by Reagan Davis
“Did Claire lock herself in the den to escape the argument?” I ask.
“No,” Dina replies, looking me in the eye.
“So, you didn’t expose Claire to peanut oil then lock her in the den, forcing her to use a felting needle to pick the lock and save herself?”
Dina sits back and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “How could I, when the only key was inside the den with her?”
“You’re the only witness who claims there was only one key,” I challenge. “No one else can remember. The cleaner didn’t notice how many keys were there. The landlord didn’t notice how many keys were there when he inspected the cottage between renters. The previous tenants aren’t sure whether there was one key or two because they claim they didn’t lock the den during their stay.”
“There you go.” Dina shrugs. “You can’t prove there was a second key.”
“You’re right,” I accede. “But people don’t notice things unless they change. If there are always two keys and one key is missing, it would stand out, and the cleaner or the landlord would notice. If both keys were there, neither would notice because nothing was out of place.”
Dina shakes her head and laughs. “I don’t think your theory will be admissible in court.” She lurches forward and puts her forearms on my table, causing me to flinch. From the corner of my eye, April startles behind the counter. “What motive would I have to kill Claire? Why destroy a job I love sooner than I have to?”
“Maybe you were so angry that you weren’t thinking straight,” I suggest, hoping to give her an opening to confess. “Or maybe this super-secret contract you and Claire had would be void if she died.” I slide my chair back a little in case my next statement tips Dina over the edge. “Or maybe with the rights to Familia, you wouldn’t have to worry about finding another job.”
“I already told you the rights weren’t Claire’s,” she snarls. “Claire and I were friends. We’d worked together since before the first book came out. I wouldn’t kill my friend.”
“Claire told me you weren’t friends,” I counter. “If I recall, her exact words were, we’re barely friends.”
“I would never put Familia at risk.” Dina bangs the table with her fist, her face flushed with angry heat. “I love the Familia series just as much as Claire did.”
“I think you’re lying,” I accuse.
“What?” she says through clenched teeth.
“I think you love the Familia series more than Claire did.” Confusion clouds Dina’s face. “Because you’re the author and Claire was your assistant.”
“You sound ridiculous,” she hisses, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Utter nonsense.”
“Let’s look at the facts,” I suggest, counting on my fingers. “The author of Familia is a needle felter. There is zero evidence Claire was a needle felter, whereas you have needle felting supplies in your backpack.” I lower one finger. “Claire studied graphic design, and you have a Master of Fine Arts degree in creative writing.” I lower another finger. “Claire never talked about her dream of being a writer until after she released the first Familia book. You are a lifelong booklover who studied writing.” I lower my third finger. “Claire wasn’t much of a reader except for gossip magazines. You are a bookworm and always have multiple books and ebooks with you.” I lower my fourth finger.
Dina holds up her hands in surrender. “OK, Nancy Drew, you win.” She laughs. “I’ll admit it. I’m the ghost writer behind the Familia books. All of them.”
A ghost writer is someone who is paid to write for the named author. Ghost writing is surprisingly common. It’s almost always a secret because ghost writers aren’t credited for their work, and they sign contracts swearing them to secrecy about what they write and for whom. Fun fact: all the Nancy Drew books were ghost written by different, uncredited authors. The credited author, Carolyn Keene, is a pen name for the many authors who contributed to the series.
“Why?” I ask. “Why didn’t you take credit for your own work? You’re such a talented writer.”
After a deep sigh and contemplative look that makes me think she’s not sure how much to tell me, Dina runs her hands through her blonde hair and speaks.
“I was very young when I thought up the idea for the Familia series,” she explains. “I wrote the first three books when I was still a teenager. Literary agents wouldn’t take me seriously. Most of them didn’t believe I was the author because of my age. When I approached Brooks, I lied and told him I worked for the author, so he wouldn’t write me off because of my age like everyone else. He liked my books, and I didn’t want to ruin it by meeting him in person and having him realize how young I was. So, I hired a lawyer who helped me find and hire Claire. She had the skills to act as my author assistant, and she had the perfect personality to represent the books. We hired her away from your father.” Dina touches my hand, and I suppress a wince and fight the urge to yank it away. “I always felt guilty about that. Especially after your father accused us of stealing his idea.”
“Did you steal his idea?” I ask.
“No,” Dina insists, “and I can prove it. By the time I hired Claire, I had already written the first three books in the series. My series predates your father’s idea.” She shrugs. “It was an unfortunate coincidence.” I slide my hand out from under hers. “Anyway,” she says. “The lawyer was the only person who knew about our arrangement. Everything happened so fast after Claire was onboard. Brooks met her and took her on as a client. We got a publishing deal. Then the first book was released, and it was an enormous success. We were stuck. The world believed Claire was the author, and I was her assistant. It terrified us that if we told the truth, the fans might not trust us anymore, and it would ruin Familia.”
“Claire must have wanted to end your arrangement badly if she announced the end of the Familia series without checking with you first.”
