Pages

  A Poison Ink Mystery

  Beth Byers

  Contents

  Summary

  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

  Sneak Peek of Bright Young Witches & the Restless Dead

  Summary

  April 1937

  When Georgette Dorothy Aaron first started writing books, she little expected to affect real life. When she dives into writing crime novels with Robert, she little expects to see fiction come to life once again.

  Once before she wrote a book and changed the fate of her neighbors. Was it happening again? When the book she and Robert Aaron write together seems to be coming to life, Georgette can’t help but wonder if the gods are playing games with them.

  Once again, Georgette and her family turn to the crime in front of them and work together to discover just what happened, why it happened, and what to do next.

  for Taryn

  You never stop believing in me.

  Heart your face.

  1

  When the goddess Atë looked down on the village of Harper’s Hollow she was bored. Her long-seeing gaze landed on her favorite, Georgette Aaron, heavy with child, and that cool gaze narrowed. Really, whatever had Georgette been thinking? Falling in love, marrying, buying a house, and now a baby? What was next? Long conversations with other mothers about nappies and colic? Atë frowned threateningly. It just wouldn’t do.

  Her gaze turned from Georgette to the village and she sighed darkly. Harper’s Hollow was nothing more than a quiet town with a church, a tea shop, a baker, a butcher, a candlestick maker. There was a lovely quiet river that rolled through verdant green hills, and woods growing about the village providing a bit of ominous background, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Atë might need to turn her long-eyed gaze to that other fellow, the somewhat amusing one. But no…what if…instead…yes. Atë smiled that cold, amused, mischievous smile, and if Georgette had seen it, she might have winced.

  ROBERT AARON

  Robert leaned back in his chair and examined his document. His heart raced as he wondered, was the charm that had invaded the pages Georgette or the inspiration from that couple on the train? If it was inspiration from the couple on the train, had he crossed a line? Robert’s mouth twisted as he stared down at his book.

  He might need to ask Charles. They would take the same train into London, but was Robert really ready to share his book with him? The truth was Charles was Robert’s hero. The man had taken in Robert when his parents had died. Charles had educated both Robert and his brother, Joseph, been there for the holidays in between school terms, and given Robert work when he’d finished school. Robert had learned his love of books and fiction from his uncle. What if Charles didn’t like Robert’s book? What if Charles suggested that Robert give up writing?

  Robert packed up his book, added it to his briefcase, shrugged on his coat, and walked to his auto. He needed to talk to Georgette about the book, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to talk to anyone else about it.

  He’d have to hurry or he’d miss the train. He had barely moved into his house on the outskirts of Harper’s Hollow, though in reality, it had little to offer beyond a leaky roof, a crooked door, and a very low price, but it was near two of his favorite people in the world and that made it worthwhile.

  When he arrived at his uncle’s house, Georgette was behind the wheel of Charles’s auto and Charles was sitting next to her. Charles lifted his brow and Robert rushed from his vehicle to Charles’s.

  “So sorry I’m late.” He grinned winningly at Georgette and winked as he told Charles, “Traffic.”

  “Yes, traffic.” Charles’s wry voice made Robert snort. The idea of traffic in such a small village was ridiculous.

  His uncle handed back a small bag. Robert opened it as Charles added, “Eunice.”

  Robert eyed through the food, the thermos, the sandwich for later, the breakfast bun and what looked like a roll with a bit of egg and bacon shoved in to make it portable. He sniffed it and then groaned in delight.

  “Did you eat?” Georgette laughed.

  Robert shook his head. “I was working.”

  “Luther and I don’t expect you to work through breakfast, Robert,” his uncle said. “Eat before you wither.”

  Robert saw Georgette glance his way and knew she was aware what he had actually been doing. It had been Georgette, after all, who had told him the story of the prolific novelist Anthony Trollope, who wrote every day before he went into work at the post office.

  “Charles darling,” Georgette asked, “will you be late tonight?”

  As his uncle answered, Robert glanced out the window. There was that couple who had been on his mind, and possibly coloring his fiction. As usual, the woman’s hair was up in a neat chignon. Robert snorted at himself. He’d had to describe the hair to Georgette to learn the name. If his readers were male, would they know the term? Should he describe it as he had to Georgette instead? Who knew that such a small detail would encompass his thoughts as these things did?

  She was wearing a shirt buttoned to her chin with little sort of scalloped collar. The shirt was white with a neat jumper over the top, paired with a pleated skirt and sensible shoes. A large part of Robert wanted to follow her to her place of employment. He had an internal bet that she was a librarian. Or possibly a teacher at a girl’s school. Her blonde hair was smooth and rich, and he’d yet to determine if her eyes were a light golden brown, a soft pretty blue, or—perhaps—a leafy green?

  That burly fellow towered over the woman as though they were two different species. She was a slender little thing, and the man had to be taller than anyone Robert had ever seen. With thick, curly hair that fell almost to his shoulders and a thick beard, he seemed like how Robert imagined mountain men from American fiction. What was this man, as wild as he was, doing with that smooth woman? It was such a study in opposites that it bothered him in his quiet moments.

