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Murder by Marriage

by Lisa Lanman

188 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0021; ISBN 1-55212-357-X; US$20.50, C$23.00, EUR17.00, £12.00

MURDER BY MARRIAGE, a terrifying thriller, drags you into the charming beach community of Sakenett on Cape Cod, where the fearful residents struggle through a summer of horror. Beginning with the body of an unknown man dangling from the elaborately carved second-floor railing in their foyer, the Lawrence family become increasingly targeted as they plan the wedding of their daughter, Angela. You will not be able to put this mystery down without reading every page!

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book MURDER BY MARRIAGE introduces the socially prominent Lawrence family of Boston whose daughter, Angela, is soon to be married. When her parents, Andrew and Julia, arrive to open their beach house on Cape Cod for the gala pre-marital parties, a gruesome spectacle greets them in the high domed foyer. The body of an elderly stranger dangles from the second floor railing! This railing, carved over a hundred years ago for Andrew's grandfather, gave the house its name: Scrimshaw House. Terrified and bewildered, they listen to the police describe a crime which apparently happened weeks earlier. No motive for the crime seems evident. The house had been closed for the winter with only an old caretaker nearby. He recalls nothing out of the ordinary other than a few people stopping by to look at the place which was put up for sale by the Lawrences in recent months. With impressive strength and fortitude, the Lawrence family decides to continue plans for the wedding parties, and try to forget the unpleasant death of a strange man in their home. However, this is just the beginning of a string of what appear to be random killings in their small town of Sakenett. The nightmare continues with horror gathering about each tragic death. Are the events related somehow to Scrimshaw House and the Lawrences? If so, how and why? When Angela's beloved art teacher is ruthlessly killed, the pressure becomes almost unbearable. Although no immediate pattern emerges to explain the murders, more than one of them does occur at Scrimshaw House. Fear oozes into the community with the fog. Twists and turns of the plot guide readers of MURDER BY MARRIAGE to a startling final chapter before revealing why death stalks Angela's wedding plans that fateful summer at Scrimshaw House. Reader's Comment Dear Lisa:     I honestly could not put the book down! What a pleasure--and me, who can almost always guess the ending. Well, let me tell you, I was in suspense the entire time. What talent! I am so looking foreword to "When Alligators Laugh" which is sitting on my night stand right now. Thank you for such enjoyment and it was a great pleasure to meet such an interesting and congenial person. Oh, remember me? I'm your Dental Hygienist. Sincerely, Carol Giannamore

About the Author Lisa Lanman is a writer and editor living in Washington, D.C. She has spent many happy summers on Cape Cod where MURDER BY MARRIAGE takes place. Her books include the suspense novel, WHEN ALLIGATORS LAUGH, set in Southeast Asia.

Excerpts

Spotted with dark clouds, an overcast sky ominously stalked the horizon. Julia Lawrence watched red barns surrounded by green fields flash by the car window. She thought these looked strangely out of place under the dreary sky. A clean white church spire rising in the distance had the uncanny New England quality of having been carefully designed by some knowledgeable hand. With her graying hair softly curling above her tweed collar and her dark brown eyes hidden behind tinted lenses, Julia herself reflected somewhat the same quality. Removing a small, silver lighter from her Coach leather purse, she lit a cigarette.

"Today is just not the day to go," she observed to her husband, Andrew. "It will surely rain before we get to the Cape and you know how hard it is to open Scrimshaw House in a storm."

"It makes no difference, my dear. Oscar should have the shutters down already and the rest of the work is inside."

Wilma, their stout housekeeper, interjected from the back seat. "He'll have one shutter off just to show us he's begun the job. Oscar does nothin' until you get there and supervise him, Mister Lawrence. Twenty years I've been with you and every spring it's the same. I do his work as well as mine when we go to Scrimshaw House." With a snort she settled her ample figure back among the bags and parcels. "I do half again as much as that man does," she added.

Using a soothing tone, Julia replied quickly, "Why, Wilma, I honestly don't know what we'd do without you to help us. Oscar is reliable sometimes but he never does all the work you do keeping our Louisburg Square house so comfortable in the winter. He probably rests a lot during the cold months out on the Cape. He is there in case any problem arises."

Wilma seemed to accept this explanation and opened a cookie tin of her delicious chocolate-oatmeal crisps. She held it out to Julia and Andrew but they shook their heads so she ate several herself.

Andrew Lawrence sat slightly hunched behind the steering wheel of his black Bentley. He was a tall, thin man who never seemed able to exactly fit into any automobile. His dark eyebrows under a shock of prematurely white hair gave him an intense expression which was proper because he always did things with complete concentration. Very meticulous, it irritated him when plans were not made carefully and carried out as ordered. Glancing his way, Julia could tell he was not satisfied with the day so far. He scowled at the road, drawing his brows tightly together.

