Jasper’s blue eyes twinkled. “You see? Happier.”
I glanced at Trey, who was obviously experiencing a series of emotions in response to this interchange. But the way he looked at Iris told me where he wanted to be. “Not at all,” I said. “You go ahead. I need to drive down before it gets completely dark anyway.”
“Thanks, Mom. And thanks for supper. It was awesome.” Trey gave me a hearty hug. “Don’t worry about me,” he whispered in my ear, and then turned to Iris and held out his hand. She took it and together they followed Jasper. Trey looked over his shoulder once more in order to flash me a grin.
“Enjoy the movie!” I called and gathered the supper things. As I watched the threesome walk off toward the meditation center, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of “meditation” went on in that cream-colored building. My maternal instincts were telling me that whatever it was did not bode well for my son.
Chapter 9
UPON RETURNING TO MY COTTAGE ON WALDEN WOODS Circle, I lit a fire in the living room, poured myself a glass of merlot, and turned on my laptop. The undercurrent of anxiety and discomfort I’d sensed throughout the co-op had left me feeling unsettled. I had entrusted my son, the most important person in my life, to Jasper Gyles and the other adults running the co-op, and I worried that I’d made a grave mistake. Trey might have been content with life on Red Fox Mountain up until this point, but I wasn’t sure either of us could be happy knowing the co-op’s leader changed philosophies like Mister Rogers had once changed his shoes.
There was something particularly disturbing in Iris’s body language, too. She’d always been such a free spirit, but tonight I’d seen her practically attached at the hip to Trey. He’d been chasing her all summer, and though she’d always been friendly to him, she hadn’t encouraged his advances. Why did she suddenly want him by her side? I pictured the many small touches I’d witnessed in the short time I’d visited and wondered if Iris had been trying to reassure Trey or herself. Was she frightened? And if so, of what?
Troubled to be presented with another mystery when Melissa’s murder was yet unsolved, I was determined to figure out what was going on at the co-op. What was the connection between money and meditation? To me, they were an odd combination.
I ran a Google search for “meditation at Red Fox Co-op,” but nothing came up connecting the two. Red Fox had a website that was still under construction but gave no other information. Then I tried meditation styles and found articles on the different settings, body postures, and music one should use when trying to meditate. Having never been able to remain still for long unless I had a riveting book in my hands, I’d never tried to sit on the floor with my legs crossed and my eyes closed, attempting to block out all distractions as I focused on a single mental image.
Some techniques required monitoring one’s breathing. Others called for chanting a mantra over and over again until the meditative state was acquired. Yet another recommended emptying one’s mind of all thoughts and visions, thus achieving a state of blankness and absolute tranquility. As far as I could see, the only cost in creating an appropriate space would be the purchase of a few inspirational CDs or possibly some incense. Unless Jasper was charging exorbitant rates for a special chant or for guiding his guests into a state of tranquility and focus, then the profits he was making from the teens made no sense.
On a whim, I entered the search terms “college students” and “meditation” and scanned a select group of articles citing the connection between meditation and stress reduction. According to several reliable sources, the number of depressed, anxiety-ridden, and medicated coeds was on the rise and kids just like Trey were experimenting with all sorts of remedies, including drugs, to reduce their stress levels.
“Drugs,” I muttered with a heavy heart, my fear for my son’s welfare increasing. “What kind of drugs?” My fingers moved automatically over the keyboard, and I forgot all about my glass of wine as a list of the most popular illegal drugs used by coeds popped up on my screen. “Marijuana is the most widely spread,” I read aloud from an article, somehow needing to hear the sound of a voice, even if it was only my own. “Also included are steroids, LSD, ecstasy, and Rohypnol. Prescription drugs most frequently abused are Ritalin and OxyContin.”
