THE SUBJECT OF MALICE

by Cynthia Kuhn

  “Yes, that would be helpful, but we have to follow the rules.” He looked down at the square of paper again. “Having said that, any idea who wrote this? Do you think it was Selene? Didn’t you say she was in there alone with Flynn this morning?”

  “Yes.” I’d caught him up to speed on the car ride over.

  “Any idea what her handwriting looks like?”

  “No, I’ve only seen Simone’s. And it’s not even close.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I turned my hand palm up so he could place the paper on it, which he did. Then I pointed to the large loops of the ink. “These are distinctive. The swirls are...carefree.”

  “Carefree?”

  “That’s not the right term, but you know what I mean. They’re loose. Flowing.”

  “Okay, and...” He rolled his hand, urging me to continue.

  “Simone’s writing is very tight and controlled. Cramped, even. I don’t know how she reads it, frankly.” I’d tried to puzzle out notes she’d left on a document once—when we were forced to work together, as co-advisors of Literature Club—and had ended up having to talk to her about it instead.

  “Do you think Selene’s handwriting would be similar?”

  “Because they’re twins? No. That doesn’t mean their handwriting has to be the same.” I folded my napkin into a tiny square as I thought. “Which means that the note-writer could be Selene. Or anyone else in the world, I guess. We need to keep our eyes peeled for—”

  “Carefree swirlers?” His lips quirked. “On the many notes for comparison we’ll be finding around the ranch in the future?”

  “Never mind. You’re right.” My clue had turned out to be a dud.

  “But speaking of Selene, what’s your take on her fainting spell?”

  “It seemed real while it was happening. But everything changed after I found the binder. Now I don’t know.”

  He sat back and stared into the distance, just over my shoulder. I could almost see the cogs moving as he processed this new information. Finally, he flicked his eyes back to me. “All right. Filing that information away for future examination. And you said there were two things. Even though it feels like we just did two things—”

  “There was a detour,” I admitted.

  “—so what’s the next one?””

  “We haven’t discussed the fact that we know there is someone who has a big problem with the Fairlake book and told us so: Flynn McMaster. Everyone heard that.”

  “That’s true. We did ask him some questions as a colleague of Ellis, but that was before the keynote. If the book is truly at the center of all this, then perhaps we need to have another talk with Mr. Action Movie.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Do I detect a note of...something?”

  “Jealousy? Nah. But he’s a character, isn’t he?”

  “Not a fan of the pirate vibe?”

  Lex gave me a long look. “Are you?”

  “Hmmm.” I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Not really. I’m more into detective couture.”

  He smiled and patted the sleeve of his jacket. “Last year’s collection.”

  “And worth every penny,” I said, smiling.

  As we drove up the winding road through the arched wrought-iron Tattered Star Ranch gates, my phone pinged with a reminder.

  I turned to Lex. “We’ve got the tour in an hour. You know, the one where they walk us through the property and show us all the places where famous scenes were shot?”

  We’d bought tickets a month ago, as the tours often sold out.

  “I’m not going to be able to make it, Lila. You brought up a good point about Flynn. I need to ask him some more questions.”

  “Oh, forget the tour, then. I’d rather come with you.”

  “Actually,” he gave me an apologetic look, “I’ll be taking this one myself. From what you told me about your discussion with Flynn during the elevator ride, I don’t think your presence will work with the tone I’m going to use.”

  “But he was kind of opening up to me—”

  “Exactly. I’m going to come in more formally than I could if you were with me. Sometimes it helps when a suspect thinks something is happening behind the scenes, officially speaking. If they get nervous, sometimes they talk more.”

  “Or less.”

  “It could go either way. But I have a gut feeling about this.”

  “Sure.” I stared out the window at the pine trees until he parked.

  “Please don’t take it personally. And you need to rendezvous with the Fairlake people anyway, right? Find out about that list?”

  “Yes. Okay, I’m on the case.”

  That was the end of the conversation until we were inside, on the elevator.

  “Good luck to you, Professor,” he said, leaning over and giving me a quick kiss.

  “And to you, Detective.” I gave him an even longer kiss back.

  We spent the rest of the ride up to the tenth floor thus occupied.

  The doors slid open and Lex stepped out. Flynn would be facing a challenge if he had anything to hide. The detective had his game face on.

  I rode the elevator back down to the lobby. Since I didn’t know Selene’s room number, I was going to leave the notebook at the main desk for her.

  As I crossed the lobby, I caught sight of the twins walking through the front door, rendering my phone call unnecessary. When they drew closer, however, I saw that they appeared to be arguing.

  I ducked behind a large potted plant as they passed.

  “I don’t know what you want me to do,” Selene—according to her nametag—said.

  “Well, you can’t put this one on me,” Simone replied.

  “I can’t believe you’re saying all this. It’s very stressful, you know.”

  “But what did you think would happen?”

  When they were slightly farther away, their conversation appeared to intensify. They faced each other, both gesticulating angrily, then abruptly went in different directions. Selene took a sharp left down a hallway, and Simone headed back toward me. I emerged unobtrusively—I hoped—from my hiding spot and posed with my cell phone to create a posture of nonchalance.

