Every Trick in the Book

by Lucy Arlington

  “Hey, careful,” he admonished, wiping at the spill with his hand.

  “Are you referring to that query I gave you just before the book festival?” My voice shook.

  “That’s the one. The author is—”

  “Kirk Mason?” I spit out the name in horror. “Jude! You’re about to sign a contract with a murderer!”

  Chapter 14

  JUDE LAUGHED ONCE, AND THEN SEEING THAT I WAS deadly serious, set his coffee cup down on the counter and grabbed my hands.

  “Lila, what on earth are you talking about?”

  I was glad he had a tight hold of my trembling fingers, because his grip seemed to be the only thing keeping me on my feet. Fear had turned my mouth dry and I searched for words, for the nouns and verbs and conjunctions I needed to explain myself, but they had become elusive, flitting out of my head like spooked starlings.

  “Look at me,” Jude commanded gently. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Numbly, my gaze wandered over his shoulder to the rooftops beyond the kitchen window. The sun was barely visible behind an oncoming bank of dark thunderclouds. It would be storming soon. And with the storm and the lightless gloom, Kirk Mason would arrive. A shadow among the shadows.

  “He wrote about a building used as a field hospital,” I stated mechanically. “I remember the stained floorboards and the character’s fascination with blood. That author’s name was Kirk Mason. It’s a pseudonym, Jude. The guy’s real name is Justyn and he’s a killer. He hit Melissa with a brick and strangled Tilly Smythe in the middle of her own kitchen. I’m sorry that I didn’t share my suspicions with you earlier. I had no idea you’d end up offering him representation.” My voice became low and cold. “And now he’s coming here. We have to be careful. We could all be in danger.”

  I didn’t wait for Jude to respond but pulled my hands away from his and rushed into my office. Grabbing the phone, I called Sean, my heart threatening to beat right out of my chest. Where was Mason right now? Was he outside the building? In the lobby? Or was he already climbing the stairs?

  “Sean!” I cried the moment I heard his voice. “Kirk Mason is heading to the agency. Jude offered him representation and he’s scheduled to appear in person and sign his contract. He’s coming. Please, you’ve got to help me!”

  “Okay, Lila, stay calm. I’m already moving,” Sean assured me. “You should leave the building.”

  “I can’t do that. Neither can anyone else. There’s a chance we’d run into him on our way out, though I’m the only one who poses a genuine threat to him.” I made a quick mental scan of the offices, closets, and conference room. “I could hide in a locked office, but you could pop the locks with a penknife.”

  “You need to stay out of sight,” Sean directed and began to talk rapidly, as if he were thinking out loud. “I had concluded that Mason attended the book festival because Melissa was there, and that his proposed serial killer novel was just a ruse. I had no idea Mason was really a writer. Is it possible he’d risk life in prison to become a published author? That he’s that invested in signing this contract?”

  Sean’s questions gave me pause. People would go to great lengths to see their work on the bookstore shelf, but Mason had committed two murders. Surely he knew the police were closing in on him. Was he truly foolish enough to show up at my agency, chancing an encounter with the woman who’d been suspicious of him upon first glance?

  I swallowed hard. “I don’t think his main purpose is to sign a contract, Sean. He’s coming for me. And I have no weapons except for a stapler and a really heavy dictionary.” I laughed a bit hysterically, my panic increasing as the seconds ticked by. I tried to come up with a logical solution to this new threat, but fear had robbed me of my good sense and I couldn’t think straight.

  “Hold on, Lila,” Sean said and issued terse orders at his fellow officers. Then, a car engine rumbled and I knew that he was in motion. My cop was riding in on his black-and-white metal horse to rescue me, but would he be in time?

  “Sean, I’ll call you back. I need to get out of my office.”

  After making sure no one else was in the corridor, I dashed into the office next to mine and was met by Flora’s congenial grin. “Hello, dear.”

  “Flora, this is going to sound crazy, but I need you to pretend that I’m not here.”