I eased my laptop onto the sofa and walked over to the fire. Pushing at the burning wood with my fireplace poker, I stared at the shifting flames and wondered if Jasper was trafficking in illegal drugs. But it didn’t seem likely. Sean had told me that he and other Dunston police officers conducted impromptu visits to the co-op, and each time Jasper had invited the law enforcement agents to look around. More often than not, the cops did a sweep of the cabins and tents, and on one occasion had brought a K-9 unit along. However, the co-op’s structures and grounds had always been drug-free.
Still, something nagged at me. Over the course of the past few months, life had given me too many lessons proving that things weren’t always as they appeared, and with Jasper’s flippant attitude toward such an abrupt lifestyle change, I suspected him of hiding an ugly secret.
It had grown late and I was tired, but I continued to prod the burning logs, nudging orange sparks into life and ruminating over the changes at Red Fox Mountain. When my phone rang, the sound seemed to come from far away, and I realized with a start that my focus on the flickering fire had been so intent that I’d involuntarily reached a meditative state.
“Sorry to call at this time of night, but I just wanted to check in on you.” Sean’s voice flowed through the speaker, smooth and sweet as honey.
“I’m glad you did. It’s been a strange evening, but before I tell you about my day, how has yours been? Any progress in the investigation?”
Sean sighed and I could sense his weariness and frustration. “We interviewed Coralee Silver. She unabashedly admitted to arguing with Melissa and threatening her as well.”
Suddenly, the poker felt too heavy in my hands. Dropping it on the hearth, I asked, “Did she…is she Melissa’s killer?”
“No,” Sean answered readily. “Believe me, there were several officers who would have liked Ms. Silver to have been the culprit. She is a rather unpleasant woman, to put it mildly. However, there is apparently one gentleman in town who finds her utterly winsome.”
I groaned. “Let me guess. This guy’s provided her with an alibi.”
“You got it,” he said.
Imagining Coralee’s green eyes narrowing with hostility, her pointer finger raised in an intimidating gesture, and Melissa Plume’s rightful indignation, I clenched my jaw tightly, fighting back a surge of anger. “Are you sure she’s in the clear?”
Sean seemed reluctant to elaborate. “This is between you and me, Lila, but Ms. Silver’s gentleman friend escorted her to the party Saturday evening and then rushed her out of the old town hall well before Melissa was killed.”
“How do you know what time they left?”
Clearing his throat, Sean haltingly explained that not only did Coralee’s date have a penchant for engaging in sexual encounters in public places, but he also enjoyed filming said encounters. The video included a time stamp.
“Oh my,” was the only reply I could manage. “Please tell me they didn’t pick the Fountain of the Nine Muses. That’s my favorite place to eat lunch on a sunny day.”
Laughing heartily, Sean assured me that while the fountain was safe, I might not want to enjoy any meals on a town center park bench for a while.
“I know you probably can’t divulge the man’s name, but at least tell me that he wasn’t an author and that I’m not going to be reading about his evening with Coralee in a proposal one day.” This was delivered in jest, but Sean took my statement at face value.
“He was attending the conference and is most definitely an aspiring author, but let’s just say that you don’t represent his genre.” Sean seemed to be suppressing a chuckle. “Oh, this is exactly what I needed, Lila. For someone to lighten my mood.”
I hesitated to bring up th
e subject of the co-op. Now that Coralee had been dismissed as a possible suspect, Sean and the rest of the officers on his team had to search out new leads. I told him that Bentley would undoubtedly dig up useful information on Ruben Felden, Melissa’s disgruntled coworker, and then forged ahead and described my visit to Red Fox Mountain.
“Lila.” This time, when Sean spoke my name, his tone carried a hint of warning. “We’ve been through this before. There isn’t a speck of evidence indicating that Jasper or any other co-op member deals in illegal drugs. Granted, I haven’t been up there since the meditation center was built, but I doubt it’s stuffed with black lights and marijuana plants.”
I groaned a little at the image.
“Organic products are all the rage right now,” Sean continued. “Maybe he made a successful business deal and the goat’s milk products are being subsidized by a company with a wide distribution. Up until this point, the co-op’s goods have only been sold in Inspiration Valley and Dunston. Perhaps the demand is greater than those two towns and the co-op is reaping the benefits.”
