Off the Books

by Lucy Arlington

  “No!” I said, letting his hand hang. “I don’t think that’s what Bentley meant this morning. She just wants us to keep a lookout for the obvious, not actively pursue leads. That could be dangerous, Zach.”

  He rotated his palms up in a mocking gesture. “Whoa. I never pegged you as someone afraid of a little competition. Scared you’ll lose?”

  “Lose?” I shook my head. “I’m not even playing the game.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I see. Forfeiting, huh?”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my temples. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?” Zach was a good guy, just a little overenthusiastic at times, an admirable trait when it came to signing screen and sport contracts, but not so much the rest of the time. Right now, I needed to find Lynn. I glanced at my watch. She was on in fifteen minutes. So I left Zach standing there with an empty roller cart and a smug look on his face as I searched out my author.

  *

  I FINALLY FOUND her in the hall outside the textile room, where she was deep in conversation with Dr. Meyers. Hesitant to disrupt them, I hovered down the hall a ways, amusing myself by checking over a display of spa items. However, a sideways glance told me Lynn and the doctor were discussing more than just books. I could tell by the way Lynn swiped at a tear and Dr. Meyers leaned in closer to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. Was I witnessing a bit of the doctor’s bedside manner? Was Lynn upset about something—perhaps delayed grief over her ex-husband’s death—or was she unburdening details of a crime that would later be classified as privileged information shared between a doctor and client? I quickly dismissed that last thought. Call it gut instinct, or whatever, but I still believed Lynn was innocent.

  I waited until the doctor walked away before approaching Lynn. “Hey, everything okay?”

  She nodded, her still-moist eyes darting about nervously. “I’m fine,” she said, but to me, it looked like she was about to have a breakdown, and she was due to present in just a few minutes. I took her arm and guided her toward the Potter’s Room, where I hoped we could find a quiet spot.

  “Do you want to go over your reading? We probably have time to run through it before your event starts,” I said as we settled at a quiet table in the corner of the room.

  She shook her head. “No, I practiced out loud in front of Jodi and Pam last night. They’ve been so helpful. And Dr. Meyers, too. She’s been helping me come to grips with some feelings I have.”

  “I saw you two talking just a few minutes ago. I’m sure this has been difficult for you.”

  She lifted her chin and looked me straight in the eye. “The hard part is the guilt I feel.”

  My heart dropped. “Guilt?”

  “Yes, guilt over the relief I feel. I can finally rest easy now. Move on with my life.” Her eyes grew wide at my shocked expression. “Not that I killed him,” she quickly added, then narrowed her eyes. “You don’t think I killed him, do you?”

  “No, of course not.”

  She exhaled. “You see, when Chuck and I first got married, things were wonderful.” She fiddled with the table covering as she spoke. “Then slowly, everything began to change. Small things at first. A cross word here and there. Then he started constantly picking me apart. Do you know what I mean?”

  I nodded.

  “Things kept going downhill from there, until one day, he lost his temper and hit me.”

  “Oh, Lynn! I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I got out of the relationship in time. So many women don’t, you know. I was lucky. Did you know Dr. Meyers runs a home for abused women over in Dunston? I wished it’d been there when Chuck … Well, that’s all over now. Really over. And like Dr. Meyers was telling me, I don’t need to feel guilty because I’m happy about Chuck’s death. She said there’s no wrong or right feelings, just feelings. And it’s natural for me to feel relieved after everything I went through.”

  I found myself blinking back tears as she spoke. What an incredible story of strength and courage. “I’m so glad Dr. Meyers was here for you, Lynn. And you’re right. You are very fortunate to have escaped that type of relationship. I’m so proud of you. You’ve overcome the odds and accomplished so much for yourself. I mean, here you are, embarking on a new and fabulous career as an author.”

  The corners of her lips tipped upward. A tiny smile, but the first one I’d seen for a while. “And if I want to keep my career, I’d better get down the hall and do my presentation.”

  I gave her hand a little squeeze before we stood. “That’s right. Your future readers are waiting.”

