by Reagan Davis
“Take your cell phone, in case you need it,” I remind him.
“Yes, Bean. Stop worrying. You get that from your mother.”
We kiss cheeks. He attaches Sophie’s leash, and they leave.
There are as many vehicles along the narrow, winding driveway as there were yesterday. Also like yesterday, I find a spot between two cars about halfway up, parallel park, and walk the rest of the way. I don’t know if Dina is here yet because I don’t know what kind of rental car she’s driving.
I hear Lucas’s voice before I see him. Lucas Butler is the rookie officer who was standing guard at the top of the driveway yesterday, the one who has a crush on my daughter.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not on the list. If you’re not on the list, you can’t pass.”
“Of course, I’m on the list!” I recognize that dulcet accent. Brooks Wiley is here, and it sounds like Lucas won’t let him access the crime scene. “I insist you let me pass, or I will call Chief Sloane, and he will have your badge!”
“Hi, Lucas,” I say, approaching the two men.
“Hi, Megan!” Lucas smiles. “No water or cookies today?” he teases.
“Not today,” I reply. “Is Dina Langley here?” Lucas purses his lips and shrugs. “Long blonde hair. Young”––well, young to me. I forgot I’m talking about a twenty-three-year-old––“she left with April and me yesterday.”
Recognition flashes across his face. “Right!” he declares. “I remember her.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t seen her.”
“I’m supposed to meet her here. Is it OK if I wait in the Muskoka chairs by the fire pit?” I ask, pointing toward the cottage.
“Of course,” Lucas replies. “I’ll tell her where you are when she shows up.”
I thank him, smile at both men, and continue walking.
“So, you’re telling me she’s on the list and I’m not?” Brooks says, seething with frustration. “I need to get in that house. You don’t understand. There’s money at stake.”
This gets my attention, and I stop walking.
“If you aren’t on the list, you don’t get in.”
Lucas and Brooks continue arguing back and forth, Brooks holding up his phone, threatening to call Eric, and Lucas telling him to call whoever he wants. They’re at an impasse. I’m about to continue on my way to the firepit when I hear Dina’s high-pitched, excited voice.
“Call the police!” she yells. “Call the police!”
She’s yelling this at a police officer. There are literally half a dozen cops here.
I jog down the driveway until she’s in view. She’s flailing her arms and running up the steep driveway like she’s being chased.
“Brooks! It’s her! She’s here! Call the police,” Dina yells when she spots Brooks. “She’s crazy! She says Claire isn’t dead!”
Who says Claire isn’t dead?
Lucas puts his hand on his sidearm and positions himself in front of Brooks. With his other hand, he beckons Dina, encouraging her to keep running toward him.
“Who is Dina talking about?” I ask, running toward Lucas and Brooks.
“I don’t have a clue.” Brooks looks confused.
He mumbles something I can’t hear as he jogs toward her. Then he turns and, wide-eyed, runs back toward Lucas and cowers behind him. “That woman is crazy! Arrest her before she hurts someone!”
What woman is crazy? Is he talking about Dina?
Then I hear her shrieking British accent.
“I demand to know what’s happening! Where is Claire Rivera! Who is in charge?”
Piper Peters. I recognize her from the photo Eric showed me earlier.
I move to the edge of the driveway and crouch between two parked cars. I’ve already dialed Eric’s number.
“Hello?” He’s in the car. I can tell from the echo.
“Piper Peters is here,” I hiss.
“Where are you?”
“Rental cottage,” I whisper, trying to talk to him and listen to Piper’s ravings.
“Why are you at the cottage? Never mind. Are you sure it’s her?”
“Positive.”
“Don’t approach her,” he reminds me.
Chapter 11
We end our call and three officers run down the driveway from the cottage. They apprehend Piper without incident. I emerge from my hiding spot and join Brooks and Dina.
“The chief says to take her to the station for questioning. He’ll meet you there,” Lucas tells the officer who’s placing Piper in his patrol car.
