Buried in a Book Page 10

  According to Big Ed from Catcher in the Rye, the soft-spoken, apple-cheeked woman across from me had tried to render Marlette even more invisible than he already was by getting him banished from the community park. I had to know just how much she’d resented his presence in Inspiration Valley.

  My attempt to speak was abruptly interrupted by a shrill beeping, an indication that twelve cups of freshly brewed coffee was waiting to be had. I pushed back my chair and filled the black-and-white Dunston Herald mug I’d brought from home, inhaling the tantalizing smell of the roasted arabica beans.

  “It seems odd to be sitting at my desk, plowing through query letters as though nothing happened here on Friday,” I began, idly stirring cream into my coffee. “I know you felt sorry about Marlette’s death, and I don’t mean to sound callous, but won’t it be a relief that he won’t be showing up all the time?” Pasting on an exaggerated grimace, I carried my mug to the table. “He was odd and raggedy and had a bit of an odor problem.”

  Flora took the bait immediately. “I know. Shameful! Some people should not be allowed to wander about willy-nilly, unbathed, muttering to themselves, scaring children and making their poor parents very, very nervous.”

  “Did he do that?” I opened my eyes wide.

  Spluttering, Flora put down her cup hard enough to cause the tea to slosh over the rim and puddle on the saucer. “He most certainly did! Skulking around the park, hiding scraps of paper in the purple martin house, drinking from the water fountain shaped like a dolphin—which is supposed to be for the children—and touching things around the play area. I could just imagine all the germs he left in his wake!”

  Cheeks pink with indignation, Flora dabbed at the liquid pooled on her saucer with a napkin. The level of hostility in her voice startled me. I’d never imagined this jolly, picture-book-loving matron could harbor such resentment for a fellow human down on his luck.

  I wondered if Flora was capable of killing someone simply because she disliked having to bear witness to the unpleasant face of homelessness, but when she spoke next, the true nature of her repulsion became clear.

  “Why would a person constantly creep about where children are playing unless that person was sick?” she hissed, not really addressing me any longer, but an invisible enemy only she could see.

  That’s when I remembered Big Ed telling me that Flora believed Marlette to be a pedophile. If she was convinced of this fact, it was no surprise that she viewed him with malice.

  Deciding to test the depth of Flora’s enmity toward Marlette, I said, “We have our share of homeless in Dunston as well. I don’t think any of them are pedophiles, but I do wish those poor people could all get the help they need. Whether that means rehabilitation into society, medical care, or counseling, it bothers me that they’re left to wander around like half-starved zombies.” I hesitated. Was I laying it on too thick? “What do you think, Flora? Should these folks be rounded up and sent to a facility somewhere so the rest of us don’t have to see them?”

  Flora frowned, considering my question. Finally, she shook her head. “No, dear. A town should take care of its people. Inspiration Valley doesn’t seem to have any programs in place for”—she struggled to find the least offensive word—“these lost souls. I don’t hate them, Lila. Don’t think that of me. I just don’t want the children to be subjected to scary-looking adults. They have so little time in this life in which they can enjoy their innocence. That’s why I do what I do.” She gazed into the middle distance and smiled dreamily. “Beautiful picture books, faraway places, magic, adventure. That’s what a childhood should be about. Not ugly things like war or abuse or homelessness.”

  I nodded, amazed that Flora could be so naïve at her age. Or perhaps it wasn’t naïveté at all. Maybe Flora’s innocence had been stolen from her and she lived her life trying to preserve it for other children. Her words made me think of Trey, and I suddenly wished that his childhood had been as untainted as Flora’s vision. Doesn’t every mother hope for that?

  “Perhaps this author can create that for a young adult audience,” I suggested softly, pushing the teacher’s query letter closer to Flora’s hand.

  She picked it up and flashed me a quick smile. “Okay, Lila. I’ll give her a chance.” Humming again, Flora washed her teacup in the sink and left the room.

  In my office, I sat down on my creaky old chair. Cradling my mug, I slowly swiveled around and replayed my conversation with Flora. She was a bit of an odd duck, but she was certainly no murderer.

  I spun the chair back to face the desk, and my eyes fell on the laptop that I’d pushed aside to make room for the stack of queries. Jude had mentioned emails this morning, as had Bentley on Friday. How many might be sitting there waiting to be read? I turned the computer on and waited for it to boot up.

  Twenty minutes later, having had to interrupt Bentley once to ask for my assigned password, I accessed the agency’s main email account. Jude was right. There were hundreds of email queries in the inbox. Three hundred and seventy-two to be exact. And Bentley had forwarded me the day’s two proposals to read through. The remaining hours of the morning flew by as I fielded phone calls and read query letters, discarding each one into a virtual rejection file.

