Dead Editor File (The Taylor Browning Cozy Mysteries Book 1)

by G G Collins

  “If I find out you were with him, you’re history!” Jessica said.

  Virginia didn’t hear Jessica’s last rejoin. She was already rushing up the stairs.

  Candi followed her with her eyes. She’d never seen Virginia move that fast.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Detective Sanchez entered the reception area.

  “I’d like to see Mrs. Endicott?”

  Candi glanced in the direction of the conference room. “She’s working in there. I’ll buzz her.”

  “Detective Sanchez to see you.”

  Jessica stared at the detective with decided irritation. The last thing she wanted to do was talk with him again. Did he never stop asking questions?

  “I was hoping you’d have a few minutes.”

  “Very well, let’s go to my office.” She led the way upstairs. Sanchez couldn’t help but appreciate the view.

  Endicott’s office had undergone a rebirth. Gone were all the dark, heavy wood furniture, the rug, even the pictures. The white stucco walls had been painted soft rose-beige, the hardwood floor had been sanded and lightened. Pale oak Mexican style furniture with green accents rested easily on Native American rugs. Every possible effort had been made to wipe out any trace of the former occupant. It was a beautiful room flooded with light from two large east facing balcony doors. Gauze curtains billowed delicately in the breeze. Sanchez knew it had cost a small fortune to redecorate on such short notice, but then Jessica Endicott was the benefactor of a large business inheritance. She could well afford the renovations and priority service.

  Jessica crossed the room and stood behind her desk; the position of power.

  “What can I do for you?” she said with barely concealed spite.

  “I’ve talked with the coroner. I thought you’d like to know the results.”

  “Of course.” She studied a costly manicured fingernail.

  Sanchez consulted his notebook. “Preston Endicott, Jr. succumbed to a lethal poison called convallatoxin, similar to digitalis. It was somehow ingested, we think by licking it from the adhesive on an envelope because no traces of it were found in the coffee left on his desk. Since it only takes a minuscule amount of this poison to kill it could have been administered via the envelope. He may have lived as long as forty minutes. He was probably quite ill prior to his death.”

  The thought of Preston suffering and in pain was pleasurable to Jessica, but instead of commenting she asked, “What is convallatoxin?” She pronounced it correctly.

  “It’s lily of the valley; a flower.”

  “You’re telling me my ex-husband was killed with a flower?”

  Sanchez watched her reaction closely. If she was lying, she was an expert. He thought her adroit at many things.

  “More likely the leaves, which are the most toxic part of the plant, were brewed like a tea and then applied to the envelope. It could have been painted on with a brush.”

  Jessica sat down. “That’s incredible.”

  “There were some envelopes removed from his office on the day of the murder. Several queries apparently. Alise admitted to mailing two envelopes; his electric bill and one private letter. The queries were removed from the office without our permission or knowledge. We don’t know, and probably never will know, if the larger envelopes she mailed were those on his desk.”

  “The personal letter was addressed to you, Mrs. Endicott. You included it for your alimony payment.”

  “What! You think I killed Preston?” She shoved her chair back violently.

  “Detective Sanchez, it was no secret I hated my ex-husband. I hated him while we were married and I still hate him now that the debased scumbag is dead! But I didn’t kill him, though I will be eternally grateful to whomever did. Anymore questions?”

  “Yes. Do you still have the envelope and its contents? You should have received it by now.”

  “If the envelope in question is the check I received from Preston, yes I have received it. I threw the envelope in the trash.”

  “One last question?”

  “Yes detective.” Jessica clearly wanted him to leave.

  “Do you have any lily of the valley growing on your property?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m not a botanist.”

  “Thank you Mrs. Endicott. That’s all for now, but do stay in town.” He made to leave but had one more thing to say.

  “We’ll be going through your trash.”

  Jessica placed both hands on her desk and leaned toward the detective. She enunciated each word with precision, “Knock yourself out.”

  In the hall Sanchez made a brief note: cool customer.

  * * *

  By late afternoon the coroner’s report had spread like a mountain wildfire, thanks to Jim. Jessica had been discussing the mystery book covers with him when conversation turned to the latest news. Jim was quick to inform the rest of the staff.

  “That lets me off the hook,” Jim said. “I wouldn’t know a lily of the mountain, er, valley from a posy—whatever that is.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Taylor replied. “Even I have lily of the valley growing on the north side of my house. Almost anyone could have access to it; it’s a very common ground cover.”

  “At least Sanchez and his lackeys won’t be asking anymore pointed questions about art supplies. I haven’t used that stuff in months.”

  A few minutes later Taylor walked by Donald’s office on the way to the copy machine. She was about to say hello when she noticed him furtively place something in a drawer. She leaned back out of sight and watched him close the drawer, take out a handkerchief, and wipe his face.

  Maybe Donald invited some investigation. He was in a sweat about something. She could do a little checking herself. Her curiosity about Donald was too much to ignore. She wondered momentarily about curiosity and cats. Would Oscar advise her to mind her own business? Until the murderer was found she would continue to be under suspicion too. If she could shorten the time, wouldn’t it be worth it? Sanchez didn’t think she was in any real danger. He asked her not to talk up the contents of Dominique’s manuscript, not get a bodyguard. She was sure his request, that she be careful, was a placation.

