Buried in a Book

by Lucy Arlington

  Bentley removed her reading glasses, folded them, and put them on her lap. Rubbing her temples, she released a heavy sigh. “Yes, Jude told me. He also voiced the possibility that Luella was the mastermind behind the entire affair. That would be most disappointing. I’ve long suspected she wore a different face in private, but she was an excellent agent. I’ve never known someone with such a penchant for negotiating. She masked her ruthlessness under a façade of charm, but her clients and this agency reaped the benefits.”

  “Marlette didn’t benefit,” I reminded her softly.

  Raising her brows, Bentley’s only reply was, “Touché.”

  “So you weren’t aware of a relationship between Luella and Carson?” I asked.

  “Certainly not.” Her eyes darkened with annoyance. “I don’t give a fig about the personal lives of my employees. As long as my agents work hard, sell books, and represent this agency with dignity and professionalism, I don’t care what they do outside the office.”

  After checking to see that Sean and Jude were still preoccupied, I sank into the vacant leather chair next to Bentley. “Have you read The Alexandria Society?”

  “Every scintillating word. To think that it could have been written by such a…by someone who lived on the fringes of society.” She stared at the glasses in her hands. “He was brilliant. The book is brilliant.”

  It was wonderful to hear Bentley compliment Marlette. I wanted people to respect him, even though he was no longer alive to appreciate it.

  “Got it!” Sean said, grabbing a paper from Jude’s printer tray. “Thank you for your assistance. I’ll be in touch.”

  He waved at us, his gaze meeting mine and lingering there for a moment, and then he was gone.

  Bentley fluffed her lifeless hair and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. Before my eyes, she began to transform from a fatigued and perplexed woman to the confident, self-assured boss I was used to seeing.

  “Well, I do not intend to idly wait around to be told that someone’s made a colossal fool of me.” She looked at me. “Lila? How would you like to accompany me to Carson’s residence? It’s time he and I had a little tête-à-tête.”

  I nodded, happy to have another person from Novel Idea in my corner. “I’d be glad to come with you. I can’t wait to see whether Carson can produce notes or an outline or a sample chapter proving that he wrote The Alexandria Society.”

  Bentley told Jude to hold down the fort and then stopped in her office to grab her purse. She popped open a compact and deftly applied red lipstick. “If Carson is the author, I won’t need to view proof of his work. He’ll be able to answer trivia questions from his own novel. If he can’t, then I’ll accuse him of plagiarism, and you’ll be there to witness his reaction.”

  I followed her down the hall, hustling to keep pace with her quick, determined stride. “Shouldn’t we wait for the police? Or take Jude along? If Carson feels cornered, he might turn violent.”

  Bentley stopped short and swung around to face me. Her eyes were icy with rage. “I hope he does. I’ve got a can of pepper spray and a pair of brass knuckles in my bag, and I’d love the chance to use them.”

  DURING THE DRIVE to Carson’s place in Dunston, Bentley stared straight ahead, her hands firmly clutching the steering wheel. I surreptitiously texted Sean about what we were doing, hoping he would receive the text in time to meet us there. She pulled up alongside a gray apartment block on a lane not far from the railway tracks. Bentley’s silver BMW seemed incongruous with the neighborhood, and its horn beeped three separate times as she repeatedly clicked the lock button on her key while walking up the path leading to the middle building.

  “He lives here?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.

  “Apartment 302,” Bentley replied, pushing the front door open. I had to stop it from closing on me as I hastened to keep up with her. Her sharp heels echoed in the stairwell as we climbed to the third floor. “Apparently he’s put in an offer on a house on Walden Woods Circle. The charming yellow one. ‘More suitable for a successful author,’ he said. Hmph, if he’s a fraud, his real estate deal will fall through as fast as his book deal.”

  I gripped the banister tightly, thinking about Carson moving into my Walden Woods Circle house. It couldn’t happen! He was a thief and a murderer, and should be punished for his crimes. The yellow house deserved someone with a good heart and a clear sense of right and wrong. Someone like me.

