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

by G G Collins

  The stucco walls were white. Soft comfortable beige furniture was accented with pink pillows. The white backsplash in the kitchen was accented with a row of hand-painted tiles. A green lizard ran across each one. A thick rug in a burgundy kept the feet warm. It was the most soothing place imaginable to Taylor. No wonder Dominique was, had been, such a prolific writer. She did everything possible to concoct an environment of tranquil creativity. The playfulness particularly surprised Taylor.

  “Have you seen her house?”

  “Yes. Very different.” Victor agreed.

  “She told me she hated the southwest look. Can you believe the contrast?”

  “It certainly adds another dimension to an already interesting person”

  “Interesting is a tame word for Dominique,” Taylor said. “In fact, I’ve never found the precise word to describe her.”

  “Do you think you can find the book?” Victor reminded Taylor of their purpose.

  Dominique’s office was so tidy it was obvious that no manuscripts were lying about.

  “May I touch things?” Taylor asked. She blushed at her blunder at the bookstore yesterday.

  “Yes. It’s all been dusted and searched. Our guys didn’t find what we’re looking for. That’s why I asked you.”

  Taylor opened every drawer until she found Dominique’s manuscript file. Each novel was carefully labeled and stored in alphabetical order. The new one was not there.

  “I better try the computer.” Taylor powered up the desktop model and its monitor. She knew which word processing program Dominique used. Within a few seconds she was searching the directory. She moved down the list until the last directory entry.

  “I don’t see it.”

  “Surely, she must have it somewhere,” Victor said. “Perhaps on a disk?”

  She glanced around the room and noticed the armoire.

  “I’m assuming you already looked?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes, but there was nothing obvious. Look for it hiding in plain sight.”

  Inside were shelves full of reference books, her published novels and what appeared to be new disks. Taylor checked each box anyway until she found the one disk hidden inside the unused supply.

  “This is it.” She pushed the disk into the computer drive and requested the directory.

  “There it is,” she pointed. “Alone to Die.” Taylor checked the printer for paper and turned it on. Set it for two copies and sent the document to the printer.

  “Okay, just a matter of time.”

  While waiting for the print job, Taylor opened the lower doors of the armoire which was stuffed with paper.

  “Maybe I didn’t look long enough. There are dozens down here.”

  Each was carefully rubber banded but in no particular order. Taylor recognized Dominique’s most recent title which she helped edit and publish. She thought these were all old versions and began replacing them on the shelf. One sheaf of paper was particularly yellow.

  “This is interesting.” Taylor said.

  “She has someone else’s manuscript.”

  A small wisp of dust rose when she dropped the bundle on Dominique’s desk.

  “Dannie Beldon?” Victor said. “Did she ever mention anyone by this name? Perhaps a friend or family member?”

  “As far as I know Dominique had few friends, at least not anyone close. She never mentioned any family. Just hordes of adoring fans.”

  “How about a pen name?”

  “We normally know when an author uses a nom de plume. Royalties are paid using their real name.”

  “Still,” Victor rubbed his chin. “The initials D. B. are compelling. They’re the same as Ms. Boucher’s. It’s very curious.”

  Taylor had to agree.

  Chapter 16

  Taylor turned the last page of Dominique’s book and stared out the window of her office. The similarities were amazing; the locked room, the hated boss and the death by poison. The murderer had been the man’s former mistress. She didn’t think Dominique had been Preston Endicott’s mistress, but who knew? Had she killed him herself? Or had Dominique known his killer or her own?

  Endicott wasn’t one to take nonsense off anyone, including a bestselling author. Their voices had often risen to a crescendo unknown in musical history ending only when Dominique left in a huff. Had she lost control and killed him? But if Dominique was Endicott’s killer why was she also dead?

  Taylor tried to remember if there had been any lily of the valley growing at Dominique’s house, but could not recall. One thing was evident from this investigation, the ground cover grew virtually everywhere. Even if it was not grown by the killer, access was easy.