  When she saw me, her whole demeanor transformed. She might have been full of rage, but she was the picture of tranquility. I’d figured out this much in our years together: Simone Raleigh never wanted to appear out of control. She needed to be in charge of everything at all times, including herself.

  And it was frightening how quickly she appeared to switch emotional states.

  “Lila,” she said calmly. “Thank you for helping with my sister today.”

  “How is she doing? What happened?”

  “She fainted. The paramedics said she was a tad dehydrated. She’s fine now, though. Hydrated and resting.”

  Well, that was a lie. Selene wasn’t resting at all—I just saw her stomp down a hallway. I opened my mouth to protest but thought better of it. Now wasn’t the time. If I started calling out all the lies Simone had told me over the years, we’d be here forever, and I had a tour to get to.

  “Happy to hear that Selene is well. And I’m glad I ran into you, because I have her notebook.” As I pulled the binder out of my bag, I thought I saw a flash of panic cross her face.

  “How kind of you to pick it up...” She seemed to want to say more but hesitated.

  “My pleasure.” I handed it to her.

  “See you later,” she said, taking a step away, then turning slowly back to face me. “Wait. How did you know it was my sister’s notebook?”

  “It was sitting on the table in front of her chair. At the panel.”

  “Of course.” She chewed her lip ever so slightly. “Did you happen to read it? I’m sure that you are very interested in what she has to say about Isabella Dare. I’d be tempted
myself if I stumbled across a competing scholar’s work.”

  “No, I didn’t read it,” I said truthfully.

  She examined my face. “Well, that’s good because we’re rivals in this award—”

  “Simone,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t read it because there was nothing to read.”

  She froze, crumpled slightly, then rallied, forcing a laugh. “Oh, she must have brought the wrong notebook. How silly of her.” She made a show of examining it briefly. “Ah, yes. This is just the one we use to draft things.”

  “You don’t write on a computer?”

  “No.” She lifted her chin and stared straight into my eyes. “We decided to do it all longhand.”

  I knew that was a lie as well. Many a day I’d passed Simone in her office, tapping away on her computer. She also told anyone who would listen about the trials and tribulations of writing her book. I’d known that part. Everyone did.

  I just hadn’t known that her sister was writing half of it too...on the topic that I’d worked on for years.

  I became aware of someone hovering beside us and turned my head.

  The turquoise wrap Bibi Callahan had flung over one shoulder was lovely, if fuzzy, but I could practically feel Simone recoil—she had surely never worn anything homemade in her life.

  “I loved your panel,” Bibi said. “Hope that your sister has recovered?”

  “She’s fine, thank you.” Her voice was colder than usual. “Would you please excuse me? I need to attend to her.”

  Bibi and I watched Simone sweep away with her head held high.

  I couldn’t explain to Bibi that Simone had been engaged in strenuous performance, pretending to tell the truth, so I just said, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “She must be very worried about her sister,” Bibi said thoughtfully.

  Sure. That’s what it was.

  “Well,” Bibi said, taking a step closer. “I was fascinated by your excerpt. Do you have a few moments to chat?”

  “I would love to, but I’m supposed to go on the tour—would you like to join me? I have an extra ticket.”

  “I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m heading into another panel. But I think your writing is compelling, and I simply can’t wait to read your book.”

  “Thank you. That means so much to me. Have you read Isabella Dare?”

  “Oh, ages ago.” She paused, when the turquoise shawl slid down her arm, tangling her up in it somehow. “Drat.”

  “I haven’t met many people who have. May I?” I reached out and helped her straighten out the fabric.

  She tied the ends together in the front. “There. That should hold it.” She smiled at me. “I took up knitting after I retired. Still hoping to master it someday.”

  “I think you’ve managed to do so already. That’s a beautiful piece.”

  “Thank you. And let’s talk later? Really, I would love to hear more of your theories on the Dare books. My friend Pat wants to speak with you too.” She twisted her head and shrugged. “Pat appears to have wandered off, but suffice it to say: she’s a fan.”

  “That would be lovely.”

  Such are the moments that make conferences worthwhile. I would have been happy to sit and talk with Bibi and Pat all afternoon.

  But now, I had a tour to attend. By myself, as it turned out.

  And Lex was up there interrogating Flynn McMaster while I had to go look at a bunch of old props.

  From where I stood, it seemed like detectives got to have all the fun.

  Chapter 13

  “Come this way, y’all,” said Sunny, our aptly named tour guide, with a mega-watt smile. A middle-aged brunette dressed in yellow from head to toe, she was so perky that I couldn’t imagine how she ever slowed down enough to sleep at night. Her smiles were cheery, her voice was bubbly, and when she moved, she even seemed to bounce.

  We’re talking supreme perk.

  About twenty of us were making our way down the path to the barn. She pointed at the rusted water pump out front, which I hadn’t even noticed was there.

