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  PRAISE FOR THE NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING

  NOVEL IDEA MYSTERIES

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

  —Kings River Life Magazine

  “[Arlington] 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

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

  —RT Book Reviews

  “[A] smart whodunit filled with well-drawn and interesting characters.”

  —Richmond Times-Dispatch

  “A layered and enjoyable read.”

  —Booklist

  “Inspiration Valley is a town everyone would love … Lucy Arlington has created the perfect setting for this cozy series.”

  —Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

  “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

  “Arlington’s books are welcoming mysteries. It’s a series with a great cast of characters, beginning with Lila’s family, and extending to the local businesspeople and the literary agency staff.”

  —Lesa’s Book Critiques

  “A witty, captivating read that mystery fans will enjoy.”

  —Novel Reflections

  “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

  OFF THE BOOKS

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  OFF THE BOOKS

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

  Copyright © 2016 by Lucy Arlington.

  Excerpt from Rest in Peach by Susan Furlong copyright © 2016 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 and the PRIME CRIME design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-17131-2

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2016

  Cover art 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.

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  To booksellers everywhere who dedicate their time to sharing the magic of a good story.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Praise for the New York Times bestselling 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 Excerpt from Rest in Peach

  Chapter 1

  I loved wintertime in the quaint hamlet of Inspiration Valley, especially when it snowed, which wasn’t often. Our little village, with its neat clapboard cottages and brick-front businesses, was nestled deep in North Carolina’s Balsam Mountains, which protected us from the moist southern winds and kept us dry for most of the winter months. But today, snow was falling in big silver flakes, blanketing the ground like a loosely crocheted afghan and giving the Valley the magical appearance of a freshly shaken snow globe.

  “Don’t worry, everyone. This snow isn’t going to damper our week,” my boss, Bentley Burlington-Duke, founder and president of Novel Idea Literary Agency, declared from the driver’s seat. We were returning to the Valley after picking up a couple of authors from the airport located in nearby Dunston. Tomorrow was the opening day of our agency’s weeklong event, Booked for a Wedding, which was to feature a unique combination of literary and bridal events. “Neither rain, nor sleet, nor this darn snow will keep our agency from holding every single event this week. We fully intend to make sure the show goes on no matter what. Isn’t that right, Lila?” she added, throwing me a resolute look.

  I nodded and turned toward the murmur of chuckles Bentley’s string of mangled clichés brought from the two authors in the backseat. Bentley was a keenly determined businesswoman. Leave it to her to think she could control everything about this week’s schedule, including Mother Nature.

  “I can’t wait for things to get started,” said Jodi Lee, author of The Billionaire’s Bride. “What a brilliant idea to combine a bridal expo and books.” Her compliment brought a murmur of appreciation from Bentley, who loved it when someone recognized, and acknowledged, the brilliance behind her marketing schemes. And brilliant she was. When I joined Novel Idea Literary Agency a couple of years ago, I was intimidated by her authoritative presence. But since then, I’d come to admire her tenacious drive and sharp business instinct, which had helped scores of authors realize their dreams.

  “Not me. I’m so nervous,” admitted Lynn Werner, my client who was a new author with the firm. “Especially for my presentation. I’ve never really talked in front of a crowd before, or read my work out loud to anyone.”

  “You’ll be fine,” I assured her. “We’ll practice a few times before your talk.” I’d just signed her the previous summer for her novel, Murder and Marriage, which had been retitled Wed ’til Dead. I thought the snappy title was the perfect fit for her cleverly written cozy mystery. “Besides,” I told her, “everyone’s going to love it. I think it’ll be a big seller.”

  “Think?” Bentley bellowed. “Novel Idea only represents successful books. Wed ’til Dead will be a bestseller. That’s what this week is all about, Lynn. Getting your name out there in front of readers’ eyes. That way, when your book does release, you’ll have a ready-made audience.”

  Lynn quickly tucked a strand of brown hair under her stocking cap and let out a nervous sigh. I felt for her. Most authors experienced newbie jitters. It wasn’t easy putting your work out there for everyone’s judgment. And public appearances were just one more intimidating task for most writers. Mostly because, by nature, authors tended to be introverts. But it was a necessity of the business, especially for an unknown author like Lynn. She needed to build name recognition before her novel was released this spring.

