Hitting the Books Read online

  Titles by Jenn McKinlay

  Cupcake Bakery Mysteries

  SPRINKLE WITH MURDER

  BUTTERCREAM BUMP OFF

  DEATH BY THE DOZEN

  RED VELVET REVENGE

  GOING, GOING, GANACHE

  SUGAR AND ICED

  DARK CHOCOLATE DEMISE

  VANILLA BEANED

  CARAMEL CRUSH

  WEDDING CAKE CRUMBLE

  Library Lover’s Mysteries

  BOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING

  DUE OR DIE

  BOOK, LINE, AND SINKER

  READ IT AND WEEP

  ON BORROWED TIME

  A LIKELY STORY

  BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

  DEATH IN THE STACKS

  HITTING THE BOOKS

  Hat Shop Mysteries

  CLOCHE AND DAGGER

  DEATH OF A MAD HATTER

  AT THE DROP OF A HAT

  COPY CAP MURDER

  ASSAULT AND BERET

  Bluff Point Romances

  ABOUT A DOG

  BARKING UP THE WRONG TREE

  EVERY DOG HAS HIS DAY

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME

  Published by Berkley

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2018 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf

  Excerpt from The Good Ones copyright © 2018 Jennifer McKinlay Orf

  Penguin Random House 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 Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.

  BERKLEY is a registered trademark and BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the B colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: McKinlay, Jenn, author.

  Title: Hitting the books / Jenn McKinlay.

  Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Prime Crime, 2018. | Series: A library lover’s mystery ; 9

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018004285| ISBN 9780451492678 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780451492692 (ebook)

  Subjects: LCSH: Norris, Lindsey (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Women detectives—Fiction. | Library directors—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.

  Classification: LCC PS3612.A948 H58 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018004285

  First Edition: September 2018

  Cover art by Julia Green / Mendola LTD

  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.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

  Version_1

  For my aunt, Nancy Gould, whose laugh delights me, whose sparkling blue eyes light up every room she enters, and who always tells the funniest stories and bakes the best cookies. I love you very much.

  Acknowledgments

  This series has been such a delight to write. Libraries have always been and will always be my favorite places to explore. I am so grateful to all of the librarians and library workers in my life for making it a much more interesting journey. I have to thank my editor, Kate Seaver; assistant editor, Sarah Blumenstock; and my agent, Christina Hogrebe, for being such a wonderful support system. The books get done because these ladies have my back and keep me on target. I would also like to thank the amazing sales and marketing team at Berkley for getting the books out there and the art and production department for creating such stunning covers and page designs. You are all brilliant and I feel very fortunate to work with you.

  Contents

  Titles by Jenn McKinlay

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  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

  Guide to Crafternoons

  Readers Guide for A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

  Craft: Adjustable String Bracelet

  Recipes

  Excerpt from The Good Ones

  About the Author

  1

  He was whistling. At five o’clock in the morning, the man was whistling. Lindsey Norris grabbed an extra pillow and plopped it over her face, making a sandwich out of her head. It blocked out the chipper sound coming from the bathroom, but it also made breathing a challenge. She shifted and tried to make an air duct for her nose and mouth without letting in any sound. Sucking in a breath of cool early morning air, she tried to get back to her blissful unconscious state.

  Her brain refused to be lulled. It was too busy being irritated. What sort of person whistled first thing in the morning? Her boyfriend, Captain Mike Sullivan, that’s who. The man woke up before the sun rose every day, even on days he didn’t have to. It was positively unnatural. Lindsey had moved into Sully’s house several months ago, and while she loved him and she loved living with him, there were just a few things that made living together a bit tense, not the least of which was Sully’s egregious habit of greeting every day whistling like a songbird at sunrise.

  A former navy man who owned his own boat touring and water taxi company, Sully was used to being up and out before anyone else. Lindsey was not. She was the library director for their small town of Briar Creek, and as a public servant, she kept bankers’ hours, with an evening and rotating weekends thrown in just to keep it interesting.

  Great, now her mind was on work. Lindsey did a quick mental rundown of her day, hoping that by thinking it through, she could put it aside and fall back to sleep. She had a meeting at nine o’clock with the library board, which had been in transition since its last president had been murdered. She hadn’t yet gotten a read on the new members and what their expectations of the library were. Mostly, they seemed relieved after every meeting to still be alive. She wasn’t sure what that said about her as a library director. She decided to bring muffins and hope that relaxed them a bit. After all, everyone liked muffins.

