Off the Books

by Lucy Arlington

  “The same way? How do you mean?”

  “I found him lying over the top of a wedding cake. The same as in her book. Only in her book the victim was stabbed with a cake knife. This poor guy had a nail driven through his head.”

  Flora gasped and faltered a bit.

  I reached out to steady her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you the details. It’s so horrible, I know.”

  She pressed the paper towel against her own forehead. “No, it’s not that. I mean, yes, it is horrible, but …”

  I realized she’d turned white as a ghost. “Flora? Are you okay?”

  She nodded, leaning back against the washbasin. “It’s what you just said, about the nail in the head.” She shuddered.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s exactly how my client Jodi Lee killed off the victim in her book The Billionaire’s Bride.”

  Chapter 6

  I was shocked, to say the least. I liked to believe it was just a coincidence that Jodi’s victim was killed the same way as the handyman, but there was no way. Besides, it was such an unusual method of murder. But honestly, I had a difficult time believing Jodi could shoot a nail through someone’s skull. Of course, I’d only met her briefly, but she was just so nice. In my mind, I heard Sean’s words again. Nice people do bad things. Still …

  “Lila! There you are.” Makayla caught up to me in the hallway just outside the ladies’ room. After our discussion, Flora and I had decided the best bet was to come clean with the facts. She was going directly to the DAC meeting to break the bad news about both authors to Bentley.

  “Oh, hi, Makayla. Is it after four already?”

  “Four thirty. You said to meet you here, right? We were going to look at the booths together …” Her voice trailed off, her emerald green eyes clouding with concern. “Is something wrong? You don’t look so good.”

  “I found another dead body. There’s been another murder.”

  “What!” She clasped my hands, her silver hoop earrings glimmering as she shook her head. “Oh no! Not someone we know.”

  “His name was Chuck Richards,” I told her, but she didn’t recognize the name. “I probably shouldn’t say much more. And I’m afraid I can’t walk around with you like we’d planned. I’m sorry.”

  She pulled me in close for a quick hug. I inhaled, taking comfort in the familiar smell of coffee and cinnamon that seemed to follow her everywhere, even when she wasn’t at her shop. “No need to apologize,” she said. “I just hope you’re okay. We can do this anytime this week—I bought a pass for the whole week anyway. Just take care of what you have to now, and we’ll both enjoy the show together another day, okay? Call me later. Promise?”

  I promised, and after one more hug we parted with plans to try again tomorrow. Next, I rushed to the break room, where I found a female police officer sitting by the door. As soon as I arrived, the officer made a call. Presumably to Sean to let him know I was back. I peeked inside and saw Lynn sitting alone.

  “Lila! I’m so glad to see you,” Lynn said as soon as I entered the room. “A police officer came to my booth and told me to come here and that he’d be back to question me.”

  My heart went out to her. She blinked a few times as if trying to wake herself from a bad dream. “That was probably my fiancé, Sean Griffiths. He’s a detective.”

  “A detective?” Her fingers flew to her hair, where they worried at the mousy brown strands that curled around her face. “Did I do something wrong?”

  I took the chair next to her. Sean had asked me not to say anything to her about the murder until he was present, so I chose my words carefully. “Lynn, where were you earlier? I was looking for you, but you weren’t at your booth.”

  She raised her brows and tapped her fingers on the book on the table next to her. “I’m sorry. I just took a little break to get a book. There wasn’t much going on at my table, so I thought I’d do a little reading.”

  I glanced down at the title. It was Dr. Meyers’s book, Strong Women, Strong Marriages. “Did you get it signed?”

  She shook her head. “No. I mean, I didn’t get a chance to go by her booth. I thought perhaps she’d sign it later for me.”

  “Lila?” Sean approached with a stern look.

  I sat back and swallowed hard before attempting an explanation. “Lynn and I were just discussing a book. That’s all.”

  He took the chair across from us, loosening his tie and running a finger between his neck and collar before addressing Lynn. “I’m sure Lila has told you that she’s my fiancée,” he started.

