Kinsey grimaced, making the woman laugh. “Well enough,” she said.
Monica sighed, sinking into a chair next to the girls rather than returning to the place behind her massive desk. The room was cluttered with bookshelves full of hardbacks and awards. Obviously the lead editor of Chariot Publishing’s West coast office had earned her position. “Malcolm MacIntosh made us a lot of money. But he was an ass.”
“How well did you know him?” Every time Gerri used her silver pen, she thought of her mother. This woman reminded her vaguely of Linda Meyers, making her feel slightly homesick. Gerri loved no-nonsense and the editor came across as a real, hard working woman who’d fought her way to the top of her profession.
“Well enough to tell you there were probably a lot of people who wanted him dead.” She shook her head, dark brown hair threaded with silver tucked into a neat bun at the nape of her neck, a few strands escaping to waft over her collar. “Including my bosses.”
“Why is that?” Gerri let Kinsey take lead, without argument. She would have asked the exact question and sometimes observing was better than asking.
“His latest book was late.” Monica’s frown deepened what looked like an old line between her brows. “Really late. Months, in fact.”
“Was that typical?” Kinsey’s question also mirrored Gerri’s. She was learning. A burst of pride almost made Gerri grin.
“Not at all.” Monica sat back, crossed leg bobbing over her knee, hands steepled before her. “In fact, he was usually early. Or had a backlog for us to pull from. The Montrose Murders series has been highly lucrative, partly because we’ve been able to maintain a steady publishing schedule.” She sighed softly. “For whatever reason, his latest book just never arrived. He’s offered a multitude of excuses, but there are those in our office who fear he’s dried up.” She grimaced. “Had dried up. Excuse me.” Her brow creased again. “Come to think of it, he was acting more oddly than usual. Sent me about fifty pages of the worst incoherent drivel I’d ever read, nothing like his usual voice.” She smiled with a wry twist to her mouth. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m well aware his work wasn’t remotely literary. In fact, there were times I wished I could push him to write something with more meaning. He had that potential. But mysteries and smut sell. And that’s what he usually delivered.”
Odd. And worth noting. “Can I ask where you were last night at 10PM, Ms. Donnelly?”
“At home with my family,” the editor said without a hint of hesitation or guilt. “Furious with my daughter for breaking her curfew and taking the car. Again.” She rolled her eyes. “Kids. If you don’t have them, save yourselves the agony.” A quick smile broke over her face. “Ignore that.”
Gerri stood, shook the editor’s hand. “If you think of anything else.” She left her card in the woman’s possession, Kinsey saying her goodbyes. Moments later, they rode the elevator together in silence on the way downstairs.
“We have to talk about Ray.” Kinsey seemed to shake out of her mental roundabout.
Gerri sighed. “Let me deal with this case first, okay?”
Kinsey seemed like she wanted to argue, frustration and anxiety so powerful Gerri almost changed her mind. But the blonde nodded sharply, going quiet again. Gerri’s gut rumbled at her, prodded her to question the anthropologist, but she shoved it aside.
Ray was fine, for now. And she had a murder to solve. Why she felt so irritated by her friend’s weariness and total lack of focus, Gerri couldn’t admit to herself. Of course it was over Cici. And though Ray was a grown woman—as was the therapist—Gerri couldn’t shake the feeling of betrayal that still clung to her that the two had started seeing each other behind her back before Cici dumped her as a patient for the medical examiner.
Gerri didn’t take rejection well. At least she was willing to admit that to herself.
***
INT. – OPHELIA AGENCY – NOON
Donald Ipps didn’t leave them waiting, at least, ushering them into his office the moment the receptionist at his agency alerted him to their presence. If Gerri thought the editor’s office was full of books and awards, he had at least as many, if not more, filling his space. And a much nicer desk.
Being the agent of a superstar clearly had its perks.
“Have you found out anything?” Donald settled behind his desk, leaving Gerri and Kinsey to sit in front of him like servants. She didn’t like that one bit. And took it out on him. Rather than answering his question, she hit him with one of her own.