Piper looks at the three of us—me, Dina, and Brooks—from the backseat. Her face is taut, and her lips pressed into a taut line. She and I lock eyes until the patrol car drives away and forces us to break eye contact. There are so many questions I want to ask her.
Lucas clears up the confusion about Brooks being on the list and gives all three of us–me, Dina, and Brooks–permission to pass. The officer who accompanies us searches our bags and pockets to ensure we don’t have anything that might contaminate the crime scene, then we proceed to the cottage.
It’s large and modern. The entire back wall is floor-to-ceiling windows and French doors with a beautiful view of the lake. The space is open and airy, with simple, contemporary furnishings. With four bedrooms, it’s large for only two people, but I understand why Claire and Dina chose this specific cottage in this precise location. It’s tidy, clean, and private with a beautiful view.
The officer follows Dina into her bedroom, where she lobs an open suitcase onto the queen-sized bed. She tosses clothes and personal effects into the suitcase, packing as if her goal is to get out of here as soon as possible and organize her belongings later. I don’t blame her. If my employer-slash-friend met a violent end here, I’d be in a hurry to leave too.
“How can I help?” I ask.
Dina stops tossing items into the suitcase and looks at me. “I left my swimsuit and towel on the clothesline by the dock. And my rubber shoes too.”
I nod. “I’ll get them,” I tell her.
Brooks follows me down to the dock.
“Hi,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Brooks Wiley. I’m–I was–Claire Rivera’s agent.”
I shake his warm hand. His grip is firm and confident. “Hi, Brooks. I’m Megan Martel. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Oh!” A glint of realization shines in his eyes. “You’re Mitchell Monroe’s daughter.”
“That’s right,” I affirm.
Did Jules tell him who my father is?
Brooks reaches into the pocket of his light grey, custom-tailored suit and pulls out a business card. “Do you know if your dad is happy with his current literary agent?”
I shrug. “I assume so, he hasn’t said otherwise.”
He pulls out another business card and hands it to me. “Just in case he’s looking to make a change, please give him my card.”
Dina wasn’t joking when she said Brooks is all business, all the time. I understand Claire’s death creates a gap in Brooks’s client list, but it seems insensitive to replace her the day after her murder, at the scene of the crime.
“I’ll pass it on.” I drop the cards in my bag, then remove the towel from the line and fold it. “It’s nice of you to help Dina pack her things. Claire’s death really shook her up.” I hand him the folded towel and pull the swimsuit off the line.
“If Dina is shaken up about anything, she’s shaken up about losing her job,” Brooks remarks with a contemptuous sneer. “That’s what she and Claire were arguing about yesterday before Claire died. Dina was angry because their contract ends the day they release the last Familia book.”
“Claire and Dina were arguing yesterday before Claire died?” I confirm. “How do you know?” I hand him the folded swimsuit, and he places it on top of the folded towel I gave him a minute ago.
“I rushed over here as soon as I saw Claire’s post about retiring the Familia series,” Brooks explains. “I heard them yelling from the driveway. Also, Clai
re told me once that the contract between them specifies that Dina’s role as Claire’s assistant ends when the Familia book series ends.”
“It sounds like a unique arrangement,” I say, gathering magazines and books from a nearby lounge chair. “Claire didn’t tell you ahead of time that she was planning to stop writing Familia?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I found out when I saw her social media post, just like everyone else. Dina seemed just as surprised as I was, so I don’t think Claire warned her either.”
If this is true, was Dina angry enough about losing her job to kill her employer? If Claire’s death delays the release of the final Familia book, would it also delay Dina’s last day on the job? Could Claire’s untimely death delay Dina’s unemployment status? I wonder if Dina told the police about her argument with Claire?
Claire is one of the world’s most successful authors; she’s likely Brooks’s most successful client and his biggest source of income. Was he so shocked and angry by Claire’s announcement that he killed her?