  At lunch, she had a crafternoon scheduled. This was a weekly Thursday meeting where they shared lunch, did a craft, and talked about a book. Lindsey wasn’t a crafty sort, so this week’s string bracelets were not really her thing, but her library assistant, who was in charge
of the craft, assured her that the worst that could happen would be that she’d suffer a small burn. Lindsey made a mental note to put some antibiotic pain-relief ointment in her purse.

  Lastly, she had a late meeting with the mayor to discuss making the library a more environmentally friendly space by changing out the current lighting with more energy-efficient LEDs. The mayor was all about the bottom line and never welcomed ideas, even good ones, that would cost money in the immediate election cycle. His ideas for the future didn’t run much past getting reelected. She was going to have to come up with a compelling reason for the change to get him to listen to her. Maybe she could convince him that this would get him the youth vote in the next election.

  Today was definitely a “look professional” day. Pity. She would have preferred to wear her book-lover pajamas to work, comfy flannel pj’s covered in a repeating pattern of eyeglasses and flying books. It was April in Connecticut, still on the chilly side in the morning, but the afternoon would be warmer. Her navy blue business suit with the pencil skirt and tailored jacket would work. She wondered whether she’d gotten her jade green blouse back from the dry cleaners—that would lighten up the severity of the suit but still give her executive polish.

  How much time had passed since the whistling started? Why hadn’t she fallen back to sleep? Could she fall back to sleep now? Lindsey tried to gauge her level of tiredness. Her brain was fully engaged; sleep was going to remain a memory for the rest of the day. Darn it.

  Her nose twitched. What was that smell? Mmm. Coffee. She peeked one eye out from under her pillow. Freshly showered and shaved, Sully was approaching with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand. He carefully put it on her nightstand. The man brought her coffee; that was the definition of true love in Lindsey’s book. His unfortunate whistling was immediately forgiven.

  She reached out from under the covers and grabbed his hand before he could escape. He allowed her to pull him down, and he crouched beside the bed and peered under the pillow.

  “You awake in there?” he asked.

  Lindsey tossed the pillow aside. “Good morning.”

  Sully studied her with a small smile on his lips. “Good morning. I can’t believe you’re awake.”

  “Really?” she asked. She didn’t mention the whistling.

  “What time did you finally put the book down last night?”

  Lindsey glanced at the floor, where the book she’d been reading had landed when she’d fallen asleep. “One thirty, maybe two.”

  “In the morning?” Sully asked. He ran a hand through his reddish brown hair, making the curly waves stand on end.

  “I was suffering from OMC syndrome,” she said.

  “OMC, is that some sort of insomnia?”

  “Sort of. It stands for one more chapter.”

  “Book nerd,” Sully teased. Then he leaned forward and kissed her on the nose before standing up.

  Lindsey yawned. “Yes, I am, and I have no read-grets, not even for missed sleep. The book was that good.”

  “Is that another made-up word?” he asked. Lindsey nodded. “Fine, then here’s one for you. If you don’t get moving, you’re going to have to break the read-o-meter to get to work on time. It’s already eight fifteen.”

  “What! I thought it was five. You always get up at five.”

  “Not today,” he said. “I have a late boat tour, plus I was tired because somebody keeps their light on into the wee hours of the morning.”

  “Gah!” Lindsey lurched from the bed, dislodging her dog, Heathcliff, from where he was resting his head on her knee. She grabbed the hot mug of coffee and slurped some as she hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  * * *

  • • •

  “You look awful, like someone left you out in the rain, tossed you on the floor of their car, where you were stepped on for a few months, and then they stuffed you in the book drop and pretended they had no idea how you got into such bad shape,” Beth Barker said. She stared down at Lindsey, who was sprawled on the couch in the crafternoon room at the back of the library.

  “Gee, thanks,” Lindsey said. She opened her eyes and glanced at her best friend, who was also the children’s librarian. “That means so much coming from a woman who is dressed like a pigeon.”

  Wearing an oversize gray sweatshirt that had big, round eyes and a beak sewn onto the hood, Beth flapped her arms, which had been fashioned into wings, and then clasped them in front of her in a begging pose. “Please, can I drive the bus? I’ll be your best friend.”

  Lindsey snorted. No one could act out Mo Willems’s Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! better than Beth.

  “You’re already my best friend,” she said. “Which is why I forgive you for saying I look awful.”

