For Whom the Book Tolls

by Laura Gail Black

  That evening I replayed the day: the information from my parents, Norman’s murder, and the tense-but-not-unpleasant meeting with the newest version of Olivia Hokes. The sales I’d made had definitely made the day’s end a success. Yet the shadow of murder and the ordeal I’d suffered through that morning at the hands of Detective Sutter, with his ugly insinuations, pompous assumptions, and rude allegations, cast a pall on what could have been an otherwise good day.

  I went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. At the sight of jumbled kitchen towels in a slightly open drawer, I frowned. Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d left things in a bit of a mess. I wasn’t the best housekeeper in the world, much to the disappointment of my mom, who had to be related somehow to Martha Stewart.

  I took my tea to the bedroom, turning the lights out and locking up as I went. My eyes sought a book about how to run a business I’d brought home from my store the day before, determined to be successful in this peaceful little town if I stayed—Norman Childers and Detective Sutter aside.

  The book lay under my bed, a corner peeking out from under the dust ruffle. My brow furrowed. I could’ve sworn I’d left it on the nightstand, but I shrugged and got ready for bed, changing into my comfy pajamas, which had somehow managed to work their way onto the floor from the chair I’d thrown them over that morning.

  I started reading as I set my tea mug on the nightstand. I turned back the covers and absently propped the pillow against the headboard, sat, and leaned back. A crinkling sound startled me, and I turned to examine my pillow. The business book thudded to the floor as it fell from my numb fingers. I unpinned the note from my pillow and reread it.

  Go home! We don’t want you here!

  If you stay, you’ll end up like

  Paul Baxter and Norman Childers.

  GO HOME BEFORE YOU REGRET IT!

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rita patted me on the back for what must have been the twentieth time in the last thirty minutes. I sat on her couch across from Detective Sutter, while Detective Logan moved restlessly around the room.

  “Tell me once more what happened, Miss Quinn. I want to make sure I’ve written it down correctly. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how insignificant you may think it is.” Sutter narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing me intensely.

  I kept my hands clutched in my lap to keep them from shaking. Too bad it didn’t work as well for my voice. “As I said the last two times you asked me to tell you this story, I came home about an hour ago. I went into the kitchen to make tea. The towel drawer was slightly open and messed up. I didn’t think anything about it at the time, so I went into my bedroom. I changed into my pajamas, which had somehow managed to get onto the floor instead of still being on the chair where I’d left them. I assumed I had knocked them off myself, but now, of course, I’m sure I didn’t. I had left a book on top of the nightstand this morning, but I had to drag it out from under the bed to read it. I sat on the bed and leaned back on my pillow. I heard the paper crinkle and leaned up to see what the noise was. I found the note and called you guys.”

  “You didn’t touch anything else until we arrived?” Sutter had been insistent on this point the first two times I’d told the story.

  “No, I didn’t.” Tired of answering the same questions over and over, I shifted uncomfortably on the couch, which triggered another reflexive pat from Rita. “I told you, I waited until you arrived and did a walk-through to see if anything valuable was missing after you had ‘secured the premises.’ As you saw, there was evidence the drawers had been rifled through, the mattress moved, and the pantry rearranged. Detective, why do you keep asking the same questions?”

  “I want to make sure I’ve got it all.” Grunt. Sutter leaned back and closed his little book.

  “Baloney,” said Rita. “What do you really want?”

  “We’re simply ensuring we have all the facts so we can pursue a quick closure to the situation.” Detective Logan smiled reassuringly.

  “And you?” Rita aimed this last directly at Sutter.

  He cocked his head at Rita. “To be honest, I’m still not completely convinced your friend here didn’t kill her uncle for his estate and kill Childers to keep it.”

  “Frank, you’ve already made an arrest. You know that’s highly illegal if you think Jenna is guilty. So stop blustering.” Rita crossed her arms.

