Buried in a Book

by Lucy Arlington

  “Never,” I assured him firmly. “I’m proud of you, Trey.”

  He grinned and then announced that he had laundry to do. I promised to be back in time to cook him something wonderful and hurried outside, hopped on the scooter, and drove into town, stopping at the ATM before parking in front of the Secret Garden.

  Thirty minutes later, with the scooter’s title safely in my purse, I returned to my mother’s house and finally called Sean.

  His voice blasted out of the phone as soon as he answered. “Lila, where on earth did you go? Why did you leave the scene? Are you all right?” I wondered how he knew it was me calling before I’d even said anything, but then I realized he must have my number programmed into his cell phone, generating my name on his call display. That thought warmed my heart.

  “I’m sorry, Sean. I really needed to get away from there. And I had to return Bentley’s car,” I added lamely.

  He sighed loudly into the phone. “Lila, you reported the murder, and we don’t even have your official statement. You should have come to the station so we could record it.” His voice softened a little. “At least you’re safe and you sound as though you’ve recovered.”

  “I’m safe enough, but I don’t feel very normal.” It was obvious he was upset, but I could also sense that he’d been worried about me. “I know I shouldn’t have left, but I had to get away from the image of Luella in her bed…” I trailed off, not wanting that picture to appear in my mind again. “Did you find anything that might point to who did it?”

  “Nothing concrete. There was an item on her credit card statement from the bee venom company, so your instincts were right. It looks as though she was probably involved in Marlette’s murder, but we still don’t know what her motive might have been for wanting him dead.”

  Feeling validated that my investigations had proved correct, I was nonetheless mystified about more than just the motive. “There’s something else I can’t figure out,” I said. “How could Luella have injected Marlette with the bee venom when she arrived at the office after he was already dead?”

  “I can answer that. With the arson case put to rest, we were finally able to interview the employees of the businesses near Novel Idea. The clerk at the pharmacy across the street…Let’s see…” I could hear him flipping through his notebook. “Here it is. Brenda Wagner. That morning while she was sweeping the stoop, she saw you go into Espresso Yourself from the agency. She noticed you because she’d never seen you before and wondered what you were doing at the agency.”

  I tried to remember seeing Brenda, but I must have been too focused on my new surroundings.

  “Shortly after you went into the coffee shop,” Sean continued, “she saw Luella arrive at Novel Idea, and then Marlette. Apparently he’d been following Ms. Ardor, because he entered the lobby right behind her. Luella hurried out of the main door again a few minutes later. You were still in the coffee shop looking at a book with Makayla—Ms. Wagner is very observant—anyway, while you and Makayla were discussing literature, Luella disappeared down the street. Ms. Wagner didn’t see Marlette leave, and the next thing she knew, the police had arrived.”

  “Wow. We lucked out with that witness.”

  “We?” Sean teased. “I didn’t realize you were a member of the police force.” He cleared his throat and went on. “The timing of Marlette’s reaction to the bee venom in conjunction with his time of death fits right into that window of Ms. Wagner’s observations. Luella probably injected poor Marlette as soon as he arrived in the reception area.”

  “She must have known about his bee allergy from camp!” I exclaimed, wondering how long Luella had been carrying the venom and syringe in her purse, waiting for just the right opportunity. Had she also had the dead bee at the ready? It was a creepy thought. “Did you find out anything else?”

  “There were fingerprints in the house that didn’t belong to Luella. The techs are coming to Novel Idea to fingerprint all the agents in search of a match. Including you, I’m afraid. We need to eliminate yours from the mix.”

  “But I’m not at the office right now. I’m at my mother’s.” Being in my mother’s house was like hiding in a safe cocoon. I was disinclined to leave the warmth and calm of her home so soon, and I wasn’t ready to face my coworkers.

  “Lila, I need you to meet us at the agency. This way, we can get everyone’s statements and prints at the same time.” Clearly, this wasn’t a request.

  “All right,” I agreed reluctantly.

