Dying to Get Published (21 page)

"I would bet
most
people in Georgia don't know who Penney Richmond was, let alone that she's dead," Teri said.

"True, but did you have to tell the receptionist our National Guard unit had been called up, and we were in some made-up island country for the past two weeks? Trapped in a cave-in while spelunking—now that would have been more believable."

"She bought it, didn't she?"

Leigh Ann gave Teri one of those you-idiot looks. "No, she just didn't call us on it. There's a difference. If she'd been a bank teller, she would have been pushing that little red button under the counter as she smiled up at us sweetly."

"Okay, okay," Jennifer intervened. "So you tell the woman you didn't know Penney was dead and that you came to keep your appointment. Then what?"

"Of course no record of any appointment existed because, as you know, we never had one," Leigh Ann said.

"So then I asked to see one of Richmond's associates," Teri explained.

"Only she doesn't have any," Leigh Ann said. "Apparently she ran the last one off over a year ago."

"And then Leigh Ann starts demanding that the agency return our manuscript."

"The one that doesn't exist," Jennifer stated.

"Right," Teri agreed. "She's throwing a real fit—actually, that was quite well done." Teri threw a begrudging look of admiration in Leigh Ann's direction. "She was so demanding, the poor woman never questioned the manuscript's existence. She just pulled up the computer log-in file and started frantically scanning through it, looking for a book by Austin and Bronte."

"You didn't," Jennifer sighed in disbelief.

"I was thinking on my feet," Teri insisted. "The woman didn't blink an eye, did she, Leigh Ann?"

"Not once," Leigh Ann agreed. "We told her we'd submitted it almost a year ago, but we didn't get our self-addressed, stamped postcard back until four months ago."

"Clever. So she was searching the period when Kyle Browning might have submitted something."

"Right," Teri said.

"Sounds great," Jennifer said.

Lee Ann nodded. "Everything was going relatively well up until the fire."

"The fire?" Jennifer asked, almost sorry she'd let the words escape her mouth.

"Teri gives me some screwy hand signal behind the receptionist's back—"

"It was the American Sign Language symbol for
print
. Thumb and second finger of the right hand drawn together and placed on the open palm of the left hand."

"I've never had a deaf character like some people I know. You might have checked with me to see if I knew sign language."

"Wasn't time. Besides, all those symbols are based on common sense."

"Let's talk about common—"

"No, let's not," Jennifer interrupted. "Teri gives you this indecipherable sign—"

"Don't take sides, Jennifer," Teri cautioned.

Jennifer acknowledged Teri's point with a nod. Mediating this conversation was a suicide mission at best. "Teri gives you this sign and then what?"

"She clutches her stomach, says she's going to be sick, and runs out of the room, leaving me with this poor woman madly looking through screens of entries for something that isn't there. A few seconds later, the fire alarm goes off."

"Teri had gone into the hall and pulled the alarm?" Jennifer asked.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Leigh Ann growled. "She'd gone in the bathroom and started a fire in the trash can. It didn't
occur
to her just to pull the alarm."

Teri was right. She didn't improvise well.

"People started running up and down the halls, and the receptionist lost it," Leigh Ann said. "I mean the woman was in a state of panic. I found her purse and sent her out the door. I told her not to worry. I'd turn off the computer and follow her out. Of course, instead I printed out the entries, about twenty pages in all, single-spaced."

"Just like I signaled for you to do."

Leigh Ann glared at Teri. "And then the sprinkler system went off."

"Where were you while all this was going on?" Jennifer asked Teri.

"I was getting a little concerned about the fire. Man, those paper towels really go up! So I went back to the bathroom, but like Leigh Ann said, the sprinkler system went off and it drenched me and the trash can—"

Leigh Ann blew her ruined bangs away from her forehead. "Not to mention me and Richmond's office and the sheets coming out of the printer.

"Here," Leigh Ann offered, pulling a crumpled mess of paper from her pants' pocket. "For what it's worth. Here's a list of all the complete manuscripts logged in at Richmond's agency during that eight-month period."

Jennifer took the water-stained sheets from Leigh Ann. "Thanks. You guys are pros. Maxie Malone couldn't have done better herself."

"Now, that's a compliment, wouldn't you say, partner?" Teri threw Leigh Ann a sheepish look.

"I didn't really mean it when I said you were lucky you didn't drown like a turkey in the rain in the restroom," Leigh Ann confessed.

"And I'm sorry about that crack I made about you throwing yourself in front of that fireman on the way out of the building."

"I slipped, really I did, just like I told you."

"I know you did, even if he was the most gorgeous hunk of a man I've seen in a long time. I saw your foot hit that puddle of water in the lobby."

If there was anything more irritating than hearing two friends fight, it was listening to them trying to make up. Fortunately, the phone rang.

"Hello," Jennifer sang into the receiver, grateful someone, anyone, had taken her away from Teri and Leigh Ann.

Mrs. Walker's voice came over the wire. "I thought you and that nice friend of yours might enjoy a little game, say tomorrow morning, about eleven? We'll meet you at that quaint little
café
where we first met."

"Game?" Jennifer asked, her mouth going dry. "What kind of game?"

"Bingo, dear. Bingo."

Chapter 32

"Why are you wearing only one earring?" Sam asked, taking a sip of hazelnut coffee, Friday's special of the day at Atlanta's Café on the Corner.

Jennifer fingered her right earlobe, the one with the large gold hoop. "I can't find the other one. I thought maybe I'd left it in your car, so I put this one on to remind me to look for it."

"Is
that
why you were rooting around on the floorboard on the way over here?"

"Pigs root. I was looking." She took another sip of her chocolate raspberry coffee and checked her watch. Two minutes before eleven. She looked up to see Mrs. Walker, Jessie and Mae Belle in tow, heading straight toward them.

