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

by G G Collins

  “Enough,” shouted Sanchez still holding Jessica at bay with one arm.

  “That’s it?” He nodded to Lee who was barely concealed a smile.

  “That’s the gist.”

  “Mrs. Endicott,” Sanchez said. “Time to go.”

  “Everything all right?” the woman at the front desk asked, alarmed, as Sanchez alternately pushed and pulled Jessica through the outer office.

  “No problem,” Sanchez growled.

  Donald and Virginia gave Sanchez enough time to get Jessica out of the office, then left. When the door closed Lee leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head.

  “What a hoot!” His receptionist wondered what he was laughing about.

  Chapter 14

  Dominique struggled out of her sports car in the bookstore parking lot where Taylor had scheduled her signing. The freshly printed copy of her manuscript was crammed in her jumbo bag. She was put out and inconvenienced that Taylor had lost her manuscript. What kind of publishing house would lose an author’s work?

  She hoped Taylor was right about the tourist traffic. She’d much rather be signing at a major mystery bookstore than an indie here in Santa Fe. It seemed unlikely she would make gas money back home.

  Kokopelli Bookseller, located on Paseo de Peralta was a favorite in the city. Originally a home, it had once housed a restaurant and was full of paneled rooms, walls of books, sliding ladders and fireplaces. A cozy coffeehouse at the back caught the morning sun. It served soups and sandwiches made from fresh-baked bread and delectable desserts. Thursday through Saturday evenings a classical guitarist provided entertainment for cappuccino sippers in the courtyard. The store cat, End Pages, resided in what had been the living room of the house. His bed was situated comfortably near the large marble fireplace. During business hours he greeted customers from the checkout counter.

  Early, Dominique breezed through the courtyard and entered by way of the coffeehouse which at this time of day was about half-full of coffee drinkers, some waiting for her, sitting at well-worn wooden tables and brightly painted chairs. She walked past the only row of booths, the highly polished bar burgeoning with muffins and croissants. She paused before the door to the kitchen. The sign tacked to the swinging door read “Employees Only.” Dominique sniffed. Not one to let stupid signs or health laws stop her, she pushed open the door and entered the compact stainless steel kitchen. She dumped her purse and manuscript on the nearest counter and rummaged through a cabinet in search of tea.

  “May I help you?”

  Dominique whirled in surprise.

  * * *

  “I’ll get another copy of Dominique’s manuscript today,” Taylor told Detective Sanchez over the phone. “She’s doing a book signing at Kokopelli this afternoon. I’m going by after it’s over. She’s promised to bring a copy with her.”

  Candi buzzed her. Usually she buzzed once, but today she was insistent.

  “Can you hold a moment? Candi needs to tell me something.”

  Taylor put Sanchez on hold and answered Candi’s call.

  “Taylor, Jo at Kokopelli is on line three. She’s frantic. Dominique hasn’t shown for the signing.”

  “I’ll talk with her.”

  “Jo, this is Taylor. What’s up?” Taylor listened intently for several minutes, hung up the phone and then pushed the speaker button.

  “Victor,” she said as she groped for her keys in her purse. “I have to run over to the bookstore. Dominique is a no-show for her signing.”

  “Is she normally late?” he asked.

  “Only for meetings with her publisher. She’s never late for her adoring public.”

  “Perhaps I should meet you there.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. She probably just had car trouble. I’ll call you when I have the manuscript.”

  Taylor turned the Mustang east onto Marcy Street and headed for Paseo de Peralta. It was a narrow twisting street at this point but widened to four lanes at Alameda. The bookstore was located near the intersection of Old Santa Fe Trail. It had one of the best breakfasts in town. Her mouth watered at the thought of its fruit frappe.

  Taylor spotted Dominique’s white Ferrari as she pulled into the parking lot. She was certain it was hers because of the vanity plate: MysWriter. She waved at a tan car leaving via the same entrance. It looked familiar but she was embarrassed she couldn’t remember the who drove it.

