Off the Books

by Lucy Arlington

  “I’m sorry. I should have called. By the time I got home I was exhausted.”

  “I’m sure. Were you able to sleep at all?”

  I shrugged and took another sip of my latte, taking comfort in its warm sweetness.

  “Did you know the man?” she asked, moving on to restocking napkins.

  “No, not really. But he used to be married to one of my authors. Lynn Werner.”

  She gasped. “The poor thing!”

  “She’s not all that upset about it. It wasn’t an amicable divorce,” I said, thinking back to the way Lynn reacted when she found out the news. Surprised, yes. But not sad. More like relieved. Thrilled, if I had to be honest. “She’s a suspect. And so is one of our other authors.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “Because of the way he was murdered. They’d both sort of written about it in their books.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, they’d already written about it?”

  I went on to explain how Chuck’s murder mimicked the scenes in Lynn’s and Jodi’s books. When I told her the exact way he was killed, she gasped and raised her hand to her chest. “That’s horrible!”

  I shook my head slowly, letting silence settle between us as I raised my cup to my lips and squeezed my eyes shut against the horrible image that kept resurfacing in my mind. When I reopened them again, I found Makayla working over an invisible spot on the counter with a rag and cleaner. “So much wickedness in the world,” she said.

  “There’s a lot of goodness, too,” I maintained, feeling sorry that I’d burdened my friend at a time when there should be nothing but wedding plans and happiness in her life. “So, are we still on for this afternoon?” I asked.

  She stopped scrubbing and her shoulders seemed to relax. “That would be great.” She indicated toward the photo I’d admired earlier. “The photographer who took that shot has a booth. Thought I’d stop by to see if I could schedule an appointment for Jay and me. Maybe get some prewedding shots.” She looked at her ring and then back to the wall, her eyes taking on a slight dreamy look. “You know, when Jay and I hold hands, they fit perfectly together. Like puzzle pieces. I’d like for the photographer to capture that feeling. Maybe in a picture like that one.”

  My gaze drifted to her hand, coveting how the elegantly set diamonds seemed to sparkle against her dark skin. Then I checked my emotions, trying to conjure the happiness I should be feeling for my best friend. “So we stood hand in hand like two children, and there was peace in our hearts for all the dark things that surrounded us,” I quoted.

  Her emerald eyes lit up. “That’s perfect! And so beautiful.”

  “Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes,” I told her with a smile.

  “Sherlock. Really?” she said, a grin spreading across her face. “Guess there was something more than reasoning and logical deduction going on under that deerstalker cap of his. But that quote sums up just how I feel when I’m with Jay. Like we can take on the world as long as we’re together.”

  I nodded in reply, happy that I’d vanquished the thought of the murder scene with something that made her happy.

  “And what about you and Sean?” she continued. “Been shopping for rings yet?”

  I shrugged, trying to keep my voice light. “He says he wants it to be a surprise.”

  She raised a brow. “That’s … romantic.”

  I laughed. “Scary, you mean. Don’t worry, I’ve given him plenty of hints about the type of ring I’d like.” Lots and lots of hints. “So, what time do you want to meet this afternoon?”

  Another customer came in, so we quickly finalized our plans and said good-bye. Outside, I was surprised to run into Sean on the steps leading up to Novel Idea. He’d worn a heavy overcoat over his suit and a brimmed hat, bringing to mind a pleasant image of the blond, well-built, and ever-so-broody Sam Spade, Dashiell Hammett’s famous detective character in the book The Maltese Falcon.

  I leaned in for a quick kiss but hit nothing but air. I stepped back and steeled myself. He must have found out about Jodi and was ticked at me for not saying something before she lawyered up.

  “Got a call yesterday from an attorney representing another one of your agency’s authors. Jodi Lee?” His features remained neutral, but I could tell he was angry. Over the last couple of years, I’d picked up on his tells, the little physical things that betrayed his emotions. Like the twitch in his jaw, or the way his neck muscles tensed when he was angry. Both those things were happening now.