  *

  THE SUNDANCE ROOM, located down the hall from the main auditorium, was a smallish theater, able to seat only a hundred or so, and used mainly for debuting local independent films. Currently, only the first few rows were filled, but it was enough to make Lynn noticeably nervous. I held my breath, my eyes riveted on the stage where she was beginning her reading. After a couple of wobbly starts, she surprised me by finding her groove. After a few more lines, she started to become more confident, showing everyone a little animation and an ability to captivate a crowd. Up to now, I thought she was a very shy, timid person. But over the course of the week, despite Chuck’s death and everything going on, she seemed to have blossomed. Now, in front of this crowd, she appeared almost vibrant. And by the end of the first page, she had the audience sitting on the edges of their seats, including someone I didn’t expect to see—Sean.

  I’d caught sight of him in the second row from the back, notepad in hand as he hung on Lynn’s every word. He jotted down several notes as she read up to the point of a page-turning cliff-hanger—the discovery of the murder victim. His scribbling picked up to a feverish pace during that part and I was pretty sure it wasn’t because he was a fan.

  As Lynn wrapped up her reading, she received a nice round of applause. I started toward the stage to offer my congratulations, but before I could reach her, she was surrounded by a small group of future readers. I turned away and set my sights on Sean instead. “Did you get everything you needed?” I asked, my tone more than slightly sarcastic.

  He patted the suit pocket where he kept his notepad. “Believe so. She did a good job, by the way. I liked the sound of the book. Any chance I could get a sneak preview?”

  I shook my head.

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter. I should have the warrant in my hands anytime now.”

  “Lynn’s not your killer,” I told him again. “I’m sure of it, Sean. Sure, she seems relieved that he’s dead, but that’s only because …” I stopped short, realizing I was about to relay more information that might be damaging to Lynn’s case.

  “Because Chuck was abusive,” he finished for me. “She already told me about it.”

  “Oh. Well, then you can kind of understand why she might feel a little relief upon his death. It must have been horrible to endure that type of relationship.”

  “I’m sure. She must have lived in constant fear. Seeing him again might have caused all those old emotions to resurface. Maybe she just cracked.”

  I sighed, deciding to change the subject. “Guess who I saw today? Trey.”

  “Trey? Is everything okay?”

  “No, it isn’t. He decided to quit school and try making his way as a chef. He’s been staying over at Mama’s for a while. Can you believe she didn’t even tell me?”

  “Maybe she was afraid you’d be upset.”

  “Well, of course I’m upset! He’s giving up his education, for crying out loud. He’s wasting his chance to go to college. Not to mention the money I shelled out for this semester’s tuition.” I rolled my neck, trying to relieve some of the tension building there.

  “Look, I see your point. Being a chef wouldn’t be an easy job. Long hours, crappy starting pay, and it can’t be easy work.”

  This from a guy who practically burned down my kitchen last year. He was speaking from experience.

  “But he’s going to be twenty years old in just a couple of months,
” he added. “He’s certainly old enough to decide what he wants to do with his life. If it’s cooking, then good for him. Look on the bright side—if he gets his own restaurant one day, he’ll probably let us eat there for free.”

  He chuckled. I didn’t. Obviously Sean just didn’t get it. He’d probably be singing a different tune if it were his kid, and his wasted money. I could feel myself quickly slipping into a dark place, so I decided to refocus the conversation. “Anyway, he’s working at Machiavelli’s. I ran into him today. I also learned something that might be of interest to your case.”

  Sean leaned in, all ears.

  I continued, “Trey mentioned that Belmonte was really upset over work Chuck had done at the restaurant. Actually, I’d be upset, too. I saw some of his handiwork up close and it wasn’t safe, let alone pretty. Anyway, guess they had a huge argument over it the day before Chuck ended up dead. Pretty suspicious, huh? And remember Belmonte was here at the time of the murder; he had the means to kill him as well as a motive.”

  “That is interesting,” Sean said. “Belmonte didn’t say anything about Chuck doing work for him.”