  “That’s from the first-ever western shot here at Tattered Star Ranch: The Range of a Cowboy’s Heart. Remember how they used it to fill up the buckets for the fire scene?”

  Not waiting to see if we did, in fact, remember, she led us onward. We moved down main street past the shops that had also been built for Cowboy’s Heart. They retained their original signage—we passed a saloon, barbershop, general store, apothecary, and sheriff’s office, though we paused in the center so that Sunny could list the different films that had been shot on this spot, including a famous gunfight that had been spoofed so often even people who hadn’t seen the original movie got the reference. She pointed out details like the hat still attached to an upper-story window by an arrow.

  “I’m going to tell you a secret now.” Sunny clasped her hands together and beamed at us. “This whole row has been turned into one large gift shop! Please return later during your visit—we have everything from penny candy to posters—for all the souvenirs you could ever want honoring the many movies made here. Be sure to pick up something for all of your beloved friends and family members.”

  Once we reached the end of the row, Sunny led us through the cool, airy stables, where curious horses greeted us with soft whinnies from their stalls as we traipsed through the middle of their home. Tour members began taking pictures, posing for selfies with the equine residents. “Please don’t touch,” Sunny said sternly. “But do come back for our horse show held nightly.”

  I wasn’t crazy about the way she kept promoting the things we could do here other than taking the tour, but I supposed that was to be expected. This was a business, after all. Tours made money. And I’d bought a ticket, I reminded myself, so I should try to get my money’s worth. Sighing, I rolled my neck gently one way, then the other—I sensed a vague throb in my forehead despite the ibuprofen I’d taken—and vowed to be open to whatever came next.

  We emerged in the harsh sunlight, near the edge of the forest that surrounded the ranch. When Sunny led us into the trees, I found myself at the end of the tour. Which was fine. I didn’t want to make conversation, anyway. I trudged behind the others, listening to their exchanges. Everyone seemed to be having a grand time except me.

  We arrived first at a clearing, which had been the location of several battle scenes in multiple westerns, according to Sunny, then continued deeper into the woods. The dirt path twisted often, and before long, I’d lost sense of which direction we were heading. It was difficult to see too far in the distance on either side between branches. The thick boughs above blocked the sunlight from reaching us, and the temperature dropped as the darkness increased.

  Conversations gradually halted. This cathedral of green demanded silence.

  We went on like that for I didn’t know how long. It was picturesque but increasingly eerie. The air seemed charged with menace.

  The further we went, the more my apprehension grew. I tried to sort out why. Was I hallucinating because of my head wound? Had I read too many fairy tales where dangerous things lurked in the woods? Or was my intuition legitimately trying to warn me about something? Whatever the source, I had the distinct feeling that someone was watching us.

  Then Sunny took a sharp right, and we spilled back into the magnificent sun. “Are y’all interested in the horror films that were shot on the ranch? If so, here’s one for you.” Sunny’s smile got even wider. “Any fans of Monsters at the Slaughterhouse?”

  Some people clapped, and there were a few loud whistles from the back of the group. Banter broke out again amid a tangible attitude of renewal. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who felt a sort of disconcerting spell cast by the forest.

  Ahead of us loomed the dilapidated building from which people spent most of the film trying to escape. I was hardly in the right mindset to give this a try, but at le
ast we were out of the trees. Sunny slid open a large door on tracks and motioned for us to follow her. The area was dark and full of shadows.

  Large silver hooks hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly, over a cement maze on the right. A deep pit yawned on the left. Around the edges of the space were individual cells with metal doors. All three zones were sites of suffering for the characters. Seeing the space prompted disconcerting memories of the way killers in the film had slid noiselessly up to their victims and pounced.

  As people headed over to the maze, enthusiastically trading favorite scenes from the film with their companions, I wandered off. Normally, I was interested in behind-the-scenes anything. I taught gothic literature and watched horror movies and had been looking forward to this tour for weeks. It would have been different if Lex were here. Alone, though, it was disturbing. My nerves had been on overload since Ellis had been found, and I realized that I just wasn’t in the mood for horror right now. In fact, I was a bit freaked out by all of it.

  So I aimed for the exit. I wasn’t thrilled to be heading back into the forest, either, but the atmosphere in here was worse. As I approached the open back door, I heard a muffled shout and something that sounded like a thump. Distance to the source was difficult to gauge. When I peered quickly outside, I didn’t see anyone, so I went over to the walk-in freezer on the side wall, which was the only other room on this side of the building. In the movie, several people had met their demise there.

  I put my ear against the silver door but couldn’t hear anything. If someone was trapped inside, however, I didn’t want them to meet the same fate as the characters in the film. Grabbing the handle, I pulled. With a loud click and a whooshing sound, the door swung toward me. I was almost afraid to look, but I made myself do it anyway.

  The interior was empty.

  Relieved, I let go of the handle and took a step inside, just to check the corners that weren’t fully visible from where I stood. A hard blow against my back propelled me forward and the door slammed shut behind me. I crashed onto the cement floor, white hot pain shooting through my palms and knees.