Played by the Book (A Novel Idea Mystery 4) Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING

  NOVEL IDEA MYSTERIES

  Books, Cooks, and Crooks

  “Food fame can come at a price, as Paula Deen, Nigella Lawson, and Martha Stewart can testify. But death? … [A] suspenseful story written with delectable style.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “Lila Wilkins hasn’t lost any of her snap in this third outing of the Novel Idea series. The denizens of Inspiration Valley and Lila’s fellow agents are still oddly charming.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Nice plotting for the characters to work with, interesting sub-plots as well, and enough clues to make your head spin.”

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  “Let’s face it, I want to be Lila, even with exploding kitchens and dead bodies … Inspiration Valley is a town everyone would love to visit, from Walden Woods Circle to the Espresso Yourself coffee shop to the Magnolia B&B and everywhere in between. Lucy Arlington has created the perfect setting for this cozy series.”

  —Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

  “Mysteries, books, and food just go hand-in-hand … A charming story.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  Every Trick in the Book

  “Fulfills the promise of the series opener … [A] smart whodunit filled with well-drawn and interesting characters.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “Such a clever series … I’m on pins and needles waiting for the next installment.”

  —Book of Secrets

  “There is so much to love about this story! … The characters are superb.”

  —Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

  “Every Trick in the Book is, if it’s possible, better than Buried in a Book … Another fantastic cozy mystery.”

  —Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

  “A wonderfully crafted tome that kicked up the suspense a notch as the pages progressed towards a finale worthy of this terrific novel … [A] fabulous series.”

  —Dru’s Book Musings

  Buried in a Book

  “Cheer up—there’s no middle-aged malaise for Lila. This cozy debut, written by a pseudonymous duo, excels at describing bucolic North Carolina. Think Kate Carlisle for her intergenerational ensemble style or Mark de Castrique’s series for regional Tar Heel flavor.”

  —Library Journal

  “Buried in a Book provides a charming new protagonist and cast of characters, and promises rewarding exploits in future series novels. Keep your eyes peeled for the next Novel Idea Mystery.”

  —Mystery Scene

  “Snappy, funny, and charming, with delightful characters and a cozy plot.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “A witty, captivating read that mystery fans will enjoy. I’m looking forward to my next visit to Inspiration Valley.”

  —Novel Reflections

  “This is the start of a new series by Lucy Arlington and it has great potential. As a fan of cozy mysteries, I enjoyed this book about the crazy cast of characters at a literary agency.”

  —Night Owl Reviews

  “Buried in a Book will appeal to anyone who loves reading, especially anyone who loves discovering a new author … A satisfying first mystery.”

  —The Mystery Reader

  “Lucy Arlington has a winner with this debut … A first-rate whodunit all cozy fans will enjoy!”

  —Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

  “This is a terrific Novel Idea Mystery with its contemporary literary crowd mingling with residents of a small North Carolina town … Lucy Arlington provides an entertaining thriller.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Lucy Arlington

  BURIED IN A BOOK

  EVERY TRICK IN THE BOOK

  BOOKS, COOKS, AND CROOKS

  PLAYED BY THE BOOK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

  penguin.com

  A Penguin Random House Company

  PLAYED BY THE BOOK

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2015 by Lucy Arlington.

  Excerpt from Peaches and Scream by Susan Furlong copyright © 2015 by Susan Furlong-Bolliger.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-17127-5

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2015

  Cover illustration by Julia Green.

  Cover design by Lesley Worrell.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  To my readers.

  Your loyalty and support has allowed Lila’s story to continue.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Praise for the Novel Idea Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Lucy Arlington

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  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

  Special Preview of Peaches and Scream

  Chapter 1

  I was completely engrossed in reading my latest proposal, a cozy mystery set in a charming English hamlet, when a couple of specks of dirt fell across my paper. I looked up just in time to see a blue ceramic pot coming down fast.

  “Dead,” Bentley bemoaned, setting the pot down with a thud on my desk and sliding it under my nose. “Dead as a doornail,” she added for emphasis.

  I brushed away the stray soil and examined what looked like a brown stick with a pair of shriveled leaves. “Did you water it?”

  My esteemed boss, Ms. Bentley Burlington-Duke, founder and president of Novel Idea Literary Agency, hardly ever looked perplexed. Even though she now resided in North Carolina, Bentley maintained her Manhattan façade. At this moment, however, she stared down at me with a strange, quizzical expression. Then, she took the diamond-studded readers that dangled on a bejeweled chain around her neck and placed them on the end of her nose, giving the plant another inspectio
n.

  I cleared my throat. “Water?” I asked again.

  “Well, of course I watered it,” she replied indignantly.