Sean’s theory was certainly logical, but Jasper hadn’t answered my question about the goat’s milk products becoming more lucrative. Then again, he might have felt that the co-op’s business practices were none of my concern. Still, it seemed odd that he wouldn’t let Trey in on the windfall. Trey had designed the new packaging and was very involved with the goats. He knew the names of each and every animal and took great pride in the milk, cheese, soaps, and lotions created on-site.
“You may be right,” I told Sean, but only because I wanted to pacify him. In my heart, I felt there was something shady about the secrecy of the meditation center and the unusual number of college students making regular treks up the mountain. I was not going to allow my son to continue living and working in a place where illicit activities were being conducted.
“I can tell that you’re not convinced.” Sean chuckled. “And I know you well enough not to bother saying to put the co-op out of your mind. I also believe that your instincts are as finely honed as a top chef’s carving knife. If they’re telling you something’s amiss, then it probably is. But do me one favor.”
Caught up by his words of praise, it took me a moment to respond. “Okay.”
“Wait until I can come with you for a casual look-see around the mountain before you launch a full-scale investigation. Trey’s a good kid with more common sense than most young men his age. Trust him to sort out what’s going on and whether he wants to be a part of it. If he doesn’t, he’ll show up at your door none the worse for wear.”
I considered Sean’s advice. “All right, I’ll back off for now. But only because I trust your judgment and, heaven help me, I trust Trey’s, too. Besides, I’d rather focus all my spare energy helping you solve Melissa’s murder.”
Sean growled. “Lila! I told—”
“From the sidelines!” I added hurriedly. “Just civilian research, like the type I did discovering Coralee’s identity. I want this to be over, Sean, for Logan and Silas to have closure. I have selfish reasons for wanting this case closed, too.”
“You’re the least selfish person on earth,” he said with incredible tenderness.
“Not when it comes to you,” I said softly. “I want you all to myself. All of you. To myself.” The heat rose in my cheeks, and I knew that it wasn’t generated by the fire burning in my hearth.
“When this is finished, you and I will truly begin. I promise, Lila.”
That was a promise I could live with.
I SPENT TUESDAY morning focusing solely on work. Armed with an extra-large cappuccino and one of Makayla’s iced apple and date scones, I forged my way through proposals, queries, and contract reviews.
Just before noon, Vicky’s voice emitted through my phone speaker. “Ms. Wilkins, you have a caller,” she said. “The lady’s name is Kate Sallinger. Says she’s Melissa Plume’s editor friend.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Please put her through.”
“Hi, Lila,” Kate began, and though she tried to sound cheerful, there was an unmistakable heaviness to her voice.
“How are you holding up?” I asked her.
Her mournful sigh answered my question. “I spent yesterday in bed but thought I’d come in today and lose myself in work. Nothing could hold my attention until I picked up Calliope’s manuscript. I’d started it before I heard about Melissa.” She paused, as if speaking her friend’s name had caused her physical pain and she needed a moment to recover. “I was in the office by seven this morning. Messed around with this and that until almost nine and then I picked up her book and, well, she made me forget about the real world for two hours.”
“Sometimes that’s the best thing a book can do for us,” I said.
“Absolutely. I want the whole series, Lila.” She continued by telling me what she was willing to offer for the first three books, and though it was an incredibly generous amount, I tried to negotiate even more. I wouldn’t be much of an agent if I didn’t push the envelope. Kate and I engaged in a good-natured bartering session until we were both satisfied, and then I told her I’d have to talk things over with Calliope and would call her back shortly.
Calliope typically spent the morning writing and always muted her phone when she worked, but by some miracle she answered my call. She shouted with unadulterated joy when I told her about Kate’s offer.
“I feel like it’s the first time!” she shrieked. “I remember when I got that call like it was yesterday. I thought I could just float away I was so happy. And now it’s happening again, because this is a whole new series and one that I wanted, that I needed, to write. Thank you, Lila! You’re a gem!”
