Murder in March

by Camilla Chafer

  "I have a stack of travel magazines in my home office," I admitted, "but I can't decide where to go first, that is, if I ever got the chance to go."

  "I never have the time to go anywhere either, but I want to."

  "Speaking of the time," interrupted Beth as she checked her watch. "I think I need to go to bed. I'm sorry not to stay up longer and be sociable but it's been a hectic day starting from the moment I woke up and found out where my brother was. Would you excuse me? And don't worry about being extra quiet. I'm a heavy sleeper. I'm glad to know you, Ava. You're the first real life author I've met, since Mark never introduces me to anyone. I have read all your books too," she added, whispering, "they're my guilty pleasure."

  I gaped at her. "How did you know?"

  "I didn't say anything," said Mark, holding up his hands in surrender.

  "I put two and two together and it’s not too much of a stretch to make Ava March become Miranda Marchmont. Will you sign my book? What, Mark? If I don't ask, I'll never get a yes!" She stuck her tongue out at him.

  "Yes, I am but I still don't see how you guessed."

  "Oh, c'mon! I knew Mark was coming to see Esther's biggest author and the only person he's talked about since he's been here is you. I'm surprised the whole town hasn't guessed since all that nasty business with Esther."

  "You knew Esther too?"

  "I met her a couple of times at social functions. Remember when she insisted on sitting with us at lunch, Mark?" she asked before turning back to me. "Mark and I met up for lunch, let's see, what was it? About two months ago? And who should walk in but Esther. She didn't even ask if she could sit down, she just grabbed a chair and shouted her order at the waiter. I'd just moved back home from San Francisco. As soon as she knew that, she didn't stop yakking about all the people she knew there and the best places to eat, and all the details of how she met her husband there."

  "I didn't know that."

  "I don't think his wife knew that either!"

  I frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean Derrick was married when he met Esther. I don't know if they had an affair but I have to assume they did. Whatever happened, Derrick got a quick divorce, and soon afterward, he and Esther moved to New York and she set up the agency. This was all many years ago."

  "How do you know all that?" asked Mark. "I don't remember Esther saying any of that over lunch."

  "She didn't. She was such a character, I asked around to get more details about her and that was the local gossip." Beth yawned widely. "Excuse me. I really must go to bed. I'll see you both in the morning and we'll book our flights home. Ava, I hope you'll come visit. ‘Night, both!" She slid off the stool, petted Purrdie and made cooing noises at her before waving to us as she headed for the spiral staircase, and yawning again.

  "Did you know Derrick was married before?" asked Mark.

  "No, I had no idea! Esther never once mentioned it although I suppose she wouldn't have if it's the way Beth heard it."

  "Do you want some more or shall I clear these things away?"

  I patted my stomach. "I think I'm finally full. That was delicious."

  "Why don't you get us a couple of glasses and pour some of the wine? I'll tidy up."

  "You're not too tired?" I asked.

  "No. Wired, if anything. Are you?" he asked, suddenly concerned. "You've had a hell of an evening."

  "No, I’m not at all tired. It does feel like today has been going on forever, and the evening events were totally unexpected. I'll probably sleep like the dead tonight. At least, I hope I do."

  "Good. I don't like the idea of you staying awake, or worrying."

  I busied myself searching the cabinets for the wineglasses. When I found them, I set a pair on the breakfast bar Mark just cleared. He passed the corkscrew he pulled out from a drawer to me and I uncorked the wine, wincing when it demanded more strength than I had to pull the cork the last little bit out of the bottle.

  "Here," said Mark, taking the bottle from me. He tugged gently and the cork popped out obediently.

  "I loosened it for you," I teased.

  "Sure you did," he laughed before returning to the washing up.

  I poured our glasses and hopped back onto the tall stool, waiting until Mark finished. "Why don't you go traveling?" I asked him.

  "Hmm?"

  "The travel book? Spain? Why don't you go?"

