Stranger Than Fiction

by Emelle Gamble

  He was ready to bet she was as much in the dark as he was about who had struck him. It was obvious, however, why someone had. “Why didn’t you wait for me at the inn like I told you to?”

  “I’m not accustomed to doing what you tell me to do, Mr. Nichols. I’d still be there if I had listened to you. I left the inn and checked around to get a lead on the Chancon woman Patricia was working with. She’s not currently listed in Benton Convent, but I got the name of a woman there who can help us.”

  Tony tensed. “Someone who knows Patricia?”

  Claire’s eyes followed his to the phone. In the excitement, she had forgotten to ask him about the call he had just received. “That was Patricia who called. Where is she?”

  Patricia had been upset. Tony felt a flush of anxiety. She had sounded scared. “She didn’t stay on the phone long enough for me to find out.” Pulling his keys from his pocket, he winced slightly and rubbed the back of his head. “But I think we should head up to Benton Convent.”

  “Not until you tell me what she said.” Claire kept her voice steady, wanting to show no trace of the concern she felt.

  “I’ll level with you, Claire. Patricia sounded upset, and she told me to lay off. She said she doesn’t need my help anymore.”

  For a moment neither of them spoke. Claire realized that she could go back to New York now and wait for the other shoe to drop when Patricia Snow called. If she called. Or when Roz Abramowitz linked Snow’s book to Sarah Winesong’s. If she did.

  For a moment, she was dizzy with relief. But only for a moment. The immediate threat of Tony’s pressing a lawsuit might be over, but a hundred mysteries remained about The Poison Pen Pal she could not let go of now if she tried. “I take it you’re not going to do what she asked.”

  “No. I’m going to do whatever it takes to find Patricia and her manuscript. I told you I’m going to prove to you that she wrote that book, and I always do what I say. So, tell me about this woman you mentioned.” He leaned over and took a deep breath, his skin pale under all the bruises and scrapes.

  Claire told him about Pearl Loney. “Why is this so important to you, Tony?”

  “Personal reasons.”

  “Personal reasons?” Claire knew she sounded mocking, but if she was close to finding out what was really motivating Tony, she could not stop now.

  “Things are heating up. When I came to, I looked around a bit. Whoever was here stole a few things that are going to make it tricky for me to prove my case.”

  “Things? Like what?”

  “Like Patricia’s drafts of her book. Like some notes I made on an article I was researching on Billings Newcastle.”

  Her stomach contracted as if she had been hit. “You’re doing a piece on Newcastle? That’s why you jumped all over Mr. Harrison and me. You’ve heard the buy-out rumors.”

  “Yes. And my sources say they’re a lot more than rumors.”

  “But what does this have to do with Patricia Snow’s book?”

  Tony decided he had said enough. He now fully believed Claire was not part of the plot to rip off his student, but she was still a loyal employee of a crooked company, and he was not bound to tell all. “Let’s go see Patricia and find out. Are you coming?”

  She walked through the door he held open. “Yes. Whatever awaits in Benton Convent, I need to see with my own eyes.”

  “Seeing is believing, huh?”

  Claire thought of the fifty pages of manuscript he had given her yesterday. “Not necessarily. But it’s our only shot.”

  “Good choice of words. Let’s just be sure to make this shot count. It might be the last chance we’ll get.”

  Chapter Six

  “Give me your keys. After all your cracks on the head I think it’d be safer for both of us if I drove.” Claire held out her hand as they stood beside the Volvo.

  Tony gave them to her, then went around to the passenger side and got in. Leaning back in the seat, he closed his eyes and tried to sort out the events of the day. Patricia Snow was in danger, of that much he was certain. From what, or whom, he was not sure. He was glad Claire had agreed to come along. Maybe Patricia would open up to her.

  If we ever find her.

  It was obvious there had been someone with Patricia when she had called. Someone she was afraid of. Her voice had the edge of a hostage whose words were being monitored. He had to find out how that someone was connected with Claire.