  For a second, I contemplated lying to him. After all, he didn’t need to know that I even knew about Jodi’s book. She was Flora’s client. I could just feign ignorance. But I knew that lies had a way of driving wedges between people. I didn’t want that for Sean and me. “She’s Flora’s client,” I said. “I’d never read her book, but Flora told me about it yesterday. I was going to tell you, but Bentley asked me to wait until she could make sure Jodi had an attorney.”

  I waited, but all he did was nod.

  “Are you angry with me?” I finally asked.

  He sighed, his muscles noticeably relaxing. “Actually, no. I probably would have done the same thing in your position. Can’t really blame Bentley, either. Getting Jodi a lawyer was smart.”

  I lowered my gaze. Maybe I should have been smarter when it came to Lynn. “So, you must be here about the case.” I said, coming back to my original question.

  “I am.”

  A feeling of dread settled over me. “Were any prints found on the nail gun?”

  “No. It appears to have been wiped clean. Or the perp was wearing gloves.”

  Which currently described everyone in town, I thought, staring down at Sean’s own hands. I’d given him a nice pair of leather gloves for Christmas after he complained that his police-issued pair had worn thin. “That means there’s no real evidence against Jodi or Lynn.”

  “Not yet.” A resolved look settled over his face as he turned to make his way up the steps. I followed, my eyes riveted to the backs of his boots as they clunked against the metal edging on the staircase steps. His walk was determined, meaning he had something serious on his mind, reminding me again of the pertinacious Sam Spade. Come to think of it, Sean was a lot like Hammett’s main character, not just in physical appearance but also in demeanor. Especially his single-minded determination and notable detachment from everything and everyone when he was working on a case. I sighed. I might as well forget about coming up with a wedding date or a ring anytime in the near future. Sean’s mind would be on nothing but this case until it was solved.

  “Detective Griffiths,” Vicky said, immediately standing and coming out from behind her desk, picking a few stray orange hairs from her skirt. Eliot remained curled up on his usual chair in our waiting area, acknowledging our sudden presence with a little flick of his tail. “Can I offer you some coffee?” Vicky was saying.

  “No thank you,” he said, pausing to take note of her sweater. “That color becomes you, Ms. Crump.”

  Oh brother. He must need something important from her.

  Vicky’s hand flew to her chest, her gaze moving downward over her teal green sweater with white angora trim along the mock turtleneck and sleeve edges. It certainly did set off her silky white hair and was a bit brighter than the usual conservative apparel of our office manager, but I could see through his ploy. Another of Sean’s tells. Vicky’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “That’s so kind of you to say, Detective.”

  Sean dipped his chin. “Is Ms. Duke in?”

  “No, I’m expecting her at any moment. She called earlier to say that she was going to call a DA … an emergency meeting,” she corrected. “Would you like to wait?” She motioned to the chair adjacent to Eliot’s perch.

  “No, I’m sure you can help me. I need a copy of Ms. Werner’s book.”

  Vicky faltered, her eyes darting my way. “Oh, I’m not sure if that’s possible.”

  “Sure it is,” Sean cajoled. “One of you must have
access to it.” He looked my way. “Lila?”

  My mind reeled. Bentley would kill me if I handed over Lynn’s as-yet-unpublished manuscript. Not to mention how damning it would be to Lynn’s case. I was just about to ask if he had a warrant, a question sure to slide our relationship even further away from setting any wedding date, when the door opened and Bentley came in, Olive in tow.

  Eliot immediately arched his back and started hissing. Bentley nodded down the hall and shot Vicky a look, prompting her to sequester the cat to the break room. Then she turned and leveled her gaze on Sean. “Why are you here, Detective?”

  I noticed Sean’s shoulders tightening. Vicky had returned to her desk, wringing her hands nervously on her lap. “I’m here to pick up a copy of Lynn Werner’s manuscript.”

  “Why don’t you get a copy from her?”

  “It’s on her computer at home. She has no way to access it here. So, I’ll need to get a copy from your office.”

  Bentley squared her shoulders. “Do you have a warrant?”

  Sean’s shifted his feet. “No.”

