Every Trick in the Book (27 page)

“Yes, I understand you’ve gotten yourself involved in the murder investigations of
that New York editor and the writer in Dunston. Is that because you have a secret
desire to be a detective?” He drew closer. “Or because of your friendship with that
cop, Griffiths?”

“Jude, the deaths of those two women are a serious matter. I want justice for them
both, and if there is any way that I can contribute to the police arresting whoever
was responsible, then I’m going to do that.” I put my coffee down and crossed my arms.
“Don’t kid around about it.”

Jude immediately stepped back and adopted a contrite expression. “I’m sorry. You’re
right. These killings have hit too close to home. The author was one of Flora’s, wasn’t
she? Doesn’t this harken back to last summer?” He leaned back against the counter
and sipped his coffee.

I stirred cream into mine, regretting that I’d dwelled on the subject. “Tell me about
the author you’re about to sign,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

Immediately, Jude perked up. “He’s coming in this afternoon.” He checked his watch.
“In about ten minutes, actually. Vicky’s prepared the final contract for his signature
and then we’ll be ready to rock and roll. This guy can write, Lila. He’s dark and
sinister, to be sure, but there’s a definite market for his stuff. I know of two publishers
who will probably engage in a bidding war over this book.”

“Wow. That’s great.”

“And I have you to thank for it. You brought me his proposal last week.”

“Really? Which one?” I often brought queries to Jude when they were more suited to
his tastes, and since I didn’t read them in great detail, they seldom stuck in my
mind. Thinking back, I tried to recall what I had given him. All of a sudden I felt
a chill and grabbed Jude’s arm, causing him to slosh his coffee.

“Hey, careful,” he admonished, wiping at the spill with his hand.

“Are you referring to that query I gave you just before the book festival?” My voice
shook.

“That’s the one. The author is—”

“Kirk Mason?” I spit out the name in horror. “Jude! You’re about to sign a contract
with a murderer!”

JUDE LAUGHED ONCE, AND THEN SEEING THAT I WAS
deadly serious, set his coffee cup down on the counter and grabbed my hands.

“Lila, what on earth are you talking about?”

I was glad he had a tight hold of my trembling fingers, because his grip seemed to
be the only thing keeping me on my feet. Fear had turned my mouth dry and I searched
for words, for the nouns and verbs and conjunctions I needed to explain myself, but
they had become elusive, flitting out of my head like spooked starlings.

“Look at me,” Jude commanded gently. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

Numbly, my gaze wandered over his shoulder to the rooftops beyond the kitchen window.
The sun was barely visible behind an oncoming bank of dark thunderclouds. It would
be storming soon. And with the storm and the lightless
gloom, Kirk Mason would arrive. A shadow among the shadows.

“He wrote about a building used as a field hospital,” I stated mechanically. “I remember
the stained floorboards and the character’s fascination with blood. That author’s
name was Kirk Mason. It’s a pseudonym, Jude. The guy’s real name is Justyn and he’s
a killer. He hit Melissa with a brick and strangled Tilly Smythe in the middle of
her own kitchen. I’m sorry that I didn’t share my suspicions with you earlier. I had
no idea you’d end up offering him representation.” My voice became low and cold. “And
now he’s coming here. We have to be careful. We could all be in danger.”

I didn’t wait for Jude to respond but pulled my hands away from his and rushed into
my office. Grabbing the phone, I called Sean, my heart threatening to beat right out
of my chest. Where was Mason right now? Was he outside the building? In the lobby?
Or was he already climbing the stairs?

“Sean!” I cried the moment I heard his voice. “Kirk Mason is heading to the agency.
Jude offered him representation and he’s scheduled to appear in person and sign his
contract. He’s coming. Please, you’ve got to help me!”

“Okay, Lila, stay calm. I’m already moving,” Sean assured me. “You should leave the
building.”

“I can’t do that. Neither can anyone else. There’s a chance we’d run into him on our
way out, though I’m the only one who poses a genuine threat to him.” I made a quick
mental scan of the offices, closets, and conference room. “I could hide in a locked
office, but you could pop the locks with a penknife.”

