Dying to Get Published (6 page)

What was she to do? Say "Don't bother me. I'm in the middle of planning a murder"?

She took a big swallow of coffee and carried the cup over to the booth. "I'm sorry, but—"

"Sit."

Jennifer slid onto the heavy brown vinyl.

"Now what do you think you're doing drinking coffee in your condition?"

"My condition? Oh, no. You don't understand. I'm not pregnant. I'm just—"

"It's nothing to be ashamed of these days, child. I see that there's no wedding ring on your finger. It's better to just admit what you've done and get on with your life. Better for both you and the baby. You
are
keeping it?"

Keeping what? The towel? Okay, so her disguise wasn't what she had in mind, but why not go with the flow? If the police came looking for a pregnant woman, it certainly wouldn't be Jennifer Marsh.

"Did your boyfriend leave you?"

"Boyfriend?"

"Your baby's father, dear. Did he leave you? You seem so lost and forlorn."

"No, of course not."

"Then he's standing by you. That's so admirable in today's climate of irresponsibility."

"No, not exactly."

"Oh, my, my." The old lady found Jennifer's hand and clasped it firmly in hers. "You can tell Aunt Emmie about it. He didn't have one of those sex changes…"

"He's dead. Dead and gone. Buried. And I don't want to talk about it." Lying was not easy, especially to a tenderhearted old lady who wanted to know her towel had a good future.

Aunt Emmie patted Jennifer's hand.

"Grrrrrrrr."

Jennifer studied Emmie's beatific face. "Did you just growl at me?"

"No, silly. Tiger is jealous." She dropped Jennifer's hand and lifted her large pocketbook from beside her and onto the tabletop. A black nose, two potato-chip ears, and tiny black eyes on a head about the size of an orange popped out of the bag. "Grrrrr." Canine teeth the thickness of toothpicks curled up over a thin upper lip.

Jennifer jerked back. "What in the—"

"Well, I'm not quite sure. I'm fairly certain he's a dog. I found him, you see, on the street near here. I thought he was a pup but that was two years ago.

"And you
kept
him?"

"What was I to do? Leave the poor soul to starve to death?"

Sure. Why not? Any creature that looked like a leftover from a horror movie should not be encouraged, and definitely not fed. She'd seen
Gremlins
.

"I don't know what you should have done, but carrying it around in your purse—"

"Shhhh." Aunt Emmie snapped the purse shut and returned it to the bench as the lady behind the counter approached the booth.

"More tea, Mrs. Walker?"

Mrs. Walker's purse gave an unnatural lurch to the left.

"No thank you, Lori. We're just fine over here." She waved the woman away.

Mrs. Walker reached down and opened her purse so the life-form could breathe.

"They don't like animals in here."

Jennifer didn't like animals in here, either. "It's been very pleasant talking with you, Mrs. Walker… and meeting Tiger, but I'm only here for the morning from Macon, and I really must—"

"Must you, dear? I get so little company and I hardly get out any more, just once a day to come down here for tea and sometimes a biscuit. I'll have to be going soon myself before I get too tired. And I forgot my cane. I'll have to wait until the crowd breaks outside before I venture back to my building by myself, and that could be almost two o'clock."

Jennifer sighed inwardly. She should be thinking about murder—
murder
—not helping some poor old lady back to her apartment building. But she couldn't leave the woman to sit all alone in the dark for another four hours. The woman walked—without her cane—so her apartment couldn't be
that
far away.

"Let me help you home," Jennifer offered.

"Oh, no. I couldn't ask you to do that, sweetie."

"Really, it's no bother, and I'm not on any kind of time schedule."

"That would be lovely, child. It's just a few feet away in that big building in the middle of the block—the one with all the glass and gold, the one with the big potted plants out front."

Chapter 10

If Emmie Walker needed a cane, it was to knock people out of her path. She led the way to O'Hara's Tara, introduced a shy Jennifer as her niece to the doorman, and escorted her to the twelfth floor in a gleaming bronzed elevator.

"And what is your name, dear?" Mrs. Walker asked, briskly opening the door and ushering Jennifer into the parquet foyer of the plush condominium.

A name? She had to come up with a name? Wasn't it enough that she'd donned this ridiculous costume complete with faux pregnancy? She should have realized someone would demand at least a name, even if she'd been able to talk her way out of showing proper identification.

Jennifer stared at the back of the little woman's head. A few dark strands mixed in with the thin, silver-white curls, and all she could think of was Sophia on
The Golden Girls
, Sophia who was much more spry than she sometimes let on and who could easily walk the distance from the coffee shop to her building without so much as a pause to catch her breath.

"Sophia," Jennifer said, following the old lady into the living room. The white carpet was so thick, she felt like she was standing on shifting sand.

"Sophia what?"

"Sophia…
Sophia McClannahan." She seemed to have a
Golden Girls
theme going.

"That's an interesting name, dear. Are you Italian on your mother's side? All that thick, dark hair, I should have guessed."

"That sounds good," Jennifer agreed.

A low rumble emitted from Mrs. Walker's purse. She opened it and let the creature out.

Now that Jennifer could see the beast in its entirety, it looked like a mutated Chihuahua. It flew at her feet and fiercely attached itself to the toe of her shoe.

"He loves leather. He's chewed up everything I have, I'm afraid."

"Maybe it's a mineral deficiency—something left by the tanning process," Jennifer suggested, trying to shake the animal off her foot without seeming too obvious.

"Would you like something to drink?" Mrs. Walker offered. "Perhaps a ginger ale? I don't think there's anything in ginger ale that would threaten our little one."