  Lynn nodded. “And that you’re a detective. Have I done something wrong?”

  Sean glanced my way briefly. I scooted in a little closer to Lynn and placed my hand on her arm. “Do you know Chuck Richards?” Sean asked.

  Her chin dipped slightly. “Yes. He’s my ex-husband. Why? Has he … ?” Her eyes darted between Sean and me. “What’s going on?”

  “Has he what, Ms. Werner?” Sean wanted to know.

  She shrugged, pulling her arms in close and wiping her palms on her sweater. “I don’t know. Is he in some sort of trouble?”

  “Has he been in trouble before?” Sean pressed.

  Another shrug. “No. Not really.”

  “Can you give me an idea of your schedule since arriving at the Arts Center this afternoon?”

  “My schedule?” She looked at me for clarification, but I didn’t dare speak out. Instead, I smiled encouragingly. Then another thought occurred to me. This was my client. Maybe what I should be doing instead of smiling encouragingly was advising her to get an attorney. What if she said something that could be misconstrued or held against her at a later time? And here Sean was asking all these questions without even telling her that her ex-husband had been murdered. What was he doing? I had thought he was going to tell her. That was why I wanted to be here, in case she needed comfort. Not as some sort of accomplice in the old good cop/bad cop routine. My eyes slid toward Sean, who steadily held my gaze. Either he just now sensed my conflict or he had anticipated it all along. Were those intense blue eyes of his daring me to step in and stand up for my client? Was this some sort of test of loyalty to him?

  I took a deep breath and reached across the table toward Lynn. “Lynn, I think you—”

  “Don’t say a word, Lynn!” Bentley’s voice interrupted. She blew right past the female officer sitting at the door and crossed the room with a perturbed look. I shrank back into my chair.

  Across the table, I heard Sean curse under his breath. “This is official business, Ms. Duke, and you’re interfering—”

  “Has Detective Griffiths told you what these questions are about?” She ignored Sean and spoke directly to Lynn.

  “No. I don’t understand what’s going on,” Lynn said, looking to me again for some sort of answer.

  “Ms. Duke!” Sean was on his feet now, motioning toward the female officer for assistance.

  Bentley held up her hand. “I’m advising my client to remain silent.”

  “Remain silent? Client?” Sean chuckled. “You’re a literary agent, not an attorney. And this is official police business.”

  The female officer had moved into position behind Bentley, apparently waiting for Sean’s directive. Bentley shifted her stance, throwing her weight onto one hip and leveling her gaze on Sean. “An attorney is an excellent idea, Detective Griffiths. Thank you for the suggestion.” Then, turning toward Lynn, she said, “Lynn, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your ex-husband has been murdered. And you’re a suspect.”

  Lynn gasped, both her hands flying to her face. I immediately stood and moved next to her, leaning down and wrapping my arms around her shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  Under my arms, I could feel her shoulders expand as she took a deep breath. “I’m not sorry,” she said as she exhaled with a long sigh. I let go and stood back, surprised by her statement. Even more surprised by the fact that she didn’t look upset at all. Instead, she looked … w
hat? Relieved? Happy?

  “Not another word,” Bentley warned.

  But Lynn shook her head, seemingly bent on saying more. “Chuck was a mean, horrible person. And I’m glad he’s dead.”

  *

  SOON AFTER THAT statement, Sean asked Lynn to come with him to the police station to answer a few more questions. Lynn readily agreed, insisting that she had nothing to hide and that she had no need for an attorney.

  “Poor Lynn,” I said, as soon as they left.

  “No thanks to you,” Bentley replied. “What were you thinking, Lila? I can only assume the trauma of discovering the body addled your brain. Certainly you know better than to implicate a client in murder.”

  “What? You expect me to just keep information like that to myself? The fact that Chuck’s murder and the murder in Lynn’s book were so similar seemed important to the case. Not to mention he was her ex-husband.”

  “Important to your fiancé’s case, you mean.”

  “That has nothing to do with it. And what about Jodi’s book? Flora said—”

  “Let me handle it. Okay?”