  It was almost four o’clock, not much point in trying to get anymore work done. Taylor thought she’d run by Donald’s house on the way home. He would be diligently working until at least five. This might be the opportunity she needed to learn more about the strange reclusive man.

  The Lovitt’s lived on the fringe of the city limits. It was one of the few houses in this quaint neighborhood that was not adobe. The white Victorian house stood out among all the brown ones. It was quite captivating when viewed singly if a bit time-worn. It wore a blue metal roof and pretty lattice porch. The gardens were a riot of fading blooms. The untended flowers must have been a delight in earlier days.

  Mrs. Lovitt answered the door after several minutes. She methodically struggled with the lock as though she didn’t quite remember how to work it.

  “Mrs. Lovitt, I’m Taylor Browning. I work with Donald. We met once at the grocery store. I was visiting a friend in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hello if I’m not interrupting.”

  “Yes dear. Come in.” A welcome smile accentuated her liquid doe eyes which seemed to sparkle from within. Taylor followed her as Mrs. Lovitt walked stiffly to a chintz covered wingback chair.

  “This room is lovely, Mrs. Lovitt.” It was true even though the it was shabby. Wasn’t it the English who believed that until a chair or rug showed some bare threads, it wasn’t finished? It was a lived-in house, a real home.

  “Thank you. Please sit down.” She waved to a small sofa placed squarely under the front window. The russet cushions were faded from strong sunlight.

  “I noticed your flowers coming up the walk. Are you the gardener?”

  “Oh yes, at least I used to be. I mostly work in my greenhouse now. The flower beds got to be more than I could take care of the last few years.”

&nb
sp; “These are beautiful.” Taylor sniffed appreciatively the white narcissus growing in an antique bowl placed on the table next to her. Their fragrance filled the room.

  “Would you like to see the greenhouse?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “This way dear.”

  The conservatory was small but functional. It had shades that could be drawn across the roof to protect tender growing things. It was situated off the breakfast nook which must have made it a pleasant place to eat. Blooming plants were everywhere, hanging from beams and resting in peat-filled work tables. There were bearing tomato plants and a variety of fresh herbs ready for a salad; but no lily of the valley anywhere.

  “Mrs. Lovitt, this is wonderful.”

  “Donald brings me new plants all the time. Like the herbs. So nice to have fresh parsley.”

  “You must spend a lot of time working here.” Taylor said.

  “Not as much as before. Doctor says my heart isn’t what it used to be.” She tapped her chest. “Still keeps ticking though.”

  “Oh, look at the time.” Taylor said. “I’ve got to be going. Thank you for showing me your plants. I hope I see you again soon. Certainly for the office Christmas party.”

  “That would be lovely dear.”

  Several pictures hung near the front door; Taylor stopped to look at them. “Is this a family portrait?”

  “Yes.” She pointed out herself and a much younger Donald. Her parents, brother, and two sisters were in the old photo along with their children. She mentioned each by name.

  “I’ve always liked these old round frames,” Mrs. Lovitt said. “I don’t think they make them anymore.”

  As Taylor pulled away from the curb she felt guilty for intruding into the kind lady’s life. She hoped Donald was still working. She didn’t want to meet him on the street or be caught snooping. Donald seemed an okay guy. Still, everyone was under suspicion. But without lily of the valley, that seemed to eliminate him as the killer.

  The oddest thing occurred to Taylor during the drive home. Everyone in the Lovitt family photo had a striking resemblance. Everyone, that is, except Donald.

  Chapter 9

  Hey Browning,” Jim said over the phone. “That jazz trio you like so well is playing tonight at La Fonda. Why don’t I pick you up and let’s take a listen?”

  This sounded a lot like a date. Taylor wasn’t sure she wanted to. She hadn’t felt comfortable dating since Dave died. The familiar ache returned as it always did when she thought of him. It amazed her that she continued to live after he was gone. On the other hand, Dave would want her to go on living and to enjoy life.

  “I’d love to go. Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll be ready.”

  She changed into jeans and her most comfortable shoes. It was getting cool at night so she pulled on a long oversized burgundy sweater. She fed Oscar without the meal ritual and knew she would pay. Oscar loved his routine. After all, if it worked the first time it would continue to work: feline logic. He’d get into mischief while she was gone.

  “We don’t always get what we want,” she told him. “I think Mick Jagger sang that long ago.” He gave her a quizzical expression as if to say, what the heck? She rubbed his now frowning head. She thought Oscar would not appreciate the Rolling Stones.

  * * *

  The current La Fonda was rebuilt in 1920 after the old one was torn down. It is the only hotel located on the plaza at the end of the Old Santa Fe Trail. The original inn was entrenched even before the opening of the Santa Fe Trail. The lobby became a popular watering hole where virtually every visitor in Santa Fe put in an appearance. The historical ambiance gives the feeling of walking through another time.