  “Really? Then obviously he’s trying to hide something.”

  Sean’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Maybe. I’ll see what I can find out. I appreciate you telling me about this, but I absolutely don’t want you out looking for information. I’ve got a whole team of professionals working on this. And last time …” He came a little closer and placed his hand discreetly on my hip. “I just couldn’t stand it if anything ever happened to you, Lila,” he whispered in my ear. With the heat of his breath sending prickles down my neck and my insides going all mushy, I decided it probably wasn’t the best time to mention that Bentley had put her own team of professionals on the job.

  *

  I FOUND MAKAYLA working her way around the Dragonfly Room with a plate in hand. I’d had enough of Sean and Trey and murder and work for the moment. The expo crowd seemed content to drool over the bridal treats, with not even a whisper about the article on the murder in yesterday’s paper penetrating their happy spirits. I wished to join them. All I wanted to do was take my dinner break, enjoy a few sweet confections, and dream of my own wedding. “Thank goodness you’re here,” Makayla said. “I’ve already tested three cakes. They’re all so good; I can’t decide. Jay’s favorite is chocolate, but this champagne cake is so moist.” She rolled her eyes. “And the frosting has just a touch of orange Cointreau liqueur. Here, try it.” She handed me her plate.

  I took a bite. The cake, which was both fluffy and moist at the same time, was indescribably good, with a sweet creamy custard between the layers and topped with a rich buttercream frosting containing just the right hint of orange liqueur. “Oh my goodness,” I said, stealing another bite. “This is melt-in-your-mouth good!”

  She nodded. “Isn’t it? Come on.” She tugged excitedly on my sleeve. “Let’s try some more.”

  For the next hour or so, we circumvented the room, admiring each stunning display. Cakes of every shape, size, and theme were exhibited. Some showcased intricate detailing and artistic piped designs, while others were textured and decorated with fresh flowers. Makayla loved the more traditional designs, while I was drawn to the whimsical ones like a two-layer square 1920s-themed cake with metallic gold and black art deco designs. It was cleverly accented with a waggish peacock feather.

  “Do you like that cake?” Makayla asked, joining me in front of the display. “You’ve been gawking at it for a few minutes.”

  “Oh, sorry,” I said. “Guess my mind wandered for a second. It reminds me of a query I just received for a mystery set in a 1920s speakeasy.” I hadn’t heard back yet from the author who’d sent me the query for Death of a Dame, the Roaring Twenties mystery. I was anxious to read the rest of the manuscript. That was how it was with good queries—they always stayed on my mind.

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t seen the full manuscript yet, but I’m intrigued. Which reminds me, your cover art should be in any day now.”

  A beaming smile broke out on her face. “I’m so excited about my book. And I have you to thank. You’re very good at your job, my friend. Any author who has you for an agent is very lucky indeed.” She looped her arm in mine. “But let’s not get too distracted. We’re here to find our dream wedding cakes, remember?”

  Never before had I thought there was such a thing as eating too much cake, but by the time we’d finally finished checking out all twenty-some displays and sampling almost as much cake, I was feeling the beginnings of a sugar coma. “I could use something solid to counteract all this sugar,” I told Makayla.

  “Oh, really? I was going to suggest we head over to the wine sampling room.” I grasped my midsection as my stomach gurgled in protest. Makayla laughed and threw me a mischievous wink. “Just kidding. Actually, I should be going. Promised Jay I’d meet him for dinner later this evening.”

  “You wouldn’t be heading to Machiavelli’s, by chance?”

  She shook her head. “No, just over to the pub for a quick bite. Jay has some work to do tonight. Why?”

  I explained to her about running into Trey and how he’d been hiding out at my mother’s and working at Machiavelli’s. “He thinks he wants to become a chef. Can you believe it?”

  “Yeah, I can. When he worked for me last summer, he always wanted to try out new recipes on the customers.” A smirk played on her lips as she thought back to the time. “I have to admit, I tried to get Althea’s banana bread recipe from him, but he wouldn’t give it up.”