  Her smile grew broader. “Oh, I completely understand. Sometimes, we just need to check out for a spell. Me? I like to get lost in a Harry Potter novel or recite some of Shel Silverstein’s poetry. Edgar Allan Poe once said, ‘Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.’ I completely agree,” she declared, and then the twinkle faded from her eyes and she sighed. “A little journey into fantasy is good for the soul, especially during trying times such as these.”

  Her references to Poe and Tilly’s murder unnerved me even further. I was about to warn her about Kirk Mason when I heard noises in the office reception area. There was no time! I whipped open the door of the white wardrobe tucked into the corner of the room. Flora’s coat, polka-dot rain boots, and flowered umbrella were stored inside, leaving just enough room for me. “Act like you never saw me, Flora. Please!” I stepped into the narrow closet, faltering for a brief second because I hadn’t cautioned her about Kirk Mason. But then I determined that there was no reason for him to harm her. She hadn’t set the police on his trail. I’d done that.

  Clutching my cell phone to my chest, I closed the door and waited.

  I must have been mistaken in thinking that the sounds in the lobby had been Kirk Mason, because I didn’t hear his voice. Straining to listen for him or Jude, all I heard in the dark was the creaking of Flora’s chair as she eased her weight into it followed by the click, click of her nails against the computer’s keyboard. Suddenly, the sound of music floated from the direction of her desk. It was a soothing piano sonata, and I was grateful for Flora’s good taste. The soft notes and languid rhythm allowed me to relax the tiniest fraction, and my fingers became steady enough to send a text to Sean. I told him where I was hiding and asked how long it would take before he could reach Novel Idea.

  He responded immediately, which let me know that someone else was driving, and promised that his partner was going as fast as he could over the mountain roads and they’d be in Inspiration Valley in ten to fifteen minutes.

  Fifteen minutes! Never had such a brief stretch of time seemed so long. Fifteen minutes in the dark. Fifteen minutes of helplessness and terror. I had to do something to occupy my mind. No matter what happened, I wasn’t going to let Kirk Mason reduce me to a quivering mess for another second.

  I pressed the photo album icon on my phone’s screen and scrolled through the pictures I’d taken in July. There was Althea in her garden, plucking a fat tomato from a plant a foot taller than her. She grinned widely and I knew she was already planning to use the fresh tomato in a Caprese salad. I could picture the herb garden behind her house, where several varieties of basil perfumed the summer air.

  Next, there were eight shots from the Red Fox Mountain Co-op. The first showed Trey feeding an apple to a goat. In the second, he and Iris had paused in the middle of weaving a hammock out of hemp to wave for the camera.

  I touched his face with my index finger, praying that I’d see him again soon, and that when I did, he’d give me one of his famous bear hugs. I moved on to a picture Trey had taken of me standing in front of my yellow cottage on moving day. What I’d give to be inside my cozy little house right now!

  Having scrolled through my photos, I checked the clock on my cell phone. Only three minutes had passed since Sean’s last text. How long would this nightmare last?

  Suddenly, I heard a knock on Flora’s door. I stiffened as she called out, “Come on in!”

  “Where’s Lila?” Jude asked.

  Flora turned her music down. “I’m sorry, dear. She told me she needed a break. Could I help you with something?”

  I held my breath and wished Ju
de would leave before Kirk showed up to sign his contract. A bead of sweat was trickling down my forehead, but I dared not move to wipe it off. I wanted to be invisible and inaudible, to not exist for a slice of time so that I could avoid coming face-to-face with a murderer.

  “She thinks my new client is some homicidal maniac.” Jude’s voice was somewhat irritated. “And I want her to meet him so she can see for herself that he’s as nice as can be. The only thing sinister about him is his writing, and that’s going to make Mason and me a little wealthier. Kirk Mason’s our newest author. Oh, here he is now. Can I introduce you?”

  To my horror, Flora said, “Of course. Let me just get up so I can shake Mr. Mason’s hand.”

  As my forehead and palms grew clammy, I glanced at my cell phone. Sean was at least ten minutes away. Squeezing my eyes shut, I listened intently. Would Mason sense my presence in the room? Would Flora give me away? I didn’t dare breathe.

  Flora didn’t betray my hiding place, but my cell phone did. I’d foolishly left the ringer on, and the energetic notes of a salsa melody burst out of the speaker. Fumbling for the mute button, I saw Trey’s name on the call display.

