by Shéa MacLeod
Lucas nodded. “All right. So what’s next?”
I knew he wanted to help, but it was weird involving him. I barely knew the guy. Still, it might help to have someone besides Cheryl to bounce ideas off of. Plus I was pretty sure Cheryl was getting tired of my shenanigans. This might give her a break for a bit. Let her recover.
“Honestly? I’m not sure. Here’s what I know.” I gave him a quick rundown of what happened at the hotel the night before and what I’d learned about Andrea from Rose. “I need to find out more about Andrea. Like, did she have a new boyfriend? A best friend? Somebody she might have told what she knew about Natasha’s murder or whatever it was she was hiding.”
“Seems like a good avenue of investigation,” Lucas agreed.
“And then there are the minor suspects.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “That’s a new one.”
“Minor suspects are those that seem unlikely, but could have a motive for one or more of the murders.”
“Like?”
I wiggled into a more comfortable position. I noticed his eyes strayed to my cleavage before politely glancing away. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed at his self-control or pleased that he was being such a gentleman. Maybe a little of both.
“Like Yvonne Kittering, for instance. On the one hand, the woman hated Natasha. Natasha made her life a living hell. Motive if I ever heard one. On the other hand, Natasha was her bread and butter. Without her, Yvonne doesn’t have a career. Which, of course, is an even bigger reason not to kill her.” I frowned. Logic was so annoying.
“What about Avery Andrews?” he asked. “Wouldn’t Yvonne just pick up with her where she left off with Natasha?”
I was surprised Lucas knew so much about the romance world. Granted, there was likely some overlap with the way things were done with thrillers, but there were still a lot of differences. I shook my head. “Avery has a different acquisitions editor. Avery would either stay with that editor or go to one higher up the chain.”
“And that wouldn’t be Yvonne.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Yvonne is out of luck unless she manages to find someone who can compete with Natasha’s success and that’s unlikely.”
“Why?”
“Because Yvonne and the publishing house made Natasha. Three years ago, she was nobody. They literally created her success. With a new author, they’d have to start from scratch again. Why do that when they’ve got Avery already high in the charts? Throw some more marketing her way, and she’ll be at least as big as Natasha, if not bigger. She’s a better writer, after all. Plus she’s nicer. Easier to work with.”
“Natasha was a bit of a diva.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it,” I said wryly.
He swung his feet to the sand. “Why don’t you and I go question Yvonne? She may not be a good suspect, but I’ll bet she knows something useful.”
“Right now?” I asked, surprised by his eagerness.
He grinned that charming grin of his again. Was it hot out here, or was it just me? “You bet. Are you game?”
Was I ever.
Chapter 15
Getting On Top
WE FOUND YVONNE KITTERING sitting at a table outside the Flying Fish, smoking like a fiend while swilling down a bottle of cheap red wine. She was already well on her way to being three sheets to the wind, and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
“Hi, Yvonne,” I said with a polite smile. “I’m Viola Roberts and this—.”
She cut me off with a cloud of smoke, which caused me to cough. I made a production of it, which she ignored.
“I know who you are,” Yvonne said. “Him, too.” She shot Lucas a glare from her muddy-brown eyes as if he’d offended her by his very presence. “Come to gloat, I expect.”
“Why would we do that?” Lucas asked soothingly, taking the seat across from her. I took the one between them. It faced the ocean, which was nice. Unfortunately it was closer to the cigarette smoke than I liked.
“Well, it seems to be what everyone else is doing. They’re thrilled Natasha is dead. Ding, dong, the wicked witch and all that jazz,” Yvonne said, waving her cigarette for emphasis. I tried not to cough up a lung as another cloud drifted my way. My allergies were going to run amuck any minute now.
Lucas shook his head and gave a sound of sympathy. “Some folks just aren’t very nice.”