“She wanted out for the past couple of years,” Dina admits, “but I kept convincing her to stay. Claire started to believe our lie. She wanted to write her own books and publish them under her own name. The woman had written nothing longer than an email, but she knew that because she was Claire Rivera, best-selling author in over twenty countries, whatever she wrote would earn money. She would have published poorly written books and earned money because of the success she had with my writing. She was planning to profit from my hard work. I couldn’t let that happen.” Dina stops talking, like she realizes she might say something she couldn’t take back.
“How did you stop her?” April asks, leaning on the counter, engrossed in Dina’s version of events.
She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “You can’t prove I killed Claire! Anyway, how could I have killed Claire? I was sitting on the dock when she died. There were eyewitnesses, the neighbours saw me. And I was on the phone with my parents.”
“I think you went down to the dock after Claire’s anaphylaxis started, or maybe even after she died,” I hypothesize. “I think you already laced the magazine pages with peanut oil and left them in the den where Claire would find them. You knew Claire would read them because she loved gossip magazines. When Claire ran into the den and locked the door to escape your argument, she flipped through the pages of at least one magazine and ingested the peanut oil when she licked her fingers to turn the pages. I think you held the door closed from the outside so Claire couldn’t escape and save herself. She probably thought the key wasn’t working and tried to pick the lock with the felting needle you left in the den.”
“Oooooh, you’re so close,” Dina says, her words laced with a bizarre sense of smug satisfaction. “I sensed Claire was planning to do something drastic to end our arrangement. I bought a bunch of mind-numbing gossip magazines and laced them with peanut oil, just like you said. I scattered them around the cottage when we arrived. I wore gloves when I touched them so they could never be traced back to me. Claire didn’t go near the magazines. She kept playing games on her stupid phone and texting her lame frie
nds.”
Dina rolls her eyes. “She’d do anything to avoid reading. Anyway, when she posted the social media message that destroyed my career, we had a huge argument. It was nasty, and we both said horrible things. Claire ran into the den to escape and locked the door. After we had time to calm down, I knocked on the door. She didn’t answer. I used the second key to let myself in. Claire was in the throes of anaphylaxis. She couldn’t speak. She was writhing on the floor, looking at me with desperate, pleading eyes. I told her I would get her EpiPen. I promised I would be right back. I put on latex gloves, took her phone and both keys, and left. I locked the door behind me. I walked around the cottage and gathered up the magazines I’d laced with peanut oil. Then I got the peanut oil from my room. I put my ear up to the den door, and it was silent. I knocked and called her name. Nothing. I unlocked the door.
“I promised myself if Claire was still alive, I would save her. She wasn’t. I had to squeeze past the door because she died right behind it. I left her phone and one key on the desk, then removed the peanut-oil-laced magazine she touched. I locked the door behind me with the second key. At the dock, I took off the rubber gloves, placed the key and the small jar of peanut oil inside them, and tied them shut. I skipped rocks while I figured out what to do next. The neighbours came out. We said hi. They went back to their cottage, and while I was throwing rocks, I threw the glove into the lake, then phoned my parents. I wasn’t sure how to dispose of the magazines. I decided not to. My fingerprints aren’t on them. I made sure I never touched them. The police will never link them to me.”
“Yes, we will,” Eric says from the doorway between the bakery and kitchen.
He tells Dina that she’s under arrest and reads out her rights. Two other officers cuff and search her.
The police escort Dina to a waiting patrol car, and April and I fall into each other’s arms. We scold each other for taking risks; her for refusing to leave when I gave her the chance, and me for goading a disturbed killer instead of waiting for the police to arrive.
“Bean! Never scare me like that again!” My dad chastises as he puts his arms around April and me. “I can only handle this much excitement in a book, not my daughter’s life!”
“Why are you here? You were supposed to stay with Sophie,” I say.
“Would you stay with the corgi if Hannah ran down the street chasing a murderer?” he asks.
He makes a good point.
Eric asks April and me if we’re OK, then tells us we need to give statements.
“Well done, Eric!” My dad hugs him, which takes Eric, and the rest of us, by surprise. “Good job, son!”
April, Eric, and I exchange a look in silent agreement never to tell Adam about Mitchell calling Eric, son.
“Thank you, sir, but I can’t take all the credit. I have a brilliant partner.” He winks at me.
Chapter 25
Monday, April 26th
I trap a crab sashimi with my chopsticks and dip it into the soya sauce before popping it into my mouth.
“I’m glad we finally got to have our sushi lunch,” my dad says between salmon-avocado rolls.
“I’m glad you extended your trip for a few days so we could make it happen,” I reply.
“I was on a roll,” he says, laughing. He holds up a salmon-avocado roll between his chopsticks. “Pardon the pun.” I groan at his attempt to be punny. “I didn’t want to interrupt my flow by packing up and driving away,” he says. “Can you believe I finished the first draft of the next book and submitted it early for a change? They’re probably still in shock at my publisher’s office.” We laugh.
“Whatever the reason, it was nice to have you and Zoe around for a few extra days,” I say.
“We might be back sooner than you think. Eric said if Dina goes to trial, I might have to testify.” He sounds excited at the prospect.