  “But I feel obligated to say something to Sean. I mean, the guy was killed with one of those automatic nail guns. Flora said it was the same way Jodi killed off the victim in her book. We need to tell the police.”

  “And we will. Just as soon as I have time to prepare Jodi. Hopefully, she’ll be smart about it and hire an attorney.” She looked me up and down, possibly trying to decide if I was going to heed her advice or not. “Look, Lila. Just give me thirty minutes or so. It’ll take Detective Griffiths that long to get back to the police department anyway. That’ll give me enough time to talk to Jodi and place a phone call to a local attorney. It’s the least I can do for one of our clients. Then I’ll call the police and tell them what I know.”

  “But shouldn’t you tell them right away?” In my mind, I was thinking that if Jodi was guilty, giving her the extra time might hinder the investigation.

  Bentley shrugged. “The details of the murder haven’t been released yet. For all intents and purposes, I don’t even know the murder method in her book.”

  “Yeah, but Flora told you. And me.”

  “Have you read The Billionaire’s Bride?”

  I shook my head. I’d been wanting to read it but hadn’t had the chance.

  Bentley continued, “Then you don’t really know anything. Like they say in court, it’s just hearsay.”

  “I don’t know. This doesn’t seem right,” I hedged.

  “Look, Lila. If this were your mother, or your son, wouldn’t you want someone to advise them during such a time?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, when I sign an author into my agency, they become a part of the Novel Idea family. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I nodded.

  Her face softened a little. “I understand the conflict you’re feeling. You’re going to be married to that detective, after all. But I’m going to protect my family at all cost. Just the same as you would do for your family. Get it?”

  I did. And I admired Bentley’s loyalty to her family of authors, but …

  “Good.” Her brows furrowed as she glanced at her diamond-studded watch. “In the meantime, please go help the rest of the agents relocate the displays in the culinary wing. There’s no reason these unfortunate circumstances need to disrupt our schedule any further.” I could tell by the dismissive tone of her voice that Bentley felt a little angry with me. Not that I blamed her. Bentley’s whole life revolved around the agency. In fact, I’d never heard her speak of any other family. As far as I knew, we were it. Maybe all this time I’d misjudged my hard-driven, tenacious boss. I’d always thought she was motivated by success, the lure of fame, and the final payout. Of course, I was still pretty sure those things did motivate her to some extent, but it was kind of nice to think that perhaps there were some kindred emotions motivating her, too. I liked the idea of everyone at Novel Idea, agents and authors, being one big family. Although judging by the way Bentley was eyeing me, it looked like I might have just become that family’s very own black sheep.

  *

  I OVERSLEPT TUESDAY morning, the blast from Mama’s horn jolting me—and my poor neighbors—as I ran through the house, shrugging into my coat and gathering last-minute items needed for the day. The air outside felt like a cold slap in the face, which I welcomed in a way. It was better than the warm grogginess that kept me in bed for too long. At least now I felt awake enough to take on another day. I shuffle-stepped down the walk, careful not to slip. Everywhere I looked, the world looked pristine and fresh, making me think that snow must be Mother Nature’s favorite way to clean house.

  “Tired, sugar?” Mama asked, as soon as I clambered into her truck.

  I threw my satchel between us on the bench seat and adjusted the vent so that the heat was blasting my way. “A little. It was a long day yesterday.” The other agents and I had succeeded in rearranging the displays in the culinary wing, putting a folding screen toward the end to mask off the glaring yellow crime scene tape. Thankfully, the rest of the day’s events went off without a hitch, most of the attendees delightfully oblivious to the fact that a murder had even occurred. Or at least they would be until they read about it in the Dunston Herald today. I thought back to when I’d worked at the Herald, writing about church bazaars and Girl Scout cookie sales for the Features section of the paper. The news of a local murder would have certainly sent our staff into a frenzied race to scoop the story and put out a blazing headline.