  Robert’s head turned as the auto passed the walking couple and then he looked ahead. The train station was mere moments away and the train was pulling up. As soon as Georgette parked, Robert got out of the auto with Charles and noticed Joseph waiting nearby. The two nephews and their uncle boarded the train to London with Robert lingering so he could watch the scruffy man and elegant woman hurry to the train and their usual seats.

  “You know,” Joseph said from behind his brother, “I think they might be married. What about that little blonde? The one with the cute little snub nose?”

  Robert felt the heat burning his ears as he simply grunted and bypassed his brother to drop down next to Charles.

  Joseph wasn’t so easily put off. “What about that curvy little redhead?” he teased as he sat across from them.

  “What about you stop speaking?” Robert suggested mildly.

  “What about that girl at the train station office? The one with the mole near her mouth. Intriguing mark, I should say.”

  “I have little interest in what you find intriguing,” Robert shot back, “although your fiancée may feel differently.”

  “Threats, little brother?”

  Robert eyed Joseph in a manner to make it clear that threats, promises, or gags, Joseph would be leaving the subject alone or suffering the consequences.

  Joseph grinned slowly an
d said, “We’ve a new girl at the Yard, did you know?”

  “Why would I care?” Robert asked with a long-suffering sigh that was echoed by his uncle.

  The brothers turned to their uncle and their eyes lit with mischief as one.

  “Charles, were you aware? Perhaps we could get a lady secretary?” Robert suggested mildly. “One with—” He gestured in front of him in the shape of an hourglass.

  “Mmm,” Charles said, flipping a page in the file on his lap.

  “Perhaps,” Joseph tried, “Charles should meet that new girl at—”

  “You both know I am happily married.”

  “So?" Robert asked as if he wouldn’t track Charles down and break him for hurting Robert’s favorite human, Georgette.

  “You both know that I am expecting a baby with my wife, who—might I add—I adore.”

  “Ah, yes.” Joseph glanced at Robert. “Well, looking can’t hurt, can it?”

  “As I know that you adore your fiancée and are aware that looking can hurt, I will ignore your teasing and remind you, Joseph, that your Marian is far less forgiving than my Georgette. And I will remind you, Robert, that the young woman you are intoxicated with is not, in fact, married. The ring she wears is on her middle finger, not her ring finger.”

  “I don't know what you mean—” Robert tried, trailing off.

  “She is also,” Charles said idly, “the young woman who works at the Yard, filing and tracking their evidence. Your brother is well aware that she is unattached. Now both of you grow up and let me work.”

  Robert’s gaze narrowed on Joseph, who grinned evilly. The two gazes met and then Robert cleared his throat and opened the bag that Eunice had packed for him. He slowly pulled out the thermos, grinned at Joseph who was without a bag, and then pulled out the roll stuffed with eggs and bacon.

  “You’re a knob,” Joseph told his brother.

  Robert’s answer was a large bite followed by a groan of pleasure.

  “You are both children,” Charles told them. “I believe I paid for your university. One would think that these infantile days were over given that I was told you graduated.”

  “Oh uncle,” Joseph smiled evilly. “You should have known better. Robert will be the victim of my tender mercies until the day he dies first.”

  Robert’s answer was another slow bite of his roll. He chewed slowly and then told Joseph, “Eunice has a way with bacon, doesn’t she? Somehow so crisp and yet not greasy. I bet you can’t cook it for yourself that way.”

  Joseph’s gaze narrowed.

  “In fact,” Robert said pleasantly, “I believe that Georgette told me your Marian hates bacon. Just the smell of it makes your little love ill. Are you sure she’s the right woman for you?”

  Joseph stared and actually started to consider whether it was true. The truth was Robert had no idea what Marian could do and he had little doubt that if she didn’t like bacon, she’d still make it for Joseph, who didn’t find breakfast complete without several slices.

  “Bloody hell, boys,” Charles snapped. “Go harass each other where I am not.”

  “But Charles,” Joseph said calmly, “the train is full.”

  Charles looked up from his file where he’d been making a note along the edge. “It’s true. Marian hates bacon.”

  Joseph frowned, glancing between the two of them. “I’ve seen her eat it just fine.”

  “She chokes it down because she knows you love it.”

  “It’s possible we’re being fools,” Robert muttered and pulled out his own file. He regretted taking the position next to Charles now that there was time to pull out his manuscript and read it over. Instead he frowned and then shoved it back in, tossed Joseph the extra breakfast bun without the bacon, and leaned back.

  “Possible?” Charles muttered. “We’re all fools, but especially you, my boy. Introduce yourself to that girl before she notices she’s caught your attention. The way you watch her every move would be disconcerting if we didn’t know you well. For her? You might send her running before you can charm her.”

  “What’s her name?” Robert asked Joseph, not letting his gaze return to the girl.