  “Call you back,” I whispered and severed the connection.

  Too late. With a creak, the wardrobe door eased open and Jude’s face mercifully blocked most of the glare from Flora’s ceiling light as well as the figure of the man in black.

  “What are you doing in there?” he asked in surprise.

  Instead of answering, I steeled myself and inched sideways, looking around Jude’s shoulder at the tall, slim bald man standing next to Flora. He stared at me in puzzlement and I couldn’t even blink, such was my own astonishment.

  “Kirk Mason?” I croaked, taking in his black leather jacket and slightly lined, middle-aged face. He had no piercings and his eyes were a lovely shade of sky blue.

  He nodded but made no move toward me. “Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

  I looked from Jude to Kirk and back to Jude again. “Is Kirk Mason his pen name?”

  “No, it isn’t. My client, Mr. Kirk Mason, is not the man you saw at the book festival, Lila. Kirk here was called out of town on an emergency and missed his pitch appointment. I’m sure you’ve also taken note of the physical dissimilarities between this man and the man you believe to be Kirk Mason.”

  “Didn’t he know the police were looking for him? Where was he all this time?” I gazed at the man named Kirk Mason.

  His cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat. “I spent the week in Tennessee, at the bedside of a dear friend who was very ill. I went there rather suddenly, neglecting to tell people where I was.” He shrugged. “I had no idea anyone would be looking for me.”

  A smile played around the corners of Jude’s mouth and he held out his hand. “May I help you out of the broom closet, milady?”

  Stepping out of the wardrobe on wobbly legs, I tried to summon a sheepish grin for Kirk Mason, but failed. I’m sure the fact that I’d been hiding in a closet and then mercilessly stared at him had made Mr. Mason feel more than a little uncomfortable. However, I did not possess enough mental acuity to explain myself to him. Tilly’s orphan son Justyn was the killer, and now I had no idea what his real name was or how the police would ever be able to hunt him down. One thing was clear, however: This man was not Justyn. He was no murderer. He was a gentleman writer by the name of Kirk Mason.

  “Welcome to Novel Idea. I’m Lila Wilkins,” I said to him in a dry rasp. “Please forgive me. I’m…dealing with some personal issues.” I moved to the door and then turned back to Jude. “Why don’t you buy Mr. Mason a cup of coffee downstairs? My treat.”

  Jude cocked his head quizzically. “I was going to introduce him to Franklin and Zach first.”

  I tapped my watch face and gave him a loaded look. “My friend Sean is on his way here. And he won’t be alone. This might be a really good time for Mr. Mason to meet the lovely Makayla.”

  Comprehension dawned on Jude’s face. “I could certainly use a caffeine hit. How about you, Kirk? Care to take a trip down the stairs to Espresso Yourself?”

  “I’m a café au lait man, myself, so I’d love to check out the coffee shop. Thanks, Lila.” A pair of dimples appeared on Kirk’s cheeks as he smiled.

  The moment Jude had ushered his new client down the hall, I tried contacting Sean, but my call went straight to voicemail. That could only mean that he was on foot, probably racing into the building just as Jude and Kirk were descending the stairs.

  “Feel better now, dear?” Flora inquired with concern.

  Flashing her a grateful smile, I declared, “I might need to climb back into your wardrobe in a few minutes!” I then shot out of her office and barreled toward the landing where Vicky sat primly at her desk, sipping hot tea and humming softly to herself as she applied address labels to a stack of envelopes.

  Jude must have really hustled Kirk into Espresso Yourself, because by the time I’d set my foot on the first step, they were nowhere in sight. At that moment, the lobby door was flung open and the sound of hurried footfalls echoed up the stairwell.

  Sean moved up the stairs like a high school track athlete, calling out, “Lila!” as soon as he saw me.

  In that single syllable I heard a lifetime’s worth of worry and fear and, yes, love. Within seconds, he had reached the top and, keeping one hand on his holster, drew me into his chest with the other. “Where is he?”

  “It wasn’t him,” I answered quickly as three other officers bounded up the stairs, their bodies tense and coiled like a trio of panthers preparing to spring.

