Every Trick in the Book (20 page)

Vicky came into the kitchen for a second cup of tea, and
as soon as my coffee was reheated, I scurried out of the room like a teenage girl
caught making out with her boyfriend in the backseat of the family car.

“I’m only responding to Jude because I miss Sean,” I mumbled once I’d reached the
sanctuary of my office. My hot cheeks and clammy palms belied the truth of this statement.
Jude was gorgeous. He was smart. He was sweet. And he was a womanizer. He was never
going to be good for me. I didn’t want to expend another ounce of energy thinking
about him.

Sitting primly in my chair, I focused on another email containing requested material.
These were the first three chapters of T. J. West’s cozy mystery. His was set in a
charming lakeside town, and I remembered the vivid setting as well as the plucky heroine—a
widow who ran the town’s bed and breakfast. West called himself a medical professional,
but he had attended culinary school and was a self-professed handyman. As a result,
his cozy was replete with do-it-yourself home repair tips and included a tantalizing
recipe section. He’d emailed a few recipes for me to peruse, and my stomach gurgled
in appreciation as I scanned over the directions for preparing vegetable barley soup,
bacon-wrapped maple pork loin, and gingerbread cake.

I spent the remainder of the morning reading West’s first three chapters. I had my
doubts that a male writer could successfully pull off the voice of a feisty young
widow, but West did it in spades. Not only did he create a rich, interesting heroine,
but there were also sprinkles of romance and a splash of humor in those first three
chapters. The only mistake he made resided within his synopsis. At the pitch session
he’d mentioned that a child’s toy would play a role in the murderer’s capture. I’d
responded by advising him to alter that clue, but he hadn’t made the change. Cozy
readers
don’t like children to be closely associated to a murder case, and while Ashley Buckland’s
Men at Home series included kids, they were never present when violence occurred.
Buckland’s kids remained in the background, which was where they belonged.

I was just explaining this in an email to T. J. West when my fingers froze over the
keyboard. Turning back to his synopsis, I reread the brief description of the child’s
toy. “A beloved yellow teddy bear,” were the exact words.

Instantly, the photograph of the plush Winnie the Pooh clasped in Melissa’s dead hand
flashed in front of my eyes.

“No,” I whispered to my computer screen, my eyes locked on T. J. West’s email address.
“You’re a harmless mystery writer. You have nothing to do with that picture of Silas’s
bear. It’s just a crazy coincidence and proof that I need a lunch break.”

I sent off the email, shouldered my purse, and was trying to decide whether to grab
a sandwich at Catcher in the Rye or head to the hot food bar at How Green Was My Valley
when Vicky’s voice came over my phone’s speaker.

“Ms. Wilkins, Ms. Burlington-Duke would like a word with you,” she said succinctly.

“Right now?”

There was the briefest of pauses. “Ms. Burlington-Duke did not specify a time, but
I was under the impression she meant for you to appear in her office within the next
five minutes.”

“Then I’m on my way. Thanks.”

Vicky didn’t reply, and I decided to bring my purse into my boss’s office. Maybe Bentley
would realize that I was on my way out and would keep our impromptu meeting short
and sweet.

No such luck.

Bentley was on the phone when I poked my head into her office, but she raised a regal
finger, silently ordering me to wait until she was done. She then wiggled the same
finger in a downward motion, indicating that I should take a seat. She obviously didn’t
care if I overheard her conversation.

Twirling the tip of a resplendent mustard-hued Hermès scarf, Bentley frowned as she
listened to the person on the other end of the line. Finally, she sighed in impatience
and stated, “While I am happy to do my part in reporting my findings, I don’t expect
to be inconvenienced in this manner. Please inform Officer Griffiths that I am willing
to discuss this matter via telephone or email, but should he wish to speak to someone
in person, he should contact Lila Wilkins, one of my agents here at Novel Idea. Good
day.”

A man spluttered indignantly at the other end of the line before Bentley severed the
connection.