  I thought of Jude running after Luella when she left the office this morning. My cheeks flushed as I remembered our passionate kiss, and I tossed my head to shake away that recollection. “Sean, you might want to look closely at Jude. I think there was something going on between him and Luella. And I know of another possible suspect.”

  “You do, do you? Why don’t you leave the investigating to the professionals, Lila?” Exasperation was evident in Sean’s voice. Hoping I wasn’t ruining my chances with him, I forged ahead.

  “Iris, from the Red Fox Co-op. She came into town with Trey today and disappeared for a while. When she returned, Trey said she was acting weird.”

  “Pretty, waiflike Iris?” Sean sounded incredulous. “Why would she want to harm Luella?”

  “She was truly upset about what happened to Marlette. Angry, too. And if she discovered that Luella was his killer, she might have confronted her. ‘Pretty’ Iris is also quite strong. She might be wiry, but my son swears she can wield a heavy ax as though it were a Wiffle ball bat.” Even as I said all this, I found it difficult to envision Iris partaking of the violent act that produced the results I witnessed earlier today. Still, I never would have expected Luella to be capable of killing Marlette, either.

  “Okay, I’ll look into it. I have to go, but I’ll meet you at the agency. When I see you, I’d also like your input on something we found at Luella’s house.”

  So he did value my opinion! “Okay, I’ll be at my desk,” I answered, deciding I’d do my utmost to avoid my co-workers.

  “And Lila?”

  Hoping he would say something that would indicate our connection was still a possibility, I replied quickly. “Yes?”

  “Don’t talk about this case to anyone.”

  RETURNING TO THE office was less stressful than I expected since all the agents were working behind closed doors. I quietly snuck into my own office, shutting the door without alerting anyone, and didn’t budge from my chair until the police arrived. Only then did I step into the reception area.

  Sean smiled ruefully when he saw me. Glancing around the room, he said, “I’m sorry about all of this, Lila. Not what you signed up for when you took this job, is it?”

  Finding it difficult to come up with a response, I showed the techs to the staff kitchen so they could set up their fingerprint equipment. Then I led Sean to Bentley’s door.

  “You get printed first,” he told me. “After that, Officer Burke will take your statement in your office while I interview the others. When you’re done, wait for me. I need to show you something.”

  “Lila, is that you?” Bentley called in response to Sean’s knock.

  We stepped in. “This is Officer Griffiths,” I said. “He’s here to talk to you about Luella’s murder. Sean—I mean, Officer Griffiths—this is Ms. Bentley Burlington-Duke, my boss.” I hustled out of the line of fire and headed for the break room to be fingerprinted.

  Back at my desk, Officer Burke with the honey-colored eyes thankfully kept me distracted enough so that I couldn’t hear what was happening around the rest of the office. I didn’t relish repeating everything I’d already told Sean, and I found it especially difficult to describe my experience in Luella’s house. Still, the process kept me occupied, and Officer Burke was polite and efficient, taking notes as I spoke into a recording device positioned on my desk.

  When I finished, I did my best to smile. “And that’s all I have to say.” I felt drained of all energy like a deflated balloon hanging limp on a st
ring.

  Officer Burke closed her notebook and stood. “Thank you, Ms. Wilkins. I’ll type this up, and then you can come into the station and sign it.”

  I walked her to the door. “I’ll stop by first thing tomorrow,” I said, closing it tiredly behind her.

  Returning to my chair, I rested my chin in my hands and stared at the pile of query letters and proposals on the desk. I was far behind in my work but felt no inclination to read any of them. I wondered what happened to Calliope and how long she’d waited before giving up on Luella. Briefly, I ruminated over who would handle Luella’s long list of clients.

  Feeling agitated, I went to my window and stared at the street. My yellow scooter sat by the curb, and I smiled, remembering my mother’s reference to it as Sponge Bob. I longed to hop on it again, fly through town to my mother’s, and cook dinner for Trey. How irate would Sean be if I just left?

  I decided to settle for a cup of decaf instead, but before I could venture past my desk, there was a knock on the door and Sean entered.

  “Officer Burke said you were very thorough with your statement, Lila. Well done.”