  Dominique must have arrived while Taylor was en route. Since she was here she wanted to go in and see how the signing was going. Instead of going through the coffeehouse, Taylor took the brick path through the herb garden. The owner and head chef insisted on only the freshest herbs, fruits and vegetables for his kitchen and most were locally grown. It was a delightful tangled affair, much like an old English garden. Fruit trees grew in the courtyard and all around the house. In spring, the blooms were heady with fragrance.

  Jo, the store manager, met her at the front door wringing her hands.

  “Where is she? People are already here. They won’t hang around all afternoon.”

  The bookstore was lovely. An antique desk had been set up in the large center hallway stacked high with Dominique’s books. A few steps away a table was set with punch and an assortment of cookies and pastries. The tablecloth was lavender, Dominique’s signature color and the imprint color on each of her books. No expense had been spared to make this an exciting event.

  “But Jo.” Taylor was surprised. “Her car’s right out back.”

  “How can that be? She’s not here.”

  “Have you looked throughout the store?” Taylor asked.

  “Well no, we didn’t think there was a need,” Jo said pushing back a silver lock of hair. “We assumed she wasn’t here.” She dispatched two employees to look for the author; one to check the main floor and one upstairs. She and Taylor walked to the back.

  “I’ll look in the dining room and courtyard. Would you mind taking the kitchen?” Jo asked.

  Taylor nodded.” She had been in this kitchen before, during another signing. It was fabulous. Even a non-cooking person could admire the craftsmanship of the pine cabinets, the clean stainless counters and the high quality Viking ovens. Every imaginable size copper pan hung from the rack above. Only one very small pan still had its shine, the rest were tarnished with use.

  The island counter was set with a porcelain tea set. Someone had prepared tea for Dominique who wouldn’t be caught dead drinking punch. The tea pot was cool to the touch. A saucer held a single spoon. She lifted it and a few drops of tea ran off the spoon and stained the saucer.

  A bulky handbag rested on the counter nearest the door, but no Dominique. Taylor was about to open it to check for identification, when Jo yelled from the dining room.

  “She in there? No trace of her out here.”

  “No signs of life,” Taylor started back to the door when something lying on the floor caught her eye. Upon closer examination Taylor saw it was a handle from a tea cup, part of the set. She crawled along the counter looking for the rest of the cup in the toe space. That’s when she noticed a shoe sticking out behind the island work counter.

  She recognized the expensive Italian shoe. Dominique was fond of them.

  “Oh good God!” she gasped, horrified. She reached for the counter and slowly pulled herself up. The handle dropped and shattered on the floor. Taylor moved in slow motion. She sucked in a small amount of air. Her lungs didn’t seem to be working.

  “Jo. In here!”

  Jo burst through the door aware of the change in Taylor’s voice. Taylor slumped against the island, arms outstretched, palms down, very still. She looked at Jo.

  “Don’t come over here. Call nine-one-one. Ask them to send Detective Sanchez and an ambulance.”

  “Is she?” Jo couldn’t finish.

  “She has to be.”

  Taylor could hardly bear another look. The first had been quite enough. Slowly she squatted down trying not to disturb anything. She picked up Dominique’
s wrist and felt for a pulse. She shook her head.

  The once beautiful face of Dominique was permanently contorted in fear and pain. Her staring eyes pleaded for help that would not come. On the floor near her was a shattered cup. Tea splattered the refrigerator door. Taylor backed away feeling shaky. She walked across the kitchen on wobbly legs and picked up the handbag.

  Two pieces of white letter-size paper were inside the purse. The manuscript pages where 384 and 385; the last two pages of Dominique’s new book. Before she could think about what this meant, Jo ushered the paramedics into the kitchen. Through the open door, Taylor saw two of Jo’s employees sitting at a table in the dining room. Both were young and looked about to run. Taylor didn’t blame them. Running had great appeal at the moment.

  Two police officers entered with Detective Sanchez. He was all business. Taylor was so glad to see him; someone who knew what to do.

  “You found the body?” he asked, now his official self.

  Taylor nodded and wished for a little more Victor and less detective. She left the police to their grim chores and carried Dominique’s handbag out of the kitchen where she joined Jo at a table.