  “That doesn’t mean she didn’t orchestrate the whole thing. I see she’s hired Mason Craig, a man we’ve arrested under suspicion of murdering her uncle, to work in the store that’s conveniently hers again. Seems she might know something we don’t.” Sutter rubbed his chin as if in deep, slow thought. However, the glint in his eyes as he stared at me belied the bumbling gesture. “I’m trying to decide if she planned this whole little scene to try and throw us off. How are we to know if the pantry was rearranged or her nightie wasn’t where it was supposed to be? The drawers looked fine to me, and Miss Quinn has admitted to assuming she’d either remembered incorrectly about those things or jumbled them herself. What’s to say she didn’t write the note herself to make it look like someone was after her?”

  I pulled the robe I’d borrowed from Rita tighter, trying to stop my shivering. “Why would I do such a thing when I had nothing to do with either death? I had nothing to gain from Norman’s death, since I had legitimate proof he could not have been Uncle Paul’s son. Just like I had nothing to gain by dragging the police out here and putting myself at the forefront of your attention again.” Anger was becoming a natural reaction around Detective Sutter. He seemed to know exactly how to push all my buttons.

  “Oh, you could have gained from old Norman’s death, all right. It saved you a lot of court troubles in order to try to prove he was a fraud. Now you don’t have to deal with that problem anymore.” Sutter stared at me as if he expected me to break down and confess that his astute mind had worked it all out.

  “And you really think I would’ve murdered a man to save myself from taking the time to talk to a couple of lawyers and possibly testify at a hearing? How dumb do you think I am?”

  “I’ve seen people kill for less.” Sutter cocked his head, and his calculating gaze raked across me. “You never know what someone might do with little or no provocation.”

  “Detective.” Again I gripped my hands together. “I would have easily won the court case over Norman’s claims. While it does seem obvious Norman Childers’s murder is tied in with Uncle Paul’s somehow, as is evidenced by the note, I can assure you I had nothing to do with either.”

  “It seems obvious to you?” Sutter’s sarcastic tone brought my hackles up. “Listen, lady, I’ll tell you what’s obvious to me. I would have preferred to discuss this at another time, but we’ll lay it all out right here.”

  My stomach flip-flopped. I looked over at Detective Logan, whose jaw tightened, and his hand clenched into a fist.

  “And what do we have to discuss?” I knew he had no proof of anything, but unease slithered up the back of my neck.

  Sutter leaned in, his eyes hard and his nostrils flaring. “Let’s talk about how you’re stone-cold broke after paying your lawyers, you have no support since all your friends dumped you, and you lost your home and put all your things in storage. Let’s talk about how you used the last of your money to rent a cheap motel room under an assumed name. Let’s talk about how inheriting after your uncle’s death has kept you from being out on the streets and the threat of a drawn-out court case would upset that apple cart. Yes, Miss Quinn, I’ve done my homework.”

  “Enough.” Logan stepped forward, glaring at Sutter. It was the first time I’d seen him use his height to tower over Sutter.

  “Enough? I’ll say when it’s enough, and you keep your mouth shut,” Sutter snarled, not backing down from Logan’s seeming attempt at intimidation.

  “I don’t work for you, Frank, so you can’t bully me.” Rita rose and moved toward the door. “Therefore, I can and will say when it is enough, especially in my home. U
nless you intend to bring charges of some sort against Jenna right here and now, then I suggest you stop making accusations you cannot prove. If you have any legitimate questions, I’m sure she’ll be very happy to answer them. If you only intend to waste her time with unfounded allegations based on circumstantial insinuations, then I believe you know where your car is.” Rita swept her front door open, motioning for them to leave.

  Sutter stood and stretched, matching Rita’s glare with one of his own. “It’s been a long day of digging, and I’ve only scratched the surface. Tomorrow I’ll keep digging, and again the day after and next week and for however long it takes. Unlike those big-city detectives with so many cases they can’t keep up, I have all the time I need, and when I find what I’m looking for, I’ll be back.” The man sauntered toward the door.