Her pleasure was contagious, and part of me longed to jump up and down in excitement like a little kid on Christmas morning. This was my biggest deal yet—the kind of deal people in the industry dream about. I knew that I’d buy the issue of Publishers Weekly announcing the sale, take out the page listing the details, and have it framed.
“You deserve this, Calliope,” I told my client. “You’re an amazing writer, and your willingness to be flexible saved the series. Now go out and celebrate.”
“Not a chance,” she countered merrily. “I am on such a high right now that I could hammer out a thousand words before lunch. Tell Kate that I so look forward to working with her.” She hesitated. “And please send her my condolences as well. I heard about what happened to Melissa Plume. It’s absolutely terrible.”
I swallowed, feeling as though a shadow had just invaded my office. I assured Calliope that I would pass her messages on, called Kate back, and then sat quietly at my desk for a moment. My elation over the deal had been dampened, but not extinguished. What I needed was to share the news with someone, to spread my excitement around the office. Unfortunately, as I wandered down the hall in search of coworkers, I discovered everyone had already headed out to lunch, and the idea of eating a celebratory meal alone held no appeal.
“There you are, Lila! You’ve certainly been holed up today,” trilled Flora. She pulled the restroom door shut behind her and smiled at me. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”
“No,” I said, returning her smile. “And I’d love to take you to lunch if you’re free. I’ve made my first big deal and I want to eat a whopping cheeseburger followed by a massively decadent dessert.”
Flora nodded with gusto. “Say no more, my dear! You can tell me all about it on the way to the James Joyce Pub. They make the best burgers in town.”
THE JAMES JOYCE Pub was situated near the end of High Street and was connected indoors by a large archway to the Constant Reader, a new and used bookstore. One could browse for books with a beer in hand, or sit in the pub enjoying a steak-and-mushroom pie while engrossed in a newly purchased novel. Although very “unSouthern,” this little bit of Ireland in Inspiration Valley fit well into the community and was always busy.
Walking in the brisk November air, we had carried on an enthusiastic discussion about
Calliope’s deal. We entered through the Constant Reader, eager to be immersed in its bookish ambience on our way to the restaurant. As soon as we set foot inside, that delicious musty scent of old books filled our nostrils, and we made our way to the pub through pathways flanked by shelves. In my buoyant frame of mind, I reveled at the sight of so many volumes cramming the shelves. Romance, adventure, mystery, fantasy; they seemed to be competing with one another for our attention, promising us hours of pleasure.
“Ah.” Flora inhaled deeply. “Whenever I’m here I dream about living in a book. I could be anyone I wanted. Travel anywhere. Explore a glorious garden or dive to the bottom of the ocean in search of sunken treasure.” She ran her fingers along the spine of a thick tome, its brown leather weathered gray and the gold lettering faded.
“I know what you mean,” I said, pulling out a small anthology of poetry. Its worn dark blue cover featured a drawing of a woman sitting under a tree, papers clasped to her breast. I leafed through the pages. “‘The love of learning, the sequestered nooks, and all the sweet serenity of books,’” I said, quoting Longfellow.
Flora smiled. “Exactly, my dear. Now, shall we go eat?”
I replaced the book and followed her into the pub. There wasn’t an empty stool at the polished wooden bar, and we made our way past booths filled with people enjoying their lunch. Flora waved at a red-haired waitress carrying a tray laden with plates of food. She brightened when she saw Flora.
“Hi, Flora. I think there’s a free table on the patio,” she said cheerfully and began unloading platters at a booth where four businessmen sat, sharing a pitcher of amber ale.
“Do we want to sit outside?” I asked Flora. “It’s a bit cool.”
“Their patio heaters are very efficient. Brian and I had dinner here just last week and it was lovely sitting out there.” She pushed open the door to go outside. “And it’s nice and sunny today.”
Every Trick in the Book Page 13