  At apartment 302, Bentley slid a hand inside her purse, most likely preparing to use her pepper spray. The hallway was dimly lit, barely enhanced by the sun shining through a grimy window at one end. Sounds of a morning television talk show came from the apartment behind us, and the cry of a baby filtered through a door farther down.

  “Let’s see what Mr. Knight has to say for himself,” Bentley remarked as she rapped sharply on the door. We waited.

  Nothing.

  She knocked again, meeting my gaze.

  “Guess he’s not home,” I ventured. I glanced behind me, hoping to see Sean arriving.

  She nodded. “I have to agree.” Turning on her heel, she marched back to the stairwell. “Come on, Lila. Back to the office. Our encounter with Mr. Knight will have to wait.”

  The drive to the office was as quiet as before, but the atmosphere in the car had altered. Bentley’s anger had diminished, and her hold on the steering wheel was less white-knuckled.

  I stared out the window, disappointed over not having had the opportunity to confront Carson, but also somewhat relieved. Who knows what might have transpired if he’d been home and we’d challenged his integrity? The image of Luella arranged on her bloodstained sheets flitted across my mind, and I shook it away, knowing that Carson was best left to the police.

  At the entrance to the agency, I hesitated. It would take five minutes via scooter to get to the Secret Garden where Addison could possibly tell me more about Carson’s query.

  Turning to Bentley, I said, “Ms. Burlington-Duke? I’d like to run an errand before returning to the office.”

  She peered at me with raised eyebrows. “An errand?”

  “It’s related to this case. I want to talk to Addison Eckhart—”

  “That incompetent? What on earth could she tell you?” Bentley stepped impatiently across the threshold.

  “She worked at the agency when Jude received Carson’s query and might remember something important.” I gestured at my Vespa, which was parked at the curb across the street. “I’d be back in less than half an hour.”

  Bentley glanced at her watch. “Off you go, then. You’re probably too distracted to be very productive in any case.” Just before the door to the lobby closed, I heard the words, “I admire your tenacity, Lila. You’re going to go far in this business.”

  ADDISON WAS PUTTING the finishing touches on a floral arrangement when I walked into the garden center. The bell on the door tinkled, and she looked up in the middle of inserting a spiraled bamboo shoot amidst three elegant bird-of-paradise stalks.

  “Hey! How are you liking my scooter?” She flipped her long braid off her shoulder.

  “I love it,” I enthused. “In fact, after work I’m heading up to the Red Fox Co-op to have dinner with my son, and my little Sunshine is going to take me there.”

  “That’s what you call it? That’s cool!” She laughed, a ringing sound not unlike the bell on the door.

  I fingered a dried fern stem on the counter. “Actually, I came here to ask you a few questions about your time as an intern at Novel Idea.”

  “Working there was not a fun experience.” She shook her head and adjusted the green sprigs in the arrangement. “And with what happened to Luella Ardor…well, things must be really awful there. What do you want to know?”

  “Do you remember when Jude received Carson Knight’s query?”

  She looked up sharply. “Yes. Why?”

  “How did it arrive at the office? By mail or email?”

  Addison shrugged. “I’m not sure
how Jude got it. I didn’t give it to him. Sometimes agents receive recommendations from their current clients.” She looked away, lost in a memory. “I just remember how excited he was after he read those first three chapters. Ms. Burlington-Duke, too. The whole office believed they had a winner. And Carson, he’s awesome.” The sprinkling of freckles on her nose gathered together as her mouth curved into a smile.

  Did Addison have a crush on Carson? If that were the case, I’d have to tread carefully. “Did you know that Carson and Luella had a relationship?”

  “Totally!” She plunked herself down on her stool and clasped her hands. “Carson is so in love with Luella.” Bringing her fingers to her lips, her mood sobered. “Was, I mean.”

  “How do you know that?” Maybe Addison didn’t have a crush on Carson after all. Perhaps what she felt was more like hero worship. A small-town girl in awe of meeting a future celebrity. “Did he talk to you about Luella?”

  She nodded. “After I came to work here, I sold flowers to Carson every day. He always said, ‘I need sweet blossoms for my sweet Luella.’ Isn’t that romantic?” Addison was obviously impressed by the gestures. “He’s run up some tab.”

