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

by G G Collins

  “Donald, I don’t want to drink the poison.” She said it loud and clear. Jim had to hear her.

  “Oh lordy,” Jim muttered. His gut instinct had been right. Taylor was in trouble. But what was the pointing about? He looked at the wall on his left again, but this time scanned all the way to the ceiling. The only thing above the cabinets was the motion detector.

  The motion detector!

  Now he understood the finger dance on her back. He punched buttons furiously on the pad.

  “Oh no. That’s not it.” He canceled and started over.

  Taylor was about to try the hand signals again, but it was too late. Donald was pushing the cup into her hand. If she let him get any closer he would see Jim and then it would be over for both of them. She took the cup and glanced at Jim. Much to her relief he was madly programming the pad. It would beep shortly.

  “I still don’t understand why you think you have to kill me? Don’t you know the police will catch you? You’ll spend the rest of your life in the penitentiary.”

  She continued to babble. “And what will happen to your mother? You know she’s a very special person, don’t you? She raised you all by herself, you have an education, a good job . . .”

  “What was that?” Donald started.

  It was the alarm beep as it set. Jim had come through.

  “I didn’t hear anything. It must be the storm.”

  She began to back up, very slowly, towards the motion detector’s vision.

  “That’s enough. Drink it.”

  Jim reached for his phone. His pocket was empty. He’d left the cell in his Jeep. He raced up the steps and lunged for Candi’s phone knocking over her lamp. Her telephone had buttons all over it. After a moment of indecision he pushed the first line and dialed the police. He described what was happening, gave the address and asked for Sanchez. The receiver missed the cradle as he hurried back downstairs to help Taylor.

  Taylor raised the cup slowly. She continued to take small steps backward; it didn’t seem to bother him. He was only intent that she drink the tea. She must have passed the beam by now, in a few seconds it would . . . she threw the cup at Donald and ran for Jim’s office as the office siren wailed. It must have scared the peewaddling out of Donald. He jumped straight up and struggled to get the gun.

  Taylor dove into Jim’s office next door, slammed the door and locked it. It would take several minutes before the police arrived and she didn’t think the door would hold if he started firing at it. Adrenalin rushed through her body. She piled furniture against the door. Jim’s roll-around file cabinet was first. It jammed under the doorknob. One arm cleared the desk in a neat sweep. Pencils, papers, markers and a half-filled coffee cup scattered. She shoved one end of the desk until it bumped against the pile of furniture. As Donald fired two shots through the door, Taylor ducked under the desk and covered her head.

  Jim was almost down the stairs when he heard the shots. He flattened himself against the wall in the darkness and crept down the last few steps. Donald stood firing shots through Jim’s office door. Jim looked for something to throw at him, but he would have to enter the basement and risk being shot. He hoped Taylor was okay.

  The next minutes were the most frightening of her life. Taylor couldn’t be sure how many bullets his gun held. Most of the mysteries she read had guns with six chambers. Jim couldn’t possibly try to rescue her now, not with Donald shooting up the place. A bullet zinged within a foot of her right shoulder and lodged in the thin inner wall behind her. After everything she’d been through it looked like Donald might still win.

  Then it all hit the fan. She couldn’t be sure with all the noise and the storm, but it sounded like police sirens outside. Finally!

  She heard things like “Drop it! Police. Hands up.”

  There were sounds of scuffle. Donald’s screams of protest, “I’m his son. I deserved it.”

  Then there was Jim’s sweet voice, full of concern, even fear.

  “Taylor, you all right?” He slammed his body against the door.

  “I’m okay,” she shouted. “The door is blocked. I’ll have to move your desk.”

  She pushed and shoved, but she no longer had all the adrenalin. It took a few minutes to clear the door. Taylor opened the it, saw Jim and rushed into his arms.

  When they reached the lobby, Donald was gone and several officers stood at the front doors.

  She perched on the arm of the reception sofa. Her legs threatened to fold.

  Victor Sanchez flew through the door. An officer nodded in her direction. He made no attempt to conceal his concern.

  “Taylor, are you all right?”

  Taylor tried for a smile. It didn’t feel quite right.

  “I’m fine.”

  “She’s not fine,” Jim interjected. “She was nearly killed.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Victor admonished her and ignored Jim. “That’s what I’m here for. How can I convince you to pick up the phone?”

  “It would have been rude to make a phone call during a tea party. Besides, my cell is in my office.”

  “Do you know what she’s talking about?” To Jim.

  “Sure. It was a dark and stormy night which nearly ended in a fatal tea party. Donald is the murderer.”

  “I’ll need statements from you both at the station.”

  “Tonight?” Jim said. “Come on Sanchez. A lunatic just tried to kill her. Can the detective stuff.”

  “Okay, tomorrow.”

  “Taylor, I’ll take you home,” Jim said.

  “No, I want to go by myself. I need to feel I can drive myself.

  “Thank you Jim. Thank you.” Taylor wrapped her arms around him.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said pushing her gently back. “It was your idea. I only wish it hadn’t taken me so long to figure out what you were trying to tell me.” He kissed her cheek and left.

  She rose to go but before she could pass him Victor caught her in the strongest arms since her father’s. His uniform was soaked with rain and he smelled faintly of piñon smoke.

  “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. Right now, I’d like to go home. I’ve got a cat to feed.”