  “Thank you,” I said as I lowered myself into my chair. “What do you have to show me? I’m exhausted and dying to go home.”

  “Of course you are. You’ve had quite a day.” Sympathy shone out of his blue eyes, and he smiled slightly. Opening his black leather folder, he pulled out a pink sheet of paper sealed in a plastic evidence bag. “What do you make of this? We found it at Luella’s.” He handed the bag to me. The page contained a list, written in Luella’s handwriting:

  Birdhouses in kids’ park.

  Birdhouses (barns) on market fence.

  Loose brick in bookstore wall.

  Hollow in live oak.

  My weariness fell away as my mind zipped back and forth to the places listed like a motorist tracing a complicated route on a map. “These are Marlette’s hiding spots! Luella must have followed him in order to find them. How else could she know all of these specific locations? She probably checked them regularly to make sure he didn’t leave any hidden clues that would give away her real identity.” I paused briefly as a sense of relief flowed through me that Luella hadn’t known about the secluded meadow in the woods. “People told me they’d seen Marlette hiding things in the birdhouses at the park. I found an old article in one of the barn birdhouses.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “And Makayla removed an old photo from the brick wall behind the bookstore.”

  “I’d like to see those.” Sean rubbed his chin pensively. “So Marlette might have left some kind of clue in the live oak at the center of town?”

  “Maybe.” I grabbed my purse. “I think we need to find out.”

  “Whoa! I’ve got to get back to the station and process all these interviews and fingerprints. And you”—he touched my arm—“need to get home. I’ll send an officer to investigate the tree when we’re done here.”

  I covered his hand with mine. “Please, Sean. This will only take a few minutes.”

  After a long pause, he nodded. I followed him out of the office and watched him exchange a few words with Officer Burke. She glanced at her watch and then got into the cruiser but didn’t start the engine.

  Sean and I started up High Street toward the live oak tree. I had a very strong feeling that we would find something important there.

  What if, in its hollow, Marlette had hidden a copy of his elusive query letter? Even though I’d never laid eyes on it, that letter forever altered my first day of work at Novel Idea and was still affecting my daily existence.

  I felt that somehow, discovering Marlette’s letter would finally put to end the unanswered questions and horrible violence that had infected the literary agency like a fast-moving and deadly virus.

  Chapter 13

  THE LIVE OAK WAS A MAGNIFICENT, IF SLIGHTLY FRIGHTENING, tree. It towered above the tight beds of flowering vinca and a neat square of wrought iron park benches, its ancient branches hanging low to the ground, grown too heavy to remain in the air any longer. The waning light filtered through the clusters of elongated branches, painting the grass with crooked shadows.

  It was probably my imagination, but in the silence between night and day I felt as though I’d stepped back in time. With most of the town’s businesses closed, the square and its environs were deserted and it was all too easy to picture this tree as it once stood hundreds of years ago—the monarch of a rolling field, as wide and endless as the sea.

  Approaching the scarred and time-ravished trunk with reverence, I instantly felt a connection to Marlette. I pictured him seeking refuge here, beneath the umbrella of ancient branches. It felt a little like being tucked away inside a warm cave of brown and green, the last flickers of light mimicking a campfire.

  Yet, as the sun retreated fully from the sky to make way for evening, I felt vulnerable and pessimistic about my task. My feelings must have shown on my face, because Sean gave me an encouraging smile and said, “Let’s make the most of what daylight we have left. Trust your instincts, Lila. Maybe there really is something here.”

  The oak was pocked with dozens of knots and niches. Some of them rose far above my reach, and I wondered how Marlette could have found a place that no one else would be inclined to probe with curious fingertips.

  While Sean examined the trunk, I decided to focus on the thickest branches. Prodding the wood, I investigated any depression large enough to contain a note. Normally, I would have enjoyed this exercise. I loved being outdoors, and the feel of the rough bark beneath my hands was a pleasant one. However, the shadows began to stretch and lengthen all around me, and even though Sean was only a few feet away, the silence became more of a presence. The bantering of birds was replaced by the shriller calls of bats, zigzagging in between the leaves in search of mosquitoes.