  "Actually, I've decided I will. I was thinking about it while I was sitting in that jail cell. I kept thinking, what if this were it? What if Sam weren't so diligent and I was banged up for good? That's when I decided I would ask for unpaid leave, or take a sabbatical of some kind, and finally do some traveling. Maybe for just a month or two."

  "Oh. Wow." I sucked in the surprise, although I was sure it showed on my face. I was okay with the idea of Mark returning to the city. I expected that. But a whole ocean between us? Could there even be an us under those circumstances? I thought about the earlier kiss. What did that mean?

  "Don't worry," he said, glancing over his shoulder and smiling. "I'm going to stick around long enough to help you get that next book out and maybe even until you've finished the last one. I won't leave you in the lurch."

  "No, that's fine. I wouldn’t dare stand in the way of your dreams."

  "You're not." He turned off the faucet and placed the last plate on the drainer before patting his hands dry with a towel and picking up his glass. He clinked it against mine. "What should we toast?" he asked.

  "Your exciting future travels?" I offered, a trace of envy audible in my voice.

  "How about just surviving Calendar?" he countered.

  "We're still here," I pointed out.

  "We should toast our survival when we go somewhere else."

  "Got anywhere in mind?"

  "Paris?"

  "You're on," I said, surprised by his suggestion, and even more surprised by my answer as I clinked my glass against his. It was a nice idea but Paris could never happen. It was just a marvelous fantasy, although I could easily imagine Mark and me crossing the Pont des Arts, that bridge where loving couples permanently locked their initial-inscribed padlocks onto the sides. I recently heard they were discouraging that practice because it was making the bridge sink into the river. I sighed. Just another fantasy that wouldn't come true, even if the few seconds of indulgence were lovely.

  "That was a big sigh."

  I took a deep breath. My thriller heroine didn't allow her emotions to deter her. If she wanted something, she got on a flight or picked a lock and went for it. Why couldn't I be the same way? Why was I so tied to a dull life that wasn't making me happy? I opened my mouth to say I'd meet him there, but instead, I said, "I was just thinking about that brick" and the magical, fleeting moment was gone.

  "You were very lucky," said Mark. "I know Sam is a smart detective and he's doing everything he can to find Esther's killer but now that you're a target too... Whoever did it wasn't that smart. Who knows what they'll do if they get desperate? I don't like the idea of heading home and leaving you here."

  "You can't stay forever. You have another life elsewhere," I pointed out. "Plus, what did Beth say about you two flying home?"

  "Yeah," said Mark as he dipped his head, his face darkening. He looked up again and smiled. "If I were the killer, I’d be worried. I think they made a big mistake by targeting you. Someone could have seen them. I bet one of the police officers already got a description. Tomorrow, Sam will call us and tell us he made an arrest. He'll find your manuscript on them and they'll no doubt confess."

  "You think so?"

  "I hope so. Let's go sit on the couch. I'm beat and I need to stretch out my legs."

  "Are you sure you don't mind sleeping on the couch?" I asked as we walked over. "You had an uncomfortable night in a cell—"

  "Don't remind me!"

  "And you and Beth are paying for this apartment. I'm happy to take the couch."

  "I'll be fine, but I appreciate the offer."

  We flopped ont
o the couch and Purrdie strolled over but instead of hopping onto my lap and curling up, she jumped on Mark. He laughed with surprise as she circled before curling up, placing her head on her legs and closing her eyes. "How long have you had her?" he asked, stroking her gently.

  "Six years. Writing can be lonely and she's a good companion. Cute without being needy."

  Mark stroked her again, apparently enjoying her therapeutic qualities as I sipped my wine. "Why do you think you were targeted tonight?" he asked. "You must have a theory."

  "I assumed it was because someone must have gotten wind that you'd been released and decided to come after me." I paused and took another sip. The food and wine made me feel warm and the couch was so cozy that I could not resist tucking my feet under me. That tipped me slightly towards Mark but he didn't move away. "That doesn't sound right," I decided. "How could someone throwing a brick with a page from an unpublished manuscript through my window possibly incriminate me?"

  "You said there was something about identifying an accomplice printed on the page."

