Pen and Peril (Comet Cove Mysteries #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Once upon a time in Florida

“Roz, sweetheart, the beauty of writing fiction is that you can make up anything you want,” Alden told her.

He took a sip of his coffee as they walked along Comet Cove’s busy Main Street toward Big Bang Books.

“It’s pure imagination. Novels exist at a higher level than our scribbling for the newspaper. ”

Roz shot him a skeptical look, but it turned into a smile.

How did she end up with a guy this good-looking?

Muscular but not one of those big doofuses who lived at the gym, he was even more attractive when he was relaxed like he was now, in jeans and a button-up blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, on the way to see his favorite author.

She was skeptical about Alden’s claim about the superiority of fiction.

She was skeptical about the book signing they were about to attend.

And she wasn’t sure about him calling her sweetheart, either.

Having a serious boyfriend—man friend?—was pretty new to her.

So was just about everything in her life, since The Beacon gobbled up her family’s newspaper and the staffs merged.

And she and Alden had merged, too. Though it wasn’t exactly a perfect union yet.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked, his gray eyes narrowing.

Roz tasted her mocha, sweet and hot from Bean Me Up, and quoted him. “Our scribbling for the newspaper? Are you saying what you wrote for the tabloids wasn’t fiction?”

“Now that’s a low blow. I reported the facts—in a colorful way. Besides, I’m a reformed character, and that was a long time ago.” He shot her a grin and ran a hand through his thick, short-cropped hair.

“Not all that long ago,” she said, enjoying his humor. And his hair. Hers had more reddish tones than his dark brown. “And have you made any progress on your novel?”

“I’m still working on the outline,” he confessed.

“I think you’re afraid to start it.”

“Not fair! I’m busy, that’s all. I’ve got this crazy job covering all the celebrities hanging out in Comet Cove. If only I had help from our new managing editor-slash-star reporter, maybe I’d have more time for fiction.”

“Ha! I’m busy too, you know. This place is growing. There’s lots to write about.”

“Because with growth comes growing pains.”

“Too true,” Roz agreed. “It’s nothing like it was when I was a kid.”

She cast a look around the cute downtown, filled with colorful small businesses, the sidewalk dappled with shadows from palms and oak trees.

It was April and cool for Florida, but she could feel summer waiting in the dressing room, trying on bathing suits.

It was the end of what most Floridians called The Season, the busy time when snowbirds came to stay, but on both sides of the street, almost every diagonal parking space was full.

This place was thriving thanks to all the people moving in, but how long would it have that sleepy small-town charm she’d grown up with?

When she’d gone off to college and later even farther away to work at a Baltimore paper, Comet Cove had been so sleepy it was practically falling into a coma.

Then a few famous people found it, and somehow its appeal exploded like a supernova.

She was always tripping over celebrities in unexpected places.

And now they were going to see one of them at Big Bang Books.

“So have you read a lot of Enolia Honeywood’s novels?” she asked Alden. “I didn’t think sexy beach thrillers were your kind of thing.”

“Why not? I’m sexy and thrilling, aren’t I?”

She laughed, though he really was. Even if she was freaking out a little bit about being in a relationship after their whirlwind romance, which happened to coincide with reporting on a big story they’d barely survived.

Alden chuckled, too. “Seriously, she’s the best. A master of the craft. Her twists get me every time. I’d love to write half that well.”

“Or make half as much as she does,” Roz said wryly.

“I won’t deny it. But I guess I should write my novel first.”

“I’m a little surprised she’s making this appearance,” she said. “There’s a much bigger bookstore in Vero Beach she could’ve gone to.”

“You’re right. She usually picks big cities for her appearances these days. I think the only reason she’s here is because she just bought a house on the beach on the north side.”

Everything in Comet Cove was northside or southside, depending on which side of the inlet it was on. The inlet was the waterway that cut through the barrier island from the Indian River Lagoon to the Atlantic, making this a popular place for boaters and anglers as well as the glitterati.

They’d almost reached Big Bang Books, where fans of Enolia Honeywood streamed inside. The storefront was on theme, painted with planets, stars and flying books. Big picture windows flanked the blue door, which was spangled with silver stars.

The window display on one side offered an array of Ms. Honeywood’s bestsellers, surrounded by beach trappings—flip-flops, an umbrella, a beach towel, shells. Oh, and a scary-looking knife sticking out of a sand-filled bucket, which Roz hoped was a rubber prop.