“With buffoons such as that on the force it’s no wonder the crime rate has escalated.”
Bentley flicked an imaginary speck of dust from her black suit and replaced the opal
and diamond earring she’d removed during her call. “I was merely trying to pass on
information regarding Ruben Felden, but that Neanderthal didn’t seem to know the first
thing about the Melissa Plume case or which of his fellow officers did.”

My hunger forgotten, I dumped my purse on the floor and gave Bentley my undivided
attention. “I’d be glad to deliver the report on your behalf,” I assured her hastily.

“Good.” She handed me a piece of paper. “This is Mr. Felden’s flight itinerary, faxed
to me by his assistant a few minutes ago.”

I examined the neat bullet points typed on the sheet. According to this document,
Ruben Felden had flown to
Chicago on Friday and returned late last night. “If this checks out, then he’s off
the suspect list,” I said. “Did his assistant happen to mention why he went to Chicago?”

“Yes, she was most helpful.” Bentley paused and a look of disapproval crossed her
face. “Though if she’d discussed
my
affairs so openly with a stranger, I’d have her fired on the spot.”

“Of course. But what did she tell you?” I prompted.

“Ruben’s aunt has been in declining health for the past few months. He received a
call at work Friday morning that she was fading quickly, so he rushed from the office
and took the first flight out. His aunt died on Saturday and Ruben was very distressed
by her passing. Too distressed to call his assistant on Monday to say that he’d be
absent. She found his itinerary through his work email.”

I glanced at the itinerary. The scant lines in my hand represented another loss. Albeit
a natural death, Melissa’s coworker had obviously cared for his aunt and I felt a
pang of sympathy for him.

As if reading my thoughts, Bentley said, “Apparently the aunt raised him and worked
two jobs in order to pay for his college education. He stayed in Chicago for the funeral
and to pack up some of her belongings before returning to New York.”

“Poor man,” I murmured.

Bentley wasn’t interested in the editor’s sorrows. “Ruben’s assistant told me that
he’d indeed been angry with Melissa. One of their authors, an established writer of
bestselling women’s fiction whose name the assistant actually refused to divulge,
originally signed with Ruben. However, she was uncomfortable having a man edit her
work and begged Melissa to take over her contract.”

“But Melissa couldn’t do that, could she?”

“No, that would have been completely inappropriate. However, the editorial director
of the publishing house could, and in the interest of keeping this author happy, transferred
the contract to Melissa.”

I could see how such a decision would serve to wound Ruben’s pride and told Bentley
as much.

She shrugged dispassionately. “This is a business, Lila. And a tough one at that.
Eventually, Ruben would have recognized that keeping this author content and pumping
out bestselling novels was worth more to the company than his ego.”

“Sounds like Ruben Felden hasn’t had the best of times lately,” I mused. “But if his
flight confirmation checks out, then at least he won’t be considered a murder suspect.
I’ll tell Sean—uh, Officer Griffiths—what you’ve told me and drop this fax off at
the station later this afternoon.” I thanked Bentley for finding out about Ruben and
headed off to lunch.

After loading a plate with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots
at the grocery store’s hot food bar, I selected a small café table near the windows
and tried to read a few query letters. However, I started thinking about Melissa’s
murder instead. My look-alike hadn’t been killed by a disgruntled coworker or her
husband. More than ever, I was certain that Kirk Mason was responsible.

I recalled how I’d felt when he’d dropped the black feather on my table during the
pitch session. He wore menace like it was yet another body piercing, and I’d been
instinctively afraid of him. If I’d had enough sense to feel fear, then why had a
woman as smart and savvy as Melissa followed him into a dark and deserted corridor?
Even though she’d received the photograph of her son’s teddy bear, what
had driven her to meet an obviously unstable man all alone? A significant piece of
the puzzle was missing, but I didn’t know what more I could do other than relay the
information about Ruben to Sean.

My meal devoured, I dialed his number. Once more I was disappointed and to be honest,
a little irritated to be put through to his voicemail. I gave him an abbreviated account
of Ruben’s activities during the weekend Melissa had been killed and said that I’d
be happy to drop the fax off at the station, but I’d rather do so when I knew he’d
be there.