  Bentley threw up a gloved hand. “Well then, we have nothing else to discuss. Good day, Detective.” She started down the hall, Olive prancing proudly at her side. “Come with me, Lila,” she called over her shoulder.

  After casting an apologetic look Sean’s way, I shuffled down the hall after her. Instead of her office, she went directly to the conference room.

  “Shut the door, please,” she told me, shrugging off her coat, which I quickly took and hung on the coatrack, along with my own. In the meantime, she laid her briefcase on the table and was pulling out a list of papers. Next, she extracted her reading glasses. After slipping the attached bejeweled chain around her neck, she adjusted the frames on the end of her nose and started flipping through a notepad. I settled at my usual spot on the other end of the table. Olive took a spot on the floor next to Bentley’s feet. “There’s something I want to discuss with you before the other agents arrive.”

  I gripped the side of the table. “Okay.”

  “Things look bad for our clients. Well, not so bad for Jodi. She doesn’t have any clear motive for murder. But Lynn sure does. And she refuses to get an attorney, told the cops all sorts of ugly things about Chuck, her ex, and seems oblivious to how all this could affect her career.”

  “I think maybe she’s relieved that he’s dead.” I told Bentley about the argument I’d witnessed between the two of them, calling to mind the way I saw her cower during the exchange. “She almost seemed afraid of him. But I don’t think she killed him. I can’t see her murdering someone that way. It doesn’t seem in character. At least not in real life.”

  “Of course it isn’t. They’re both innocent. I’m sure of it.”

  “But, like you said, the evidence is stacked against them. Especially Lynn.”

  “Yes, it is,” Bentley agreed. “And as long as they stand accused, it’s going to look bad for our agency. I can’t let that happen. Nor can I stand by and let one of the Novel Idea family members be prosecuted for something they didn’t do.”

  I was listening, wondering what exactly it was she planned to do about all this. But I didn’t have to wonder long, because she lifted her chin, her eyes taking on a determined look as she declared, “That’s why we’re going to help the police solve this case.”

  Chapter 7

  My mouth fell open. Did she just say that we’re going to solve the case? As in the whole agency? Before I could ask, the door opened and the rest of the crew filed into the room. Flora sat next to me, giving me a reassuring pat on the arm as she settled into her chair.

  After a couple of seconds of small talk and paper shuffling, Bentley cleared her throat and started in on the meeting’s agenda. “As you all know, with the unfortunate murder of Chuck Richards at our book event, our agency has incurred another blow to our reputation.”

  “Thanks to Ms. Murder Magnet,” Zach threw out.

  “You can’t put the blame on Lila,” Flora defended me. “None of this is her fault.”

  “That’s right,” chimed in Franklin. “It’s not her fault she keeps finding murder victims. She just seems to …” He stopped himself from saying the obvious. But I could fill in the blank. I just seemed to attract dead bodies. Like a magnet. A murder magnet. I sank lower in my chair. Across from me Zach wore a smug look. He was right, after all. I’d definitely earned my reputation.

  “Not only has our reputation suffered,” Bentley continued, “but two of our authors have become suspects in the crime. Just think how detrimental this could become to their careers. Not to mention the shadow it casts over our agency.” She moved to the whiteboard, removed the cap from a dry-erase marker, and drew a long arrow. On one end she wrote the word Monday. Then she started marking off increments, labeling each with thirty-minute intervals.

  “A timeline?” Vicky asked. Her head was bobbing up and down as she glanced from her own notepad to the whiteboard. Vicky was a dutiful note taker.

  “Exactly,” Bentley confirmed. “What time did you discover the body, Lila?”

  “Just a little before four o’clock, I think.”

  “Do you remember what time Chuck arrived at the Arts Center?” she asked Jude.

  He tapped his pencil a few times before replying, “I’d say right around one thirty. It was just a little after the authors started arriving.”

  Bentley nodded and marked the timeline intervals between one thirty and four o’clock. “So we know the murder occurred within this time frame.”

  “What are we doing?” Jude asked. “This feels like a scene out of one of those television detective shows.”

