Nora had already turned away. She waved, whether in agreement or shooing him off was unclear, and picked up the phone.
The “offices” of the Scuttlebutt Weekly were housed—literally—in a cozy, gray clapboard cottage at the west end of the village.
Staring at the cherry-red door, blooming flower boxes, and triangle-shaped shrubs, Ellery felt like he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. This was all so cute and quaint. From the charming sign with its gossiping-fish masthead, the bike rack, the pristine stars and stripes snapping briskly in the sea breeze, it just did not look like a place where Sue Lewis would work. Granted, there were no maximum-security prisons on the island, so she probably had to take what she could get.
He walked up to the front door, glanced at the front page of the paper in the newspaper stand beside the walkway, and felt his blood begin to boil.
FOOL ME THREE TIMES, SHAME ON…?
Ellery banged on the cherry-red door.
“Come in,” called a cheerful male voice.
Ellery opened the door onto a long room divided into cubicles. Three people sat in the cubicles, all of them staring at him with interest. Ellery knew Mia Lewis, Sue’s teenaged daughter, only by sight. Lucas Roy, who wasn’t a lot older than Mia, was a regular customer at the bookstore (he preferred true crime) and had started his journalistic career as a paperboy. “Cap” Elijah Murphy was a crony of Nora’s from their days in Pirate’s Cove Historical Society. Cap wrote a regular opinion column for the Scuttlebutt Weekly, which boiled down to a weekly rant about all the changes to the island that he did not approve of—which was all the changes to the island.
The interest on their three faces changed to varying degrees of alarm when they recognized Ellery.
“Ellery!” Cap exclaimed with false heartiness. “What brings you here this fine and sunny morning?”
Mia grabbed her phone, punched a button, and began to whisper frantically.
“Ellery. Hey!” Lucas glanced nervously down the length of the room at a closed door with a placard that read: SUSAN LEWIS – EDITOR IN CHIEF.
“I’d like to speak to Sue,” Ellery said tersely.
Cap pointed. “Door next to the fireplace. Knock twice.”
Lucas threw Cap a look of disbelief and stammered, “Is-is there anything we can help you with?”
“No.” Ellery strode toward Sue’s door. A large brown-and-white cat leaped from its spot in front of the cold fireplace as though a dog had suddenly appeared.
The door to Sue’s office flew open. Sue stood framed in the entrance with a wary smile on her face. “Ellery. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Is it?”
Sue’s perfectly groomed brows arched in wonder. “Well, yes. You’ve turned down all my previous requests for an interview. But I suppose it’s different this time. Given your relationship with the prime suspect.”
“You thought wrong.” Positioned as he was, Ellery could see into Sue’s office. Her desk was a pile of papers, coffee cups, and Ding Dongs wrappers. On the wall behind the desk hung a calendar. The bottom half of the calendar was a series of intimidating red slashes to mark the passing days—all of which Sue had apparently hated. The top half of the calendar was a disconcertingly fetching photo of Jack in becomingly fitted black breeches. Pirate Jack was shirtless, sexy, and clearly self-conscious as he hitched a debonair black frock coat over his right shoulder.
For a split-second Ellery couldn’t remember what it was he had been planning to say to Sue.
Sue took advantage of his speechlessness. “Why don’t we step into my office?”
Ellery snapped back to consciousness. “I think it’s better if everyone hears what I have to say. First, I’m not in a relationship with Julian Bloodworth. I met him for the first time last night. He is not my boyfriend.”
“That’s not what everyone says,” Sue retorted. “That’s not what Julian says.”
“I don’t care. I met him last night. End of story.”
Sue opened her mouth.
“Second, I’ve tried to be a good sport, but you keep pushing it. I don’t know what your problem with me is, Sue.” Ellery couldn’t help another automatic look at Pirate Jack’s pained grin. “But if you don’t stop, and I mean now, I’m going to sue you for libel.”
Maybe Sue caught that inadvertent peek, because her smile grew tighter. “Get off your high horse, Ellery. You can barely keep the Crow’s Nest afloat now. You’re not suing anyone. Just be glad I don’t sue you. For harassment.”
“You forget. I inherited Brandon Abbott’s literary estate.”
Sue stopped smiling.
“And you know who has more money than both of us put together? The Bloodworths.”
Sue’s eyes went wide. She didn’t seem to have a response. Had it only occurred to her then that her poison darts were hitting targets besides Ellery?
Ellery turned and headed for the door. He paused on his way out to tell their dumbstruck audience, “Just remember, the next time she does one of her hatchet jobs on me, she’s putting your jobs at risk as well.”
Sue recovered enough to yell, “There’s something called freedom of the press, you know!”
Ellery shot back, “There’s also something called defamation of character.” He slammed the door shut.
Would it do any good?
Ellery had no idea, but it had felt good in the moment.
It wasn’t until he was back in his Volkswagen, scrolling through the village directory for Klementina Harwood’s address, that he realized he had never even read Sue’s article. How funny and yet sad that Sue’s use of the Scuttlebutt Weekly as a platform for venting her frustration and dislike was so predictable.
Unable to locate Kezzie in the directory, Ellery phoned Nora.
“She rents the old Montgomery place, dearie.” Nora’s words were neutral, but her tone was, That woman is not one of us!
“Where’s the old Montgomery place?”
“It’s the large blue house on Shell Neck Road. But don’t you think it might be a good idea to wait to interview her? I’ve called an emergency meeting of the Silver Sleuths for this evening.”
Ellery’s plans for the evening included a hot bath, a good book, and his very comfortable bed. The headache he’d woken up with had only gotten worse over the course of the day, and the thought of an evening with the Silver Sleuths was not helping any.
“I might have better luck if I catch her while she’s still hungover.”
“Hmm. True.” Nora cleared her throat. “Chief Carson stopped by a little while ago.”
“Did he?”
“He seemed to think you would be working today.”
“He’s often wrong.”
“He said something about catching up with you later.”
Ellery muttered darkly, “Hmmpf.”
“Of course, dearie,” Nora said in the soothing tone of one who sees all too clearly. “Good luck with Ms. Harwood. Let me know how it goes.”
Chapter Twelve
It took several short, stubborn rings and Ellery leaning on the doorbell for a solid thirty seconds before the glass door of 1728 Shell Neck Road finally swung open.