  “I still can’t stop thinkin’ of that poor man,” Mama continued. “And killed in such a nasty way. Sorry you had to see it, hon. It worries me that you keep comin’ so close to death. But I trust Sean’s going to work to get this cleared up and bring the murderer to justice. So you won’t be gettin’ involved, right?”

  I glanced across the seat, noticing that the lines around her eyes seemed deeper than usual. She’d been worrying again. I hated it that I caused her so much stress. But maybe stress was just an inevitable part of motherhood. Heaven knows, Trey had caused me enough stress to last a lifetime. Enough joy, too, I thought with a bittersweet twinge. I’d tried to call his dorm room last night, but he never answered. Probably off doing whatever it was college kids did late at night. I really didn’t want to know. “Two of our authors are suspects,” I finally replied, skirting her question. I knew I couldn’t promise her that I wouldn’t get involved. I’d just stayed up half the night trying to put together pieces of the puzzle, hoping that the image they formed had nothing to do with Lynn or Jodi. Actually, the picture that kept popping to mind was that of Oscar Belmonte. Now, there was a man that couldn’t be trusted.

  “Not Pam,” she said, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. I assumed that sitting next to Pam at her author’s booth yesterday had made Mama fond of the woman.

  “No, not Pam,” I assured her. “My client, Lynn, and another author named Jodi.” I went on to explain everything I knew about the case.

  “Do you think one of them did it?”

  “No,” I answered right away. I’d asked myself the same question all night and finally decided that it couldn’t have been either author. And not just because I thought they were too nice, or because they were part of the Novel Idea family, as Bentley put it, but because the method of murder was just too coincidental. “If one of them was the killer, I don’t think they would have used the same method as in their book,” I explained. “It had to be someone else. Someone who had access to the kitchen area.” Someone like Oscar Belmonte, I thought.

  I suddenly had a great idea for lunch. “What’s on your agenda for today, Mama? Besides being the Amazing Althea, Babylonian Fortune-Teller?”

  She chuckled. “Thought maybe a little later we could grab a bite at that new place, Machiavelli’s.”

  I did a double take. “Did you just read my mind?”

  “Huh?”

  “I was just going to ask if you’
d go with me to lunch there.” I shook my head. “Amazing.”

  Mama smiled.

  We’d just tuned into the lot behind Novel Idea. She pulled up close to the stairs leading to the back door. “Lila, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about a few things.”

  “Sure,” I said, one hand on the door handle, the other reaching for my satchel. “We’ll talk at lunch, okay? I’ve got to run. Love you, Mama.”

  “Love you, too, sugar.”

  I hopped out and headed straight for Espresso Yourself. I still needed to fill in Makayla on everything that had happened at the expo the day before.

  *

  WALKING INTO ESPRESSO Yourself felt like being engulfed in a warm blanket. A blanket that smelled deliciously of coffee, cinnamon, and chocolate. Smiling, I made my way to the counter, where my friend was busy whipping up one of her marvelous creations, her melodic voice carrying over the piped-in acoustic guitar music as she visited with the young woman at the counter.

  While waiting, I looked over the artwork displayed on the walls. Makayla was a huge supporter of the local art scene. Every month she’d change the display to showcase a different group of artists. This month, in support of Booked for a Wedding, she’d featured area wedding photographers and their best work. My eye scanned the gorgeous prints, stopping on a black-and-white close-up of a couple’s intertwined hands. The engagement ring on the bride-to-be’s hand dazzled, almost jumping out of the photo. I ran my own bare-fingered hand along the edge of the frame, dreaming a bit about the ring I’d be wearing soon. That was, if Sean ever got around to giving me one.

  “Latte?” I turned to see Makayla leaning over the counter, a to-go cup in hand. “Your usual.”

  “Oh heavens, yes!” I grasped the warm cup and inhaled the slightly burnt coffee smell laced with rich caramel sweetness before taking my first gratifying sip.

  “How ya doing, sweetie?” she asked, her emerald eyes shining with concern. “I didn’t hear from you last night and was going to call, but I thought you might have been tied up with the murder and everything.” She reached under the counter and brought up a handful of coffee stirrers, restocking a basket on the counter.