  By this time the police had locked down the store and were taking statements from everyone. An officer stood at both entrances turning away Dominique’s fans. From the look of the steady stream of people, the signing would have been very successful. Dominique would have loved it.

  “You two up to some questions?” Victor asked seating himself.

  “Anything to get this over with,” Jo said.

  “Tell me what happened,” Victor said. “And was there any suspicious people coming or going?”

  “No,” Jo said. “Everyone today appeared to be a customer, some are regulars, but of course, I didn’t see everyone because I was working in the office.”

  “You didn’t see Ms. Boucher come in? Had you searched for her?”

  Jo told Victor what little she knew. “Since I didn’t know Dominique’s car was in the lot there was no reason why we would have searched the bookstore before Taylor arrived.

  “Who made the tea?” Victor asked.

  “No one,” Jo said. “We were waiting until Dominique arrived. I set out the tea set, but hadn’t made it yet.”

  “Someone made it,” Taylor said. “But it was cold.”

  Sanchez looked at her, eyebrow raised. Taylor told him what she saw in the kitchen; every painful moment. He was about to close his notepad when she remembered the bag.

  “This was hers.” She shoved it at him.

  “Where did you find it?” Victor asked.

  “In the kitchen.”

  “And you moved it?”

  Taylor realized she had unwittingly tampered with evidence.

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking about evidence. I thought I should keep it for her. I know. It doesn’t make sense unless you’re a woman.” She was close to tears.

  “The lab will do their best. They may be able to find some clear fingerprints. We’ll need yours to rule out.” She nodded.

  Taylor knew he was angry. After all she had screwed up clues by handling it.

  “I found these manuscript pages with it.” She pushed them across the table. “It is the copy we were waiting for. There weren’t any other pages.”

  “Looks like the killer was after the manuscript. Wonder what will happen when he, or she, realizes the pages are missing?”

  Taylor wondered that too.

  Chapter 15

  Oscar met Taylor at the kitchen door. He had waited impatiently for several hours. While Taylor leaned against the door letting it hold her upright the Aby rubbed her legs.

  “You would not believe the day I’ve had,” she told him.

  The cat meowed several times. Each successive meow became higher and more demanding. He’d had enough of this. Taylor absently rubbed the scruff of his neck. She needed to snap out of it and feed him. That’s when she noticed the floor of the kitchen. It looked like it had snowed

  “Oh no,” she said resigned.

  The roll of paper towels had been eviscerated. There was an amble pile of shavings on the counter. To scatter them all over the floor must have been a lot of fun. She could just see Oscar jumping and attacking enemy paper. He had a vivid imagination as he exercised his pique. This mess would likely fill her hand vac. She was obviously going to have to hide the towel roll. Oscar couldn’t be trusted.

  “Come on Oscar,” she sighed. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

  He followed her across the room and went through his evening ritual: he slid into the lower cabinet when she took out a can of food. He made one turn and came out the door she left open for him. Then he jumped from the floor to the counter in one perfect leap where he ate his dinner on a people plate. She had no idea why he did this every day.

  Taylor thought this particular cat food was one of his favorites. It was certainly stinky and expensive enough to be a preferred banquet. The trouble was, his tastes changed with his cat whimsy. The solid mass, with gravy, slid out of the can whole and thumped into the plate.

  Ah, the moment of truth. Oscar licked at it hesitantly.

  “Perhaps we wish a royal poison taster?”

  He stopped and glared at her, as if to say, I waited all this time and you want me to eat this swill.

  “You are so spoiled!” She grabbed a spoon and chopped the food into bite-size portions, rinsed the spoon of smelly cat food and dropped it in the sink. It reminded her of the spoon in the bookstore kitchen. Gratefully, he began to eat.

  What she needed was something soothing like tea, but right now she couldn’t possibly drink tea. She settled for a glass of red wine.

  The phone rang as she switched off the kitchen light.

  “How are you?” Victor’s asked. Now he was the man, not the detective.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Sorry you found her.” He quickly changed the subject. “Would you be up to a trip to Taos tomorrow?”

