Off the Books

by Lucy Arlington

  “Lila?” Sean was waiting for my answer.

  “September’s perfect.”

  He reached out and pulled me close again. “Well, now that it’s settled, we can get back to more important things,” he whispered against my lips.

  I agreed. And for one blissful evening, I pushed aside thoughts about murder and my troubles with Trey and Mama and simply enjoyed being in the arms of the man I loved.

  Chapter 15

  The streets were clear enough that I was able to take the Vespa into the office first thing Friday morning. I’d planned, however, to make a midmorning trade with Trey. He was due at Machiavelli’s around ten for some early kitchen prep work, at which time I’d meet him and exchange keys. I’d promised to fill his car’s tank, if he’d loan it to me for my trip into Dunston. I’d then swing by and pick up Lynn at the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast around ten fifteen, which should leave plenty of time to make it to Dunston for the eleven o’clock service.

  Before heading up to work, I popped into Espresso Yourself to tell Makayla the good news about our wedding date. She was just finishing up with a customer. As soon as she saw me, her mouth curved into a wide smile. “You’re looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. What gives, girl?” Her musical laughter filled the room.

  “Got any plans for September?” I asked.

  Her brows furrowed. “September? I don’t think so …” She squealed. “Y’all have set the date! Well, it’s about time. Didn’t think you’d ever pin that man down!”

  I giggled. “We compromised. He wanted Christmastime and I wanted spring, so we settled on September.”

  She turned and started mixing my usual. “This calls for a celebration,” she said, her words muffled by the whir of the espresso machine. “One caramel latte coming up. My treat.”

  I thanked her. “I’ll need the extra caffeine jolt. I have a busy morning.” I told her about plans to take Lynn to Chuck’s funeral. Then I glanced around the café and commented, “Looks like you got things back in order.”

  Her gaze traveled around the room and she nodded. “Thankfully there wasn’t anything permanently damaged. Mostly just a mess to clean up. I was able to get most of the lost supplies restocked yesterday afternoon.”

  My eyes were drawn to her still-barren walls. “Were you able to get hold of all the photographers yet?”

  “Yes, and they’ve been wonderful. They not only offered to replace the damaged photos, but the frames, too. Most of them promised to bring them by today.”

  I remembered that Rufus hadn’t heard from her yet. “What about Rufus? Were you able to reach him? He’s been at the expo all week.”

  “Rufus? That name sounds familiar.”

  “Rufus Manning. The photo of the couple holding hands. The one I really liked, remember?”

  She reached under her counter, retrieving the stack of photos Trey and I had removed from the broken frames, and began laying them on top of her counter. “I do remember that photo,” she said. “I called everyone who had a picture in this stack, but …” She’d reached the bottom of the stack without finding Rufus’s photo. “That’s strange.” She looked up at me. “Did you throw away that print?”

  “I didn’t. Maybe Trey did, though.”

  “Maybe so. It must have been severely damaged. Glad you brought it up. I’ll give Rufus a call this morning.”

  The bells above the door jingled and another customer walked in, so I thanked her again for the coffee and headed off to work.

  As soon as I opened the office door, Olive started yapping and pawing at my pants leg. Laughing, I reached down and snatched up one of the many chew toys scattered across the floor and engaged her in a friendly game of tug-of-war. “Good morning, Vicky,” I said.

  When Vicky didn’t respond, I stopped playing with Olive and looked across the room to where she was seated at her desk, fidgeting with her desktop items: straightening the stapler and brushing away invisible specks of dirt. I abandoned my game with Olive and walked over to her. “Everything going okay, Vicky? You seem preoccupied.”

  She stopped fussing and clasped her hands over her desk blotter. “Yes, of course. I’ve already placed several queries on your desk. Ms. Duke was in earlier, but she left again in order to meet with Ms. Lambert about this afternoon’s scheduled events.” Vicky’s eyes darted toward Olive, who’d already grown bored with her toys and moved on to sniffing around the room. Vicky continued, “Flora called earlier. She isn’t feeling well this morning. She’s asked if you could arrive early to the Arts Center in order to help get Pam ready for her author talk.”