When had Jennifer's towel become "our little one"? But then Mrs. Walker was apparently into adoptions. Jennifer would have to see if she could work that generosity to her advantage.

"Ginger ale would be wonderful." If she could just get the woman out of the living room, she
could get that growling demon
off of her shoe.

"You sit down. I'll be right back."

As soon as Mrs. Walker was out of sight, Jennifer pulled the monster from her toe and flattened its snarling carcass against the floor. She knew how to train dogs, and, assuming Tiger was one, she felt it imperative to establish dominance right away. "Consider me an alpha wolf," she warned the squirming mass. "My territory includes my body, shoes, and clothing. You can have everything else as long as you don't mess with me. Got that?"

Tiger gurgled in Jennifer's paralyzing grip. She took that gurgle as acquiescence and let the critter loose. It scampered away to cower under a game table in the far corner of the room.

Mrs. Walker returned carrying a small tray with two crystal, on-the-rocks glasses sporting a bubbling, champagne-colored liquid. "Mr. Walker did so love ginger ale. I keep it around to remember him by." She sighed and sat down next to Jennifer on the brocade sofa.

"I'm sorry. How long has Mr. Walker been gone?"

"A good ten years, I'm afraid."

Jennifer sipped the liquid. "I'm sure you miss him," she added.

"Only when he's late with the alimony check. That teeny-bopper blonde he ran off with—" Mrs. Walker let out a devilish chuckle—"she didn't know what she was in for." She took a sip of ginger ale. "It's true what they say, you know. The best revenge
is
living well."

"And this is living well," Jennifer agreed, surveying the room. It looked like something out of
Southern Living
. The furnishings dripped money, and the entire back wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, creating a backdrop with a postcard view of the city's skyline.

"Do you like living here? What are your neighbors like?" Jennifer asked casually.

"It's quite pleasant. Of course, so many of the residents work. Not too many are home during the day, and I don't go out much at night. And what brings you to Atlanta, Sophie?"

She should have put more thought into this name."Oh, you know, the usual…" Something. The usual something. What the heck brought people to Atlanta?

"Your usual monthly doctor's visit? I should have guessed. But I would have thought you'd have a doctor in Macon. Oh, my, my. Don't tell me. It's not a rare condition, is it? Something that might threaten our little one?"

Jennifer drew her lips inside her mouth, clamped down on them, and gave a curt little nod of her head. She did better letting Mrs. Walker answer for her than she did by herself.

"You don't want to talk about it, do you?"

Jennifer shook her head vigorously. She certainly didn't. She wanted to talk about Penney Richmond. But she'd settle for the bronzed elephant on Mrs. Walker's bookcase.

"You have such exotic things," Jennifer observed. "That elephant, wherever did you get it?"

Mrs. Walker patted her hand. "You like that, do you? Mr. Hammerstein three doors down brought that to me from India last spring when he was there on vacation. It's not so bad, I guess, but it doesn't quite suit my taste. You see that jade Buddha on the shelf above it?"

Jennifer nodded.

"Mrs. Swimmer brought it to me from Japan. I can't stand the monstrosity, but she pops in at the most unexpected times to check on me, so I have to keep it out."

Jennifer needed to get back on course before she got a grand tour of every gift and bauble in Mrs. Walker's collection. Her eyes lighted on the books filling the bottom two shelves.

"I see you have books," she said stupidly. "Are any of your neighbors in the publishing industry?"

Mrs. Walker looked at her quizzically, as if to say, "That's quite a leap." Thank goodness, the woman was far too genteel for that!

"The only tenant I'm aware of that is employed in that business is an incredibly annoying creature." Mrs. Walker sipped her drink while an uncomfortable warmth surged through Jennifer's body.

"What does she do?"

"She's one of those high-powered literary agents—married and divorced more than once. I've heard she has men up to her place. I see her dragging in on Fridays. She's just not as young as she pretends to be—has to rest up for her nights out—or in—if you know what I mean." The old woman gave her a sly wink. "But if they've got enough money, the management looks the other way."

Jennifer shook her head in disapproval. "Does she live on this floor?"

"Next one down."

"Right beneath you, then. No wonder you're annoyed by her entertaining. She must make a lot of noise."

"No, dear, she's over in the other section of the building, number 1129, near Mr. Staunton."

Jennifer suspected this Mr. Staunton served as a kind of wire service for the building.

"These units with the view, the ones with a floor plan like this one, are the more expensive ones. They don't come up for sale very often."

Jennifer glanced at her watch. As much as she'd like to stay and pump Mrs. Walker for more information, she had to get back to Macon. Dee Dee had a job scheduled for seven o'clock. She'd barely have enough time to catch a cab back to the bus depot and make it in time to change and get over to the house.

"I didn't realize it was so late," she said out loud. "I've got to get home." She returned her glass to the tray and stood up.

"Must you, dear?"

"I'm afraid I must," Jennifer assured her, moving toward the foyer.

"And when are you coming back? Wednesdays are good for me. I play bridge on Mondays and Thursdays, and I have painting class on Friday. You could come for lunch. Ernie downstairs knows you as my niece." She lowered her eyes in feigned contrition. "I hope you don't mind that little deception, but it makes it so much easier than trying to explain. They're so particular, you see. I guess they're afraid one of us might usher in a mass murderer."

Jennifer could
             
understand their concerns. They had cause to be concerned. She had Penney Richmond's apartment number, but she still had one major hurdle to overcome—figuring out the security system in these units and how she could defeat it.

"Wednesday will be fine. Shall we say about eleven?"