“You need to stay out of sight,” Sean directed and began to talk rapidly, as if he
were thinking out loud. “I had
concluded that Mason attended the book festival because Melissa was there, and that
his proposed serial killer novel was just a ruse. I had no idea Mason was really a
writer. Is it possible he’d risk life in prison to become a published author? That
he’s that invested in signing this contract?”

Sean’s questions gave me pause. People would go to great lengths to see their work
on the bookstore shelf, but Mason had committed two murders. Surely he knew the police
were closing in on him. Was he truly foolish enough to show up at my agency, chancing
an encounter with the woman who’d been suspicious of him upon first glance?

I swallowed hard. “I don’t think his main purpose is to sign a contract, Sean. He’s
coming for me. And I have no weapons except for a stapler and a really heavy dictionary.”
I laughed a bit hysterically, my panic increasing as the seconds ticked by. I tried
to come up with a logical solution to this new threat, but fear had robbed me of my
good sense and I couldn’t think straight.

“Hold on, Lila,” Sean said and issued terse orders at his fellow officers. Then, a
car engine rumbled and I knew that he was in motion. My cop was riding in on his black-and-white
metal horse to rescue me, but would he be in time?

“Sean, I’ll call you back. I need to get out of my office.”

After making sure no one else was in the corridor, I dashed into the office next to
mine and was met by Flora’s congenial grin. “Hello, dear.”

“Flora, this is going to sound crazy, but I need you to pretend that I’m not here.”

Her smile grew broader. “Oh, I completely understand. Sometimes, we just need to check
out for a spell. Me? I like to get lost in a Harry Potter novel or recite some of
Shel Silverstein’s poetry. Edgar Allan Poe once said, ‘Those who
dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.’
I completely agree,” she declared, and then the twinkle faded from her eyes and she
sighed. “A little journey into fantasy is good for the soul, especially during trying
times such as these.”

Her references to Poe and Tilly’s murder unnerved me even further. I was about to
warn her about Kirk Mason when I heard noises in the office reception area. There
was no time! I whipped open the door of the white wardrobe tucked into the corner
of the room. Flora’s coat, polka-dot rain boots, and flowered umbrella were stored
inside, leaving just enough room for me. “Act like you never saw me, Flora. Please!”
I stepped into the narrow closet, faltering for a brief second because I hadn’t cautioned
her about Kirk Mason. But then I determined that there was no reason for him to harm
her. She hadn’t set the police on his trail.
I’d
done that.

Clutching my cell phone to my chest, I closed the door and waited.

I must have been mistaken in thinking that the sounds in the lobby had been Kirk Mason,
because I didn’t hear his voice. Straining to listen for him or Jude, all I heard
in the dark was the creaking of Flora’s chair as she eased her weight into it followed
by the
click, click
of her nails against the computer’s keyboard. Suddenly, the sound of music floated
from the direction of her desk. It was a soothing piano sonata, and I was grateful
for Flora’s good taste. The soft notes and languid rhythm allowed me to relax the
tiniest fraction, and my fingers became steady enough to send a text to Sean. I told
him where I was hiding and asked how long it would take before he could reach Novel
Idea.

He responded immediately, which let me know that
someone else was driving, and promised that his partner was going as fast as he could
over the mountain roads and they’d be in Inspiration Valley in ten to fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes! Never had such a brief stretch of time seemed so long. Fifteen minutes
in the dark. Fifteen minutes of helplessness and terror. I had to do something to
occupy my mind. No matter what happened, I wasn’t going to let Kirk Mason reduce me
to a quivering mess for another second.

I pressed the photo album icon on my phone’s screen and scrolled through the pictures
I’d taken in July. There was Althea in her garden, plucking a fat tomato from a plant
a foot taller than her. She grinned widely and I knew she was already planning to
use the fresh tomato in a Caprese salad. I could picture the herb garden behind her
house, where several varieties of basil perfumed the summer air.