  “Really Taylor, you should be more careful. Don’t you know thinking wears out the brain?”

  Jim leaned against her doorway, arms crossed. He had that grin on his face; the one that always meant trouble. She thought he’d forgiven her the incident at La Fonda. He seemed his old playful self again.

  “What are you doing up here?” Taylor teased, knowing full well how much he wanted to make the move back upstairs.

  “No one to talk with.” He rubbed his short beard absently.

  “Donald won’t talk to you?”

  “His door is closed most of the time. He mumbles something about quarterly reports, and then slinks off into the depths of his office.”

  “Need something to do, Jim?” Jessica asked as she walked by.

  “Just on my way back downstairs,” Jim said. “What’s she in a mood about?”

  He winked conspiratorially at Taylor and fled down the hall.

  Taylor wondered too. Ever since the reading of Endicott’s will Jessica had been unpleasant and prone to short but nasty eruptions. Virginia was very quiet, even more so than usual. She covered whatever was bothering her with more and more work.

  The ruckus next door stopped all questions before any answers could form.

  “I want you out of here by five o’clock today,” Jessica was screaming in Virginia’s office. Taylor could not hear Virginia’s reply. Her own hearing, impaired from all the blood suddenly rushing through her head. Almost every day something happened to cause a surge of anxiety in the office.

  Jim had retraced his steps and crept back into her office.

  “What’s going on?” he mouthed and pointed to the wall she shared with Virginia’s office.

  Taylor rubbed her head which was beginning to hurt. Next door something crashed.

  “No, I’m not kidding. I fired you at the reading. I meant it. You obviously had an affair with Preston.”

  “No.” Virginia said it loud enough to be heard but it didn’t reach the level of Jessica’s voice. “That’s not true.”

  “Don’t give me that drivel. You were there. You heard the attorney read his will. If you weren’t having an affair with him, what did he mean by ‘love of my life’?”

  Jim raised his eyebrows and whistled softly.

  “I don’t know what it meant. We had dinner. Once. Nothing else happened.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Jessica spat. “I gave you one week to wrap things up. Now take your things and go!” She slammed Virginia’s door. Something fell with the sound of breaking glass. A few moments later Jessica’s office door thudded.

  Taylor and Jim exchanged glances. She let out her breath.

  “I’m going to check on Virginia,” Jim said.

  “Wait. I’ll come with you.”

  Jim knocked softly on Virginia’s door and slowly opened it.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Virginia sat at her desk in shock. Her face was flushed and her expression was one of sadness. She didn’t like yelling. Nor did she ever stoop to such shenanigans. From what had transpired of late, Taylor thought maybe Jessica loved the adrenalin high she got from becoming upset. She hoped it was a phase.

  The editor shut down her computer, removed the CD and placed it on her desk pad. She pulled open the bottom drawer of the elegant walnut desk and took
out her purse, appointment book and walked quickly out of her office. She left without a word.

  “Virginia,” Taylor tried, but had no clue what to say. She didn’t have to find the words. Virginia’s head disappeared below the stairs.

  “I can’t believe it,” Jim said. “She’s been here forever.”

  “How can Jessica do that? I simply cannot fathom Virginia, of all people, had an affair with Preston.”

  And like the mind sometimes does, a piece fell in place. She flew back in time to her interview for this job and remembered the look that passed between Preston and Virginia. Maybe it hadn’t been sadness or regret; maybe it had been quiet passion.

  Was Virginia a jilted lover? Taylor was having a hard time processing it, but that red flag waved in her mind. Virginia drank tea, she was a connoisseur, buying loose tea and then packing it in her own tea bags. Victor told her the lily of the valley could have been brewed like tea, and applied to the envelope’s adhesive. Could she have both loved him and killed him?

  “I think I’ll get back to the dungeon before I get sacked,” Jim said.