“I was kind of hoping her announcement was a publicity stunt or something.”
“It wasn’t,” Brooks insists. “She was dead serious.”
He doesn’t seem to realize his unfortunate choice of words.
I add the pile of magazines and books to the towel and swimsuit in Brooks’s arms.
“Their entire relationship was unique,” he agrees. “They were very secretive, and Claire relied on Dina for almost everything. It was like she couldn’t write without her. It doesn’t matter what I asked her, Claire always had to check with Dina before she could answer me.”
“She sounds like an excellent assistant,” I point out. “My dad says an author assistant’s job is to make sure the author has nothing to do except write. He says a good assistant takes care of all the menial tasks that writers use to distract themselves from writing.” I pick up the rubber shoes, and we head back toward the cottage.
“Using your father’s criteria, Dina is a fabulous assistant.” Brooks chuckles.
“How did Claire and Dina meet?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Brooks admits. “Dina was already her assistant when Claire and I met.”
As we approach the back door, I realize this is my last chance to talk to Brooks without being overheard by either Dina or the officer chaperoning us. I stop walking. Brooks stops walking too and looks at me.
“What did you mean when you told the officer money is at stake?” I ask.
“The signed books,” Brooks explains. “The ones in the cottage. They were to be sold at Claire’s book signing this weekend. They’re worth a lot more money today than they were yesterday. Now that Claire has died and can’t sign any more books, those signed books will be a hot commodity among her fans and collectors.”
“OK,” I acknowledge. “Why are they at stake?”
“They can’t stay here, Megan,” he says, like I’m missing the point. “This cottage has no security. It’s secluded and in the middle of nowhere. Do you know how easy it would be to sneak in and steal them?”
“The police are guarding the cottage and its contents,” I remind him.
“Not good enough,” Brooks counters. “Someone could drive up to the dock in a boat. Or they could sneak through the trees from another cottage.” He shakes his head.
It sounds like Brooks Wiley has thought about how to get in and out of the cottage unnoticed.
“I’m supposed to remove them from the cottage and take them somewhere secure. The publishing company asked me to keep them safe until a courier picks them up on Monday,” he adds.
We enter the cottage and find Dina in the washroom, stuffing toiletries into an overnight bag. I hold up the rubber shoes, and she puts them in the tote bag. As she takes them, I notice another bandage on one of her fingers.
“Another paper cut?” I ask, nodding to the bandage.
“This?” Dina asks, appraising her injured middle finger. “No. I bite my nails when I’m stressed.” She fans out her hand and examines her short nails. “The last twenty-four hours have been extra stressful. I bit this one too low, and it bled.”
Brooks extends his arms, showing Dina the towel, swimsuit, and reading material we collected from the dock.
“The magazines aren’t ours,” Dina explains, pointing to the magazines in Brooks’s arms. “They were here when we arrived at the cottage. I took them down to the dock yesterday and forgot to bring them back.”
Instead of moving them herself, Dina points to the edge of the tub while looking at the magazines, wordlessly instructing Brooks to place them there. Brooks complies and places the magazines on the tub, then Dina takes the remaining pile of stuff from him and drops it into her overnight bag.
“Good thing it didn’t rain,” I comment to break up the weird atmosphere between them.
“There,” she declares, looking around the washroom. “I think that’s everything.”
“Dina, where are the books?” Brooks asks her.
“I figured that’s why you’re here,” Dina replies with a slight huff. “Where will you take them?”
We follow her to the living room, where she points to the boxes of books stacked against a wall. Brooks and Dina discuss possible new locations for the boxes of books. They agree their hotel rooms would be too obvious to anyone hoping to get their hands on them.
Brooks excuses himself to call the hotel to ask if they have a safe or locked room that can accommodate the books.
“I’ll ask Eric if there’s anything the police can do to help store the books,” I suggest, trying to help.
“Eric?” Dina asks.