Yvonne snorted. “You’re telling me. And I worked for one of the nastiest ones in the business.” She took another deep drag from her cigarette before splashing the last of the wine from the bottle into her glass. Then she pulled an industrial-size bottle of antacids out of her voluminous brown handbag and dumped a bunch of them on the table in front of her. “Natasha made my life a living hell. I suppose you know that.” She took a drag, popped an antacid, and downed a mouthful of wine. “I’ll bet the cops think I did it,” she said morosely. Another drag, antacid, gulp of wine. She repeated the process as we chatted.
“Oh, I don’t think they believe that,” Lucas soothed. I was letting him roll with his “good cop” routine. He was good at it. Handling Yvonne like a pro. “I’m sure there are plenty of people who had motive to kill Natasha, but you’re not one of them.”
“You better believe it,” she nodded emphatically, repeating once again the cigarette/antacid/wine process. She frowned when she found her glass empty. Lucas flagged down the waiter and asked for another bottle. Yvonne beamed at him, flashing slightly yellowed teeth. “Such a gentleman. Where was I? Oh, yeah, other people with motives.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “That Avery Andrews chick? Not quite as innocent and sweet as she’d like people to believe.”
Lucas and I exchanged a glance. “No?” I asked.
She squinted at me as if just remembering I was there. “Nope. Definitely not. Do you know that she had an affair with Jason before he dumped her for Piper?”
I definitely hadn’t known that. And neither had Lucas if the look on his face was anything to go by.
“I see that’s news to you,” Yvonne crowed just as the waiter returned with a fresh bottle of wine. She topped up her glass and took a deep swig, sighing with satisfaction.
“But if Jason broke up with Avery, wouldn’t she have more motive to kill him than Natasha?” I asked. Yvonne didn’t seem shy about spilling gossip about others, so I figured I didn’t need to pretend to be anything but the nosey parker I was.
“Okay, here’s the thing,” she said, leaning one elbow heavily on the table. “Avery has a habit of wanting what isn’t hers: husbands, book deals, whatever. Sure, she was angry as all get out over Jason leaving her, but she was angrier that Natasha got preferential treatment at Romantic Press. Plus, she already had her eyes on someone new by then, so losing Jason wasn’t that big of a deal to her.”
I wasn’t sure where Yvonne was going with this, but she was certainly making Avery look guilty. It might sound silly to outsiders, but the book-deal thing could be the motive I was looking for.
“Word on the street is that Avery had already hooked up with the husband of another best seller. Drove her into a complete breakdown.” Yvonne cackled with delight.
“Are you talking about Melisande Donovan?” I asked. She was the only best-selling romance author I knew who’d had a very public breakdown over her husband’s affair, although the name of the woman involved had never been revealed.
“Oh, yeah,” Yvonne said, slouching back in her seat, glass of wine clutched to her chest. “It was epic, let me tell you. Avery had a gag order slapped on her, which was why Melisande never mentioned Avery’s name. Melisande still hasn’t recovered. Poor dear.” She seemed genuinely sorry for Melisande Donovan.
“I still don’t see how that makes Avery a suspect,” I said.
“I agree,” Lucas nodded. “If Avery had been the victim, there are a few fingers we could point, but she seems to have no motive for Natasha’s murder.”
“I’m not done,” Yvonne said smugly. “Two nights before Natasha’s m
urder, I overheard a fight between her and Avery. Believe me, it was a doozy. There I was, minding my own business in the ladies room, and in walk the two of them. Started brawling like a couple of longshoremen.”
“What were they fighting about?” I asked eagerly.
Yvonne’s eyes glittered in unholy glee. “Turns out, Avery was trying to get her claws into Natasha’s new man. Natasha wasn’t pleased about it.”
I blinked. “Avery wanted Kyle?”
“Is that the kid’s name?” Yvonne shrugged. “All I know is threats were exchanged. And now one of them is dead.” She waggled iron gray eyebrows. “What do you think of that?”
I thought it was highly suspicious. And I’d bet anything the police would, too. Except I had no intention of telling them. Not until I did a little more investigating myself.