  She had forgotten he was there. Taylor watched Jim clomp away in his boots. And to think she had once been suspicious of Jim. Should she tell Victor about this? She didn’t want the wrong person arrested; again. Taylor knew only one thing. It was time for a hot bath. She needed to think.

  Chapter 17

  Oscar batted at the bubbles floating in Taylor’s tub. He loved to live on the edge; the edge of the tub. Many times he had fallen through the fragile froth into the water. He climbed out quickly enough, scrambling up and over the slippery porcelain. Getting wet didn’t stop Oscar from trying again. Abyssinians liked water she had read. Oscar sure seemed to enjoy playing with it as if it were a catnip toy with a bite.

  Taylor dropped wads of bubbles on his brown fur creating small dinosaur ridges down his back, an odd but harmless childish thing. He seemed to enjoy the attention until the bubbles dissolved leaving wet spots in his fur that he then had to lick dry.

  “Oscar you have the prettiest fur.” The agouti fur of Abyssinians looks much like that of squirrels and rabbits.

  He cocked his head to one side as though accepting the compliment. It seemed a human thing to do and being an only kitty, he’d picked up more human traits than a cat with feline buddies might. Taylor had friends who swore their oldest cat never purred until they added a kitten to the family. Only then did he grasp he wasn’t a person; a very sad insight for that particular cat, but he had learned to purr.

  Something about Oscar’s fur was puzzling her. His tan chest reminded her of something else.

  “Yes!” She slapped the water startling Oscar who leapt to the bathroom rug, and then began to lick. The car driving out of the parking lot at the bookstore had been tan. It looked familiar to her and she had waved at the driver.

  Who did she know who drove a tan car? Who was it she had teased about driving a house? Virginia! She remembered black clothing. It seemed the person had been wearing black, certainly not Virginia’s color. Taylor couldn’t remember ever seeing her in black. She sunk under the water with relief. It couldn’t have been Virginia. Unless, of course, she had been disguised, but why on earth would she do that?

  * * *

  Overnight a new stack of manuscripts appeared in Taylor’s inbox. She sighed as she recalled yesterday’s events ending with Virginia’s dismissal. Now it looked like Taylor would have to assume all or most of Virginia’s work in addition to her own. The office was no place for petty personal differences. This simply was not good for the company. She missed her already and not just because she would be doing more work. Taylor liked Virginia and admired her abilities with a blue pencil, the time-honored way to edit a manuscript. Maybe Jim was in a better place since Jessica had taken over, but Taylor wasn’t so sure about the rest of the staff.

  While pondering her fate, Candi’s lyrical voice announced that Ruth Standish waited to see her.

  “Oh no,” Taylor whispered. Now she had to deal with Dominique’s agent of all people. Ruth was a perfect match for Dominique. To put it succinctly, they understood one another. They were two peas in the ol’ pod. Egad, this had to be trouble and Virginia wasn’t here to work her magic. Virginia was the only person who could calm Ruth. Taylor thought Virginia’s martyr personality worked to make Ruth feel in control. Unfortunately, Taylor didn’t know how to fake the servile approach.

  Ruth was the very definition of battleaxe. She was a fearsome, domineering combative woman of about fifty; short, smartly cut blonde hair and not a wrinkle to be seen. Jim was sure she’d undergone plastic surgery but also admitted that, like Dominique, she never had any pent-up emotions so possibly no lines had formed.

  Why was absolutely everybody in this business weird? Taylor had noticed from her first day at the publishing house that virtually everyone was at least off-beat, if not downright eccentric. However, that did leave room for Taylor. She considered herself a bit Bohemian, but in the most becoming way, naturally. Not everyone could be in sales or service.

  She swallowed and asked Candi to send her up.

  “Well, this is a fine mess,” Ruth was already talking before she entered Taylor’s office.

  “Hello Ruth. How nice to see you,” Taylor lied.

  Ruth waved her pleasantry aside and sank with a whoosh in the proffered chair.

