The Malt in Our Stars Read online

  Books by Sarah Fox

  The Literary Pub Mystery Series

  Wine and Punishment

  An Ale of Two Cities

  The Malt in Our Stars

  The Pancake House Mystery Series

  The Crêpes of Wrath

  For Whom the Bread Rolls

  Of Spice and Men

  Yeast of Eden

  Crêpe Expectations

  Much Ado About Nutmeg

  A Room with a Roux

  The Music Lover’s Mystery Series

  Dead Ringer

  Death in A Major

  Deadly Overtures

  THE MALT in OUR STARS

  SARAH FOX

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  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

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Recipes

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Teaser chapter

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

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Sarah Fox

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2020939640

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-1870-9

  First Kensington Hardcover Edition: December 2020

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1873-0 (ebook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-1873-9 (ebook)

  Chapter 1

  Shady Creek Manor was an impressive sight to behold. The three-story stone building sat in the middle of several acres of neatly trimmed lawn, immaculately kept gardens, and serene woodland. The clear blue sky made the scene even more spectacular. I cracked my car window open as I followed the long driveway, breathing in the heavenly scent of the spring air. The smell of flowers and freshly cut grass buoyed my already good mood, and I soaked in the warmth from the sun shining through the driver’s-side window.

  Instead of following the branch of the driveway that looped around a fountain to the front door of the manor, I drove along another arm, past the hotel to a parking lot beyond a row of trees that prevented the parked cars and cement from spoiling the view from the front of the property. The lot was only half full, and as I pulled into a free spot my nerves danced a little jig. I was about to meet one of my favorite authors, Linnea Bliss.

  When I climbed out of my car, I smoothed down the skirt of my green dress and tucked an errant strand of red hair behind my ear. I wanted to be as professional as possible and I was determined not to fangirl when I met the author. Not too much, anyway. Still, as I headed across the parking lot, I had to take a deep breath to settle my still-dancing nerves. I reached the edge of the parking lot and was about to walk along a pathway that led around to the front of the manor when the sound of hushed but angry voices reached my ears.

  I paused, seeking out the owners of the voices. A second later I spotted Brad Honeywell, one of the manor’s owners, outside a rear door of the hotel. He was in the midst of an argument with a twenty-something woman with dark brown hair cut in a sleek, short bob with blunt bangs. Although I’d never formally met Brad, I knew him by sight since he came to my pub, the Inkwell, on occasion. The young woman with him was a complete stranger to me, however. I couldn’t hear what the two of them were arguing about, but just as I was going to continue on my way, the young woman took a step back from Brad.

  “Stay away from me!” she fumed.

  Before Brad had a chance to say anything in response, she spun on her heel and disappeared into the manor, almost slamming the door behind her. Still agitated, Brad ran a hand through his thinning dark hair.

  I didn’t want him to catch me gawking, so I quickly set off along the pathway. I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on between Brad and the young woman. It wasn’t any of my business, but I was curious by nature and couldn’t stop a list of possibilities from scrolling through my mind. I brought those thoughts to an abrupt halt when I reached the front of the manor.

  Although I’d glimpsed the hotel while driving past on a few occasions, I’d never been inside, or even this close. Built in the first half of the twentieth century by a wealthy man named Edwin Vallencourt, the manor was originally a private mansion. According to local stories, Vallencourt had entertained other wealthy and sometimes famous figures and had thrown legendary parties at his extravagant home. After his death, his heirs had been unable to afford to keep the massive property and it had changed hands several times over the years.

  Almost a decade ago, Brad Honeywell and his wife, Gemma, had purchased the property and restored the manor to its former glory before opening it as a hotel. It was the fanciest and most expensive place to stay in the small town of Shady Creek, Vermont, and I was almost as eager to get a look inside as I was to meet Linnea Bliss.

  A short flight of wide stone steps led up to the elegant double doors. When I stepped into the spacious lobby, I had to pause on the threshold to take in the beautiful sight before me. A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, but it was almost unnecessary at the moment, with all the daylight streaming in through the large windows. I couldn’t spot a speck of dirt on the white marble floors, and the tasteful antique furnishings allowed me to feel as though I’d momentarily stepped back in time, until I noticed the computer on the reception desk.

  On my left and next to a leafy potted plant was a settee so gorgeous that I wished I could have it for my own, even though it probably would have looked out of place in the cozy little apartment I called home. It had a beautifully carved crest and legs, and was upholstered with cream fabric. It likely cost more than all my furniture put together.