  Joseph at first acted as though he hadn’t heard his brother, but he answered when Robert’s gaze turned cold and nasty. “Evelyn Hobbs.”

  “She’s not with that fellow?”

  “I believe he’s something of an overprotective cousin. Warren Hobbs is his name. Their fathers are brothers.”

  “You believe? How do you know?”

  “He may also work for the Yard.”

  “May?”

  “Does. He’s one of the burly types they keep about to encourage those brought in to behave.”

  Robert shook his head before his gaze narrowed. “How long have you known this? Why do you know this?”

  “Since I noticed those puppy dog eyes of yours turning her way and then recognized the uptight collar, I found myself intrigued by what would catch the attention of my bookish little brother.”

  Robert took hold of his temper and breathed in slowly before he murdered his brother in front of the woman who had stolen his imagination.

  “She might not be whatever it is that you think,” Charles told Robert rather easily. “I have found women to be disappointing more often than not.”

  “She reads over every lunch break,” Joseph told them.

  Charles and Robert glanced at each other. That was a compelling point. They both turned to Joseph.

  “I know nothing else.”

  “What does she read?” Charles asked.

  “I merely noted her reading in the park as I passed by. She doesn’t have the same hold over me, my dear brother, as she does over you. While I also noticed that the pigeons were fed by her, the name of her book was beyond me.”

  The two book-lovers huffed. “It’s vital information, lad,” Charles told his nephew. “Use those detective skills so Robert doesn’t have to waste his time with the girl if she isn’t what she promises to be.”

  “What exactly would constitute a waste of time?” Joseph demanded.

  “Reading a treatise on the behavior of women,” Charles suggested.

  “Essays on scientific things that would go over my head,” Robert added.

  Joseph huffed. “You don’t want a woman who is smarter than you?”

  Robert grinned sheepishly.

  Charles shook his head. “Georgette is smarter than I am in many ways. I have a leg up on the business side of things, but she wins hands down on following her instincts, understanding people, the capacity to write compelling fiction, and general kindness. You’ll find, if you bother to exercise your wit, that your wives will be brilliant at things that you are terrible at. There’s no shame in that.”

  “I want someone smarter than me like that,” Robert told Joseph. “In the ways I admire, like with Georgette.”

  “You want another Georgette,” Joseph told Robert.

  He didn’t argue. “She’s the perfect version of a female as far as I can tell. Who can blame me for wishing for someone like her?”

  “Who indeed?” Charles asked with an expression of such utter self-satisfaction that his two nephews groaned.

  JOSEPH AARON

  Joseph joined Evelyn and Warren Hobbs on the same trolley that would pass by Scotland Yard.

  “Morning, Warren. How’s things?” Joseph asked, nodding politely to Evelyn, who had suckered Robert with her fine eyes. Although, now that Joseph thought about it, he wasn’t so sure that Robert had ever been close enough to see the girl’s eyes. They were pretty enough, Joseph admitted. He thought, however, his brother was attracted more to the question of her. Her cousin was something of a beast while she was so…so…proper? Was that the right word? She wasn’t his sister-in-law yet, might not ever be, but he decided he’d better think of her that way before either Robert or Marian became upset. “What are you reading, Miss Hobbs?”

  Evelyn looked up in surprise from the pages. She’d taken her seat, pulled
out her book, and ignored the two of them. She stuttered a little as she answered. “B-bulldog Drummond.”

  Joseph grinned at her. He’d read the whole series and so had Robert. “A favorite.”

  She blinked rather quickly and then her gaze moved to the side. Was she shy? Joseph faced her cousin. “Have you read it?”

  “Not much of a man for books. She reads too much.”

  Joseph dared a glance at her and saw a blush on her pale cheeks. With her blonde hair and green eyes, her pale, pale complexion was no surprise, though he thought his brother might fall as deeply for that sprinkling of freckles across the tops of her cheeks and nose.

  Joseph grunted and then found himself unable to let the comment go. “Bit of a book family on my side. My uncle and brother work for Aaron & Luther Publishing House. Most evening dinners are discussing books rather than the weather or sports, I’m afraid.”

  “Sounds like torture,” Warren said. “Books and such all the time. I can’t imagine anything worse.”

  “Oh!” Miss Evelyn Hobbs’s face had transformed from polite and shy to excited. “Aaron & Luther publish my favorite books. Have you read Josephine? Or the Chronicles of Harper’s Bend?”

  Joseph grinned widely at her and leaned in to whisper, “Have I? I could get you the newest book by dear Joseph Jones.”

  “Have you met her?” she asked quickly.

  “That’s a man’s name,” Warren said sourly.

  “It’s a pseudonym,” Evelyn and Joseph said in unison.

  “Must we talk about books?”

  “Yes,” Joseph replied, then he turned his attention to Miss Hobbs. “I have met the author. I happen to know that she’s working on a detective series with another author, though they aren’t aware that I know.”