Every Trick in the Book

by Lucy Arlington

  “We believe a clue lies in one of Melissa’s case files.” Sean opened the cardboard box and grabbed Justyn’s folder while I delighted in his use of “we.” Placing the file on Glenda’s desk, he opened the cover and pointed at Justyn’s photograph. “Can you tell us anything about this boy?”

  I watched Glenda bring the image closer to her face and then check the name listed in the file. She nodded empathically. “He paid us a visit. It would have been about three weeks ago. He filled out a request form to get information on his birth mother. You see, we’re not allowed to give anyone so much as a first name without permission, so I had to make sure Justyn’s mother was willing to make contact with him. He told me he remembered a nice woman from this office named Lissa or Melissa or something. Because he was a young boy when she helped him, he wasn’t sure of her name. Well, I’ve been here forever and we’ve only had one Melissa here.”

  She replaced the photograph on her desk and stared at it as she continued. “The majority of our records are computerized, and I could have just looked his mother up on the spot, but Melissa’s and most of the files from that far back are still downstairs in Records. Hard copies only, I’m afraid.” She sighed. “We just don’t have the resources to enter them into the database. We’re underfunded and understaffed.”

  “The delights of being a civil servant,” Sean said, earning him a droll smile from Glenda.

  “Oh yeah,” she chortled. “Goes right along with our company jet and twelve weeks of paid vacation.” Her eyes were once again drawn to Justyn’s photo and she immediately sobered. “I called down to Records with the young man’s request and explained that this was one of Melissa Plume’s cases. I didn’t think I’d done any harm by mentioning her name, but now…” Her eyes grew moist and she gave Sean a pathetic, searching look.

  “You’re not at fault, Glenda. Please go on,” Sean said soothingly.

  Recovering her poise, Glenda sat up a little taller in her chair. “My coworker in Records said that the name the young man had given wasn’t listed in our files, and when I turned to ask him about it, he’d disappeared. I wonder if he ran off because he heard what my colleague said. She’s one of those loud talkers.” She gave a hapless shrug. “Though he put Justyn on the form, the last name he gave us wasn’t in our records and neither was his address. Maybe he knew he’d have to tell me the truth about his identity and he just…couldn’t.” She swallowed hard.

  “Go on,” Sean prompted.

  “When I found out that Melissa was murdered, I started wondering if the young man’s deception had some significance.” Glenda looked at Sean hopefully. “Or it could be that he was just scared. It’s not easy for some of these kids to face their birth mothers, especially if they’ve spent their whole lives dreaming about the moment they’ll meet for the first time.”

  I shook my head in sympathy. “Talk about a high-pressure situation.”

  “Exactly,” Glenda agreed and then quickly brightened. “But I’ve seen some beautiful reunions in my time. And I’ve also seen foster parents fall in love with a child in need of a home and discover the family they’ve always longed for. Family’s in the heart, not the blood. That’s what I always say.”

  Sean opened a notebook and subtly cleared his throat, hoping to get back to the subject at hand. “According to Justyn’s case file, his last name was Kershaw, but do you remember the fake surname he used on his request form?”

  “No,” Glenda replied with genuine regret. “After he left, I threw it out. I figured if he really wanted to contact his birth mother he’d be back.”

  “A fair assumption,” Sean said kindly. “Could you describe his appearance?”

  Glenda let loose a small snort. “Sure could. He was tall and thin, but didn’t look scrawny. ‘Lean’ is a better word. Dark hair and eyes.” She raised her hand to her brow. “Bunch of piercings here. Silver hoops and a few barbell thingies, too. I’m not sure what they’re called. Dressed all black from his shirt right on down to his boots. And he seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. Real tense. On edge.”

  “I’d like to show you a sketch. Does this look like the man you saw?” He removed the drawing made the day I’d worked with the sketch artist at the Dunston police station.

  Glenda didn’t even have it in her hands before she was nodding vigorously. “That’s him all right.”

  “Thank you. That’s very helpful.” I was amazed by how calm Sean sounded. My heart was beating triple time in my chest. Glenda had just identified Kirk Mason!