  When I first entered the lobby, the reception desk to my right was unmanned, but as the door drifted shut, Brad Honeywell strode toward me. I experienced a brief moment of apprehension until he directed a welcoming smile my way. Most likely he was unaware that I’d witnessed him arguing with someone minutes earlier.

  “Good morning and welcome to Shady Creek Manor,” Brad said. “It’s Sadie, isn’t it?”

>   “That’s right,” I replied. “I’m here to meet with Linnea Bliss and her assistant.”

  “Yes, of course,” a woman’s voice chimed in. Gemma Honeywell entered the lobby through an arched doorway that appeared to lead to a sitting room. She wore a light gray pantsuit with a silk blouse, and her curly fair hair was tied back in a fancy twist. “We’re all very excited to have such a famous author staying here at the manor.”

  “And I’m excited to meet her,” I said.

  Gemma introduced herself, since we’d never officially met, and told me she’d call Marcie Kent, Linnea’s assistant, and let her know that I’d arrived.

  I took the opportunity to try out the beautiful settee. I half expected it to be uncomfortable because of its formal appearance, but that wasn’t the case. Perhaps it wasn’t quite as comfy as my couch, but it was still a nice place to sit.

  While I waited, Gemma had a hushed conversation on the phone behind the reception desk. I twisted one of the rings on my right hand, butterflies circling around each other in my stomach. Gemma was still on the phone when a woman in jeans and a flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves appeared in the lobby. She had cropped brown hair and carried a toolbox. I’d seen her at my pub and around town a few times. If I remembered correctly, her name was Jan and she had her own plumbing business.

  As soon as Brad spotted her, he hurried out from behind the reception desk.

  “Problem all fixed?” he asked.

  “As good as new,” Jan replied.

  “Excellent. I’ll write you a check.” Brad ushered her down a hallway that led toward the back of the manor.

  Gemma hung up the phone and smiled at me. “Ms. Kent asked that you meet her and Ms. Bliss in the parlor for tea. I’ll show you the way.”

  Thanking her, I followed her through the archway into the sitting room. Although, parlor seemed like a much more suitable term. The room was bigger than my whole apartment and it reminded me of sitting rooms I’d seen in British movies featuring grand estates from days gone by. The rugs alone probably cost a fortune, never mind the ornate furnishings. The artwork on the walls might not have been created by the grand masters, but each piece was still gorgeous.

  A marble fireplace was the focal point along one wall, while the opposite wall featured a row of arched windows, currently shaded with sheer curtains to filter out some of the bright sunlight. At the far end of the room, four chairs sat tucked beneath a round table covered in a white cloth.

  Gemma nodded at the table. “If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll be serving tea shortly.”

  “Thank you,” I managed to say, even though most of my attention was taken up by my beautiful surroundings.

  As distracted as I was, I tried to collect myself. I didn’t want to seem scatterbrained when Linnea arrived. That didn’t take long. I hadn’t yet had a chance to pull out a chair from the table when footsteps drew my gaze to the doorway.

  I recognized Linnea Bliss right away. I’d seen her picture many times online and on the dust jackets of her best-selling romantic suspense novels. She was in her late fifties, slightly plump, with gray streaks in her brown hair. Her warm smile put me immediately at ease.

  “You must be Sadie Coleman.” She offered me her hand. “Such a pleasure to meet you.”

  “You as well.” I smiled as I shook her hand.

  The woman who’d come into the room behind Linnea stepped forward.

  “And this is my assistant, Marcie Kent,” Linnea said. “I know the two of you have spoken on the phone.”

  I’d talked to Marcie a few times as we’d arranged for Linnea to come to Shady Creek to give a talk and sign books at my literary-themed pub. I’d never seen her picture before, though, and I had to catch myself quickly to mask my surprise at the fact that she was the woman I’d seen arguing with Brad behind the hotel.

  We exchanged pleasantries and the three of us settled at the table, Gemma appearing a moment later with a tea cart. She set a teapot and cups on the table along with cream and sugar and a tiered plate that held scones and little cakes.

  “I’m so happy you decided to come to Shady Creek,” I said to Linnea once Gemma had left.

  “It was Marcie’s idea,” Linnea said. “And since the book I’m currently writing is set in Vermont, I thought it would be a great way to soak in the local atmosphere and add authenticity to my writing.”

  “I can’t wait to read it.” I tried to keep my excitement at least somewhat under control, but there was still a good deal of enthusiasm behind my words. “I’ve read and loved everything you’ve written.”