  “I guess so.” Taylor didn’t want to think about going anywhere. “Why?”

  “I’ve made arrangements with the Taos police to look at Dominique’s studio. I need to get a copy of that manuscript. Can you help me locate it?”

  “Sure. If there isn’t a hard copy I could probably print one from her computer or save it to a thumb drive.”

  “Thanks Taylor. Try to get some rest.”

  Not once had she found a body in Denver. Not once.

  Taylor and Oscar settled in on the sofa. Her fingers stroked his fur. Beginning at his ears, she scratched her way down his brown back to the tip of his tail. He buzzed comfortably on her lap as they both reclined. Taylor turned off the lamp behind her and the room was plunged into near darkness. Only the night light in the kitchen cast a pale glow into the living room. She looked out the terrace doors at the remnants of the sunset colors. Oscar was content to gaze at Taylor, his favorite subject, with sleepy eyes.

  Taylor drained the last sip of wine and set the bistro glass on her coffee table. What a find it had been. Some excursions with Jim were actually pleasant, and didn’t end in arrest. He found it in a bar auction right after she moved here. The low table was made of rough pine, stressed by time and use, and fit perfectly in her new life.

  She carefully lifted Oscar and stretched out on the sofa. Oscar stretched and curled up beside her, settling his chin on Taylor’s arm. She patted him a few times and slept.

  * * *

  The doorbell sent Oscar straight up out of sleep. He landed feet first with a thud on the floor. Taylor lunged, looked for a clock, and realized she’d never made it to bed.

  “What time is it Oscar?”

  He ignored her question while licking his way back to dignity.

  Taylor looked for her phone, but it wasn’t in sight.

  “Guess I’ll answer the door.”

  She was still in yesterday’s rumpled clothing as she opened the door to Victor. He smiled at her disheveled appearance as she blinked at the stron
g morning light and pushed at her hair. Heavens, she must look a sight.

  “Is it time already?” she asked.

  “Afraid so. Want me to wait in the car while you get ready?”

  “No, uh. Please come in. I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Would you care for something to drink? I have decaf instant coffee.”

  Victor winced at the thought and declined. “Why don’t I sit on your deck and, who is this?” He nodded at Oscar who was quietly sizing him up from the TV console a few feet away.

  “Oscar meet Victor. Victor this is Oscar. And may the best man win. I’m hitting the shower.”

  Thirty minutes later, give or take, Taylor was showered, changed and her hair mostly dry. She walked through the living room looking for casualties. Oscar wasn’t known for his friendliness; especially to men he viewed as possible enemies or as contenders for his territory. He was very protective of Taylor.

  She was surprised to find Victor in a deck chair talking with, or rather to, Oscar. They weren’t exactly buds yet but at least they had come to a sort of détente. Oscar sat on the table next to his chair, leaning in, staring bluntly at him.

  “I see the two of you are getting along.”

  “Oh yes,” Victor said. “I like cats. Oscar’s not the trusting type though. He may take a little convincing.”

  “He doesn’t believe in face value.”

  “All ready?” Victor got up.

  “Yes. Come on Oscar, time to come inside.”

  “By the way, I got a drink of water. What happened in the kitchen?”

  “Gift from Oscar. Dinner was late.”

  “Oh.” Victor shook his head.

  The drive to Taos was quiet. Taylor had never been one to wake up much before ten a.m. on weekends. That was another hour away. She was aware of the uncomfortable silence but yesterday had been a wretched day. She felt entitled to her thoughts.

  When Victor pulled to the curb outside of Dominique’s house, the Taos police were there. Instead of going through the residence, Victor led her around back to a guest house.

  Taylor paused at the threshold. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Dominique’s studio was very southwest style. It was as laid back as her house was uptight. It was designed with a small kitchen lit by a skylight. She assumed there was a bath behind the kitchen. That left the living and sleeping areas next to the quiet courtyard. Dominique’s large bleached pine desk sat against the only wall in the room without a window. Her computer was to one side so she could take full advantage of the French doors that looked across the courtyard bursting with flowers.