  “I told Dominique not to go with a small press. Doubleday wanted her, but no, she had to sign with this ‘we try harder—give more personal attention’ poor excuse for a publishing company.”

  “Really Ruth, I don’t think . . .”

  “Apparently no one here does.” Ruth’s voice intensified.

  Taylor leaned back in her chair and calmly placed her hands in her lap.

  “What do you want Ruth?”

  “What are you people going to do about Dominique’s latest book?”

  “Publish it,” Taylor replied.

  “I should think it would net you a tidy profit released posthumously.”

  “At this point we have two choices; release it after her death or not at all. It will do pretty well. All her books sell well. It will make you the same revenue, Ruth, regardless. Does that answer your question?”

  “The best interests of my client are my only concern. I wanted to be certain you,” she struggled for the right word. “You publishers don’t renege at your end, now that Dominique can’t speak for herself.”

  “You came all the way from New York to tell me that? Couldn’t you have called?” Taylor asked.

  “No, of course not,” Ruth said.

  “I will attend the memorial service. Will there be a representative from Endicott, uh, Piñon Publishing?” She mispronounced piñon.

  Taylor felt guilty. She didn’t want to attend another funeral. Endicott’s had been enough.

  “I imagine several people will be there.”

  Ruth rose to leave, and flipped a long floral scarf over her shoulder.

  “Ruth,” Taylor stopped her. “Do you know if Dominique has any family?”

  “No,” she replied sharply. “No family.” Ruth was gone in a blink.

  Taylor wondered at Ruth’s hostility. It was as if she were covering for something or someone, but why?

  After a long day of editing Taylor walked out into the last few rays of sunshine rubbing her aching neck.

  “Tough day?” Jim asked. He was casually sitting on the new company sign. His legs stretched out.

  “And then some. How about you?”

  “Oh, the art work is about ready for Dominique’s latest, and last, book.” He grinned.

  “Jim, why is all this so funny to you? People have died.”

  Taylor was irritated by the day’s events.

  “What else should I do? Can’t bring’em back, might as well laugh. Preston was detestable. Dominique was, well, things will be a lot quieter without her.”

  “Since we’re speaking so candidly Jim, Dominique was also quite good for busines
s,” Taylor said.

  “Oh Taylor, my dear, lighten up. Life is short and all that.”

  Taylor was about to reply in kind when she spotted the car.

  “Jim, is that Virginia’s car?” She pointed at the large tan mercury parked across the street.

  “No, hers is last year’s model. Besides, she’s not here. Remember? Are you still playing PI?”

  “Very funny.” Taylor crossed the pavement and looked inside the car for clues as to the owner. There was nothing lying on the seats or floor.

  “Neat person.”

  She was about to walk on to her car when a movement near the office caught her eye.

  “Jim, look over there. Did you see someone slide behind the chamisa?” She pointed to several large shrubs in yellow bloom.

  “No, and you didn’t either. Really Taylor, ever since your involvement with the good detective your imagination has gone viral.”

  “There is no involvement as you say,” Taylor said defensively. “Once the investigation’s over I’ll probably never see him again.”

  “Me thinks the lady protests too much.”

  “Jim, shut up!” Taylor stormed off. It exasperated her at times. She turned quickly to retort.

  “I know, I know,” Jim mocked holding her back with his hands. “I’m being inappropriate again.”

  The look on Taylor’s face set off a new round of mirth.

  Taylor left without another thought to the person hiding in the bushes.

  Chapter 18

  Taylor had suffered from insomnia off and on since Dave’s death. It was always different. Some nights she couldn’t get to sleep; others she fell right to sleep only to awaken at two a.m. unable to go back to sleep. This was one of those nights. For the last hour she had taken deep breaths, progressively relaxed every part of her body, plumped the pillow and even resorted to counting sheep. She tossed back the comforter and buried a sleeping Oscar who quickly scrambled to follow her. It was time for her green tea and milk concoction. She wasn’t sure if it really worked or the boring habit of preparing it caused sleepiness.