  “Flora’s not feeling well again? Nothing serious, I hope.”

  Vicky shook her head. “Just a virus, I believe. The stress of this week has undoubtedly made it worse.”

  “No problem. I’ll make sure Pam is taken care of this afternoon.” Today’s themed events, which centered on the bridal trousseau and honeymoon, were sure to be a crowd pleaser. Ms. Lambert had arranged for several travel agents to be on hand to discuss booking the dream honeymoon, while the Dragonfly Room would be set up with displays of everything a new bride might need for her trousseau, from accessories and lingerie to bath and spa items. There would even be several cosmetologists on hand to provide mini makeovers and specialized makeup tips. And to kick it all off, Pam was going to read a couple of steamy excerpts from the latest book in her Reluctant Brides of Babylon series. Overall, it promised to be a fun afternoon.

  “Has Eliot been sequestered to the break room again?” I asked, not seeing our furry orange mascot anywhere. Vicky busied herself again with straightening papers on her desk. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” I asked again.

  “Just fine,” she replied tightly.

  I shrugged and turned to head to my office. As I did, my shoulder bag swung around and slipped from my shoulder, bumping against her desk and sending a few of the papers flying to the floor. “Oh. I’m so sorry,” I said, bending down to scoop up the pile. As I did, one of the papers got away from me. I’d just made a move to pick it up when Olive came out of nowhere and pounced on it.

  “Hey! Let go of that!” I scolded, trying to pull it from her grip. Suddenly the paper ripped and I ended up with a slobbery half in my hand. “Uh-oh. Hope this wasn’t part of someone’s book proposal.” For some reason a quote from one of Groucho Marx’s writings popped into my head. Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read. I started to chuckle, but quickly stopped as my eyes skimmed the first few lines of the paper. It wasn’t a book proposal but a letter to Bentley. A letter of resignation.

  Vicky stood abruptly and held out her hand. “Please give me the letter, Lila. This really isn’t any of your business.”

  “How can you say that, Vicky? Of course this is my business. I thought you were happy here. Why would you want to quit?”

  Vicky plopped back down in her chair and let out a ragged sigh. “Believe me. I don’t want to resign. I love this job. But I feel I have no choice.”

  “No choice? What do you mean?” I stared at her, wondering what had transpired to make her feel that way. Way back when, I’d started in her very position and knew that there was a certain amount of stress that came with the job, but Vicky always seemed to handle the demands of her position with a certain proficiency and perfunctory capacity. Better, I had to admit, than I felt I had. Then it struck me that maybe there was something going on, something terrible that Vicky hadn’t confided. Had a sudden illness brought on this change in her demeanor? Goodness, I hoped not! I moved closer, almost afraid to ask. “Are you ill, Vicky? Because if that’s the case, please know that we’re all here for—”

  “Ill? No. Sick. Yes.” She pointed at Olive. “Sick of that dog!”

  I sucked in my breath and stood straighter. “The dog? You’re going to resign from a job you love because of a dog?”

  “Yes. Just look at her. She’s a menace.”

  I followed Vicky’s eyes across the room to th
e waiting area, where Olive was once again chewing on the leg of one of the waiting room chairs. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, but all the furniture did seem to be covered with little nibble marks. “Wow. She’s made quick work of the furniture in there,” I said, crossing the room and shooing her away.

  “The problem is,” Vicky continued, “Ms. Duke doesn’t realize how much time a dog like Olive needs. I’m sure, with the right amount of attention and training, Olive would make someone a very fine pet. But Ms. Duke is always on the go, traveling here and there, out meeting with people or off with clients. Her lifestyle simply isn’t suited to a dog like Olive.”

  She was right, of course. I knew Bentley truly cared for Olive, but was she the best owner for Olive? It had to be a two-way match, didn’t it?

  Vicky went on, “And she’s dumped all the responsibility on me: walking the dog, running to the pet store for more doggie treats, watching the dog while she’s at the expo … It goes on and on. I don’t even have time to take care of my real duties.”