“Chief Sloane,” I clarify as I text him.
“You two are a couple?” she asks.
“Uh-huh,”
“I knew it,” she gushes. “I could tell when you were here yesterday. He kept touching you and walked you to your car.”
“The books can’t stay in the evidence lock-up because they aren’t evidence,” I say, changing the subject.
“The hotel doesn’t have anywhere large enough to store them,” Brooks announces upon his return.
“I might have space at Knitorious,” I suggest. “I could lock them in the storeroom. They’d blend in with my father’s books. The police chief lives in the upstairs apartment, so it’s pretty safe.”
“That would be perfect!” Brooks says.
“They’d be safe there,” Dina adds.
“It will only be until Monday when the courier picks them up,” Brooks reminds me.
With that settled, Brooks, Dina, me, and a few officers lug the boxes of books to my and Dina’s cars. An officer checks our bags and pockets to ensure we don’t leave with anything not on the list of items approved for removal. As much as Brooks insists he’d love to follow us to the store and help us unload the boxes, he has an important meeting and has to rush back to his hotel. How convenient for him.
Chapter 12
I park as close as possible to the back door at Knitorious and prop open the door with a brick. One by one, Dina and I unload the boxes of books.
“What are you doing, my dear?” Connie asks.
I explain about transferring Claire’s signed books from the cottage to the store for safekeeping.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“We parked here and walked to the book fair,” Connie explains, gesturing to Zoe who is wearing a black spider costume. “It’s a lovely day for a walk. Besides, parking at the venue is a hassle.”
I nod.
“Megan, wouldn’t it make more sense to take the books to chez Martel?” Zoe asks, all four of her right-side spider legs moving in unison when she gestures with her right hand. “You have that newfangled security system there.”
She’s right. I nod, then look at Dina and realize she hasn’t met my stepmother.
“Dina Langley, this is my stepmum, Zoe Martel.” I gesture to my spider-costumed stepmum. “Zoe, this is Dina Langley, she was Claire Rivera’s assistant.” I
gesture to Dina.
Zoe extends four arms, and after a moment of confusion while she determines which arm is real, Dina shakes Zoe’s hand.
Connie and Zoe offer Dina their condolences. Then, after a brief conversation about how much we all love Charlotte’s Web, I explain to Dina that my house has a state-of-the-art security system complete with cameras, motion sensors, and police monitoring.
I don’t bore her with the details about why I have such an elaborate security system, but the short story is someone broke into the house, lay in wait for me, then tried to kill me. As a result, Adam had the house outfitted with a fancy security system to keep Hannah and me safe.
“I think the boxes would fit in the laundry room,” I say.
“That sounds like a better idea,” Dina agrees. “I’ll call Brooks and make sure he’s OK with it.” Dina calls Brooks while I return the few boxes we’ve unloaded to my car. “He’s not answering,” she says, sliding her phone in her pocket.
“Moving the books without telling him feels sneaky,” I say.
“It’ll be fine,” Dina reassures me. “I’ll text him later and explain where we moved them and why.”
Dina, Connie, and Zoe all insist it will be fine, and storing the books at chez Martel is a better idea, so I agree and Dina follows me home in her car.
“Hey, babe.” Eric kisses me hello. “Where are Mitchell and Zoe?”
“They went into town to send flowers to Claire’s family,” I reply.
“Did Sophie go with them?” he asks, looking around his feet where the corgi always rushes to greet him.
I nod. “This is her fifth walk today.” I exaggerate with a chuckle. “She loves it when her grandparents visit. We didn’t expect you for dinner with the case and all.”
“I don’t want to miss dinner with your dad and Zoe,” he explains. “I can go back to work later.” He jerks his thumb toward the laundry room. “What’s with the boxes?”
I explain how offering to store Claire’s signed books at Knitorious morphed into storing them here. “I wish you’d shown up an hour ago,” I tease. “We could have used your muscle to help carry them into the house.”