Scandal at the Salty Dog: An M/M Cozy Mystery

By Josh Lanyon

Mystery Stalks the Cobbled Streets of Pirate's Cove

After elderly recluse Juliet Blackwell suffers a mysterious fall in her spooky old mansion, she insists the ghost of long-dead pirate Rufus Blackwell has come to avenge himself on the last member of his treacherous clan.

Bookshop owner and occasional amateur sleuth Ellery Page doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he knows fear when he sees it, and it’s clear to him his eccentric customer is genuinely terrified.

Who or what is haunting Miss Blackwell, what, if anything, does it have to do with mysterious goings-on at the Salty Dog pub—and why is any of it Ellery’s problem?

According to Police Chief Jack Carson, it’s not Ellery’s problem, and just maybe Ellery should stop asking awkward questions before it’s too late.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Josh Lanyon
• Release date: Jun 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781945802676

Josh Lanyon

Author of 100+ titles of Gay Mystery and M/M Romance, Josh Lanyon has built a literary legacy on twisty mystery, kickass adventure, and unapologetic man-on-man romance. Her work has been translated into twelve languages. She is an EPIC Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist (twice for Gay Mystery), an Edgar nominee, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads All Time Favorite M/M Author award.

Book preview

Murder Stalks the Cobbled Streets of Pirate’s Cove

After elderly recluse Juliet Blackwell suffers a mysterious fall in her spooky old mansion, she insists the ghost of long-dead pirate Rufus Blackwell has come to avenge himself on the last member of his treacherous clan.

Bookshop owner and occasional amateur sleuth Ellery Page doesn’t believe in ghosts, but he knows fear when he sees it, and it’s clear to him his eccentric customer is genuinely terrified.

Who or what is haunting Miss Blackwell, what, if anything, does it have to do with mysterious goings-on at the Salty Dog pub—and why is any of it Ellery’s problem?

According to Police Chief Jack Carson, it’s not Ellery’s problem, and just maybe Ellery should stop asking awkward questions before it’s too late.

To Jordan Lombard. Thank you for your energy, your enthusiasm, your engagement, and everything else.

Sailor, waken, death is near,

Waken from deceitful sleep;

Sailor, ere the dawn appear,

Thou shalt slumber in the deep.

The Pirate-Ship, William Bingham Tappan

Scandal at the Salty Dog

Secrets and Scrabble Book 4

Josh Lanyon

Chapter One

Ellery Page was dreaming of New York.

He was standing in line, though whether for theater tickets or Absolute Bagels was unclear, when the person behind him leaned in and kissed the back of his neck.

Ellery’s eyes popped open. He was not in line. He was not in New York. He was in bed at Captain’s Seat, the decrepit mansion he’d inherited from his Great-great-great-aunt Eudora a few months earlier. The eighteenth century portrait of a life-sized Captain Horatio Page gazed down at him with a dubious expression.

Better get a move on. You’re going to be late.

That opinion was not offered by Captain Horatio Page. That was Pirate Cove’s police chief and Ellery’s, well, boyfriend, Jack Carson.

Ellery turned his head to answer, and his face was immediately covered in wet, passionate kisses. That was also not Captain Horatio Page. Nor, sadly, Jack. That was Watson, Ellery’s sixish-month-old black spaniel mix puppy and occasional (according to Jack) partner in crime.

Ellery started to laugh, kissed Watson back—though less passionately. Good morning to you too.

Jack bent to scoop up Watson at the same moment Ellery sat up, and their near collision resulted in a kiss that went on a little longer than either anticipated, ending in smiles and reluctant parting of lips.

As Jack drew back, Ellery realized he was already dressed, right down to his police boots. That navy-blue uniform really suited Jack’s athletic six feet, one hundred and ninety-plus pounds and rugged good looks.

"Yikes. I really am late." Ellery threw back the sheet and summer blanket.

No. I’m early. I’ve got breakfast with the State Police Superintendent.