  "Yes, but even so... Anyone would realize that stealing it and then planting the selected pages of my manuscript is suspicious. It seems so desperate."

  "Maybe they are desperate."

  "What if they didn't want to incriminate me but just intended to cause confusion?" I asked, a new theory forming in my mind.

  Mark looked up. "I don't follow."

  "Perhaps vandalizing my house was to make the police look elsewhere? Or if I were injured, Detective Logan would be distracted from looking into anymore leads he had on Esther's murder." Did that mean the killer wanted to make sure no eyes were on him when he disposed of my manuscript or left town? It seemed like a lot of effort to go to in order to avoid being noticed doing things that were normal like checking out of the hotel, or using a shredder. "And don't forget, someone else was hurt tonight at the hotel."

  "Speaking of leads, you never told me what you found on my laptop. Did you check my email?"

  "You mean the security footage from the hotel? Yes, I watched it all. That was good thinking to give me the password."

  "You're welcome and sorry for sticking you with that tedious task."

  I waved away his apology. "It's a fair compromise since you had to spend a night in jail. I had an idea of when to look, given the timeline we already had for Esther, but I made sure to see it all anyway. I'm sure Detective Logan did too, or had someone do it for him. There wasn't much until I got to the time Esther was reported to be in that stairwell. Janey was there as she said but she wasn't alone, so it couldn't be her..."

  "Who was she with?"

  "She's been seeing one of the hotel chefs and they had a little tryst." Mark raised his eyebrows, apparently amused, and stretched an arm across the back of the couch. If I edged a little closer, I could have snuggled into it.

  "Could they be in on it together?" he asked.

  "I don't think so. Janey's so nice but aside from that, she left the stairwell with Tim and she never went back in. The camera time stamp confirmed Esther was still in there more than a minute later. They weren't the only people in there. I spoke to Jake Jackman, the bellhop, and he cleared out as soon as he heard Esther complaining. That leaves Dina Preston and a male hotel guest. Dina thinks she overheard Esther talking to a man but she didn't see who it was, so unless there was someone I didn't see, that eliminates everyone but the guest. Apparently, he's been known to steal stuff so I think he might have gotten into it with Esther and possibly killed her in a rage. It was just as I told Detective Logan earlier."

  "What if the guest heard you narrowed it down to him? Anyone you spoke to could have told him you were asking about him. You could have gotten really hurt." Mark brushed my cheek and tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I looked up at him, and the moment was suddenly charged with emotion. His fear for me. My admiration for him. The memory of that brief kiss earlier. My heroine urged me not to hesitate, so I responded.

  Leaning in, I closed the gap and kissed him.

  Mark pulled me into his arms and the kiss instantly intensified. Electricity fired through me, and my heart pounded. Off in the distance, Purrdie gave an indignant meow as she dropped to the floor with a soft thud. Mark's fingers wound through my hair as I looped my hands around his neck, and he kissed me like I was an oasis of clear water in a desert.

  I barely heard my cellphone ringing. The first and second time I ignored it, then it rang again.

  "I should get that," I said, pulling back and breathing hard, my lips barely a hair's breadth from his.

  "Or you could never answer it," he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine. "You can call them back next week."

  "I wish; but it might be important." Using all my willpower, I pried myself away and reached for my purse. I pulled out my phone as it began its fourth round of ringing. "Yes?" I said, answering it breathlessly.

  "Ava? You okay?" Detective Logan's voice was low and urgent. "Why didn't you answer?"

  "Um..." I scrambled for words.

  "Never mind. You're okay?"

  "Yes, I'm fine. What's wrong?"

  "Where are you?" he asked, ignoring my question.

  "I'm at the apartment Mark and Beth rented."

  "Does anyone else know you're there?"

  "No, no one. Sam, what's wrong? You're worrying me." I swung my legs around, placing my feet on the floor. Mark remained close to me, his legs pressed against mine. I dropped one hand onto his thigh, waiting for an answer, and felt grateful when Mark took my hand in his.

  "I went to see what was going on at the hotel with the emergency that was called in. It was the guy you mentioned."