  Rage boiled up within me. Rage against all the accusations, against the loss of my friends, my job, and my home. Rage pulsed through me to the point I could feel nothing, sense nothing, hear nothing else. And then it settled into a low hum, sending strength up my spine. I spit out my words at Sutter’s departing back. “If you wish to speak with me again, please feel free to contact my attorney. I’m sure he can help you with whatever you may need.”

  “Oh?” Sutter turned to face me. “And which attorney might that be?”

  I scrambled to come up with a name. My attorney in Charlotte had dumped me as soon as my money ran out. I no longer had a lawyer. Except … “Mr. Horace Grimes. I’m sure you can manage to look him up in the book.” And I’ve got to remember to actually hire him. I prayed he took murder cases. While I hadn’t actually been accused, I knew a contract or estate lawyer would do no good if things came down to that.

  Sutter finished his trip to the front door with Logan behind him, and Rita slammed it as they went out. I sank to the couch, my knees completely jellied.

  “Care to talk about it yet?” Rita asked gently, patting me on the back again.

  I guessed she didn’t know what else to do. A tear rolled down my cheek, and I choked back the rest, taking deep breaths to still the screaming in my head. Not again. Please, God, not again. “I thought it might be different here, that maybe I could start over. But it’s all following me.”

  “What really happened?” Rita handed me a tissue.

  “It was last year.” I tore at the tissue in my hands. “I worked for a marketing firm in the accounting department. Money went missing, and the trail seemed to lead to me. Someone had hacked in and used my login to siphon money from several major client accounts. During the investigation, the head of the department was murdered, and the police were sure it was me because he had evidence tying me to the embezzlement.”

  “Based on the mug shots on TV last week, I take it you were arrested?” Rita asked quietly.

  I nodded and took a shuddering breath. “I spent three months in jail with no bail while I waited on the trial because of the murder charge and the assumption I had a ton of cash secreted away that I could use to flee. The jury acquitted me because all the evidence was flimsy and circumstantial. But by the time it was over, I’d already lost my job.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Rita gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

  “My parents tried to help, but they didn’t have a huge amount of money sitting in the bank. I used everything I had to pay attorney fees. None of my ‘friends’ would help for fear of being dragged into things as accomplices. Even my fiancé dumped me.”

  “Fiancé?” Rita’s eyebrows rose.

  “Yeah.” I leaned back into the corner of the couch and tucked my feet under me. “Although, in hindsight, I’m better off without him. He was in management, so he didn’t want anyone to know we were a couple for fear of sexual harassment or nepotism accusations. We lived together, for crying out loud, but he insisted I keep a post office box and talked me into not telling the company when I moved out of my apartment and into his so no one would know my address. He wouldn’t even buy me a ring when he proposed so I wouldn’t be tempted to show anyone and let word get around we were engaged. I don’t know what he would’ve done once we actually got married.”

  “What a jackass.” Rita propped her feet on the coffee table.

  I snorted. “He was. Once things got ugly, he distanced himself from me. When I was acquitted and finally got out of jail, I took a cab home, only to find the locks had all been changed. He handed me a key to a storage unit where he’d taken my things.”

  “So that’s when you rented the motel room?” Rita asked.

  “I had to have somewhere to live.” A shudder rippled through me. “I knew the case was all over the papers, and I didn’t want reporters hounding me, so I registered under an assumed name and paid cash in advance.” I looked down at what was left of my unused, shredded tissue, still clutched in one hand and wadded into a ball.

  “And then you inherited Paul’s estate.” Rita’s voice was low.

  “And then I inherited Uncle Paul’s estate.” I nodded, meeting Rita’s speculative gaze. “Look, I didn’t kill Uncle Paul to get his money. I didn’t even know I would inherit anything, much less everything. And I have absolutely no clue who would have wanted to kill him for any reason.”

  Rita frowned. “I’m worried about what Frank Sutter will try to do with all of this.”