“LET ME GUESS.” LUCAS sounded amused. “We’re off to question one Avery Andrews.”
“Naturally. She just shot way up on my list of suspects.”
“Ah.”
I stopped to stare at him. “What? You don’t think she could be guilty?”
He shrugged. “Anyone could be guilty, but as a motive for murder, trying to steal someone’s boy toy is pretty weak, don’t you think?”
I snorted. “Clearly you don’t know women.”
“Would you murder someone for trying to steal your boyfriend? Or worse, kill another woman to get her boyfriend?” he asked, seeming more interested in my answer than I would have thought.
“No,” I admitted, “but believe me, there is a type of woman who would.”
“And you think Avery is that type of woman?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out.”
“Mmm.” The sound was noncommittal in the extreme. It made me want to slug him. Instead I gave an exasperated sigh and marched off in the direction of the main resort building. There were more lectures going on today, and Avery was giving one of them. Wouldn’t hurt to hear what she had to say. Afterward I could question her. Subtly, of course.
The little computer screen outside the Seabreeze Suite listed Avery’s name and the time of the lecture as well as the title: Being Number One: Getting on Top and Staying There. Interesting, seeing as how Avery had been number two until the day Natasha died. Fascinating foreshadowing there. Wishful thinking? Or had Avery already had a cunning plan to bump off her rival?
I slipped into the back of the room. Nobody paid any attention, their eyes were glued to the small stage up front. Couldn’t say I blamed them. Avery was a stunning woman. More than that, she was charismatic without needing the diva attitude Natasha had been so infamous for.
Avery was wearing a bright-red dress that hugged her voluptuous form. Her mink-dark hair was swept up on her head in an elegant roll. She wore cute little black-rimmed reading glasses that made her look sexy rather than frumpy, and she clutched a laser pointer in one hand, which she used to highlight points on the overhead projection.
“Of course, I can’t promise that what I did will work for you,” she said with a warm chuckle that made everyone in the room smile, “but I can guarantee that if you do nothing, your results will be zero.”
The room nodded as one. A few of the attendees scribbled madly in notebooks. Others tapped away at computer keyboards, trying desperately to capture Avery’s wisdom in hopes that they could miraculously boost their own sales. Maybe they could. That wasn’t why I was there.
As the class wound down, Avery assured the listeners that she would happily stay behind and answer questions, then she dismissed the class. She was immediately mobbed, most of them asking the same questions over and over again as if somehow that would produce some magical new information. It was a little like weight loss. Everybody wanted a so-called “perfect” body, but nobody wanted to put in the hard work. They were all looking for a miracle pill.
I waited, albeit somewhat impatiently, until the last person drifted away, leaving Avery alone to collect her things. Then I made my move.
“Interesting talk,” I said cheerfully.
She arched a brow. “I noticed you missed most of it,” she said. There was no accusation in her tone, merely observation.
“Ah, well, the beach called, you know.”
She laughed. “Believe me, I get it. I’d have been out there, too, if I didn’t have this talk to give.” She said “talk” like one might say “circus” or “lunatic asylum.”
“I’m sure everyone appreciated your time.”
She sighed and tucked a laptop under one arm. “I’ve no doubt. I’ve also no doubt that most of them won’t do a single thing I suggested and they’ll get mad because I didn’t fix things for them. I swear, this is the last time I do one of these talks.” She laughed. “But then, I said that last year.”
“I’m sure you helped someone in that crowd,” I encouraged her.
“Hopefully. Plenty of room for all of us, I say.”
That had me raising a brow. That was definitely not the impression I’d gotten from Yvonne.
“You’re surprised by me saying that, aren’t you?” Avery asked. “Well, it’s true. Something Natasha never seemed to grasp.”
“But now she’s gone...” I let my voice trail off.
“And I’m number one. Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind. And Detective Costa’s mind,” she said dryly. She snagged her cobalt handbag off her chair. I had a moment of bag envy.