  “I’ll see what I can find out about Justyn Kershaw,” Sean said, reclaiming the sketch and tucking it inside his file folder. I was relieved when he closed the cover on Mason’s angry glare. “But if I come up empty-handed, I might need your assistance again.”

  Glenda’s glance flicked to the photo of Justyn as a boy, and I saw her eyes fill with pity. “I’ll do anything in my power to help, Officer.”

  “What about Justyn’s birth mother, Mattie Kershaw?” Sean asked. “I read that she was a drug addict and had been arrested several times for illegal possession and misdemeanor shoplifting charges. But can you tell me anything else about her?”

  “I wish I could, but she was assigned to Melissa. The only thing I could add to what she wrote in her files probably won’t be of any interest to you,” Glenda said.

  I might have been overstepping my bounds, but I leaned forward in my chair and smiled encouragingly at Glenda. “So far, everything you’ve told us has been important. I bet this detail will be, too.”

  She gave me a grateful look in return. “It was a long time ago, but I remember Melissa telling me that she was really struggling over how to help this lost young girl named Matilda. I know she went by Mattie, but Matilda was her real name. However, Melissa called her something else entirely. Only to me, of course. Only in private.”

  Sean’s pen hovered over his notebook. “And what was that?”

  “Troublesome Tilly,” Glenda replied. Grinning a little, her face took on a wistful expression as she traveled to another time in which she and Melissa discussed their cases with each other.

  Sean and I exchanged astonished glances. Here, at last, someone had confirmed the connection between Melissa, Tilly, and Justyn.

  Except that Justyn had transformed into someone else. He didn’t exist as Justyn Kershaw any longer, but was posing as Kirk Mason. And under that guise, he had become a murderer.

  I ENTERED NOVEL Idea rubbing my hands together to warm them. Not only would I have to buy a thicker coat, but I’d also need to invest in gloves. I was beginning to think that my little yellow Sunshine was not the most practical vehicle for the coming months.

  Acknowledging Vicky’s greeting, I made my way to the kitchen to pour myself a hot coffee. Wrapping my fingers around the heated mug, I walked to my office, pondering the questions that Sean and I had bounced around on the drive back to the station: Why would Kirk Mason kill Melissa? Hadn’t she done all she could to help him when he was young Justyn? After all this time, what trigger had caused him to hit her over the head with a brick? And what about Tilly? Why, after seeking his birth mother, would he murder her once he’d found her? Had that been his intent all along in searching for her? And the most chilling question: Would he kill again? Was there someone else he wanted to punish?

  Completely engrossed, I entered my office and was startled to see Trey sitting at the desk, his friend Jeff in the guest chair.

  “Mom.” Trey jumped to his feet. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been waiting for almost a half hour.”

  “I’m sorry, Trey, I got caught up in something.” I looked over at Jeff, who also rose to his feet. “Hi, Jeff.”

  “Hey, Ms. W.” Surprisingly, he wore a suit, although the tie was askew and a shirttail hung over his belt. His hair was trimmed and he was clean-shaven—quite a change from the longhaired, rebellious boy who’d worn only black Tshirts with skulls imprinted on them.

  “You’re looking quite professional,” I said.r />
  He pulled at his shirt collar. “Yeah, we all have to wear these monkey suits at the dealership.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I came by to get the money, and I’ve gotta get back to work soon or my dad’ll kill me.”

  “Okay.” I pulled out my wallet. “I assume Trey has told you what we need you to do?”

  “Go to the co-op and buy a meditation session and report back to you.” He grinned broadly. “I’m up for that. And you’ll pay me a hundred bucks, right?” He darted a swift glance at Trey.

  “That’s what we agreed,” Trey said. “And you can’t let on that you know me. Just find out what they’re doing and get out of there.”

  Jeff slung his arm over Trey’s wide shoulders. “No worries, my man. I’m a master at deception.”