  “I think it’s time you leveled with me about everything, Tony. What exactly has Patricia Snow told you that you haven’t shared?” Claire asked softly. She did not turn to look at Tony’s bruised and swollen face. Even though the man posed a threat to Cauldron, and to her job security, her guilt was as intense as ever over his injuries.

  Opening his eyes slowly, Tony regarded Claire in the fading light. Her skin had a translucent sheen, and her hair glowed against the dark interior of the car. He wanted to wipe away a small smudge... blood?... on her knuckles, but he did not trust himself to touch her.

  His instincts shouted that Claire was as honest as she claimed. However, he had paid the price once before in his life of trusting when he should not have, and he was damned sure he was not going to do it again until he was one hundred percent sure.

  Until he knew the name of the person Patricia had been working with to sell her novel to Cauldron, he could not let his guard down. “She said she was going to destroy all the copies of her manuscript. She wanted me to stop trying to convince you The Poison Pen Pal was her story.”

  The impact of his words nearly sent Claire veering off into the dense forest bordering the highway. “Why? Why’ did she change her mind?”

  “I’d say she’s been threatened. She sounded frightened.”

  “Frightened? Of what?”

  “Or whom?”

  Their separate theories regarding Patricia Snow’s torment were like two silent passengers sitting in the back seat, waiting to be introduced.

  Finally Claire spoke. “If someone has threatened her, she needs to go to the police.”

  “Maybe she’s afraid to, because she’s done something wrong herself.”

  “Which is what I’ve said all along.” Claire regretted the I-told-you-so sound that clung to her words, but could not stop.

  “She still needed one or two conspirators to get the book passed off as Winesong’s. Do you trust everyone you work with at Cauldron?”

  “You keep asking me leading questions, Tony. Can’t you even consider the possibility Patricia Snow fabricated this whole story?”

  “No. She did not fabricate her work. I saw it, edited it, and helped her with it for a year. The Poison Pen Pal is her story. There’s no disputing that.”

  Claire glanced at the sky. It was overcast and gloomy. She fully understood Tony’s tenaciousness. It came from that shared sense of creation she knew so well from her own editing experience. “But there’s no real proof. No complete copy of the book. No Patricia Snow.”

  “We’ll find her. Even though whoever hit me today stole the manuscripts. We’ll get them back. Give me a little more time, Claire. I’ll show you.”

  Claire did not seem completely convinced, but her voice was firm. “Okay, let’s go see Pearl Loney.”

  * * *

  When they arrived in front of the Convent Garden hotel, it was after eight. Claim pulled up tip the curb and turned off the ignition. She was exhausted. Tony’s estimation of four hours had been almost on the dot.

  She turned to Tony. He had slept for the past hour, his breathing ragged with fatigue. He woke up as she pulled the keys from the ignition.

  “Shall we go in here and get something to eat? Then we can check around to see if anyone knows Patricia or this Mrs. Chancon. Or should we phone Pearl?”

  “Let’s get you something to eat,” Claire replied as they entered the small neat lobby. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’m going to wash my hands.”

  “Can we get something straight first?”

  “Sure.�
�

  They looked at one another, as uncomfortable as a pair of fifteen year-olds on a first date. “It can wait,” Tony said. “Go ahead. I’m just going to ask the clerk a couple of questions.”

  “Fine. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Claire was relieved to get physically away from Tony and think for a minute. Hurrying into the rest room, she spotted the pay phone. At this hour, she could catch Tillie, who never went anywhere but to work and home. Stopping mid-dial, Claire realized she really did not want to hear Tillie say she had come up with proof that Tony Nichols was a con man.

  That’s ridiculous. I do want the truth. Her lack of conviction tightened her stomach muscles painfully, but she dropped in the quarter and read her credit card number to the operator.