“It was just a warning,” I tell him. “I’ve been a witness in more than one murder case since Eric and I met, and I haven’t stepped inside a courtroom yet.” I shrug one shoulder. My dad lets out a disappointed sigh. “He thinks Dina will take a deal,” I say. “The evidence against her is solid.”
After Dina confessed, the police searched the lake at the rental cottage and found the latex gloves with the key to the den and the bottle of peanut oil inside. Both the key and the bottle had Dina’s fingerprints on them.
When he searched her credit card transactions, Eric discovered where and when Dina purchased the magazines. The store where she bought them provided surveillance video of her purchase to the police.
The cleaner and landlord at the rental cottage confirmed there were no magazines at the cottage prior to Claire’s and Dina’s arrival. The landlord has a strict rule about removing personal items and food left by previous renters before the new renters arrive. The cleaner confirmed she strictly enforces this rule and removed any trace of the previous renters.
When the cyber crimes unit searched Dina’s computer, they found manuscripts for three unpublished Familia books. Dina admitted she planned to claim she found the manuscripts after Claire’s death. She hoped to convince the publisher to publish them posthumously, extending the life of the Familia book series. Sadly, it’s unlikely they’ll ever get published now.
The lawyer who helped Dina find and hire Claire to be the credited author of the Familia series provided a copy of their contract to the police. Dina was telling the truth; she was the author, and Claire was her assistant, whose duties included being the credited author of the books and the public face of the series. Claire was well paid for her part in the scheme, and she and Dina shared the rights to the Familia series, with a clause that, in the event of Claire’s death, Claire’s half of the film rights would revert to Dina. Selling the film rights would have been a complication that neither woman wanted. It would have risked exposing their arrangement.
“If there is a trial, will the British woman fly back to testify?” my dad asks.
“You mean Piper Peters?” I confirm.
He nods. “Yes, the lady with the mourning attire. Such an intriguing persona.” He winks. “She might inspire a character in a future book.”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ll have to ask Eric. Maybe she could testify over video chat or something.”
Piper avoided charges in relation to the break-and-enter at Knitorious in exchange for her immediate departure to England and a signed oath that she won’t come back. If she does, she’ll face charges for the crimes she committed. Eric was so eager for her to leave that he confirmed with the airline she had boarded her flight.
“What about Claire’s agent?” my dad asks, dipping a California roll into some soya sauce. “I hope he faces the consequences of breaking into your store.”
“He won’t,” I tell my dad. “I don’t want him to. He didn’t hurt anyone or damage anything. I just want to put this entire book fair behind us and move on.”
Piper’s partner-in-crime, Brooks Wiley, turned himself into police as soon as he heard about Dina’s arrest.
True to her word, Jules Janssen and her entourage cooperated with the investigation and provided statements that eliminated Brooks as having any involvement in Claire’s death. He wasn’t charged with breaking into Knitorious because I asked Eric to let it go; Brooks wasn’t a threat to me, and the last thing I want to do is give another statement. He also avoided charges for his role in conspiring with Piper to steal the books because that would require Piper’s testimony, and Eric isn’t keen to engage her ever again. Last I heard, Brooks was working and travelling with Jules; he’s become part of her entourage.
“Are Brooks and the movie star still an item?” my dad asks.
“I have no idea,” I admit. “But Adam said she called him to discuss making a movie in Harmony Lake.”
I tell my dad how Jules Janssen gave up her pursuit of the Familia film rights and, instead, is working on a film inspired by Claire’s murder. She contacted Adam to talk to him about filming part of it in Harmony La
ke. The film is a fictionalized version of events. They’ll change names and places to avoid lawsuits and such. Adam says Jules plans to play the role of Dina. I wonder who will play me?
“I wonder who will play me?” my dad asks; great minds think alike.
“Why would you be in it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?” he answers my question with a question.
I check the time on my phone. “We better get a wiggle on, Dad. Zoe is waiting for you, and if you don’t hit the road soon, you’ll find yourself driving at night.”
“I don’t enjoy driving at night,” he says, shoving the last piece of sushi in his mouth.
We walk back to Knitorious because that’s where I parked the car, but when we get there, everyone is waiting outside in the parking lot.
“I thought we were leaving from chez Martel?” my dad asks Zoe.
“We were, but I grew tired of waiting for you,” she says. “The car is packed, and we have to get on the road. We don’t want to stop for the night at a hotel.”
“I’m not doing that again.” He chuckles. “Last time we ended up in the middle of a murder investigation.”
Dad and Zoe take turns saying goodbye to everyone, starting with Sophie, who is excited that her favourite people are all here. Next, they hug and kiss Connie and Archie, then April and Tamara, who give them a box of baked goodies for the road. Next, they move on to Adam. Zoe gives Adam a warm hug and kisses him on the cheek. My dad shakes Adam’s hand and pats his shoulder—which is practically a hug—and thanks him again for his help. Zoe gives me a tight squeeze and promises they’ll come back before fall. I tell her I’ll hold her to it. I thank her for all the cooking and mothering she always squeezes into our visits. She moves onto Eric and gives him a hug and cheek kiss. When my dad hugs me goodbye, he slips a small USB drive into my hand.
“What’s this?” I ask, holding up the drive.