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Murder under a Pen Name: A Peach Coast Library Mystery, Book 3

Marvey, a small-town librarian, discovers a dead body—now she’s being framed for murder!

Marvey’s managing multiple projects at the library and volunteering with the Peach Coast Historical Society’s Annual Scavenger Hunt, but she still has time to help a neighbor in need.

When the town’s art gallery co-owner forgets his satchel at the library after his presentation, Marvey offers to return it to his office the next morning. But once she arrives, Marvey finds the co-owner murdered. Seconds later, sheriff’s deputies appear and Marvey’s cataloged under a cloud of suspicion.

With evidence being planted against her, Marvey must prove her innocence. To do that, she’ll have to find the real killer—who may be hiding under a fake name.

Murder under a Pen Name Excerpt

Something didn’t feel right. I didn’t need the super senses of a graphic novel hero to pick up on the disturbing vibe. I felt it the minute I crossed the gallery’s threshold Thursday morning. It tripped the pulse at the base of my throat and tugged the small hairs on the back of my neck.

The gallery didn’t open for another hour-and-thirty-eight minutes. I was supposed to call Cedrick from the parking lot when I arrived, but the door was unlocked. And the sleek, glass-and-silver-metal reception area was deserted. Shouldn’t someone be keeping an eye on the entrance? Peach Coast was a small town, but criminals could live anywhere. I’d helped solve three murders in the eight months I’d been here.

“Hello?” I waited. Since there wasn’t anyone to greet me, there wasn’t anyone to stop me from wandering around, either. I took a small step, then stopped. My right knee had stiffened again on the short drive over.

The air, redolent with the scent of lemon polish, was chilly as though the cooling system was doing double duty. Silence echoed around the octagonal space and bounced against the eggshell white walls.

“Hello?” Although louder, my greeting again went unanswered.

Behind me, the glass door fell shut with a quiet swoosh that caused my wide pant legs to flutter around my calves. I tightened my grip on my handbag and ALA tote. I’d left Cedrick’s satchel in the trunk of my car. It was too heavy to manage with my sore and swollen knee.

“Hello?” Why did I feel like a character from a slasher horror novel? Don’t go in the basement.

Hesitating, I glanced left, then right. The gallery was an attractive space and its shows had gotten good reviews. But I hadn’t yet toured it. My friends Spencer Holt, Jolene Gomez, Nolan Duggan and I were attending the gallery’s Sip ’N Paint event next Tuesday. For now, I had a fifty-fifty chance of picking the right direction. I turned right and started down the short black-and-white marbled hallway. The trek was slow and painful.

The hallway led to offices. Eureka! I’d chosen wisely. Maybe I’d imagined those unsettling sensations when I’d first entered the gallery. The words “Cedrick Angler, Director” were engraved into a black metal plaque on the wall beside the office in front of me. The door was ajar.

I knocked against the faux wood, causing it to open wider. “Cedrick?”

No response. I peered around the door. The office was empty. This was taking a lot longer than I’d planned for. I sighed, feeling frustrated. The hallway led me to what appeared to be a small conference room. At first glance, it seemed empty as well.

Nudging the door open, I revealed a long glass oblong table surrounded by six short metal-and-black-vinyl chairs. The eggshell white wall on my right displayed three large black-and-white photos, each mounted within thin brushed-metal frames. Recessed lighting spotlighted the artistry. Directly ahead, glass French doors led onto a balcony overlooking a wooded area. They were open. Lush and leafy American Elm trees grew as far as my eyes could see. Breathtaking. A soft breeze floated around the space, carrying the scent of fresh-cut grass. Beneath that smell, something darker almost sinister tried to break through.

I pushed the door wider. The left wall bore three more black-and-white photos. Blood splatter marred these metal frames and smeared a trail toward the floor.

Wait! What was that?

My fist tightened on the doorknob. Shock caused my muscles to trembled. I swallowed. Hard. The voice in my head yelled, “Run!” I bit my lips to keep from screaming the word out loud. I crept forward on shaky legs and sore knee.

Cedrick half sat, half lay on the floor between the wall and the conference table. He was dressed in an expensive chocolate three-piece suit that matched his sightless brown eyes. Someone had shot him in the head.

“Cedrick.” My voice startled me.

“Freeze!” An angry male voice barked from the doorway, shattering the silence.

In one motion, I jumped, spun, and raised my arms in the air. Tears of pain stung my eyes. I blinked them away. When my vision cleared, I saw Deputy Jedidiah Whatley standing in the threshold. His gun was pointed toward me.