“I hear Malcolm’s writing ability was slipping,” she said. “Feel like commenting on that?”
He appeared immediately offended. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to—”
“Monica Donnelly,” Kinsey said, bright and cheerful. Gerri could have hugged her. If she’d tried that condescending tone, she’d have met with resistance. Instead, Donald seemed taken aback by the small blonde’s offering.
“I see.” He leaned back, visibly gathering his thoughts. “I take it she told you his latest book was late?” Was Donald sweating? “It’s true, he’d been having some difficulty finishing his latest manuscript.”
“Writer’s block?” Kinsey’s brightness didn’t diminish.
“Not at all.” Donald shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There were some plot issues to work out and Malcolm was so busy teaching—”
“You mean drinking and screwing other people’s wives.” Gerri tapped the end of her silver pen on her notebook. “According to Ms. Donnelly, his abilities were slipping.”
Donald’s face darkened, cheeks red from anger. “If you’re referring to the pages he sent her, those were a first draft and should never have crossed her desk.”
Gerri’s gut whispered, liar. As if she didn’t know that already. So, what was he hiding, then?
“Anyway, the point is moot, now.” Donald straightened his tie, cheeks returning to a more normal pink. “The manuscript is in final draft, in the process to be handed over by the weekend. And, from what Malcolm showed me, he had four more books written he’d been holding onto for a rainy day.” That didn’t sound accurate, either. Why hold onto them if the publisher was demanding something? Just didn’t track.
Still, without proof to the contrary, there wasn’t much Gerri could do. But, she’d be following up with Monica Donnelly to make sure that book did, in fact, arrive.
They left Donald’s office with little more to show for the meeting, Gerri’s frustration stewing in her gut as she leaned back against the railing in the elevator. She looked up to find Kinsey looking at her in misery.
Gerri tensed, inhaled sharply. And bit the bullet.
“Okay,” she said. “Tell me about Ray.”
***
INT. – 9TH PRECINCT INTERROGATION – AFTERNOON
Kinsey stood behind the glass in observation and watched as Gerri entered the interrogation room with a thick file in one hand. Most of the contents were blank, a trick the detective used to trick the suspect into thinking she had more on him than she really did.
She crossed her arms over her chest and observed in silence as Gerri planted herself in front of Zed Bettle, turned just enough in profile Kinsey caught the grin on the detective’s face.
She hadn’t been smiling earlier as Kinsey told her about meeting Wind. That Cici knew Margot, though how Kinsey couldn’t say. And that somehow Simone Paris was wrapped up in the mix.
In fact, Kinsey had never seen Gerri so unhappy as the detective struck out with one booted foot and kicked the tire of her parked Charger hard enough to make the car rock.
“Anything else?” The act of violence had seemed to calm the detective somewhat, though Kinsey knew Gerri well enough she felt the simmering anger inside the redhead still. The Nightshade in her wanted to reach out, soothe her. Instead, Kinsey forcefully pulled it inward.
Gerri didn’t need soothing. They needed answers.
“I can’t deal with this right now.” Gerri climbed into her car and drove off, leaving Kinsey t
o follow. By the time she met up with the detective at the 9th Precinct, a load of hot coffee for the waiting cops taken off her hands, Gerri seemed to have come to terms with the fact there was more going on than they’d known about, more lies to uncover than Kinsey was comfortable being in the dark over.
“I have to question Malcolm’s assistant,” Gerri told Kinsey only moments ago, voice deep and quiet as they stood together in observation, watching Zed twitch and fidget in his seat, still dressed in the tacky suit he’d had on last night. “Then we’ll get to the bottom of what the hell is going on with Ray. And your grandmother. And that bitch, Simone Paris.”
“And Cici.”
Gerri nodded. “And Cici Fucking Panther.”
Kinsey dialed Ray’s number, getting her cheery, “Leave a message, love,” voicemail. She tried the morgue as Gerri began to poke and prod Zed. The phone rang and rang, finally picked up, Robert’s harried voice answering the other end.
