The Little Bookstore Murder: A Julia Greene Travel Mystery by Linda Clayton
The game’s afoot on Hilton Head Island. Olivia and Julia, owners of Little Bites, a lunchroom and bakery in Wake Forest, North Carolina are attending a conference on the South Carolina island and decide to visit the Little Bookstore on Lighthouse Lane to pick up a few good reads for the beach. While they are there, a woman appearing quite agitated drops a notebook while leaving. Julia picks it up and finds a name, Annie Lombardi, and an address; but before she can return the notebook to its owner, a short announcement appears in the Island Packet:
Last night at approximately 8:15, the body of a woman was discovered in the backyard of 27 Bluebird Lane in Sea Pines. A neighbor identified the body as that of Annie Lombardi, 57, of the above address. The sheriff is investigating and has not ruled out foul play. At the moment there are no other details. [p. 18]
Other problems quickly present themselves in addition to Annie Lombardi’s death. A valuable book goes missing and Julia is accused of stealing it. Surmising that the death and the disappearance of the book are connected, Julia and Olivia decide that they have to get involved in the investigation which results in the two of them doing a good deal on snooping on their own!
This is the third novel in Linda Clayton’s Julia Greene Travel Mystery series and what made it so much fun for me was that the plot involves visiting all the places my family has enjoyed over forty years of vacationing on Hilton Head. If you’ve never been, grab this book (at the real Little Bookstore –named By Hand, Ink) and, after paying for it, of course, let it lead you to feasting on the flounder Meniere at Charlie’s, walking barefoot in the South Beach surf, breakfasting on French toast at Watusi Café on Pope Avenue, lunching on the shrimp salad at the Salty Dog, and enjoying a sunset dinner on nearby Daufuskie Island, to name a few must-do’s mentioned in the novel.
The book is very well-researched as are the author’s other mysteries: An Ice Way to Die, A Killer of a Cruise, and Ruby Red and Dead. The following quotes give you a good idea of how well the author describes Hilton Head (for better or worse) and its surroundings.
In the olden days, I often went to Daufuskie. When my dad was done for the day with his fishing charters, he and I used to pack sandwiches, jump in his boat and head across the water from Bluffton to Daufuskie. And every time I had a visitor from out of town, we did the obligatory tour to watch dolphins and visit the quaint Gullah island. At least it used to be quaint. There was a time when Daufuskie consisted only of dirt roads, a few homemade wooden houses, a small church, a one-room schoolhouse, and poisonous snakes. That was before folks decided this wonderful, unspoiled island would be better with gated communities, expensive homes and paved roads. As a result, the island is split. The front side, which faces Harbour Town, has the fancy stuff. The back side was left largely untouched, but even that is changing now. [pp. 59-60]
The second I step off the boat, the magic of Daufuskie Island overwhelms me. There are no cars, and fancy homes are few and in their own enclaves, which tourists, mercifully, aren’t able to visit. The local people live here in small unique homes scattered sparsely among the lush, overgrown vegetation. There is a feeling on this barrier island that’s hard to describe. It’s of stepping back in time, and there’s a heaviness about it, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s a combination of ancient live oaks dripping with Spanish moss and bending low across the paths, the sound of animals living in the dense, dark woods and the echo of thousands of bare feet walking for centuries along the roads. The very air feels crowded with the departed souls of ancient people who came here nine thousand years ago…. [p. 62]
Stepping into the Forest Preserve is so soul-soothing – or at least it would be if there was any way to stop my jitters and calm my thudding heart. The bustling sound of activity in Sea Pines is muffled by trees in the thick woods. When I came here years ago, I liked to go to the Indian Shell Ring, a place Indians gathered to eat shellfish and other food four thousand years ago. I don’t have time for that today, though. I put my head down and walk briskly to Boggy Gut. [p. 178]