Ellery’s smile was wry. That’s right. And dinner with the town council. He was learning fast that Always in Demand was part of Jack’s job description.

I could meet you for dessert?

Silver Sleuths. I promised Nora I’d look in. This was Ellery’s first day, his first official day, back at work after suffering what Jack referred to as an extracurricular concussion. Amateur sleuthing turned out to be a hazardous hobby. Not that Ellery viewed his sleuthing as a hobby. Or even something he planned on doing again.

Jack considered. What are you doing tomorrow night?

You tell me.

Jack grinned, leaned in to kiss him one final time, and murmured, I will. In detail.

Definitely a great way to start what promised to be a very busy morning.

Less great, although he was eagerly looking forward to being cleared for action, was having to stop by Buck Island Med Center on the way into work.

BIMC was located in a mid-century former mansion, so from the outside, the building had a cozy look to it. Inside, it was like any other vacation spot emergency facility.

Even at that time of the morning, the medical center was packed with visitors suffering (loudly) from sunburns, sprains, and stings. Buck Island in summer was a different world from Buck Island the rest of the year. Business was about a thousand percent better—for everyone—but Ellery couldn’t help missing the peace and quiet of the island he now thought of as home, dreams of New York notwithstanding.

He checked in at the front desk and spent a few minutes sitting in the waiting room with unfamiliar people complaining about hangovers, food poisoning (likely more hangovers), how no one on the island could drive, the island’s fascist police force, and then finally, mercifully, he was buzzed through to the examination room.

He was a little disappointed when Ione Jay, the center’s senior nurse practitioner, greeted him. Not that he didn’t like Ione, but he’d sort of been hoping to see Dr. Mane again. Largely because he’d been wondering if the doctor was quite the character he’d seemed when Ellery had been suffering from concussion.

Ione was a stocky, sensible-looking woman, whom Ellery mostly knew from open mic at the Salty Dog pub. Ione belted out soul songs from the sixties with an easy and enviable aplomb.

Ellery was able to assure Ione he was no longer suffering from dizziness, fatigue, headaches, or ringing in his ears. She examined what was left of his dissolvable stitches, complimented him on the beauty of the wound healing on the back of his skull, and pronounced him fit to return to work.

We’re back in business, buddy, Ellery informed Watson when he climbed back into the VW parked in a shady corner of the crowded parking lot.

Watson grinned and wagged his tail in approval.

A short time (and several close calls with speeding golf carts later) Ellery arrived at the Crow’s Nest and parked in the tiny lot behind the bookshop.

He had stopped to pick up pastries from Long Johns and Jelly Rolls, and he had to balance the box and hang onto Watson’s leash—Watson having decided he simply had to meet the Chihuahua hurling abuse from across the street—as he unlocked the front door.

He managed to get the door open without dropping a single pastry, and stepped inside the bookshop.

As always, his heart lightened at the sight of green-gold light from the sunlit harbor flooding through the bay corner windows, gilding the book bindings and old picture frames. The polished wooden floors glowed. Vintage ships’ lanterns, lining the back wall, blinked and winked in cheerful welcome back!

He nodded good morning to Rupert, the resin skeleton in pirate costume, who resided in the glass case at the end of a row of bookshelves. Rupert laughed silently back, perhaps amused at the idea of working in a bookshop when one could be marauding on the open seas. Not that there was much of a living to be made marauding these days or at least in these seas.

It was funny to think that at this time last year, he (that would be Ellery, not Rupert) hadn’t even known this place existed. Had no idea there was such a place as Buck Island or Pirate’s Cove. Hadn’t even known he had a great-great-great-aunt Eudora, let alone that he was in line to inherit a failing bookstore and the falling down family mansion.

And now?

Now the bookstore was, well, maybe not a roaring success, but it was still afloat. With Jack’s help, Captain’s Seat was slowly, very slowly, being restored to, maybe not its former glory, but certainly something more than habitable. And then there was Jack himself.