  "The guy who steals? What happened? Did he hurt someone?"

  "No, that's who was found in the parking lot. Someone bashed his head in."

  I clapped a hand to my mouth. "Oh, my God!"

  "He's still alive but if he weren't found when he was by another guest, he might not have been so lucky. He's on his way to the hospital over in Halliwell. I don't want to worry you, but I thought you should know. Don't tell anyone where you are and stay out of sight until I talk to you again. The same goes for Mark. Can you do that?"

  I nodded until I realized he couldn't see me. "Yes, we'll both stay out of sight. You don't have to worry about us."

  "I'll get over to you as soon as I can."

  "Sam?"

  "Yeah?"

  "He's not the killer, is he?"

  "No, I don't think he is."

  "I was afraid you were going to say that."

  Chapter Twenty

  "I got croissants, juice, and coffee from that cute, little place on the corner, and the newspaper," called out Beth as she jogged up the stairs and promptly appeared in the living room. "Isn't life under witness protection exciting?" She gave me a big smile and squeezed her shoulders up, apparently enjoying the situation.

  "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?" asked Mark.

  She tossed the newspaper to him. "Finding a body, going to jail, being thrown out of a hotel, and hiding out with the country's most elusive author? Nope. Never. I'm going to bring it up every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and family barbecue from here until... let's see... until eternity!"

  "Do your siblings do that?" asked Mark to me.

  "No, but I have too much on my brothers," I said, laughing. Mark didn't answer. Instead, his face paled as he stared at the newspaper. "What is it?" I asked.

  "Oh, um... nothing." He began to fold it back up.

  "What is it?" I squeezed my eyes shut, thinking the worst. "Is my house front page news? I hope my parents haven't seen it. I didn't call them yet. How bad is it?" I reached for the paper but Mark moved it out of my reach.

  "Your house isn't on the front cover," he said.

  "So what is it? Oh, no. You're on the front cover! I'll set the reporter straight, I promise," I told him. This time, when I reached for the newspaper, I was a little faster than him. I grinned triumphantly as I grabbed i
t and flipped it open. "No!" I yelled, my jaw dropping.

  Mark wasn't on the front cover and neither was my house; I was. A big, smiling photo of me that was taken at the fourth of July celebration last year was under the headline that read Miranda Marchmont Finally Revealed! I scanned the article. The reporter said an anonymous tip was sent to the newspaper office with a helpful memo from "the recently murdered top literary agent, Esther Drummond." There was some information about me and a description of my house, then some notes about my books and the most recent sales figures. "'Anonymous sources have reported seeing Ava March dashing around town in a hot convertible that didn't jive with her insistence on being no more than a lowly virtual assistant.'" I read out loud, "'Ms. March was witnessed taking secret meetings with Esther Drummond and hotshot publisher, Mark Boudreaux at the Maple Tree Hotel earlier this week before Mrs. Drummond's suspicious death. Mr. Boudreaux has been arrested and released without being charged for the murder while Calendar detectives have already questioned Ms. March on multiple occasions.' They make it sound like I killed her!"

  "It only gets worse," said Mark.

  "How? Oh. I see. 'Ms. March has been living a duplicitous life, deceiving her friends and neighbors about her secret identity for years. She has refused countless interviews in a bid to keep her identity secret and shown no interest in bolstering the local economy by offering a book signing in her hometown. Recent requests from Sparkes’ Bookshop went entirely ignored.' Are they for real? It sounds like I don't even care about this town!" I groaned. "And Holly Sparkes will probably never speak to me again!"

  "I'm sure everyone who knows you also knows that isn't true."

  "I hope so. Oh, great! Listen to this. 'Ms. March's true identity will no doubt disappoint her legion of loyal readers. Far from being a glamorous, romantic adventurer, Ms. March is a single woman who lives alone with her cat.' Now, I'm a mad cat lady!" I threw the newspaper onto the breakfast bar in a fury. I didn't know which I hated the most. That my identity was revealed, that Mark and I were being publicly implicated in Esther's death, or that my entire town thought I betrayed them.