  “A tab?” Remembering where Carson lived, I didn’t think he could afford to be so extravagant.

  “We normally wouldn’t let someone without a corporate account buy on credit, but…” She looked beyond the stores to the greenhouses. Following her gaze, I saw Martin in the distance, watering potted shrubs. Addison’s voice became a whisper. “I knew he was going to come into big money once his book sold, so I set it up for him. He’s good for it. I mean, he’s such a great guy.”

  I looked into her wide blue eyes, brimming with innocence. If Carson was truly the cold-blooded murderer I believed him to be, capable of bludgeoning and smothering the woman he loved, then a naïve young woman like Addison could be at risk should she ever cross him. I needed to warn her.

  “He may not be as great as you think,” I said quietly.

  Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “I believe that he’s a thief and—”

  “That’s impossible! I don’t believe you, and I don’t want to hear you talk like that about him.” She shot me a look that nearly singed the ends of my hair, and then she jumped off the stool and walked over to the door. Opening it wide, she said firmly, “I need to get back to work.”

  I made a conciliatory gesture. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Addison, but I’ve found evidence indicating that Carson stole Marlette’s book. You remember Marlette? He used to wrap his query letter around a bunch of flower stems? He wrote the book all the agents were so excited about, not Carson.”

  As my words registered, Addison narrowed her eyes. “No way! That old bum couldn’t have written his own name! Carson’s an amazing writer!” She stood with one hand holding the door, the other at her hip. “Just go!”

  I towered over her in height, but in her indignation, she radiated authority. I stepped across the threshold. “Do be careful, Addison. He may have murdered Luella.”

  The shock that emanated from her as I said those words was like a force pushing me outside. I hadn’t learned much more from Addison, aside from reinforcing the theory that Carson had had a relationship with Luella and that his query had mysteriously appeared on Jude’s desk.

  I hoped my probing wouldn’t put Addison in a precarious situation if she were to discuss our conversation with Carson. It infuriated me that a lowlife like Carson could pull the wool over the eyes of an impressionable girl like Addison. But then, he’d done the same with Bentley, a worldly sophisticate.

  Worries about Addison and Carson hovered over me when I grabbed a quick lunch to eat at my desk from Espresso Yourself, giving Makayla a very brief synopsis of what had transpired since we last spoke.

  Back at my desk, a phone message from Trey allowed me to set those anxieties aside for a while. “Hey Mom,” his voice sang in my ear. “Grandma told me how you’ve been playing detective when she called to reschedule our dinner. When you get here, I’ll take you to Marlette’s cabin to look for this notebook Iris mentioned.” He chuckled. “Apparently Marlette filled it with notes about a big project and sketches of what he called the Library of Alexandria; at least that’s what he told Iris. She said it had a red cover, and I know the one you found is brown, so maybe it’s still at his cabin. Thought I’d give you a heads-up. See you tonight.”

  As I hung up the phone, I couldn’t help wondering why Iris had suddenly remembered this other notebook. Why hadn’t she told me about it before? At the co-op tonight, I’d be sure to ask her.

  Visions of finding the notebook interfered with my concentration as I waded through scores of queries, eager for the workday to end so I could head up the mountain.

  When five o’clock finally arrived, I was the first to leave the agency. Hopping on my scooter, I raced past Center Park, but my momentum was brought to a halt when the traffic light at Redbud and Lavender Lane turned red just as I approached the intersection. Impatiently, I tapped my fingers on the handlebars.

  Mountain Road was potholed and wound its way up the steepincline. My little scooter had to work hard, and I rode diligently to ensure I didn’t skid around the many curves. I was relieved to finally arrive under the willow branch arch with the Red Fox Co-op sign.

  As I parked my bike, I inhaled the mountain air. A strong sense of Marlette’s presence seized me, and I hoped I’d unearth the red notebook. If it was filled with drawings of the Library of Alexandria, then it might also contain an outline or character sketches from his novel.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I headed into the clearing. The woman who was weaving hemp the first time I visited was once again sitting in her chair, working on a hammock. Jasper walked out of the barn and, catching sight of me, raised his hand in greeting.