  “Yeah,” Zach piped up, the tone of his voice exciting Olive. She let out an excited woo-woo sound, her tail thumping against the floor. “I’m reading a screenplay now for a police drama. The cops are always in the case room, laying out the crime facts on a big whiteboard, just like this.”

  Vicky’s normally serious expression turned to delight. “We’re going to participate in solving the case,” she deduced. “A brilliant idea, Ms. Duke. And the sooner we crack the case, the sooner our clients will be exonerated.”

  Bentley nodded her approval. “My thoughts exactly, Vicky.”

  A couple of chairs down, Franklin cleared his throat. “This seems a little unconventional, doesn’t it?”

  “I’d say!” Flora glanced nervously around the table. “And it sounds dangerous. I don’t like this idea one bit.”

  Jude held up his hands. “Hold on, everyone. Let’s give Bentley an opportunity to explain.” He looked to where she was standing, marker still in hand. “Because certainly you’re not asking us to interfere with police business.”

  “Or do something that would put us in harm’s way,” Flora added.

  “Not at all,” Bentley assured us. “All I’m asking is that we pool our brain power. Keep our eyes and ears open. Besides, it’s obvious that this killer is a reader, and who knows readers better than us?”

  The room fell silent. I wondered if everyone else was as perplexed by that statement as I was.

  “I’m not following you,” Jude finally said.

  She briefly explained the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the body, concluding with, “So, whoever did this used pieces of both Jodi and Lynn’s plots in order to frame them for the crime. That means they read the books. They’re readers.”

  My heart started thumping. “But Lynn’s book hasn’t been published. There’s only a handful of people who could have read it.” And except for the editor and a few select people at the publishing house, they are all in this room. Once again, the room fell silent as nervous eyes darted around the table. Was it my imagination, or was everyone looking at me? Then I remembered Bentley’s little joke the other day at the James Joyce Pub. “The murder victim in her mystery was found facedown in a wedding cake,” she’d said about Lynn’s book. That was how the killer knew. He or she was at that meeting. That had to be it! I explained my rev
elation to the group.

  “Good!” Bentley exclaimed as soon as I finished. “That’s what I’m talking about, people. Brain power.” She turned back to the board and made a few notations.

  “But there were at least a dozen authors there,” Flora said.

  Zach nodded. “And all of us.”

  “And don’t forget the waitstaff and restaurant workers,” Franklin said, reluctantly getting into the spirit of things. “Any one of them could have overheard that tidbit of information.”

  “Including Ms. Lambert,” Bentley interjected. We all knew there was no love lost between Trudy Lambert, the liaison from Southern Belles Bridal, and Bentley. They’d been butting heads all week. I was sure Bentley would just love to see Ms. Lambert go to jail, and the sooner, the better.

  “It sounds like we have more suspects now than when we started,” Vicky observed. “And how do we know for sure that Jodi or Lynn didn’t have something to do with the murder?”

  “Certainly not Jodi! I’ve known her for years. It’s just not possible.” Flora’s tone rose sharply, eliciting a series of high-pitched yaps from Olive.

  “Shh, shh,” Bentley cooed, bending down to calm the dog with a few strokes on the back.

  I shifted in my chair and chewed my lip. No one had mentioned anything about Oscar Belmonte. Although maybe I shouldn’t mention anything, either, not until I had something solid—or at least something more than just a feeling. Besides, he hadn’t been around to overhear that detail of Lynn’s murder plot. Hopefully I’d learn something more over lunch at Machiavelli’s. Maybe Bentley’s idea was a good one after all. If we all just kept our eyes and ears open, certainly we’d find out something beneficial to the case.

  For the next twenty minutes, I listened as the conversation continued back and forth until everyone had voiced their opinions. As expected, Vicky and Franklin were eager to help in any way possible. Zach seemed ambivalent while Jude professed his reluctance to get involved in police business. And Flora, while usually the first to lend a helping hand, was dead set against any sort of involvement. Too dangerous, she maintained. Not that I could disagree with her—I’d found out the hard way in times past that stepping into police business could be deadly. In the end, however, we all agreed to do what Bentley asked—keep our eyes and ears open and report back with any new findings. After all, it couldn’t hurt to stay alert for the possibilities.