  The Bell Tower was a great spot to put up your feet, throw back a few and watch an incoming storm or glorious sunset. The tiny newsstand was frequently packed, and there is a constant flow of humans into the many shops.

  Taylor and Jim walked through the mingling mass of people across the Mexican tile. The dark heavy beams overhead were lightened by windows surrounding the restaurant in the center of the hotel. It had originally been an interior courtyard before it was enclosed with fanciful painted windowed walls and skylights.

  “Oh great, looks like the band’s on a break,” Jim said.

  “That’s okay,” Taylor said. “Gives me time to start on one of their margaritas.”

  They settled in at a table and waited for the show to begin.

  “Did you find any lily of the valley growing around your house?” Taylor teased.

  “Very funny. Since I don’t know what it looks like, it would be impossible for me to tell.

  “I’m sure the police will check all our yards. They seem to be thorough.”

  “Especially good old Vic Sanchez. He really ticked me off asking questions about paint thinners and palette knives. Artists have a real killing arsenal. Course, most of us just want to be left alone to do our work. A peaceable lot, we are.”

  “Oh Detective Sanchez isn’t so bad. He’s just doing his job.”

  “What?” Jim almost sneered. “Do I detect an attraction to the conscientious detective? My dear Taylor, is this a grownup thing or something more akin to schoolgirl mooning?”

  “Give me a break Jim. You can be so inappropriate at times.”

  “Sorry, wouldn’t want to be inappropriate. What is it about the guy you like?”

  “He seems to care about people, about his job. I think it’s important to him—finding the killer.”

  “As far as I’m concerned the killer did the world a big favor. Jessica’s going to be a lot easier to work with.”

  “I never had any problems with Preston.”

  “Given enough time, you would have.”

  She let the remark pass. She didn’t think Virginia had any problems with Preston either. She wasn’t sure about anyone else, other than the revolving door of assistants.

  Guests at one of the tables seemed to be having a high time. They became more vocal as minutes passed.

  “I think they’ve had a few too many,” Taylor nodded towards the boisterous bunch.

  “Tourists,” Jim said with disgust.

  “Oh, they probably act the same way at home. People don’t usually undergo complete personality changes because they’re on vacation.”

  “I’ve lived here a lot longer than you. Trust me.”

  “Jim, why is it you always seem to find the worst in people?” Taylor was regretting her decision to go out with him. She was missing an evening with Oscar purring and cooing all over her. Another evening at home would not have felt so confrontational.

  “Just being inappropriate again,” Jim said. “I’ll try to watch it.”

  Taylor ignored him and set about to people watch. Two women talking intently in the far corner caught her attention. No, intently was not strong enough. Their conversation seemed urgent. She couldn’t help but notice the familiarity of one of them. A dark woman sedately dressed, yet with a flourish. It was Dominique! Not the Dominique she knew. This Dominique lacked all the drama of dress but not of personality. Her gestures had given her away.

  Dominique was trying, for once, not to be noticed. Perhaps she’d come here thinking no one who knew her would see her at a tourist hangout. Taylor did not recognize the other woman.

  Before she could reflect further, a Mariachi band walked on the small stage and began playing.

  “Oh no. That’s not the jazz group. The paper must have been wrong.”

  “I’m hardly worried about the band right now.”

  “That would indicate you are worried about something else. Do tell.”

  “Dominique’s here.”

  “Where?”

  “Over there. Clear at the back of the room. See her. There with that other woman.”

  “I think you’ve had too much of the green stuff. That’s not Dominique, not our glitzy author.”

  “Watch her. You’ll see I’m right.”

  He squinted across the room at the t
wo women.

  “Maybe it’s her, but why would she be here?” He looked questioningly at Taylor.

  “Can’t answer that one. But I’d sure like to know. I’m going to see if I can get closer without her seeing me.”

  “Taylor, why don’t you leave the detecting to our man Sanchez?”

  The band struck up a rousing tune as Taylor headed across the crowded bar. Someone at the rowdy table yelled, “Snake dance!”

  Before Taylor could cross in front of the stage, at least a dozen people from that table formed a line and began kicking and shouting in time with the music. The band members seemed surprised and then got into the spirit. It was one of those crazy moments in time when everyone went nuts at once. All around the room others were joining the line. The din was unbelievable. Things would not have gotten totally out of hand if Taylor had stayed an observer.

  “Miss, another drink,” a man in a business suit drunkenly mistook her for a server. She ignored him and walked on, her eyes fixed on Dominique.

  “Hey!” The drunk reached for her.

  Taylor walked faster. She heard the chair scrape behind her. Was the guy going to make a scene? There was no going back, but the growing snake of dancing barflies was in front of her. Was there a way out the back of the bar? She had no idea.

  “Right here, young lady,” a middle-aged man said breaking the chain momentarily for her.

  An arm grabbed her by her wrist. She pulled away.

  “Hey buddy,” the snake dancer said. “She can dance if she wants to.”

  “How about my drink?” asked the man tugging on her arm.

  Taylor wasn’t too eager to see his face, but she thought it might be important to be able to identify him. He was good looking, blonde with blue eyes. A real heartthrob, but with something off-putting about him she recoiled. Some people should never drink.