“I take it you’re looking for Ray.” He sounded flustered and irritated. “That makes two of us.”
“I’m worried about her.” Ray would kill her if she knew Kinsey was talking about her behind her back to Robert, but things were getting out of hand. Not just a love affair causing her grief, or overworked weariness. If Margot and Simone were involved, Ray could be in danger.
Robert exhaled heavily into the phone. “So am I.” His irritation morphed into anxiety. “She’s slipping, Kinsey.”
“What do you mean?” She turned from the glass, from the sound of Gerri’s voice droning in the background, the high-pitched answers that told her Zed was stressed by the questions the detective asked him. Gerri could handle it. This was important.
“She’s been missing things in her reports.” He whispered the end of the sentence, as if to conceal his admission. “I’ve been covering for her, but if this keeps up…”
Not good. And not like Ray. “If you see her, tell her to call me.” Like that would do any good. Kinsey felt her impotence with sharp awareness.
“I’ll do my best.” Robert hung up, leaving Kinsey alone with her thoughts. They weren’t good ones.
“So you didn’t like your boss.” Gerri’s voice cut through her mental acrobatics, drawing Kinsey back to the interrogation. She sighed and leaned against the glass, staring at Zed as he twitched, guilt gliding over his face.
“I didn’t say that. I just… he was a jerk. To everyone. But that doesn’t mean I killed him.” He sweated visibly, even from this distance, the sheen of it on his upper lip accentuating the fact he hadn’t shaved in a while.
“So you keep saying.” Gerri sat back. “Did you have any contact with his editor or agent?”
Kinsey sighed as Zed remained silent and belligerent, though he hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet. She thought that odd.
Gerri stood, closing the file, heading for the door to interrogation.
“We’re still checking your alibi,” she said over her shoulder. “Hang tight a bit longer.”
His stammered protest met with the closing of the door. Kinsey turned as Gerri entered the room, eyebrows raised in question.
“What do you think?” She didn’t sound convinced Zed did it.
Neither was Kinsey, but this wasn’t her area of expertise. “What motive would he have had?” Sure, from what she knew he’d been Malcolm’s assistant forever, like ten years. Way longer than most students retained a mentor. Then again, in the present education climate, having a job—even a crappy one working for an egomaniac—was all some academics could look forward to.
Gerri headed for the door. “Not sure,” she said. “But I have a feeling he’s not telling me everything. Going to leave him to stew a little while longer. Mills.” She gestured for the officer who joined them. “Get Mr. Bettle coffee, lunch, whatever he wants. But don’t let him go. And if he asks for a lawyer, let him have one, but make it complicated.” She grinned at Kinsey. Translate lose his paperwork, the precinct number, everything she could to stall. “I have a feeling he’s going to need representation before this is over.”
***
EXT. – SILVER CITY STREET to CORNER CAFÉ – AFTERNOON
Kinsey followed Gerri out of the precinct and to her car, leaving her own convertible in the lot, climbing into the passenger’s seat of the Charger. It wasn’t lost on her the spot beside the detective should have been Jackson Pierce’s, but Kinsey was more than happy to fill his empty seat. “Where are we going?”
“To see what the grief stricken girlfriend has to say,” Gerri said, peeling out into the street to the sound of irritated honking.
Kinsey found herself rewinding to the conversation with Wind Panther as Gerri drove in silence. Guiltily, she wondered if her association with her grandmother meant she’d never have a chance with the yummy Panther. And kicked herself for even thinking it was a priority. Wondered if being a Nightshade meant her libido was in high gear. And chose to blame her horny reaction on that.
Better than the fact she hadn’t gotten laid in, like, forever.
She returned to the present as Gerri parked the Charger, almost got out in absent minded inattention, only to have Gerri’s big hand clamp around her wrist and hold her still.
The detective pointed out the windshield at the front door of an apartment building across the street as Kinsey glanced at her in surprise. She watched with the detective as Varley Porter, dressed suspiciously in large sunglasses and looking around as if she was worried she’d be followed, crept down the steps and hurried down the street away from them.