The thought of Jack made Ellery smile, but the thing between them still felt so new, so fragile, he didn’t want to…handle it too much. Didn’t want to overthink it. But so far so good. In fact, so much better than he had even hoped.

Good morning!

Ellery had smelled coffee brewing when he opened the door, so he was not startled when Nora popped out of an aisle of bookshelves.

Morning!

On paper, Nora Sweeny was his assistant, but really, she was so much more. Not only was Nora more knowledgeable about mysteries and bookselling than Ellery, she had grown up on the island and seemed familiar with everyone—and everyone’s most dearly held secrets. She was a slight but sturdy seventy-something New Englander, and though barely five feet tall, impossible to overlook. Her eyes were gray and piercing. Nora saw all and had an opinion on everything.

You look very pleased with the world this morning, she observed.

I am, Ellery said. I was going stir-crazy at home.

Nora, unsnapping Watson’s leash from his collar, diplomatically didn’t point out that Ellery had been on the phone and the computer for the past three days, trying to manage the bookshop remotely.

Well, it’s wonderful to have you back.

Thanks. It’s wonderful to be back. He held up the flat box. I brought pastries to celebrate.

Nora looked disconcerted. "Oh. That was thoughtful. So did I!"

Oops. Oi, Innkeep! Carbs for all!

They grinned at each other.

Ellery set his box beside Nora’s pink one on the wooden counter. No worries. Felix will eat them.

Felix Jones, son of Pirate Cove’s former mayor, was temporarily helping out in the bookshop while Ellery recuperated. His former girlfriend, Libby Tulley, had also been helping out, but a week earlier Libby’s dad, Tom, owner of the Salty Dog pub, had been stricken with a burst appendix.

Fortunately, Tom was now on the mend, recovering at home, but that left Libby to try and manage the pub during their busiest and rowdiest season.

Nonsense, Nora said. We’ll dole them out to our first customers. Buy two books and get a free doughnut.

Ellery said admiringly, "You really are descended from pirates!"

Nora’s sniff was close to a snort. She changed the subject. We’ve received some replies to your online job posting.

Already? That’s great.

Nora’s murmur was noncommittal.

"Isn’t it great?"

Initially Ellery had resisted the idea of hiring more help for the bookshop, but sales had risen during the two weeks he’d been dry-docking. Partly that was because July was the height of Pirate Cove’s business season, but partly, having enough staff did make a big difference to the efficient running of the Crow’s Nest. So, while it was kind of a relief that his temporary help were no longer circling each other like two cats trapped in a box, and despite Nora’s assurances that they could manage without Libby, Ellery knew they did need more help at the bookshop. At least during the summer season.

Nora definitely had a funny expression. Ellery asked cautiously, How many replies?

Oh. Well…about a hundred.

Ellery’s jaw dropped. He repeated, A hundred?

Give or take.

We have one hundred applicants to sort through?

Nora said reassuringly, I don’t suppose it will take that long to whittle them down.

"You don’t?"

No, dearie. I suspect some of these people don’t realize the job is on Buck Island.

That was a good thought. Ellery relaxed. That’s probably true.

I have no doubt it’s true. It’s worrying how few people take the time to read the fine print. Or even the large print.

Ellery, occasionally guilty of that himself, made no comment.

I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. He flipped open the white pastry box from Long Johns and Jelly Rolls.

Nora opened the lid of her rectangular box, offering a glimpse of colorful doughnuts in mouthwatering rows. I’ll get the coffee.

Great. And then you can catch me up on everything.

There’s not so much as you might think. Things have been surprisingly quiet with you out of action.

While Nora got their coffee, Ellery watched Watson busily sniffing every corner of the shop, checking for lurking cats or, worse, mouthy Chihuahuas.

How’s Felix doing?