  “That is a problem. Have you explained all this to Bentley?”

  “I tried. She didn’t seem to take my complaint seriously, though. Thinks her precious Olive is no work—well, she isn’t work for Ms. Duke when she’s left the work for me! That’s why I’m turning in my letter of resignation this afternoon. Of course, I’ll give appropriate notice and be on hand to help train someone new, if that’s what Ms. Duke wants. It saddens me, but I feel my talents as an office manager are being belittled by the additional tasks of pooch wrangler and poop scooping. I’m sorry, Lila, but it’s obvious: I’m simply being taken advantage of, which I won’t tolerate. Eliot and I must move on.”

  “Let me talk to Bentley before you make any rash decisions. It would be a shame for you to leave us over something like this. You’re the best office administrator this place has ever had, and we’d miss you.”

  Two small pink circles tinged the top of her cheeks. “Thank you, Lila. But if Olive stays, I go. It’s as simple as that.”

  *

  THE IDEA OF Vicky leaving Novel Idea weighed heavily on my mind a couple of hours later as I maneuvered my Vespa along the cobblestone side street leading to Machiavelli’s, being extra careful to avoid the leftover patches of oily slush that threatened to throw me off balance. It was good to be back on my Vespa, the cool air whipping at my cheeks and the joyful feeling of being in commune with nature—seeing, smelling, hearing things I never notice when I’m in a car.

  Still, thoughts of Vicky’s pending resignation invaded my bliss. Not that I could blame Vicky for wanting to leave the agency. What started out as a good idea—a companion and source of stress relief for Bentley during this difficult week—had ended up bringing nothing but stress to Vicky. We’d all overlooked how taxing Olive’s rambunctious personality had been for her. Something had to be done. I tossed around several ideas in my mind, before finally deciding the best approach was to simply confront Bentley with the truth—despite all good intentions, she was not a suitable match for an active dog like Olive. I hated to see Olive go back to the pet store. The poor thing had been through so many owners already. But I didn’t see any other choice. By the time I reached Machiavelli’s parking lot, I was determined to set this thing straight, for Vicky’s sake, if not the agency’s. As soon as possible, I’d have a heart-to-heart with Bentley. In the meantime, I needed to focus on helping Lynn get through what was sure to be a difficult morning.

  Even though the restaurant didn’t open until eleven, I found the front door unlocked. Inside, my nose was treated to the tangy aromas of garlic and basil. No one was in the dining area, but I could hear the sound of clanking pots and pans coming from the kitchen. I moved across the room and pushed open the door leading to the kitchen area.

  “Trey?” I called out.

  “Back here, Mom.”

  Trey was bent over a long stainless steel prep table, chopping onions and peppers with a huge knife. For a second, I was mesmerized by the speed and dexterity of his movements as he expertly diced the vegetables. When had he learned to use a knife like that? “I’m here to trade keys,” I said, my eyes roaming the expanse of the kitchen with its streamlined design and state-of-the-art appliances. Every single surface gleamed with cleanliness.

  “Okay, great,” he replied, barely looking up from his work. “I’m running a little behind with prep. My car keys are on the desk in the office. Would you mind getting them for me? Just leave the Vespa keys. I’ll drive it home this afternoon.”

  “Perfect. The helmet’s on the back grille,” I said, heading for the office. I turned back and added, “By the way, Trey. Sean and I had some of your shrimp scampi last night. It was wonderful.”

  He paused and glanced up, a smile on his face. “Glad you liked it, Mom. I talked Oscar into adding a little lemon zest to the recipe. I think it freshens it up.”

  “It was some of the best I’ve had,” I said. “I’m proud of you, Trey.” He grinned with pride and refocused on his work, deftly coring and dicing a green pepper. I thought back to what Pam said the other day about finding and following our passions. Maybe this wasn’t the life I’d choose for my son, but it really wasn’t my place to make that decision. Besides, it looked like he knew what he was doing in a kitchen. And judging by the food I’d tasted last night, he was a great cook. Which was a good thing, since he’d need to keep his job in order to pay me back for his college tuition bill.