  “Thank you, dear. That’s a lovely thing to say.”

  “It’s the absolute truth,” I assured her before turning to Marcie. “Have you been to Shady Creek before?”

  Since it was Marcie’s idea to add the town to the end of Linnea’s latest book tour, I was curious if she had a connection to the area. Although Shady Creek was a small town, it was popular with tourists, especially during leaf-peeping season, and I wondered if she’d vacationed here in the past.

  Her reply quickly dispelled that idea. “I haven’t, but I read about the town and Edwin Vallencourt while doing some research for Linnea. It sounded like such a nice place and I knew Linnea was hoping to make a trip to Vermont before she finished writing her book.”

  “I’m so glad you chose Shady Creek for your visit, and the Inkwell,” I said to both of them.

  Linnea added strawberry jam to a scone. “I can’t wait to get a look at your pub. It sounds so charming and the pictures I saw online are delightful.”

  “Thank you,” I said, my smile probably outshining the sun. As we drank our tea and snacked on the delicious cakes and scones, we chatted about the upcoming event at the Inkwell, going over some final details. We’d nearly covered everything when approaching footsteps drew our attention to the doorway. My surprise probably showed on my face when I realized that Eleanor Grimes was hurrying toward us, her expression determined and her eyes fixed on Linnea.

  Eleanor ran the Shady Creek Museum and didn’t exactly have the sweetest disposition. When I moved to town ten months ago, she had her eye on the beautiful old gristmill that housed the local pub, hoping the town would buy it so she could move her beloved museum into the space. She hadn’t been happy when I’d purchased the building and business. I’d never actually spoken with her, but she’d sent an icy glare my way on more than one occasion.

  “Ms. Bliss,” Eleanor said as she approached, “I wonder if I could trouble you for a moment of your time. I’d like to speak to you about a cause very dear to my heart.”

  “This is Eleanor Grimes,” I said by way of introduction. “She’s in charge of the local museum.”

  Eleanor didn’t so much as glance my way. Her bony hands clutched a book to her chest. I couldn’t see much of the cover, but it didn’t appear to be one of Linnea’s novels.

  She continued on as if I hadn’t spoken. “One writer to another, I’m sure you’ll understand—”

  “Eleanor!” Gemma rushed into the room. When she reached our table, she lowered her voice, although we could all still hear her clearly. “I asked you to please not interrupt Ms. Bliss.”

  “Donations are vital to the continued operation of the Shady Creek Museum. Our history is the backbone of our community and—”

  “Yes, yes.” Gemma forced a smile that wasn’t far off from a grimace. “But Ms. Bliss doesn’t want to hear about that right now.”

  She put an arm around Eleanor’s thin shoulders and attempted to turn her away from the table.

  Eleanor resisted and addressed Linnea again. “I brought you a copy of my book.” She placed the volume on the table next to Linnea’s plate.

  I glanced at the cover. It was titled Shady Creek: A History and Eleanor’s name was printed near the bottom in fancy script. I’d heard that she’d recently self-published a book about the town, but I hadn’t seen a copy of it before today.

  Marcie spoke up. “I’ve read that.”
/>   I’d never seen Eleanor smile before, but she did now. “Have you?” She sounded ridiculously pleased. “Then I’m sure you appreciate—”

  “In chapter nine you state that Edwin Vallencourt amassed his fortune through wholly legitimate business dealings and that the rumors about him earning money from shadier ventures are completely baseless.”

  Eleanor stood up straighter. “That’s right.”

  “But in actual fact, there’s plenty of documentation to back up those rumors,” Marcie said, sounding a bit like a know-it-all. “Vallencourt had his fingers in several less-than-honorable pies and was heavily involved in bootlegging during Prohibition.”

  The remains of Eleanor’s smile slipped away. She pursed her thin lips and her eyes hardened. “Those are all lies!”

  “Historical facts, actually,” Marcie countered, her cool demeanor a sharp contrast to Eleanor’s growing fury.

  “How dare you come to our town and spout such filth about one of Shady Creek’s most revered citizens from the past! I’ll have you know that—”

  “Eleanor!” Gemma cut her off sharply, her forced smile long gone. “I apologize for the interruption,” she said to us before turning Eleanor around and herding her from the room.

  “Sorry,” Marcie said to me and Linnea, although she didn’t sound all that contrite. “It drives me crazy when people spread factual errors.”

  Linnea poured more tea into Marcie’s cup. “There’s no real harm done, dear.”