Returning to the office, I tried to be as industrious as I’d been during the morning,
but failed. As if in tune with my recollections of Kirk Mason, the slate gray sky
darkened into a shade of charcoal and it began to rain. I sat at my desk, wondering
how I’d concentrate on query letters when I felt so distant from the people I cared
about. Trey was busy at the co-op, Sean was tied up with the case, and lately, my
mother only called me when she didn’t have clients to see.

And yet, my case of the blues was nothing in comparison to what Melissa’s husband
and son were experiencing. For them, the immediate future was like the sky over Inspiration
Valley: sunless, bleak, and filled with tears.

BY MIDAFTERNOON I
had a crick in my neck. I stretched my arms high, reaching for the ceiling to unfurl
the tension, when Flora knocked on my open door.

“Oh, Lila, I’m sorry to interrupt. Could you do me a favor?” She held up a spiral-bound
notebook that I recognized as Tilly’s by its bright pink cover. “I called Tilly to
tell her I had this and she’s frantic to have it back today. I’d run it over, but
I can’t leave my desk as I’m waiting for an
important phone call. Do you mind?” She pointed to a Post-it note stuck on the cover.
“That’s her address.”

“Sure, Flora. I welcome the distraction.” Taking the notebook from her, I said, “I
can’t really ride my Vespa there in the rain, though. I’ll call my mother and see
if I can borrow her truck.” I could also take the opportunity to drop the fax off
at the police station, and at the same time sit with the sketch artist to render a
likeness of Kirk Mason. Perhaps Sean would have returned by then.

My mother answered the phone at the first ring and agreed to pick me up at the agency.
“I was about to leave for Dunston myself. I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb’s
tail and you can tag along to see that policeman of yours.” Once again, Amazing Althea
was close to the mark. It occurred to me that, since I’d moved to Inspiration Valley,
my skepticism about her powers had lessened. If only those powers could help us nail
Melissa’s murderer.

“Thanks, Mama. I have some errands to run while we’re in Dunston. Is that okay?”

“That works out fine, honey. You can take the truck after droppin’ me at ol’ Miz Margaret’s.
She’s bedridden now but still needs my guidance.” She coughed importantly. “You can
collect me when I’m done and then we can go to Bill’s Bar and Grill. I’ll be needin’
plenty of Jimmy Beam’s special brand of reenergizer after readin’ for Miz Margaret.”

She sounded cheerful about the supper plan, and I realized she was probably delighted
to have a designated driver.

THE RAIN HAD
stopped by the time we reached Dunston, although the sky remained stubbornly gray.
I delivered my mother to Miss Margaret, my ears buzzing with her
predictions and advice, and headed for the Dunston police station. Even though I was
dating Sean, I’d only visited this place twice.

Climbing the steps, I recalled the first time I’d been here, when Trey had been in
trouble for destroying school property, and subsequently when I came to give an official
statement regarding violence and death. I shuddered at the memories, and then, as
if by divine intervention, the clouds in the sky drifted apart and the afternoon sun
shone brightly overhead.

Those incidents were behind me, and today I was here to deliver a document that would
exonerate one man and hopefully bring the police closer to arresting a guilty one.
I squared my shoulders and pushed open the door.

The young policewoman at the front desk smiled as I approached. “Can I help you?”

“Is Officer Griffiths in?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. He’s out on a case. Do you want me to call his partner?”

“No, could you just please give this to him?” I handed her the envelope containing
the fax from Ruben Felden’s office. “Tell him Lila brought it by. I also need to meet
with the sketch artist.”

“Oh,
you’re
Lila! Griffiths has been smiling much more since you two got together.” Giving me
a sisterly wink, she stood and said, “Follow me.”

I drove out of the parking lot in good spirits, despite revisiting the image of Kirk
Mason, thanks to the policewoman’s words and the sun now shining through the clouds.
Being on the streets in Dunston felt unaccountably strange, considering it had been
a mere six months since I’d left. I
felt so settled in Inspiration Valley that it was as if my Dunston life belonged to
an entirely different person. My situation was very different now, with Trey out of
the house, me in my cozy yellow cottage, and my job as a literary agent. Perhaps Dunston
had just been a stepping-stone to the life I was meant to live.