They had hoped to leave Boston by noon to get to their beach house near Sakenett by mid-afternoon. Instead, they had left after two o'clock because Angela, their blonde twenty year old daughter, announced she had decided not to return to Smith College in the fall. Her reasoning involved her marriage plans. This resulted in a long harangue between her and her father, who wanted her to complete her degree regardless of the marriage.

Wilma and Julia couldn't decide what to take to Sakenett and, finally, they had to postpone leaving until all the cookies were baked. "It's a wonder we ever got started today," muttered Andrew grimly. "Now, we probably should have waited until this storm passed."

Shivering as the cold dampness crept into the car, Julia buttoned her coat and smoothed a Hermes gold scarf over her soft, brown hair. Everything had gone wrong today including the ominous weather. It was dreary enough to be February instead of an afternoon in early May. She felt tired and depressed. So much had been crammed into the past two weeks with all the wedding party plans.

"Today, Andrew, was the only time you could fit into your busy lawyer's schedule to open Scrimshaw House," she reminded him less than cordially. "We have to get the place cleaned and ready for the engagement party. After all, Angela's wedding is only a month away."

The drive continued in silence. Familiar towns flashed by the windows: Hanover, Kingston, Plymouth. Each with its friendly looking brick shops clustered around the village green. By four, they crossed the bridge to the Cape at Sagamore. Greyish white patches of mist drifted aimlessly obscuring the view. Light rain fell on the pines surrounding the Cape end of the bridge. Ahead the road disappeared into heavy fog compelling Andrew to drive slowly, squinting to discern any objects in the distance while he chewed the end of his old brown pipe.

Ship's bells rang two sharp clangs and another two clangs from the church tower clock. Relieved, both Lawrences smiled a little. It was only six o'clock. They would have plenty of time to unpack the car and open the house before it was too late.

In the small community of Sakenett Atlantic mist veiled the weather-beaten buildings huddled together. More than a century ago this had been a whaling town bustling with fishermen. The old brown wood tavern still stood on the main street as it had then offering a few shabby rooms for rent. Next door a sail loft and a recently restored shipsmith's shop lured summer tourists. A small white house with a neat sign stating "Museum of Sakenett" could be seen a bit further up the road. Here were gathered the intricate carvings of a whale's bones and teeth called scrimshaw. Rough hands of whalers created them during long months and even years at sea. Local inhabitants had donated other historic items.

The Museum also included a gallery to display paintings done by local artists. Some were antique pictures of the sea with faded colors, but most of the collection was contemporary paintings. An active art colony flourished in the summer months culminating in the Sakenett Art Show in mid-June. It was always well attended and one painter had remarked that he made enough money from his sales to pay his whole summer's rent.

"Lights are on in the Oceanside Grocery," Andrew commented as they drove past. "Late weekend hours must have started there already," he added, moving his eyes back to the challenge of driving through the fog.

Dune Road followed the curving coastline as it meandered beyond this small town. Waves boomed against the shore breaking the fogbound silence. Ten minutes later, Andrew peered through the gloom searching for the Scrimshaw House entrance. Scrub pine and low bushes struggling to exist beside the road made driveways hard to find between the trees. At last he turned carefully into a grove of the tallest pines where his driveway stretched into the mist until Scrimshaw House loomed ahead. One of the oldest and largest homes on Dune Road, it had been built around eighteen-fifty by a successful whaling captain named Landreth who had hoped for solitude. He had placed his house several miles from Sakenett. Scrimshaw, a huge, grey-shingled place, crouched like some strange prehistoric animal half hidden in the darkness. It was close to the sea that Captain Landreth had loved.

Andrew's grandfather had bought the house in nineteen- hundred, delighted in the carved detail throughout and the large rooms for his growing family. When Andrew inherited it, he had been very pleased with Scrimshaw's intriguing architecture, but, now, he found it too large and ornate for his tastes. A few months earlier he had decided to sell the house. No buyers had made an offer. When their only child, Angela, suddenly announced her engagement, Julia had urged him to keep Scrimshaw so that they could entertain in the spacious atmosphere of this lovely old home.

Today, the carriage house near the entrance was lighted. That's where Oscar lived. Andrew did not stop. He pulled up in front of the massive pillared entrance and switched off the motor. For a moment they sat still in the fogbound silence until Wilma shuddered as she whispered, "I get the creeps out here. It's too quiet for me."

Julia agreed, adding, "Even the sea is quiet."

Andrew grunted and pushed up his coat collar against the damp cold air. He hurried around the car with his strong flashlight guiding the women up onto the front porch. Julia looked out into the gathering darkness and said softly, "I don't know why fog makes a place so desolate and lonely. It's as though we are the only people on earth right now."

Her husband turned the key in the massive oak door and it creaked open slowly into the black chasm of the main entrance hall. He fumbled for the light switch as Julia and Wilma pushed in behind him. Suddenly, light flooded the high domed room.

Julia gasped at what she perceived. "Oh my God!"

Wilma covered her face in horror, screaming.

Andrew found himself rooted in time and space as he viewed the body of an elderly gentleman hanging on a thick rope suspended from the second floor stair railing.

Catalogue Information