  “Oh, don’t worry about a thing,” Jodi said, waving her mittened hand through the air. “You’ll get used to public speaking. Besides, book readers are some of the friendliest people around. You’re going to have a blast this week.
”

  I smiled appreciatively. Her kind words seemed to put Lynn at ease. Jodi, a bestselling romantic suspense author, was represented by my coworker, Flora Merriweather. Flora had sung her praises: “She’s the easiest client ever, always so positive and upbeat, easy to work with …” Now I could see what Flora meant. I’d only just met Jodi, but I already liked her sunny attitude. Even her choice in outerwear, a cheery pink puffy jacket topped off with pom-pom toboggan in fuchsia with purple snowflakes, was bright and cheerful.

  “We’ve booked you both rooms at the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast,” I said, steering the conversation in a different direction. “I think you’ll both be comfortable there. It’s a lovely old Victorian on the edge of the village and the owner is such a gracious hostess.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Lynn replied. “I don’t remember it being open when I lived in the area.”

  Bentley glanced in the rearview mirror. “When was that again?”

  “It’s been about five years since I moved to the coast. I actually used to live in Dunston. I haven’t been back since I left.”

  Bentley nodded, carefully maneuvering the vehicle over the snowy pavement as we turned onto Sweet Pea Road. “In that case, the Magnolia probably wasn’t open when you were here. Cora Scott—that’s the owner—only opened a couple of years ago after several years of remodeling. She put a substantial amount of money into it, too, but I think she’s making a good return on her investment. The place is constantly booked.”

  “Is that it?” Jodi asked, pointing to a tall domed turret peeking above the trees. She followed up her question with a long “Awww” as we rounded the corner and pulled up to what we locals sometimes referred to as “The Grand Lady.”

  “I can see where it gets its name,” Lynn commented, staring out at the pink and white exterior of the home. “It reminds me of the blossoms on the magnolia tree in my mother’s backyard. Such a gorgeous pink color. It’s exquisite.”

  My thoughts traveled across the same lines, and I realized how lucky the town was that Cora had swooped in and rescued the place. In the 1970s, during the Illumination Valley days, when our town was a haven for nonconformists and freethinkers, the historic Victorian was occupied by a group who let the place fall into disrepair. Then, after a couple of decades as a multi-rental unit, it was left abandoned for several years. Luckily, Cora came onto the scene and painstakingly restored its original glory with three stories of repaired white spindle work, freshly painted gables and turrets, and new carved pillars on the expansive front porch. And that was just the outside!

  We’d just started unloading luggage when the front door popped open and Cora Scott came bustling outside to greet us. “Welcome, welcome!” she called out, making her way down the small walk that connected the side carport to her front door. “I’m so glad you made it okay. Especially with this dreadful weather. How were the roads?” But before we could reply, she turned to our guests. “Let me help you with your bags. You two must be the authors I’ve heard so much about.”

  “Excuse me,” I said, apologizing for my bad manners. “Cora, this is Lynn Werner and Jodi Lee. Ladies, this is Cora Scott, your charming hostess for the week.”

  Cora’s deep brown eyes gleamed warmly as she shook their hands. A sturdily built woman, Cora had strong features that would have looked harsh on anyone else, but her sweet personality softened her face and made everyone around her feel instantly at ease. “Come in, come in,” she said, motioning for us to follow her toward the house. “I’ve got a pot of tea on. Just the thing to warm you.”

  Once inside, she hung our coats in the front hall closet. Then she directed Bentley and me to the kitchen while she led the authors around the corner to where a small elevator was located. Cora had possessed the foresight to install it during renovations, knowing that two flights of stairs might not be easy for her guests to manage, especially with luggage.

  I’d been in the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast a handful of times, but the magnificence of its intricate woodwork and ornate furnishings never ceased to impress me. Admittedly, though, there was a certain heaviness to it all that made me glad for the simpler lines of my sunny cottage on Walden Woods Circle. Still, as I followed Bentley’s determined footsteps toward the kitchen at the back of the house, it was hard to resist the urge to stop and ponder the magnificent details of the antique book stand that held the guest registry or the skilled needlepoint design on a nearby Rococo armchair.

  “Pam!” Bentley gushed as soon as we entered the kitchen. A thin, dark-haired woman rose from the kitchen seating area and grasped Bentley’s outstretched hands. They exchanged a series of cheeky air kisses and traded comments on how great each looked. Bentley adored Pamela Fox. Her popular erotic series, The Reluctant Brides of Babylon, had hit the top ten of the New York Times bestsellers list last year, which succeeded in propelling Pam to the top of Bentley’s list also.