Jessie's face was a deep pink. "You wouldn't think, I mean, it's why children have nightmares, for heaven's sake," she sputtered.

"Stop babbling and pull up something to sit on," Mrs. Walker ordered, squeezing three more chairs around the tiny, round table.

A waitress in an earth-brown caftan approached, but Mrs. Walker shooed her away. "We'll order later, Lori. I'll let you know when."

The woman backed up with an uncertain look on her face.

Mrs. Walker waited until Lori was safely behind the counter and then leaned in like a coach in a huddle at a football game. "Here's the deal. We can't account for the clown."

The clown. A cold chill swept through Jennifer. She'd walked right past a clown on Penney Richmond's floor the night of the murder, a clown with evil eyes.

"Ernie said he was there to deliver a big bunch of helium balloons, and he didn't have any when he left," Jessie gasped out. "But none of the florists or balloon shops have any record of a delivery to O'Hara's Tara scheduled for that night."

"What did this clown look and sound like?" Sam asked.

"No, no, no," Mae Belle said. "You're missing the point. Ernie says he couldn't recognize him under any circumstances. He was in full makeup with baggy clothes, big shoes… and he wouldn't talk, only mime, playing two parts, the giver and the receiver. He made a big elaborate bow as though offering the bouquet to someone, and then had Ernie hold it as he pretended to be so surprised and delighted to be receiving it. Several people applauded. Ernie waved him on up."

"Don't forget the gloves," Jessie chimed in. "He had on white, cotton gloves." She nodded knowingly.

"But no one seems to have gotten the balloons," Mrs. Walker pointed out.

"Could the police have found them in that Richmond woman's apartment," Mae Belle asked, "and not mentioned it? I understand they often don't put details in the newspaper so they can tell if someone really has inside information about a crime. Keeps the loonies from making fake confessions."

"All he had to do was step out on the balcony," Jennifer said, "and simply let them go. With no trees to get caught in, who knows where they wound up."

"Well that's it, then," Mrs. Walker declared. "The police need to find this clown and arrest him for murder."

If only it were that simple. Jennifer could just hear the APB now: "Be on the lookout for a white-faced suspect with a large red nose, big orange mouth, curly, rainbow-colored hair, and threatening eyes that look like they belong to the devil himself."

And why would they bother chasing some clown when they already had a bird in the hand—her? The choice was ridiculously obvious. Pursue evidence against a woman in a wig sporting a false pregnancy who had written threatening letters to the victim in her own handwriting or chase after some clown making a balloon delivery? She knew which one she'd suspect, and she knew which one the police would prosecute for murder.

It was close to eight o'clock. Jennifer was exhausted, and she still had to meet with Steve Moore that night. Sam would be back at her house at nine-thirty. She'd really like to take a nap, but sleep would not come easily, especially after the drive back from Atlanta. Sam was worried, although he tried not to show it. He hardly spoke to her the whole way back. He had kissed her goodbye, but it felt more like a last kiss to a condemned prisoner than the promise of a budding romance. Bars really put a dent in one's love life.

Jennifer took a sip of the hot tea she'd just made and crossed her legs on the coffee table. Muffy snuggled close and rested her head on Jennifer's knees. She was a needy little creature. What would happen to Muffy if she were sent to the Big House? Dee Dee or Sam would have to take her. Dee Dee already had a cat, and Muffy hated going there even for a day. But Sam's schedule was so erratic…

She stroked Muffy's head as she took up the water-streaked sheets Leigh Ann had given her. She'd scanned all twenty pages the night before for Browning's name, a name she'd never found. She'd sat down only minutes ago to look for Steve Moore's name and manuscript. Again, she didn't find it on the list.

She paused. Since Penney knew both Browning and Moore personally, they could have handed their manuscripts to her rather than sending them. Is that why neither appeared on the list? Jennifer shook her head. From everything she had seen, Richmond was nothing if not efficient—diabolical and hard-hearted, but still efficient. They should be there.

Maybe she'd missed the entry. Maybe it was coded in some way and that was why she couldn't find it by scanning. She'd have to examine each line carefully, both name and title.

She took another gulp of tea. Twenty pages, single-spaced. This would take some time.

It did. By page six, she felt like she was seeing double. She rubbed her eyes. How was she going to get out of the mess she was in? Maybe she wasn't. She was sure now that the clown was the murderer. Here she was, an eyewitness. She'd actually seen the killer, and a fat lot of good that did. She didn't even know if Ronald McDonald was male or female. Actually, it was a great idea for a disguise. She could use it in a novel sometime, only no one would believe it—too corny.

She yawned and took up page seven. A third of the way down was a submission by E. Warfield. Jennifer stopped and blinked. The title of the book was listed as
Scandal to Truth: The Story the Media Didn't Tell
.

Jennifer couldn't take her eyes from the page. In one overwhelming moment of understanding, everything fell into place. She knew. She knew just like Sherlock Holmes, Miss Marple, Peter Wimsey, Maxie Malone, and even Jolene Arizona would know. She knew who killed Kyle Browning, who killed Penney Richmond—and why. And who, if she didn't do something quick, was about to kill again.

Chapter 33

Jennifer grabbed the phone and punched in Sam's number. His cheery voice came from his voice mail. Didn't he know she needed to talk to him? Now. Not later. And, no, she didn't care that her call was important to him or that he would return it as soon as possible, and she most certainly didn't intend to have a good day!

Impatiently she waited for the beep. "Why aren't you answering your phone?" she sputtered. "I need you this minute. If I'm right, Steve Moore will be victim number three. I'm going to try to get in touch with him to warn him. I don't dare wait until nine-thirty for you to get here."