Nora, busy at the vintage tea cart they now used as a coffee station for customers, replied, It’s difficult for him, naturally. Once he’s away at college, he’ll be much happier.

Ellery hoped so. He couldn’t help feeling somewhat to blame for Felix’s unhappiness. Inevitably, there was always going to be more than one victim in a murder investigation.

Nora returned with two steaming mugs of coffee and handed one to Ellery. Cheers. She clinked her mug against his. Welcome back. No more getting conked on the head.

Thanks. I’ll do my best. He sipped his coffee and added, I blame you.

"Me?"

If you hadn’t encouraged my poking into other people’s business—

Amateur sleuthing.

Interfering in police business, per Jack.

Nora sniffed disdainfully.

I would never have wound up concussed in a crypt.

"Mausoleum, dearie. And you didn’t wind up there, fortunately. Because here you are, safe and sound."

Which is how I’d like to keep it.

It’s a lesson to us all, Nora said piously, and gave him a brisk pat on the back.

Two cups of coffee, one doughnut, and one jelly roll later, Ellery was at his desk, sorting through the alarming queue of job applicants filling his inbox.

He was pretty sure Nora was right about most of these people not realizing where the job was located. He was also pretty sure she was right about people not bothering to read, well, anything. Starting with the application instructions.

At least this one has a photo, he thought, studying the grainy pic of a studious-looking young woman. It was amazing how many applicants left the default gray-and-white silhouette in place. Does not follow directions was kind of an immediate disqualifier for most employers. He skimmed the Introduction section and the words married to books stood out. Points for enthusiasm. If true, working at the Crow’s Nest could be a match made in heaven for… He glanced at the name on the file (they were all starting to run together): Shirley Schreiber.

Unfortunately—or perhaps, fortunately, Ellery hadn’t decided yet—what followed was barely enough background information to fill even a third of the single-page file. Judging from the enlarged photo in the top left corner, a quick resize would reduce the text portion to less than half a page. He deduced Shirley was still of the fudging-college-essays age.

Or, given the graininess of that photo, maybe the fudging-high-school-essays age.

He sympathized. There weren’t a ton of summer jobs on the island that didn’t involve scooping ice cream or flipping burgers. In fact, there weren’t a lot of jobs on the island for young adults, period. Many of the businesses were family owned and operated by generations of kith and kin.

He sighed, closed the browser tab, and moved on to the next application.

I’m kind of unnerved we received nearly a hundred applications just in the first two days.

Nora, who had ears like a bat, confirmed his thoughts from the sales desk.

Working here would be a dream job for a lot of people.

Barring the occasional murder.

"Pshaw. We haven’t had a murder here in months."

Not in the shop, no. Thankfully.

She appeared in the doorway of his office, holding what looked like a black and gold deck of cards.

Playing solitaire? Ellery asked.

Nora beamed and held up the object. Not at all! This is a vintage Miniature Sherlock Holmes, 1983, Mosaic Press. It’s in lovely condition. We can probably get anywhere from one twenty-five to two hundred for it.

"Nice. Where did it come from?"

Imelda Appleby dropped it off with a box of books she put together when she was clearing out her auntie’s cottage.

Ah. Probably twenty percent of their stock was gifted one way or the other by members of the community. Ellery went back to skimming names. Hey, it looks like Jane Smith applied.

Jane was a regular customer and a sporadic member of the Silver Sleuths book club. In Ellery’s opinion, that was two points in her favor. He was surprised when Nora pursed her lips, considered, and then shook her head.

I don’t think she would really suit us, dearie.

You don’t?

No.

I didn’t realize you didn’t like Jane.

Oh, I like Jane. Nora seemed sincere about that. "But she has a habit of wandering out of the shop

Reviews for Scandal at the Salty Dog

[Enna Dune · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

An underrated writer. It’s not about the m/m element but that the story is so well-written with just the right balance of description and dialogue. The pace is just nice so it’s never boring and the protagonist is relatable and likeable.