  We settled into the padded seating built into an octagon area formed by the large turret that ran up the back side of the house. The nook was surrounded by windows framed in pretty yellow and blue fleur-de-lis valances that matched the padding on the built-in benches. To me, this was the best feature of the home: a bright, sunny spot for guests to lounge with a cup of coffee. Much more comfortable than the adjacent formal dining area with its dark oak table and thick Oriental rug of burgundy and forest green.

  “I hope you slept well last night,” Bentley said to Pam, serving herself from the antique tea set arranged in the middle of the table. I skipped the tea but snagged a roll.

  “Everything has been just wonderful,” Pam said, cringing at the sound of hammering coming from the opposite side of the kitchen. “Except for that.”

  “What is that?” Bentley asked, twisting her head to locate the source.

  Pam covered her ears lightly. “Apparently the owner is having some shelving put up in the pantry. She mentioned it yesterday when I checked in; I just never expected it to start so early in the morning.”

  I glanced at my watch. It was nearly ten o’clock here, but Pam arrived yesterday from California, which meant it was really only seven o’clock her time. Poor thing. I leaned in and raised my voice over the pounding. “The last of the authors just arrived,” I told her. “They’re getting settled but should be down in a minute. We wanted to make sure you’re introduced before we leave. But someone will be back around twelve thirty to pick you up for today’s meeting.” Bentley had set an organizational meeting for one o’clock at the James Joyce Pub. There would be over a dozen authors participating in the week’s events, so organizing and keeping track of everyone was going to be a challenge.

  “I’m looking forward to meeting everyone,” Pam practically shouted. The noise coming from the pantry seemed to be growing louder. “There’s only a few of us here; where are the others staying?”

  “At Bertram’s Hotel,” Bentley replied, her lips tight with annoyance. “It’s not as nice as this place, but it certainly might be quieter. Maybe we should consider moving you there.”

  As if in response, the hammering suddenly ceased. Pam tipped back her head and chuckled. “Bertram’s Hotel? Like in the Agatha Christie book? No thanks! If I remember correctly, things didn’t go all that well for the guests at Bertram’s. So, I think I’ll stay here. At least we know there won’t be any dead bodies.” She pointed toward the pantry. “Unless Mr. Hammer Happy wakes me up again at some ungodly hour tomorrow.”

  We all laughed. Just then Cora came into the kitchen with Lynn and Jodi on her heels. “Make yourselves comfortable, ladies. I’ll get some fresh tea.” She started rifling through the kitchen cabinets as Bentley made a round of introductions. Just as I’d hoped, the ladies seemed to get along well, instantly settling into a comfortable conversation about their hometowns and the books they liked to read. Vicky Crump, our ever-efficient office manager, had asked my opinion when she was setting up accommodations for everyone. During renovations, Cora had combined two of the bedrooms into a large living sui
te for herself, leaving three spacious en suite rooms to rent to guests, so I’d specifically asked that these three authors be placed together. I wanted Lynn to have the experience of being around more seasoned authors. It looked like I’d chosen the right mentors for her.

  “I’ll have you know,” Cora started, setting the teakettle to boil on the stove, “I plan on attending all the events this week, even the wine tasting.” She let out a little giggle as she uncapped a glass jar and started measuring loose tea into a diffuser. “Good thing I got my tickets when I did; I hear all the events sold out.”

  Bentley rubbed her hands together and smiled. “That’s right. Undoubtedly it will be another successful venture for our agency.”

  To some, Bentley came off as overconfident, brash even, but in my mind, she’d earned the right to pat herself on the back. Before Bentley arrived, the town’s businesses had all but dried up during a hard-hitting recession. When she relocated her literary agency from New York to our humble village, it sparked renewed interest in the area. Soon all the businesses jumped on the bandwagon, changing the town’s name to Inspiration Valley and adopting literary-themed names for many of the small shops. Now our agency’s events drew crowds from all over the country.

  Just then the racket started up again, pulling me from my thoughts. “Oh my goodness,” Cora said. “I didn’t realize just how much noise this project would make. Let me ask him to take a little break while we enjoy some tea.”

  “No more for us,” Bentley said, standing and glancing at her watch. “We’ve got to get over to the Arts Center and make sure things are on track there.” We were holding most of the events at the Marlette Robbins Center for Fine Arts, a large facility recently built on the edge of town.