  I stuck my finger in the soil. Dry as a bone. “And, what year was that?”

  Her eyes shifted a bit before she started backtracking. “The problem is that plants need a lot of nurturing and I’m just not the nurturing type. Unlike you—you’re a nurturer. And, you have a green thumb.” She pointed out the rhododendron that I’d received from my son, Trey, last Mother’s Day. The vine was practically taking over the top of my file credenza.

  “Anyone can grow a rhododendron,” I said, wondering what it was she had in mind this time. In the course of my employment I’d carried out my share of minion duties: fetching her coffee, catering to her most demanding authors, and unpacking hundreds of boxes of books. Was she going to add nursing a dead stick to that list? “They grow like weeds,” I continued, hoping to distract her. “Which, speaking of weeds, you wouldn’t think much of my gardening skills if you saw my flower beds. They’re a mess.”

  She folded her arms and stared down her regal nose at me with a stern look. “That simply won’t do, Lila! You’ll need to whip them into shape right away.”

  I did a double take. “Huh?” The truth be known, I’d intended to create a charming English garden after moving into my little cottage. But after a nearly fatal encounter with a murderous woman in that garden only two months ago, I got the shivers every time I even thought about touching the very trowel or rake that had been brandished against me. Was Bentley, in her own way, suggesting I move on from that trauma? I looked at her imperious posture and suspected a less nurturing motive. I asked hesitantly, “Why’s that?”

  “Didn’t Franklin tell you?”

  Franklin was Novel Idea’s nonfiction agent. A mild-mannered, older gentleman whom I’d grown quite fond of over the past year. “Tell me what?”

  “Well, you know Damian York’s book, Perfect Outdoor Spaces?”

  I nodded. Of course I knew about it. Perfect Outdoor Spaces had been the main focus of our status meetings for the entire past month. Its author, Damian York, was one of Franklin’s newest and most promising clients. As the host of a popular public television series, he was quickly becoming a rising star in the home and garden entertainment industry. Not only that, but Damian was a homegrown celebrity, born and raised in nearby in Dunston, which is partly the reason he chose Novel Idea Literary Agency to represent the first in his series of gardening books. Lucky for us that he did. Perfect Outdoor Spaces was destined to be a bestseller.

  Bentley lowered her voice and spoke deliberately. “You’re going to help Franklin host a signing for Damian’s book during Inspiration Valley’s Annual Garden Walk.”

  I leaned back in my chair and drew in my breath. “Isn’t that just two weeks away?” Flyers for the garden walk were plastered in the front window of every business in town. I was kind of flattered that she’d ask me to help a senior agent plan a signing for such an important client, even though it was on short notice. I could see her point, though. The garden walk was the perfect venue for an author like Damian York. I’d already planned on attending the walk and was hoping to talk my boyfriend, police detective Sean Griffiths, into taking a day off from work to accompany me. So, it really wasn’t that big of a deal to line up a simple signing.

  Bentley smiled slyly. “Which should be plenty of time for you and Franklin to put together a dinner event.”

  I lurched forward. “A book signing and a dinner event?” Sure, I’d planned many events like these, but never two at once and with so little time.

  Bentley had taken to pacing in front of my desk, her well-manicured hands gesturing as she talked. She had that intense look she often assumed when she was scheming a new plan. “Yes, of course you’d have to plan a dinner event. Half of his book features outside dining areas.” Her eyes lit up. “I can just imagine how you’ll set it up. An afternoon signing, perhaps set in a garden, followed by a meet and greet dinner where Damian can interact with … oh, let’s say … a hundred of his biggest fans.”

  “A hundred?” I croaked. I’d retrieved a legal pad from my top drawer and was frantically jotting down her expectations.

  She continued on, her wide-leg trousers flowing gracefully as she paced. As usual, Bentley looked cool, fresh, and perfectly put together. The outfit she was wearing probably cost more than I earned in a month. “Yes, I can see it now. It’ll be the perfect fusion between rustic and elegant—earthy tablescapes and candlelight … well, you can figure out the details,” she finished with a final wave of her slim hand. “Just make it fabulous. Oh, and of course, you and Franklin will need to coordinate all your plans with this year’s garden walk chairwoman, Alice Peabody.”

  I jotted down the name.

  Bentley continued, “She’s the president of Inspiration Valley’s garden club, the Dirty Dozen. She’ll be coming by to look at your gardens the first part of next week.”

  “What?”

  “That’s why you need to get that garden of yours into tip-top shape; you’re garden number thirteen on this year’s garden walk. The original entrant had some sort of family emergency and had to withdraw from the lineup.”

  I could feel my eyes bugging out. “But …”

  Bentley wagged her finger at me. “No buts, Lila. We need the garden club to help facilitate this event. In this business it’s all about paying it forward. You scratch their back and they’ll scratch yours.”