Next, there were eight shots from the Red Fox Mountain Co-op. The first showed Trey
feeding an apple to a goat. In the second, he and Iris had paused in the middle of
weaving a hammock out of hemp to wave for the camera.

I touched his face with my index finger, praying that I’d see him again soon, and
that when I did, he’d give me one of his famous bear hugs. I moved on to a picture
Trey had taken of me standing in front of my yellow cottage on moving day. What I’d
give to be inside my cozy little house right now!

Having scrolled through my photos, I checked the clock on my cell phone. Only three
minutes had passed since Sean’s last text. How long would this nightmare last?

Suddenly, I heard a knock on Flora’s door. I stiffened as she called out, “Come on
in!”

“Where’s Lila?” Jude asked.

Flora turned her music down. “I’m sorry, dear. She told me she needed a break. Could
I help you with something?”

I held my breath and wished Jude would leave before Kirk showed up to sign his contract.
A bead of sweat was trickling down my forehead, but I dared not move to wipe it off.
I wanted to be invisible and inaudible, to not exist for a slice of time so that I
could avoid coming face-to-face with a murderer.

“She thinks my new client is some homicidal maniac.” Jude’s voice was somewhat irritated.
“And I want her to meet him so she can see for herself that he’s as nice as can be.
The only thing sinister about him is his writing, and
that’s
going to make Mason and me a little wealthier. Kirk Mason’s our newest author. Oh,
here he is now. Can I introduce you?”

To my horror, Flora said, “Of course. Let me just get up so I can shake Mr. Mason’s
hand.”

As my forehead and palms grew clammy, I glanced at my cell phone. Sean was at least
ten minutes away. Squeezing my eyes shut, I listened intently. Would Mason sense my
presence in the room? Would Flora give me away? I didn’t dare breathe.

Flora didn’t betray my hiding place, but my cell phone did. I’d foolishly left the
ringer on, and the energetic notes of a salsa melody burst out of the speaker. Fumbling
for the mute button, I saw Trey’s name on the call display.

“Call you back,” I whispered and severed the connection.

Too late. With a creak, the wardrobe door eased open and Jude’s face mercifully blocked
most of the glare from Flora’s ceiling light as well as the figure of the man in black.

“What are you doing in there?” he asked in surprise.

Instead of answering, I steeled myself and inched sideways, looking around Jude’s
shoulder at the tall, slim bald man standing next to Flora. He stared at me in puzzlement
and I couldn’t even blink, such was my own astonishment.

“Kirk Mason?” I croaked, taking in his black leather jacket and slightly lined, middle-aged
face. He had no piercings and his eyes were a lovely shade of sky blue.

He nodded but made no move toward me. “Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

I looked from Jude to Kirk and back to Jude again. “Is Kirk Mason his pen name?”

“No, it isn’t. My client, Mr. Kirk Mason, is not the man you saw at the book festival,
Lila. Kirk here was called out of town on an emergency and missed his pitch appointment.
I’m sure you’ve also taken note of the physical dissimilarities between this man and
the man you believe to be Kirk Mason.”

“Didn’t he know the police were looking for him? Where was he all this time?” I gazed
at the man named Kirk Mason.

His cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat. “I spent the week in Tennessee, at the
bedside of a dear friend who was very ill. I went there rather suddenly, neglecting
to tell people where I was.” He shrugged. “I had no idea anyone would be looking for
me.”

A smile played around the corners of Jude’s mouth and he held out his hand. “May I
help you out of the broom closet, milady?”

Stepping out of the wardrobe on wobbly legs, I tried to summon a sheepish grin for
Kirk Mason, but failed. I’m
sure the fact that I’d been hiding in a closet and then mercilessly stared at him
had made Mr. Mason feel more than a little uncomfortable. However, I did not possess
enough mental acuity to explain myself to him. Tilly’s orphan son Justyn was the killer,
and now I had no idea what his real name was or how the police would ever be able
to hunt him down. One thing was clear, however: This man was not Justyn. He was no
murderer. He was a gentleman writer by the name of Kirk Mason.