  In that moment, I recognized the teenager who’d always been around whenever Trey got into trouble. I was suddenly reluctant to hand over the three hundred dollars, wondering if this was a wise decision. “Jeff, don’t do anything foolish. Just act like a customer, pay them their money, and get whatever they offer for it. If you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, then leave. You get to keep the money either way.”

  Jeff’s eyes widened. “Ah, Ms. W, there’s no need to worry. I’m happy to get whatever they offer for two hundred bucks. I have an idea about what they’re doing there anyway.”

  “You do?” Trey looked incredulous. “What?”

  “I’m not saying ’til I find out for sure.” He held out his hand.

  I placed two hundred and fifty dollars into it. “You could share your suspicions, Jeff.”

  “Naw, that wouldn’t be cool.” He counted out the bills. “I don’t want to waste your money, Ms. W.”

  “There’s two hundred dollars for the meditation session, plus fifty for now. You’ll get the other fifty when you report back to me. Deal?”

  “Sure thing. And hey, could I interest you in buying a good used car?”

  Briefly, I recalled how cold I was riding my scooter today, but then I shook my head and smiled. “Sorry. I already have a good set of wheels.”

  “Thought I’d give it a try.” He headed for the door. “C’mon, Trey, I gotta get back.”

  Trey grinned and gave me a little salute. “See ya, Mom.”

  I watched them saunter down the hall, feeling uneasy about sending Jeff into a situation that could involve something unsavory at best and illegal at the worst. I closed my eyes and silently wished for him to return unharmed.

  I’d barely dug into the proposals on my desk when my phone buzzed. Vicky’s authoritative voice came on the line.

  “Lila, Ms. Burlington-Duke wants to see you at once. And a messenger just dropped off a package addressed to you.”

  I hurried to the lobby, wondering what the delivery was and who might have sent it. Vicky held out a thick courier’s envelope.

  “You’d better go directly to Ms. Burlington-Duke’s office. She’s asked for you several times today and is most displeased that you haven’t been available this afternoon. I tried to provide reasonable excuses on your behalf, but…” She shrugged. “I didn’t know where you were all that time.”

  “I was at the police station sharing what I knew about T. J. West, remember?” I tried not to squirm under her frank scrutiny. “Thankfully, he’s innocent. But I’ll tell Bentley all of this in person. I appreciate how you covered for me.” Grabbing the envelope, I hastened down the hall.

  Unable to contain my curiosity, I examined the return address on the packet and saw that Thomas Wipple had sent it. I ripped back the tab and pulled out a stack of papers. They were the first three chapters of T. J. West’s bed and breakfast cozy. Hopefully they’d been rewritten to incorporate my suggestions, because if so, I’d offer him representation. I knew I’d have no trouble finding a publisher for his engaging series, as long as he took out the reference to the teddy bear and anything else that involved a child in the murder.

  At that moment, a picture of Justyn came to mind. I saw him as a small infant, sleeping beside a worn teddy bear in his laundry basket. Then I envisaged Tilly, lying dead and clutching a plush bear. That murder wasn’t fiction. And neither was Melissa’s.

  I shook my head in an attempt to scatter those thoughts and shoved the pages back into the envelope. Reading them would have to wait. Having reached Bentley’s door, I took a deep breath and knocked.

  “Enter.”

  I stepped into her office. “You wanted to see me?” I said, approaching her large, glass-topped desk.

  Bentley’s fingers clicked rapidly on her laptop, her long, cardinal red nails the exact color of the tailored suit she wore. I waited. When she finished, she peered over her diamond-studded half-moon glasses. “Lila. I’m pleased to see that you do, in fact, still work at this agency.”

  “I’m sorry. I was delivering a file to the police and became involved in the investigation…” My voice trailed off and I waved the envelope in my hand. “I have been working, though. I’m close to signing a new client.”

  “That’s good to hear. I know you have a vested interest in the current police investigation, but please remember that you are a literary agent, not a detective.” The hint of a smile crossed her face. “Although I do recall that you have a certain knack for detecting.” She removed her glasses, and they dangled like a pendant on a gold-jeweled chain around her neck. “Just try to spend more time at the office.”