The window on the other side was full of science fiction and comic books, which were among Big Bang’s specialties. It also carried plenty of romance, bestsellers, quirky reads, kids’ fare and banned books. There was something for everyone inside.

Alden held the door for her, and she strolled into the frosty air-conditioning. He briefly caressed her back as they paused at the entrance, then stuck his hands in his pockets as he gazed around at the crowd.

She loved his touch, but getting smoochy in public probably didn’t do much for their reputations as journalists with The Courier-Beacon, so they tried to keep PDAs to a minimum.

All part of adjusting to the whole relationship thing.

This wasn’t Roz’s first, but it was so much more.

She’d never been so emotionally entangled with a guy before. And now she was all mixed up.

Big Bang Books wasn’t chain-store large, but it was spacious. It had taken over an old shoe store that had been half a dozen other things over the years. It had that lovely bookish smell of paper and ink and binding glue.

Under high tin ceilings, dozens of people milled among the bookshelves or claimed seats in the rows of chairs set up in the back.

Their voices echoed and overlapped in a roaring waterfall of words.

Kids giggled and screeched in the children’s section.

A local folk duo played guitar and flute in one corner.

This was no bookishly quiet event. It was a party, and it was loud.

“Should we get a seat before they run out?” Alden’s voice held a touch of boyish anxiety that made Roz smile.

“Maybe we should mingle first.”

“You’re just looking for a story.”

“And you aren’t?” She quirked her mouth at him. “Maybe I just want to say hi to my friends.”

“Ha. Fine. I think I see a likely target anyway.” He glanced to the right, toward a few men clustered around the history section.

“Is that—that guy?” Roz asked. “Blake Burbage, right?” He was fiftysomething and handsome in a silver fox kind of way, his dark hair threaded with steel-gray and his blue eyes sharp and dancing as he laughed with his cohorts.

“Yep. Blake Burbage. I haven’t seen him in anything good in forever.”

“I loved him in that show about the Army police—Chain of Honor. And then he played that officer in … I can’t remember.”

“Probably because he’s played a military man in so many movies and shows,” said Alden, an avid film fan. “He hasn’t had a big role in ten years. Though he did play that crazed priest in Say a Hail Mary.”

“Oh, yeah!” Roz exclaimed. “He was super creepy in that one.”

“He’s still too famous to be a has-been. I’ll see if I can chat him up.” And off Alden went to do what he did best, mine the stars for gold.

Roz went the other way, spotting someone a lot less famous flipping through a tome on a display table covered with dragon books and merchandise. “Sheryl?”

The woman was slender with highlighted shoulder-length brown hair. She wore a brown T-shirt that said Trees Hug Me Back that hung straight down over her modest chest and bunched around the waistband of her tan capris. Thick leather sandals and a patchwork, cross-body boho bag completed the look.

One of the paper’s stable of poorly paid freelancers, Sheryl Pugh wrote the gardening column.

Not that the poor pay bothered her that much.

She’d apparently survived a bitter divorce from a philandering Bohemia Beach allergist, emerging with enough money to pick and choose her careers, no matter how little they paid.

“Hey, Roz!” A smile lit up Sheryl’s pretty elfin face, subtly tan and only slightly weathered by sun and her fortysomething years. “Are you a fan of Enolia Honeywood too?”

Roz got close enough to whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve only read one of her books, and it wasn’t my favorite. Is she here yet?”

“I think she’s hiding in the office. Or maybe she’s coming by limo. No one seems to know, but there’s a podium and table set up in front of the chairs, so I think she’ll be here.” Sheryl bore a small frown at the thought of being stood up.

“I’m sure she will. What are you writing about this week?”

Sheryl’s brown eyes sparkled. “Plumeria! They’re already starting to leaf out. Soon they’ll be blooming. It’s always an exciting time, especially since they’re just a bunch of fat sticks during the winter. And they smell so good.”

“Great!” Roz tried to muster convincing enthusiasm. “Are those the flowers they have in Hawaii?”

“Yes, but they thrive here as well. Frangipani. I love them.”

“I grew up here, but I never learned much about gardening. As a kid I didn’t care, and as a grown-up, I’m just too busy.”

“Roz.” Sheryl closed the book she’d been riffling through and gave her a serious look. “Gardening is the best therapy ever. I mean, outside of sex.”