  “Welcome, Ms. Wilkins. We’re looking forward to having you join us for dinner. Trey should be back soon.”

  “Oh. I was hoping to take a walk with him.” Disappointment deflated my shoulders. “Is Iris around?”

  “She’s checking on our beehives, and Trey’s gone to the creek to fill up some canteens. You can meet him there if you’d like.” He pointed to a path leading away from the campfire pit. It was the same one Iris had used to take me to Marlette’s cabin.

  “I’ll do that, thanks.” I started off in the direction of the trail.

  Jasper raised an arm as I passed. “Be sure you stay on the path,” he said with a smile. “We don’t want you turning an ankle on a root.”

  As I hiked along the trail, the shadows lengthened. In the gloom, the foreboding I’d experienced earlier returned, but I tried to ignore it, knowing I’d be meeting up with Trey soon.

  After a few minutes, I spied the laurel bush where Marlette had left poems for Iris. A narrow path veered off to the right, and I recognized it as the way to Marlette’s cabin. I decided to explore, figuring that Trey would know to look for me there.

  I hastened down the trail, brushing aside overgrown bushes and low-hanging boughs. Twigs cracked under my feet, and branches raked my arms. I was hot and sweaty and had to constantly swat at aggressive mosquitoes as I trudged through the shrubbery. As I stopped to scratch a painful bite, I heard the distinct snap of a twig to my left.

  I froze, my disquiet returning full force. I called nervously into the greenery, “Trey? Is that you?”

  A crow cawed and a squirrel chattered from the canopy overhead. Other than that, it was quiet.

  I peered into the woods to my left. Thin trees and scraggly shrubs cast elongated shadows, but I saw no movement. I hurried the rest of the way to the clearing where Marlette’s cabin stood.

  In the dusky light, Marlette’s abode looked decrepit and far too isolated. A fire pit was overgrown with weeds and lent an extra dose of abandonment to the grassy area outside the cabin. The stream echoed a forlorn sound in this lonely place, and I called out Trey’s name again. My voice was swallowed by the woods, and I receive
d no reply. Certain that I’d hear my son when he came nearer, I approached the cabin.

  A spiderweb stretched from a tree to the frame of the cabin door, blocking my way. Its creator sat in the center, fat and sinister, busily wrapping the corpse of a dead moth in a sticky, silken coffin. I wiped the strands away and moved forward.

  The soiled yellow canvas flap that acted as a door fluttered in the breeze like a phantom. The darkness inside made it difficult to see, and I berated myself for not having brought a flashlight. Perhaps if I fastened the canvas flap open, the light would chase off the largest of the shadows.

  I rolled the canvas to the top of the doorway, discovering as I did so that a cord was sewn into it. I tied the knot, imagining Marlette doing the same thing so he could sit on his wooden crate and pen his novel on the makeshift table. A rustling behind me made me spin around, only to see a chipmunk dart across the clearing. I exhaled, mumbling to myself to stop being so jumpy.

  On the wall opposite the entrance, a ray of sunshine drew my attention to the cabinet and the books cluttering its shelves. I approached it, moving deeper into the cabin. Suddenly a shadow blocked the doorway. I turned to see who was there, my throat tightening.

  Silhouetted in the opening stood a man, his dark figure exuding menace in the backlight of the waning day.

  It was not Trey.

  “So nice of you to come,” uttered Carson ominously, and then he entered the cabin, untying the tent flap.

  The material fell across the opening, shutting out any illumination and inviting terror in with the darkness.

  Chapter 15

  CARSON DIDN’T HAVE TO SAY ANOTHER WORD FOR ME to know that his intentions were wicked. Every cell in my body was buzzing in alarm. The blood rushed through my veins in an attempt to keep my heart pumping at its frenzied pace as my mind tried to comprehend what was happening.

  In movies, when an attacker confronts a helpless female, the action always seems to take place at lightning speed. He lunges, she screams and runs, and the scene moves rapidly forward. But in this moment of terrifying discovery, I was rendered immobile. My limbs felt like anchors, and I could not take my eyes from Carson’s face, painted in shadow and utterly devoid of any emotion.