  I stopped just inside the door of the office, my eyes jumping from the top of the cluttered desk to the overflowing file credenza to a bookshelf stuffed with cookbooks. Every single surface of Oscar Belmonte’s office was crammed with papers, and I didn’t see the set of keys anywhere. Crossing to the desk, I gingerly shuffled through stacks of invoices and bills and finally found the keys buried under a pile of inventory sheets. I also found something else. A copy of Jodi Lee’s book, The Billionaire’s Bride. The very book where the victim was murdered with a nail gun!

  I picked it up with a shaky hand. I told myself I was jumping to conclusions, allowing what might be innocent facts to excuse my innate distrust of this man. Because the book didn’t prove anything. Lots of people had read Jodi’s book. It was a bestseller, after all. Yet I couldn’t imagine The Billionaire’s Bride would be at the top of Oscar’s reading list. Unless he had it for a reason, had discovered the passage about Jodi’s victim, used that as his method to—

  “Lila!” Oscar’s deep raspy voice caused me to jump. I dropped the book on the desk, a bit of torn napkin floating out from its pages, and I turned. He was standing in the doorway, his bulk filling the entire frame. “What brings you by?”

  My mouth had gone dry, but I managed to pick up Trey’s keys and give them a little jingle.

  Oscar smiled. “Oh yeah, that’s right. Trey said you’d be coming by for the keys. Why don’t you stay awhile? Your mother will be here soon for an early lunch. I could have Trey whip up something special for you two.”

  “No thanks,” I croaked, moving toward the door. He stepped aside, peering down with a strange look as I pressed past him.

  “Everything okay?” he asked. “Been meaning to give Althea a call to see if she’d gone by the garage this morning. Can’t drive too long on a spare. Especially not this time of year with the changing weather—”

  He said something else, but I gave a little half wave behind me and just kept on going, zipping through the kitchen and out the front door. Once outside, I sucked in the cold air, willing my heart to stop racing as well as my mind. That shred of napkin could have marked any passage or simply been where the man had quit reading. Or … it might have been at the very spot that perfectly described the method of murder used to kill Chuck Richards. For Mama’s sake, and Trey’s, I certainly hoped not. But, for my peace of mind, I knew what I had to do.

  Chapter 16

  On the way across the lot to Trey’s car, I pulled out my cell and dialed Sean’s number. There was no answer. I stammered a bit, contemplating leaving a
message about the book I’d found on Oscar’s desk, but I realized that no matter how I put it, it’d sound silly. What was I going to say? I’m calling to report a book reader? So instead, I hung up and planned to pop by his work later and explain in person.

  In the meantime, I desperately wanted to pull Trey out of that kitchen and tell Mama to ignore any attempts by Oscar to meet with her, but I knew better. If it turned out that Belmonte was no more than a closet romance reader, my overzealous reactions would spell the death of any trust they’d ever have in me again. It was bad enough that poor Mama had reacted to my concerns earlier by doubting that she deserved a romantic friendship at this stage in her life, or that Trey had been so afraid of my reactions that he’d gone behind my back with his career versus college choices. No, I couldn’t risk damaging my relationships with them, not until I knew more or my suspicions were validated by Sean in some way.

  My mind still awhirl, I picked up Lynn and could think of little to say to her. As it turned out, Lynn was quiet on the way to the funeral home, too. I assumed she was nervous about confronting her past in such a direct way, so I tried to assure her that I’d be by her side to provide any support she might need, but my words failed to soothe her. Instead, she sat silently chewing her lip and wringing her hands, until I was sure one or the other was going to wear out.

  Finally we reached Sunset Funeral Home, a sprawling lackluster brick building just a mile down the road from Bertram’s Hotel. I’d never been inside the place—a good thing considering the services they offered—but found that despite its rather drab outward appearance, the inside was well appointed with hardwood floors, walls painted in tasteful hues of pale apricot and warm tans accented with chestnut brown trim, and comfortable, unassuming furniture. It was obvious that whoever had designed the interior knew what they were doing. The surroundings made me feel instantly at ease, like I’d just walked into an old friend’s home.