  “I will,” I said, properly chastened.

  “I wanted to see you because I have a project to assign you. To you and Jude, actually.” She picked up her phone and pressed a button. “Vicky, please send Jude to my office.”

  “What kind of project?” I asked when she replaced the receiver.

  “Let’s wait until Jude arrives, shall we? In the meantime, why don’t you fill me in on what the police have discovered about the two murders.” She frowned. “An editor and an author. What is the world coming to? Are the killings connected?”

  “It’s possible.” I sifted through all that I’d learned, trying to decide what I could and couldn’t tell my boss. Just as I opened my mouth to speak again, Jude burst into the room. His eyes twinkled when he saw me.

  “Ah, two lovely ladies wanting to meet with me.”

  “Take a seat, Jude.” Bentley leaned her elbows on her desk and tented her fingers. “The publisher for The Alexandria Society wants a sequel. Of course, since Marlette Robbins is no longer alive, he obviously won’t be able to write it. I need you and Lila to put your heads together to find someone suitable for the project.”

  “A ghostwriter?” I asked, remembering Marlette’s unique voice and wondering if we’d be able to find someone to fill his shoes.

  “Exactly. Between Jude’s stable of suspense authors and your burgeoning group of mystery writers, I’m confident you’ll be able to come up with a few names. Now, the publisher has put together an outline, so whomever you think is up for the job needs to submit a proposal based on their framework.” She handed each of us a printed sheet of paper.

  Jude folded it in half. “I’m happy to be working on this with Lila,” he said, flashing me a smile. “But I’ve got a full plate at the moment. I’ve just sold a thriller to a small publisher, and I’m about to sign another author whose book is destined to become a blockbuster. However, it needs some polishing before I shop it around.”

  Bentley sat back in her chair. “Your current projects take priority, but the publisher is eager to enter into discussions, so see that you get to it as soon as possible.” She set her glasses back on her nose and proceeded to type on her computer.

  Thus dismissed, Jude and I exchanged curious glances and left the room.

  “I need a coffee,” he said. “How about you?”

  I nodded and scanned the publisher’s outline as I accompanied him to the kitchen. It was a vague summary of the proposed plot, with little detail about the setting or characters. The potential ghostwriter would have to read The Alexandria Society in order to obta
in the necessary background information. But I couldn’t think about the project now. “I’m glad you told Bentley that you were too busy to work on this immediately,” I said as I held out a mug for Jude to fill. “My brain is so full at the moment that I wouldn’t be able to focus on this.”

  “Yes, I understand you’ve gotten yourself involved in the murder investigations of that New York editor and the writer in Dunston. Is that because you have a secret desire to be a detective?” He drew closer. “Or because of your friendship with that cop, Griffiths?”

  “Jude, the deaths of those two women are a serious matter. I want justice for them both, and if there is any way that I can contribute to the police arresting whoever was responsible, then I’m going to do that.” I put my coffee down and crossed my arms. “Don’t kid around about it.”

  Jude immediately stepped back and adopted a contrite expression. “I’m sorry. You’re right. These killings have hit too close to home. The author was one of Flora’s, wasn’t she? Doesn’t this harken back to last summer?” He leaned back against the counter and sipped his coffee.

  I stirred cream into mine, regretting that I’d dwelled on the subject. “Tell me about the author you’re about to sign,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  Immediately, Jude perked up. “He’s coming in this afternoon.” He checked his watch. “In about ten minutes, actually. Vicky’s prepared the final contract for his signature and then we’ll be ready to rock and roll. This guy can write, Lila. He’s dark and sinister, to be sure, but there’s a definite market for his stuff. I know of two publishers who will probably engage in a bidding war over this book.”

  “Wow. That’s great.”

  “And I have you to thank for it. You brought me his proposal last week.”

  “Really? Which one?” I often brought queries to Jude when they were more suited to his tastes, and since I didn’t read them in great detail, they seldom stuck in my mind. Thinking back, I tried to recall what I had given him. All of a sudden I felt a chill and grabbed Jude’s arm, causing him to slosh his coffee.