  “What?” Sean demanded, pulling away in order to face me.

  “The Kirk Mason who showed up here today is not Justyn. He’s a middle-aged man with a bald head and dimples.”

  Sean stared at me with disbelief. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Lila.”

  “I know, I know.” I raked my hands through my hair.

  “Griffiths?” One of Sean’s fellow officers approached us. “You want me to do a sweep?”

  He shook his head. “Negative. I’d like you to drive around the downtown district and see if you can spot our man. I’m thinking a ten-block radius. You’ve got a copy of the sketch, right?”

  It seemed pretty transparent to me that he was trying to get rid of the other cops, but they responded to his order without question and hurried off, their utility belts clanking as they jogged down the stairs.

  “Your office. Now.” Sean gave me a little nudge, propelling me forward. Vicky watched us with a curious gleam in her eye, but she remained mercifully silent.

  Because I didn’t want to have my desk between us while we talked, I dragged my chair across the floor and pulled close enough to his that our knees touched.

  “When did you first hear the name Kirk Mason?” he asked.

  I searched my memory carefully before answering. “When I read his query letter, which really wasn’t a query but a sample of his work. It was very dark and I don’t know how his book chapter ended up in my in tray, so I passed it on to Jude.”

  “Go on,” Sean prompted.

  “And then Kirk Mason registered for the book festival using an incomplete address and requested an appointment at the agent pitch session,” I continued.

  “A session that you shared with Jude, correct?”

  Nodding, I said, “Yes. But he was there, Sean. Tall, creepy, wearing all-black…and he left that raven’s feather on my desk. And then, he came after me in the empty hallway. Even Jude thought he was Kirk Mason.”

  “Justyn was at the pitch session. Justyn came after you, Lila. A writer named Kirk Mason had an appointment for a pitch session, but he was unable to attend that day. Therefore, he wasn’t the man in black.” Sean hesitated and then forced himself to finish. “You made an assumption based on a stranger’s writing sample.”

  The truth of his words hit me full force, and I put my hand over my mouth as if I could call back my error. “You’re right. Oh, Lord, you’re right! I
never had evidence linking Kirk Mason’s brief passage to the man who sent chills up my spine every time I looked at him. I heard Jude mention Kirk Mason after the pitch sessions, and later, that statement led me to believe that the writer was Melissa’s killer. I’m sorry, Sean. I pointed you in the wrong direction from the beginning.” My eyes grew moist. “Did my mistake create the opportunity for Justyn to murder Tilly?”

  Sean grabbed my arm. “No. Even if you hadn’t given us Kirk Mason’s name, we wouldn’t have known exactly who to pursue, Lila. We still don’t! We’ve got a black-and-white sketch and a first name. This bastard has eluded us from the start. He’s like a shadow. And it’s not your job to catch shadows. It’s mine.” He stood up and held me tightly, and I let my tears fall. I’d been so scared a few minutes ago and all for nothing.

  Too distracted to do any more work, I decided to call it a day despite Bentley’s decree that I should spend more time at the office. I headed for the exit with Sean, after informing Vicky that I’d be in to work very early the next morning to make up for today’s absences. Although tomorrow would be Saturday, most of us planned to come in to the office anyway, to get caught up with extra work we had pushed aside during preparations for the festival.

  As we stepped onto the sidewalk, a light flashed in my eyes. Then another. Someone was taking photographs of us. I clutched Sean’s arm.

  A freckle-faced young man with a Nikon slung around his neck advanced toward us, clutching a pen and notepad. “Can you give me a statement about what happened up there?”

  “No comment.” Sean immediately stepped in front of me, obscuring the photographer’s view. While I appreciated the gesture, I wanted to know who the reporter was and peered around Sean’s head to see.

  “Aw, come on! Four cops go rushing into the town’s literary agency and you can’t tell me why? The public deserves to know what’s going on.” He showed us his press card, indicating that he worked for the Dunston Herald. I didn’t recognize him from my time there. He stuck the card back in his pocket. “I can ask around, you know, but I’ll probably get a distorted view of the situation. Wouldn’t it be better for me to hear the story from a reliable source?”