  Tillie did not answer. She tried again. Still no answer. With a sigh of exasperation, Claire hung up. If she was honest with herself, she thought, she would acknowledge that she felt a little relieved. Claire ran the tap, soaping her arms up to her elbows. The warm water soothed her nerves, making her feel in control.

  After she dried herself, Claire brushed her hair with and reran the day’s events through her head. She berated herself for not insisting that Tony call the police from his office and report the attack, even though the inevitable questions would be uncomfortable.

  Wincing at the thought of how interested the police would be to know she had stolen a piece of United States mail, she pushed that anxiety aside. The biggest mystery was who had knocked Tony out? Someone who knew about his accusations? Or someone who wanted to stop him from proving them?

  Either way, it was difficult not to speculate that the interests of Sarah Winesong and Cauldron Press were being served by the attack. “Cut it out,” she scolded her image in the mirror, angry that her subconscious seemed intent on proving the truth of what Tony said, instead of the opposite.

  Throwing the brush and lipstick back into her bag, Claire hurried out into the lobby, determined to make Tony call the authorities. If any negative publicity about The Poison Pen Pal resulted from her actions, well, so be it.

  Too many little crimes were being committed; too many conflicting axes were grinding against the facts. Claire was not going to be a party to concealing the truth, no matter whom it hurt. Even if it damaged Sarah Winesong’s precious reputation.

  An empty lobby greeted her. Claire glanced back toward the rest rooms, then down at her watch. She had been gone about ten minutes, more than enough time for any man she had ever known to freshen up. Where was he now?

  She crossed the small room and sat on the sagging couch. It smelled of soap. Its cabbage rose upholstery was faded but clean. There was no clerk behind the desk, no guests milling around. She could not see the café door from where she sat, but she had seen a sign indicating it was closed.

  “Miss Kennedy?”

  Nearly jumping out of her skin, Claire turned at the sound of the question spoken so quietly behind her and stood up.

  A small, dark skinned woman in a maid’s uniform smiled at her. She looked at Claire, and then repeated her question. “Are you Miss Kennedy?”

  “Yes. I’m Claire Kennedy.”

  “Mr. Nichols asked me to tell you he’s across the street at the diner.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Quickly she scurried across the street and into the diner. Immediately she saw why Tony had not waited in the lobby. He had hurried over to catch the elderly woman who was now paying her bill, looking impatient with his questions.

  The short, frail woman was leaning on a cane. She had a paper sack in her hand. Claire caught her softly spoken words as she approached.

  “I’ll be tied up for a few minutes, but I’ve given you my address, so you folks come on over when you’re done with supper. Just give me a half hour.”

  “Of course, Miss Loney. We’ll say about nine?”

  Pearl Loney. How had Tony gotten ahold of her so quickly? Claire cleared her throat. “Hi, Tony. Miss Loney. I’m Claire Kennedy. I left a message with your assistant today.”

  Tony smiled at her, but something was wrong. He was ill at ease under the surface of his cheery facade. “Claire. Sorry to leave you like that, but the hotel clerk told me Miss Loney eats here every night at eight, so I came over hoping to find her.”

  “Nice to meet you, dear,” Pearl put her change into a deep pocket of her coat and moved toward the door. “I really do have to run. But see you two in a bit.”

  Claire watched her leave, a pinprick of worry in her mind. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman, but she could not put her finger on it.

  Tony directed her to a booth and they ordered. When the waitress walked off, Claire studied her surroundings for a moment. Red leather booths clean picture windows, beige linoleum floor. The Benton Diner, as the menu proclaimed, was nondescript, but nice. Her attention focused on Tony.

  In the fluorescent light, the bruises and cuts on his face looked even worse. The purple contusions on his unshaven face gave him a desperate air. “I’m surprised Pearl talked to you. You look like an escaped criminal.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Come on, I’m joking. What’s wrong with you?”

  Tony’s dark skin burned, contrasting with the whites of his eyes. “I may have found out a clue to Patricia’s disappearance.”