“Would you like to grab lunch?” I asked, hoping that she’d open up over food. Most people did, in my experience.
“That’s sweet, but I already promised Piper Ross I’d have a lunch meeting with her. You know, talk over how she can help me grow my business. Now Natasha’s gone, she can’t get in the way.”
“Really?” I was surprised she’d be interested in hiring Natasha’s former assistant. “Not Greta Morris?”
Avery waved her hand dismissively. “Greta isn’t the one that helped Natasha climb to the top. Piper is. Believe me, she’s responsible for a lot more of Natasha’s success than she’s been given credit for.”
“Really? I’d no idea.”
“Exactly,” Avery said darkly. “That was how Natasha preferred it.”
“But what about, you know, Piper stealing Natasha’s husband. Aren’t you worried?”
She laughed. “I don’t have anyone for Piper to steal. Besides, men don’t get stolen unless they want to be. Believe me.” She sounded like she spoke from experience. I couldn’t help but think of poor Melisande Donovan.
“Well, good luck,” I said cheerfully.
“I don’t need luck, honey,” Avery said with a smile. “I’ve got hard work and smarts on my side. Not to mention just enough talent to get by.”
“That never hurts,” I agreed, surprised at her candor. Most authors I knew liked to pretend they had no control over their success. Which was partially true, to a point. “Can I ask you something, though?”
“Sure. Fire away.”
“There’s a rumor that you and Natasha had a fight a couple days before she died. Over a man.”
Her face went from open and bright, to dark and closed in a heartbeat. “That Yvonne Kittering has a big mouth.”
“So you knew she overheard you?”
“Of course. And I didn’t care. At least until Yvonne started spreading lies.”
“Lies?”
Avery whirled on me, an angry flush staining her high cheekbones. “Do you honestly think I’d waste my time on a kid like Kyle?”
“To be honest? Not really.”
“Exactly,” she huffed. “I’ve got better things to do with my time than moon around with children. Besides, he’s not my type.”
“Then what were you arguing about?” I asked, baffled.
“I’ve never liked the way Natasha used people. I finally decided to tell her right to her face. Kyle may be a kid, but he deserved better than a woman like Natasha toying with his affections. Now, I’ve got to go. I’m already late.” And with that, she sashayed out of the room
leaving me standing there in a state of confusion.
Yvonne had painted Avery as a man-eating, power-hungry, do-anything-for-success type, but Avery hadn’t seemed that way at all to me. She’d seemed genuine, normal, and a champion for the little guy. She was back to being dead last on my suspect list, and I no idea where to go from there. I wondered if Costa was as frustrated as I was.
Chapter 16
The Last Testament
THERE WAS ONE LAST person on my list of suspects which I’d yet to question: Greta Morris, Natasha’s current personal assistant. Well, current until Natasha wound up dead on the beach, anyway. I decided to drag Lucas along. He seemed to have a way with middle-aged ladies. I cringed a little at the thought that I was now a middle-aged lady. That just didn’t seem right. When had that happened? I heaved a sigh.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Lucas asked cheerfully. Drat the man anyway. Why was it that middle-aged men didn’t get a bad rap? In fact, they generally seemed more desirable. More secure. More stable.
“Believe me, they’re not worth it.” I was this side of grumpy. Maybe I needed more coffee. Or a very large bar of chocolate.
We found Greta Morris in the coldest corner of the lobby, her blond hair, liberally streaked with gray, pulled back in a severe bun. She was bundled up in a woolly sweater which was an unfortunate shade of grayish-pink—I believe they call it crepe. It clashed with the woman’s rather florid complexion and did no favors to her figure, making her look exceptionally lumpy. Admittedly, it was absolutely frigid in this particular corner of the lobby, but Greta’s enormous sweater seemed like overkill. Still, this corner was also possibly the quietest, and Greta had her nose buried in her e-reader. It had a pink cover a shade brighter than her sweater. The woman must really love pink.