  By the time I had searched the limbs above my head, my arms were so sore that I didn’t feel like raising them again. My head ached and I wanted to give up. The impulse to forget about this task, to go home and change into my pajamas, flounce on my mother’s couch, and drink an entire bottle of red wine, was almost too strong to resist. I was tempted to dull the sharp edges of this day with lots of alcohol, and yet, I couldn’t turn away from this tree until I found Marlette’s hiding place. Sean seemed just as determined.

  “I know Burke is going to think I’m crazy,” he said, “and she’s probably seconds away from calling me back to the car, but I have the strangest feeling that there’s something here. You must be rubbing off on me.”

  I felt a rush of gratitude toward him. “Thanks for helping me. I knew it was a long shot but—”

  Suddenly, I noticed a deeper shadow in a V where one of the thickest branches sprouted from the trunk. It seemed the perfect place for a nest or a concealed niche, and standing on tiptoe, I reached my tired arm over my head and blindly felt around the space with my fingertips. Two of my fingers sunk lower into the wood and brushed against material that felt oddly like wrinkled plastic.

  My exhaustion was usurped by excitement. Pinching the object tightly, I eased it from the crevice and drew it down to eye level. It was a sheet of white paper folded into a square and swaddled in plastic wrap. I gave it a brief glance in the fading light and recognized Marlette’s angular scrawl. There was also a large chunk of plastic and paper missing from one corner, and I groaned, picturing a squirrel nibbling at the edges.

  I paused in the hazy blue twilight for only a moment and then handed it to Sean, who’d drawn on a pair of gloves the instant he saw me retrieve the prize from the niche. I knew that I’d just passed him a potentially significant piece of evidence, but I had a right to see what it was.

  “Can you open it? Please?” My voice was soft and plaintive. “I won’t touch it, but I need to know what’s inside.”

  Two people had been murdered, and I needed to know why. This was no passing curiosity; my intentions had grown well beyond a concerned citizen seeking justice. I had a powerful new motive for inserting m
yself into the investigation. Self-preservation. It was only a matter of time before the killer became aware of my involvement. I wouldn’t stand idly by while my mother or Trey became targets, and there was no way in hell I was going to give someone a chance to smother me with my own pillow!

  “It’s too dark,” Sean argued.

  Pulling a penlight from my purse, I turned it on and waited. Sean grinned. “I should have known you’d have come prepared.”

  Gently, he unfolded the piece of paper and held it out in front of his chest so we could both see it clearly.

  My heart leapt in my chest as soon as I began to read. Without a doubt, I had found Marlette’s query letter. I didn’t need to be a seasoned literary agent to know that his idea was extremely marketable.

  Marlette had created a character by the name of Knox Singleton. A tenured classics professor at Princeton University, Singleton was a renowned scholar and lecturer. He was also a member of a secret society formed to protect obscure and possibly dangerous texts rescued from the flames that burned the Ancient Library of Alexandria to the ground. In just a few lines, Singleton and the members of the illustrious Alexandria League leapt from the page, their passions and eccentricities immediately captivating my interest. Despite my surroundings, I was whisked off to covert meetings in wood-paneled reading rooms across the globe, eavesdropping in fascination as these intellectuals in bow ties and polished loafers formed a reckless plan to recapture a Babylonian scroll providing a magical formula for a substance that, recreated using modern chemicals, could be used as a weapon of mass destruction.

  When I reached the final paragraph, I knew that this imaginative idea and well-written letter was a viable query and could indicate a very successful manuscript. Cursing whatever small creature had chewed off the section in which the thriller’s title had been written, I reread the query in its entirety.

  “What fool would turn this down?” I demanded, looking at Sean but not really expecting him to answer. The sound of my voice was muffled by the dense canopy and the impeding darkness. But I knew. It was time to let Sean get on with his work. Touching his arm, I thanked him for sharing the letter’s contents with me. He nodded, his eyes distant, and carefully refolded the letter. He then walked me to my scooter, assured me that he’d be in touch, and hurried off to where Officer Burke waited behind the steering wheel of the police cruiser.