  “You what?”

  She laughed. “Seriously, Lila. He was good in the kitchen. I think he has a knack for cooking. Probably gets it from your mother.”

  “Probably. I just … I mean, giving up an opportunity to go to college to work in a restaurant …”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You’ve gone through this with him before, remember?”

  She was referring to his stint a year or so ago with a commune on Red Fox Mountain. “I remember. And that didn’t turn out so well.”

  “Relax.” She reached over and touched my wrist. “I’ve met Machiavelli’s owner, Oscar, and he’s an okay guy. And I’ve heard he’s a gifted chef. Trained at some famous culinary school in New York.”

  “New York?” Oh, heavens. That’d be the next thing. Trey would want to go off and study in New York.

  “Don’t worry, Lila. Trey’s going to be fine. He’s a hard worker and he’ll make his own way.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “She’s a smart woman.” She gave a little grin. “Different, but smart.” Which brought a smile to me as well. She gave me a quick hug and turned to leave just as Cora Scott walked up. “Oh hey, Cora. Good to see you,” Makayla said. “Sorry I can’t stay and visit, but I’ve gotta run.” She looked at me and added, “We’ll talk more later, okay?”

  “I’ve been looking all over for Ms. Duke. Have you seen her?” Cora said as soon as Makayla left. “There’s something I feel I should discuss with her. A serious matter.”

  “No, I haven’t seen her lately. Is this about Chuck? The news of his death must have been a shock to you.”

  Her head bobbed up and down. “Yes, yes, it was quite a shock. Not that I knew him well. It’s just, to know he was murdered … well, it’s all so horrible. And now I feel caught in the middle of things.”

  “Caught in the middle? How so?”

  “Well …” She hesitated, wringing her hands and glancing about.

  I placed my hand on her shoulder. “Does this have something to do with one of our authors?”

  She pressed her lips tight, then opened them again and let out a long sigh. “Yes, yes, it does. You see, your Detective Griffiths stopped by a little while ago and was asking all sorts of questions about the two authors staying at my inn.”

  “Lynn and Jodi?”

  “Uh-huh. And I’m afraid I had to be truthful about something I observed happening,
even though it probably caused trouble for Jodi.”

  Uh-oh. “Of course you had to be truthful,” I said, trying to ease the discomfort she was obviously feeling. “Can you tell me what it was?”

  “Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I feel you should know so you can be prepared. I think the police officer might arrest her. And all because of what I told them.”

  “Arrest her?” I said, louder than I intended. A woman passing by turned her head and regarded us suspiciously. “Would you mind stepping over here?” I asked, pointing to a quiet spot in the corner of the room. “What is it you saw, Cora?” I asked as soon as we were out of the flow of traffic. I had a feeling this was going to be a doozy.

  She brought her hands in front of her hips and began wringing them together. “I think Jodi and Chuck had a tryst.”

  “Jodi and Chuck? Why do you say that?”

  “Because I saw him coming out of her room the morning he was murdered. And when Jodi came down for breakfast that day, she seemed preoccupied with something.”

  “What did Sean—I mean Detective Griffiths—say when you told him what you saw?”

  “He thanked me. Said it was just the connection he was looking for. Then he made a phone call. I heard him requesting a search warrant. He left, but there’s still a police officer parked outside the inn.”

  Sean had gone to pick up a warrant. I was sure of it. He was probably going to search Jodi’s room, maybe Lynn’s, too. “Thank you for telling me, Cora.” I reached out and touched her shoulder. “Can you excuse me, though? I’ll go see if I can find Bentley and let her know about this.” I started to leave, then turned back and gave her arm a quick squeeze. “You did the right thing letting us know, Cora. I know Ms. Duke will appreciate it.”

  I stepped away and took out my cell to call Bentley right away. There was no answer. Shoot! I moved out to the main hallway and looked about, spying Jude not too far away. “Have you seen Bentley?” I asked.

  “She went back to the office to get the dog. Said she’d be right back. Why?”