  “It’s a book hangover, isn’t it?” Paula Turner entered the room, pushing a cart full of craft materials. “Was it A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, our discussion book today?”

  “No, I finished that one a few days ago. This was one I picked up on the way out of work last night. I couldn’t put it down,” Lindsey admitted.

  “That’s the worst—the best, but also the worst,” Beth said. She plopped down on the couch.

  Lindsey draped her arm over her eyes. It wasn’t that she wished her friends would go away exactly, but she had almost managed a fifteen-minute power nap. She had read somewhere that fifteen- to twenty-minute naps could refresh a person without sending them into such a deep sleep that they were groggy all day. Oh, how she wished for that right now.

  “What was it? A thriller, romantic suspense, murder mystery?” Paula asked. She tossed her thick blue braid over her shoulder while she set up the large table at the side of the room. “I’m looking for a good read.”

  “Thriller,” Lindsey said. “But the author killed off one of my favorite characters at the end, and all I could think was No, take me instead!”

  “I hate that,” Nancy Peyton said as she entered the room. “It destroys me when an author kills off a character I’m fond of, especially in a series.”

  “But sometimes it has to be done,” Violet La Rue said as she followed her best friend in. “You have to trust the author to be true to the story they need to tell.”

  “Not if it breaks my heart, I don’t,” Nancy insisted. Her bright blue eyes sparked with a fierce light as she tossed her short bobbed silver hair as if emphasizing her point. “I will break up with an author over something like that.”

  Nancy Peyton had lived in the village of Briar Creek all her life, making her a true Creeker. She’d been married to Captain Jake Peyton, and when his boat went down in a storm, she had never remarried or left her home, choosing to make their captain’s house into a three-family apartment building. Lindsey had rented the third floor from her before she moved in with Sully.

  Nancy’s partner in crime in all manner of shenanigans was her best friend, Violet La Rue. Violet had retired to Briar Creek after a long career on the Broadway stage. With her dark skin and warm brown eyes, she was still a great beauty; and with her silver hair scraped back into a bun at the back of her head, her cheekbones dominated her heart-shaped face, which had delivered famous lines from the likes of William Shakespeare and Sam Shepard to appreciative audiences all over the world.

  “You’re being thick,” Violet said. “Think of all the great works of literature and how they would be different if the author didn’t follow their vision. Take Romeo and Juliet—it had to end the way it did.”

  “Did it?” Lindsey asked. “Couldn’t they have communicated better and ended up living together in some faraway land? Then again, maybe it would have ended exactly the same if they’d gotten married and Juliet discovered Romeo was a morning person who whistled really loudly while he shaved, and one morning she just snapped.”

  The room became quiet as her friends stopped talking to stare at her.

 
“What?” she asked.

  “You and Sully have been living together for six months, right?” Violet asked. She sat in an available armchair by the couch, and Nancy did the same.

  “Something like that,” Lindsey said.

  Nancy exchanged a look with Violet and nodded. “It’s over.”

  “What? No!” cried Beth. “How could it be over? It took them forever to get together.” She bounced forward on the couch and reached for Lindsey’s hand, looking devastated. “I mean, if you and Sully can’t make it, Aidan and I—”

  “Are still in your honeymoon phase,” Violet interrupted. “Relax. You’re fine.”

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Beth sagged with relief and dropped Lindsey’s hand. “I’ve barely gotten used to being Mrs. Barker. I’m not ready for things to go sideways on us.”

  “Sully and I are fine,” Lindsey insisted. “It’s just that living with someone, even an awesome someone, is—”

  “Annoying, irritating, exasperating, all the ‘-ings,’” Nancy said. “I remember the first few months I was married to Jake, I fantasized about clobbering him with a frying pan more times than I can count.”

  “Communication is the key,” Violet said. “But that’s just what I’ve been told. I was married to my career, so I’m not really a go-to person when it comes to relationship advice.”

  “What about you, Paula?” Beth asked. “You and Hannah have been living together for the same amount of time as Lindsey and Sully. Is she getting on your nerves, too?”

  Paula glanced at Lindsey. She cringed and shook her head. “Sorry. But maybe I’m getting on her nerves. I’ll check and get back to you.”

  Lindsey laughed. “Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to stir up any trouble. Probably, my reading until two in the morning gets on his nerves, but Sully’s too polite to say anything.”

  “He is very nice,” Nancy said.

  “And he’s a man,” Violet said. “They have different expectations.”