  Chapter 25

  The following weekend, Taylor and Victor sat in front of a warm crackling fire at the Pink Adobe. It was a popular restaurant and a bit expensive for his tastes; but he wanted to take Taylor someplace special. They’d started in the Dragon Room, the restaurant’s bar. It was a unique place, known nationally. Trees held up the roof. They had long ago died, but the trunks made for interesting repartee. It was small but usually had entertainment. After drinks they’d settled in comfortably in the dining room. He’d hoped for a patio table, but it was a cold autumn evening and they found the fire most welcoming.

  “Sure is nice to relax. Even Oscar doesn’t seem as tense. He senses the crisis is over.”

  “Just wish we had all the loose ends neatly tied,” Victor said.

  “For instance, I don’t know who Dominique was with that night at La Fonda. Or, if it’s even important.”

  “With her death we may never know,” Taylor said.

  “Right. The odd thing about Donald Lovitt,” Victor said. “He was not the son of the elder Endicott.”

  “What! But he said he was. That was why he killed Preston, Jr. and Dominique.”

  “We questioned Mrs. Lovitt, with her doctor present. She said Endicott had been a friend of hers, they might have been lovers at one time, but she didn’t say as much. But he was definitely not Donald’s father. She had his birth certificate to prove it. That was something Donald fabricated over years of loneliness and deprivation, with some considerable circumstantial evidence to back up his delusions. He grew to resent his mother, whose medical care took most of his income.”

  “What will happen to him?” Taylor asked.

  “Oh, he’ll serve time, and lot’s of it.

  “I still can’t believe he killed two people and tried to kill me, for nothing.”
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  “Unfortunately, it happens more often than any of us would want to believe. The mind does horrible things to the despairing and lonely.”

  “What about the tan car?” Taylor asked. “You know, the one I saw all over town.”

  “It was rented by Donald. I suppose to throw suspicion on Virginia. He hasn’t said as much, but we located the rental agreement at the Albuquerque airport. The car was listed as missing.”

  “And Dominique? She didn’t know a thing about Donald. All she did was write a mystery.”

  “There’s something else about Dominique,” Victor said. “Remember we found the manuscripts by Dannie Beldon?”

  “Sure, in her studio.”

  “At first we though Dannie Beldon was Dominique’s real name. She changed hers legally to Dominique Boucher from Donna Beldon.”

  “I can understand why; nowhere near flashy enough for our Dominique.”

  “I’m still checking, but I suspect there may be a sister or other family member by that name,” Victor said.

  “The woman at Dominique’s memorial service? The one no one knew? I couldn’t see her with the veil so I can’t tell you what she looked like. We thought she was a fan who managed to get past the gates.”

  “The case is officially closed. It’s up to the courts now.”

  “So Dominique was not her real name. She chose Boucher after Anthony Boucher.”

  “Who’s he?” Victor asked.

  “Anthony Boucher was a mystery writer. The world mystery convention, Bouchercon, was named in his honor.”

  “I see I have a lot to learn about mysteries.”

  “Maybe I can pick up a few things from you on criminal investigations.”

  “Taylor,” Victor said with suspicion. “I don’t like the sound of that. What are you thinking?”

  “Just to use in my job. The more I know about police work the better judge I’ll be of mysteries.” At that moment, feeling safe and happy with Victor smiling across the table, Taylor believed she meant it.

  Victor lifted his wine glass.

  “To mysteries.”

  “To mysteries.”

  Epilogue

  Donald Lovitt was convicted of murder on two counts, and the attempted murders of Jessica and Taylor. He was sentenced to life in the New Mexico state penitentiary. Jessica Endicott established a trust for Mrs. Lovitt. She now lives in an assisted living community. On good days she works in their greenhouse. Virginia Compton is back as senior editor, doing the work she loves. She and Jessica seem to have come to an understanding. There are rumors Jim Wells may be moving back upstairs. Piñon Publishing’s future looks bright, but they are in the market for a new mystery writer. Victor Sanchez was almost sorry to see the case closed. He finds his thoughts turning to Taylor Browning with increasing frequency. She once again enjoys sunsets on the deck with Oscar who is now being fed on time. Feline incidents are on the decline. Taylor’s not so sure the restful life is what she wants anymore.

  The End.

  Did you enjoy Dead Editor File?

  At the end of this book Amazon will give you the opportunity to post a review, or you may Tweet/share with your friends that you’ve read the Dead Editor File, the first in the Taylor Browning Cozy Mystery Series.

  I’d be forever grateful. Thank you for reading.

  G G Collins

  About the Author

  G G Collins once worked for a book publisher, before she walked a reporter’s beat. Publishing is a complex industry; at once creative and yet, a business. The myriad of details that have to be accomplished before a book can be published is difficult to comprehend, especially to the author waiting in the wings. Take this experience; add a mystery and feline companion and a new mystery cozy series is born.

  Collins has been cat mom to a dozen kitties, all with their own eccentricities. Oscar is the reincarnation of her late Abyssinian cat. She also loves and writes about horses.

  Dead Editor File is the first in the Taylor Browning Cozy Mysteries. Collins currently has three books in the Rachel Blackstone Paranormal Mysteries (Reluctant Medium, Lemurian Medium & Atomic Medium) and one Equestrian Teen Lit book entitled Flying Change. All are available on Amazon.

  Book Blog: reluctantmediumatlarge.wordpress.com

  News, Views & Reviews Blog: paralleluniverseatlarge.wordpress.com

  Follow on Twitter: @GGCollinsAuthor https://twitter.com/ggcollinsauthor

  Forthcoming:

  Looking Glass Editor, The Taylor Browning Cozy Mysteries

  Anasazi Medium, A Rachel Blackstone Paranormal Mystery