Murder in the Paperback Parlor Read Free Page A

extend to her older brother, Edwin, as well, but Edwin and Eloise weren’t exactly close. Edwin was a travel writer and had spent most of his adult life journeying around the globe. He could be impatient, blunt, and cryptic.
    So naturally, Eloise was flabbergasted when her brother announced his intention to buy the failing café next door and completely transform the space in time for the Romancing the Reader week.
    â€œYou won’t believe what Edwin’s done,” Eloise exclaimed as she ushered Jane and Aunt Octavia inside. “It’s like entering another world. An exotic oasis right here in Storyton.”
    Eloise was right. When Jane entered the café, she gasped in wonder. Gone was the aging-diner look of the former establishment. The faded linoleum flooring had been replaced with dark rich hardwood and an assortment of kilim rugs. Chairs with wicker backs and plump ivory cushions were pulled up to hammered-copper tables. The walls were covered with antique maps and framed postcards. Potted palms stood like soldiers at regular intervals along the longest wall. At the back of the café, mosquito nets served as a divider between the main dining area and a lounge space. In this intimate alcove,British Colonial chairs with animal print cushions were grouped around a black steamer trunk.
    â€œAre we supposed to eat there?” Aunt Octavia gestured at the lounge area.
    â€œIt’s a place for people to relax with a cup of tea or a smoothie. A conversation corner, so to speak,” Edwin said, coming forward to greet his guests. He gave Aunt Octavia a deferential bow and then reached for Jane’s hand. “I’m glad you could make it.” He cast his gaze around the café, watching people take in little details that Jane had missed upon first glance, like the border of hand-painted tiles around the perimeter of the room, the antique birdcage, or the urn-shaped wall sconces. “What do you think?” he asked, turning back to Jane.
    â€œIt’s wonderful,” Jane said.
    Edwin offered Aunt Octavia his arm. “May I escort you to the best seat in the house?”
    Aunt Octavia inclined her head. After distributing menus to everyone, Edwin disappeared into the kitchen and a middle-aged man wearing a white linen shirt and linen trousers entered the dining room. He flashed them a bright smile from beneath a splendid moustache, introduced himself as Magnus, and declared that he’d be coming around with mango and cardamom smoothies for them to sip while they studied the menu.
    Jane was delighted to find that all the sandwiches had been named after famous poets and were far more interesting than the dry roast beef and Swiss melts the previous owner had served. She found it difficult to decide which one to try first.
    â€œI’m having the Rumi,” Aunt Octavia declared. “You?”
    â€œThe Pablo Neruda.”
    The food was delicious. When Edwin came out of the kitchen to check on his customers, he was greeted by a burst of applause.
    â€œYou’re going to be mobbed by all the romance fans next week!” Mrs. Pratt, another member of Jane’s book club cried. The rest of the Cover Girls would have loved to be dining alongside Mrs. Pratt at this moment, but unfortunately, they had to work. “This setting is straight out of anElizabeth Peters novel. Are you a romantic, Mr. Alcott?” Mrs. Pratt batted her lashes at Edwin.
    â€œNo,” Edwin said. “That malady is for younger men.”
    â€œCome now,” Mrs. Pratt pressed. “A man with such an obvious appreciation for poetry must believe in romance.”
    â€œLord Byron understood. He wrote, ‘the heart will break, but broken live on.’” Edwin smiled at Mrs. Pratt, but the smile did not reach his eyes. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the honey lavender crème brûlée.”
    As Edwin vanished into the kitchen, Jane wondered