  “How?”

  “Claire, I think it would be best if you went back to New York. We can get a cab, and I’ll take you to the train. I’ll send your clothes to you.”

  “Have you lost your mind? I came to see Patricia Snow, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

  “Things may be getting dangerous.”

  “Dangerous? Come on Tony, don’t make me laugh. We were supposed to be working together to find your little student author and her book, remember? Do you think I’m going to forget all your accusations now, because you think you’ve found out something dangerous? Do I look stupid to you?”

  Tony’s answering look was cold fury. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”

  “So what’s so dangerous?”

  He waited to answer until the waitress finished bringing their dinner, which neither of them even glanced at. “Miss Loney knows where Patricia Snow is staying.”

  “Where?” Claire was angry at this slow motion delivery, which was making her feel vulnerable.

  “A small house out of town, about twenty miles into the country. Pearl said for us to come by, and she would draw a map for us. She knows the property well. It was owned by an M. Chancon, according to Pearl. Though she never met Chancon.”

  “She’s met Patricia, though?

  “She thinks she has. Wasn’t sure of the name. Said a young woman has been living on the property and was hired to do some writing.”

  “Well, we’ve found her then. Let’s go.”

  Tony was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it was in carefully measured words. “I think it would be better if we didn’t go together.”

  “I disagree. Furthermore, I fail to see how this information is dangerous. Unless you’re intimating that what I may find out from Patricia will be.”

  Tony frowned. “Miss Loney told me something else. She said Chancon died about six years ago. But her heir kept the property.”

  “And?” Claire was annoyed. “Spit it out.”

  Tony kept his voice low. “When I said dangerous, I wasn’t really worried for your sake, Claire. I’m concerned about Patricia’s safety. You see, Chancon’s only surviving relative is named Winesong. Sarah Winesong. She owns the house now.”

  The implication of this statement was clear. Tony was afraid to take Claire along, because he thought he now had indisputable proof of his case against Cauldron. And her.

  She stared at his sculpted profile, the long lashes framing penetrating eyes now squinted with fatigue, the face battered and bruised. Claire felt angry, but also somewhat relieved.

  This news proved something to her, too. Tony was not lying. He was not a con man. He really had grounds for believing T
he Poison Pen Pal was stolen.

  And for the first time, so did she.

  “I’m going with you. Period.”

  * * *

  Pearl Loney walked slowly across the room, her sensible, thick-soled shoes making little squeaks.

  “Here’s your coffee. You had better hurry, though. They’ll be here in about twenty minutes.”

  Her guest sipped the coffee, and then stood. “I’ll go now. You understand what I want you to do?”

  “Don’t I always?”

  “You try, but... ”

  Pearl placed her hand on her guest’s soft jacket. “Please, don’t be angry because I didn’t get the drafts from his apartment this morning.”

  “Stop it, Pearl. You should have taken care of him as I told you to, but don’t worry about it now. I got the drafts from his office myself. This has worked out much better than I expected.”

  Pearl studied her guest, turning the bracelet on her wrist. “They’re going to go out there as soon as I give them the directions. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Good. That’s what I want them to do.”

  “I told Nichols about Chancon’s heir. He was stunned.”

  Her visitor walked to the door, then rummaged in the hollow brass pot of umbrellas and walking sticks. Withdrawing one, her guest murmured a few last words. “You handled Claire Kennedy’s call in exactly the right way this afternoon. Thanks again. I’ll be in touch.”

  “We’ve been together for twenty-five years, do you know that?” At the casual nod, Pearl forced some cheer into her voice. “Drive carefully, Sarah.”

  Their eyes met. “Good night, Pearl. Be sure the directions are clear. We wouldn’t want the poor dears to lose their way.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tony pulled his car alongside a broken fence bordering the unpaved driveway and stopped.

  Through the windshield, Claire saw a small brick house. A barn and garage were shadowy companions in the distance.