“Well now,” Gerri said with a big grin. “Let’s see where baby doll is going in such a hurry.”
They kept their distance, though the young woman was being so obvious about sneaking Kinsey almost laughed at how easy it was to park the car and follow her on foot. She’d be a terrible spy, but Varley stuck out like a sore thumb begging to be whacked with a hammer.
Gerri paused on the corner of the street, hands in her pockets as the young woman crossed, stopping at the small café across from them. She sat quickly at a table with a more natural blonde, leaning in, lips running a mile a minute.
The detective swore softly, though she was grinning. “I have a feeling Varley Porter knows more than she’s telling us.”
“Why do you say that?” It wasn’t until the older woman who Malcolm’s girlfriend whispered to glanced over her shoulder that Kinsey understood. And recognized Kara Tremaine, reporter for Channel 8 News.
“Time to write a story of our own,” Gerri said, striding across the street on the red light. Kinsey grinned and followed.
***
EXT. – CORNER CAFÉ – AFTERNOON
Gerri’s boots carried her to the café, right up to the pair of conspiring women, neither of which spotted her approach until it was far too late. Of course, the moment Gerri set eyes on them together, it was too late.
They just didn’t know it yet.
She dragged an empty chair away from the small table beside them, ignoring the glares of the patrons whose seat she’d stolen and sank into it, grinning at the two women who stared at her, silent and wide-eyed. Kara recovered first, the quick wit of her journalism training obviously kicking in, though Varley continued to look like a deer in the lights of an oncoming train while Kinsey more kindly asked to borrow a chair from another table before joining them.
“Well now,” Gerri said, all cheerful and full of snark. “What have we here?”
“Detective Meyers.” Kara Tremaine used the honorific with a hint of sullen respect, her on air tone crisp and professional. The last time they’d met, it had been over the manipulation of a grieving family, their son attacked by a pedophile. Looked like the reporter was still digging up dirt on people. Her job, maybe. Didn’t mean Gerri had to like it. “How nice to see you again.”
Gerri leaned forward, elbows on the table, in Kara’s face. “I wish I could say the same. See, I thought I told you the last time you interfered with an investigation if I caught you doing it again we�
��d have issues.” She shook her head, loving this despite the sad look full of venom she aimed at the reporter. “We have issues.”
Varley burst into tears, irritating enough Gerri lost her momentum and turned to glare.
“It’s my fault.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a thick wad of paper. “Malcolm would still be alive if it wasn’t for me.”
Kinsey took the pages from her while Kara looked on with hunger in her eyes. “The manuscript Malcolm owed his publisher, I presume?”
Varley snuffled and nodded. “Donald came looking for it this morning, but I hid it. I was afraid he’d take it and it would never be published. He was so angry.” She wiped at her face with a crumpled tissue, mascara running all over again. “He acted like Malcolm didn’t have the right to his own book.”
Kinsey’s pointed glare made Gerri roll her eyes. “So you decided to what, sell it to the highest bidder?”
Kara had the good grace to look guilty. “Miss Porter contacted me.” Her tone said offended, but her face said otherwise.
“Why did you want it?” Gerri tapped her finger tips on the surface of the table in front of the reporter. “There has to be a reason outside having possession of stolen goods.” She stressed the last two words. Varley turned on the waterworks again.
Jesus, really?
Kara Tremaine hesitated, then sighed, carefully applied makeup no longer disguising she’d passed thirty at least five years ago despite her efforts to hide it. “I’ve been investigating Malcolm MacIntosh for four years,” she said. “I think he’s a fraud and that he never wrote a word of any of his books.”
That shut up the fountain of grief. Varley came to a stuttering halt, staring at the reporter while Gerri exchanged a startled look with Kinsey, who appeared thoughtful. “You what? You said you wanted to clear Malcolm’s name.” Varley lurched to her feet, face twisting in rage. “You lying bitch!” She tried to lunge across the table at the reporter, but Gerri was quicker, hauling her ass down into her chair again while the rest of what felt like the entirety of Silver City stared.
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