  Oh yeah, well, my back isn’t itchy, I thought, struggling to maintain a civil attitude. This was not part of my job description. I’d happily weed through thousands of queries, prune hundreds of manuscripts, and nurture several promising new authors; but keeping a real garden trim and neat? Well, that was asking too much.

  I held my breath for a few counts and then released it slowly, relenting to the fact that I was stuck. Once Bentley set her mind to something there was no dissuading her. So, instead of arguing, I simply nodded in agreement.

  It’s true that Bentley could be a taskmaster, but despite my sometimes overly demanding boss, I loved my job as Novel Idea’s newest literary agent. After being laid off from the Dunston Herald—a daunting situation for a forty-five-year-old divorcée with a son heading to college—I’d taken a chance and responded to the agency’s help wanted ad. After cutting my teeth on a few hundred query letters, and bringing The Alexandria Society, a blockbuster novel written by Marlette Robbins, to the agency, Bentley had offered me my dream position. I’d been assigned to mysteries, from cozy and romantic suspense to hard-boiled and soft-boiled, which gave me the daily thrill of traipsing through manuscripts looking for the next bestseller. Sometimes I just couldn’t believe my luck. After all, what other job would pay me to travel in my mind’s eye to exotic locations, meet captivating characters, and ride the roller coaster of fast-paced plots with twists and turns so unexpected that they kept me spellbound until the last page?

  Bentley made her way to my office door. “Oh, and Lila, be prepared to discuss your plans at Monday’s status meeting. We’re all here to help you in any way we can. Have a good weekend,” she added as she breezed out of my office.

  I shoved aside the dead plant she’d left behind and collapsed on top of my desk. “Impossible,” I muttered. I sat there for a second, my mind reeling with doubt. How could I possibly pull together an event of such magnitude in two weeks? Not to mention, tame my unruly flower beds. Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

  A quote from Mark Twain popped into my head. “There are thousands of excuses for every failure, but never a good reason.” I sat up and repeated the quote out loud, drawing inspiration from Twain’s wisely spoken words before snatching up my legal pad and heading to find Franklin.

  I was in such a hurry, I didn’t bother to look before entering the hallway and ran smack-dab into one of the other agents, Jude Hudson. “Oops! Sorry,” I said, stumbling backward.

  He reached out to steady me, placing his hands on
my shoulders. The unexpected contact kicked my heart rate into high gear as his sculpted arms revealed themselves under his snug and immaculately tailored shirt. Much to my annoyance, I still hadn’t been able to shake the spark left over from a kiss that we’d foolishly shared during my first month at the agency.

  “No problem. Running into you is always a pleasure,” he said playfully, keeping his hands in place and holding me at arm’s length. As always, his eyes kind of shimmered when in close proximity to any woman (how did he do that?) but this time those sparkly chocolate brown eyes studied me with concern. “You look stressed.”

  “Bentley just dumped a load of work in my lap,” I replied, shaking off his hands and reminding myself that I was a one-man type of girl, and that man was definitely Sean.

  A swatch of dark wavy hair fell over his forehead as he lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there something I can help with?”

  “There might be.” I was touched that he’d offered. “I’ll be discussing it at Monday’s status meeting. I may need to delegate a few tasks for a meet and greet dinner I’ll be planning for Damian York.”

  “Count me in,” he said, throwing me a wink. Then with a mischievous grin, he reached down and snatched up my left hand. “I see there’s no ring on that finger yet. If Griffiths doesn’t put one there soon, I might just take care of it myself.”

  “Give it a break, Jude!” I said, ripping my hand away and stomping down the hallway. I knew he was only kidding, but I just wasn’t in the mood. Truth be told, his words hit on a nerve. It’d been a couple of months since I’d overheard Sean ask Trey for his permission for my hand in marriage—a wonderfully romantic gesture that sent me into an immediate tizzy. Ever since, I’d fantasized about my dream wedding—a literary-themed wedding: simple glass candle votives arranged on stacks of vintage books, copies of Browning’s love poems splayed open for guests to read, and my treasured copy of Austen’s Pride and Prejudice prominently displayed next to the wedding cake. Why, I’d practically planned the whole wedding in my mind, everything from my bouquet—roses much like those that must have grown in the Capulets’ garden where Romeo stole away to speak to Juliet—to my dress, which of course would be a 1920s flapper-inspired gown, reminiscent of The Great Gatsby. The only problem was, Sean still hadn’t popped the question. To make matters worse, Sean’s new promotion from officer to detective was keeping him so busy we’d barely had any time together, which was just going to get worse now that Bentley had given me all this extra work.