  Suddenly restless, I rose, picked up my empty tea mug, and started toward the kitchen. “I should go.”

  “Stay.” Rita followed me.

  At the firmness in Rita’s voice, I turned. “I don’t want to put you out.” That was a lie. I desperately wanted to put her out. I was terrified to be alone right now, but I wasn’t about to wait around to see one more friendly face freeze awkwardly when we spoke. I couldn’t handle more uncomfortable silences or inane chitchat about nothing while avoiding anything that might mean something or sensing fear, as if someone thought I might murder them in their sleep and steal away with the silver. Although Rita had been gracious up to now and she had stated she thought I was “one of the good ones,” I simply wasn’t ready to risk the possibility of a change in her attitude tonight.

  “And I don’t want to worry all night about you in your house alone with a crazy person threatening you.” Rita took my hand and led me back to the living room, pulling me down to sit beside her on the couch. “The bed in the guest room is already made up. It’s pretty comfortable. At least you won’t be home in case whoever was there earlier comes back.”

  My throat tightened, another flood of tears pushing at the backs of my eyes. “Are you sure?” I didn’t dare to hope.

  “Positive. I’d love to have you stay. We can chat as late as we want, tell scary stories, and eat junk food.” Rita smiled and patted me again.

  The woman really needed to find another comfort gesture, but it was the most awesome sensation I’d ever felt right about then.

  “Gee, can we do each other’s hair and makeup too?” I wiped my eyes and tried to toss a saucy grin, knowing I had failed miserably.

  Rita chuckled. “I guess it does sound like a high school sleepover. But it’ll still be fun.”

  Over the next couple of hours, the heaviness in my chest lightened, and my heart expanded to fully accept the friendship Rita so openly offered. We stopped short of my proposed makeovers, but Rita’s suggestions had all been taken. After filling up on ice cream and cookies and being scared out of my skin by a story Rita had heard one year at summer camp, I huddled on the couch.

  “I’m glad you stayed,” Rita said gently.

  An open smile slid across my face. I didn’t have to hide anymore. “Me too. Thanks for insisting.”

  “Even though I scared the liver out of you with that last story?” Rita leaned over and bumped my shoulder with hers.

  I sobered. “There’s no story scarier than having someone threaten your life.”

  “We need to prove the two murders are connected and you had nothing to do with either of them.” Rita placed her hand on top of mine.

  I turned my hand over and squeezed
Rita’s. “I only hope we can before the body count goes up, especially since my name has now been moved to the top of the list of possible victims.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mason’s Friday-morning appointment with his court-appointed attorney left me alone at the store. I hadn’t been there for more than a few minutes when the door chimes tinkled.

  I rose from my seat on the floor, where I had been arranging a stack of books into alphabetical order, stretching as I did so. “Detective Logan. How nice of you to stop by.” It was anything but nice, but I couldn’t afford to aggravate the one person on the police force who didn’t seem already convinced of my guilt. “Is there any special reason you stopped by, or did you want to browse the books? We’re rearranging, but I can do my best to help you find a book you’ll enjoy.”

  “No thanks, but maybe next time. I’m here on official business today.” He pulled out an ink pad and a fingerprint card. “I need to get your prints so we can compare them to the ones found at your apartment. This should have been done last night, but it seems to have been overlooked.” His small smile reeked of exhaustion and frustration.

  “I’m sure Detective Sutter already has my prints from that business in Charlotte.” I tucked my hands into my jeans pockets reflexively.

  Detective Logan sighed and closed his eyes briefly before locking them on to mine. “He does. But he wants to make sure you haven’t altered them in some way since then.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I shook my head, and a disgusted chuckle barked from my chest. My hands slid from my pockets. “Detective Logan, I’ll let you take my fingerprints without a warrant, but give me the courtesy of honesty about why you want them. Your boss desperately wants to place me at the crime scene at the hotel, doesn’t he?”