  Finally, I looked up from the screen and rubbed my eyes. I was blushing from the query I had just finished reading. It was for a novel in the erotica genre about a sea captain who gets shipwrecked on an island populated by salacious women. Although the letter was well written, the author’s graphic descriptions made me squirm in my seat. Not being familiar with erotica, I was uncertain if this query was atypical for the genre. It was addressed to Ms. Luella Ardor, and I wondered if I should pass it on to her. I hesitated a few minutes but eventually forwarded it to her email address.

  My stomach growled, and glancing at the clock on the computer screen, I saw that it was already half past noon. Making sure Marlette’s notebook was in my bag, I headed for Espresso Yourself.

  In the café, I stepped behind a gray-haired lady in a pink velour pantsuit who was waiting at the counter. Makayla handed her a takeout cup and then saw me. “Grab that table in the corner,” she said, smiling. “I’ll bring you something.”

  Surprisingly for this time of day, the coffee shop was quiet. A woman in a flowered skirt sat at one table with a laptop in front of her, a man holding the hand of a little boy was on his way out, and the pink pantsuit lady was adding sugar to her coffee. I settled down at the table by the window and examined the book Makayla had set there to claim her seat. It was Muriel Barbery’s Elegance of the Hedgehog. The thought of the warmhearted barista escaping to a bourgeois Paris apartment during her breaks made me smile. I pushed the novel to the edge of the table and pulled out Marlette’s journal.

  “Girl, I’m glad you’re finally here. I was getting mighty peckish.” Makayla placed two plates containing bagels spread with cream cheese on the table along with two coffee cups. “A latte and a whole grain bagel with spinach and artichoke cream cheese. It’s our newest flavor. Hope that’s okay.”

  “It’s wonderful. Thanks.” The cream cheese, which was streaked with dark green spinach and had little chunks of artichoke throughout, smelled heavenly. “What do I owe you?”

  “Lunch is on me today. I needed an official cream cheese tester, and you’re it.” She took a bite and chewed. “Hm. Not bad.”

  I picked up my bagel and crunched into it. It was delicious. The salty artichoke blended with the piquant spinach bits just enough to compliment the creaminess of the cheese. “Oh, this is good. Tastes like that dip everyone serves at parties in a pumpernickel loaf.” I took another bite. “I’m surprised you’re not busier right now.”

  “We’re not really a lunch place. Bagels are all we have to offer. Most people go to Catcher in the Rye for sandwiches. Me and Ed, we have a good arrangement. I give people their morning jolt, he stokes their fires at noon, and then I’m here for an afternoon pick-me-up.” She waved her hand at the journal. “Is that Marlet
te’s? I’ve been thinking about it all morning.”

  “Yes. It’s like a folio of art and stream of consciousness writing. I’ve only read the first entry, but I flipped through enough pages to realize that it’s no ordinary diary.” I opened the journal, inhaling the scents of the forest. “Can you smell that?”

  “I can. It’s like being in the woods.” Makayla pulled the journal closer and inspected the drawings. “Wow, he was a gifted artist. People would have paid good money for these drawings.”

  “I know.” I turned the page. “Read the first entry. If we can figure out who this Sue Ann is, we might be able to uncover the mystery of Marlette. Do you think she’s a wife or girlfriend? A daughter, maybe? Do you know if he had any family?”

  Makayla shook her head. “I don’t know a thing about him. Just that he flitted about town like a leaf and smelled like a box of overripe fruit. And that I saw him climbing the stairs up to Novel Idea practically every day.” She bent her head down to examine the first page.

  I sat quietly while she read. This café was perfectly situated for Makayla to take notice of the people visiting or working at the agency. Maybe she had insights on my suspects. “What about Jude? Or Zach? Do you know anything about them?”

  Makayla’s jungle green eyes went wide. “You think they could’ve had something to do with Marlette’s death?”

  I shrugged. “I’m not discounting any possibility at this point.”

  “All I know is that Zach gets jacked up on double espresso every morning, and Jude could charm the habit off a nun.”

  Between bites of our bagels and sips of coffee, we skimmed through the pages of Marlette’s book, being careful not to drop crumbs on it. There were more pencil drawings of woodland creatures and sketches of flowers, including a very detailed one of the milkweed he’d given me on Friday. But most of the pages were filled with writing: Marlette’s unfiltered thoughts penned in his scratchy penmanship and ink spots blotting the paper randomly.

  “This is so hard to read,” Makayla said, turning to a particularly dense and blotchy page. “His writing is so small, and the sentences run on and on. Whoa, check this!” She pivoted the book to face me.

  A sketch of a girl stared out from the paper; she was a pretty young teenager, her braided hair hung over her shoulders and her rosebud mouth puckered. At first glance she was the embodiment of youthful naïveté, but a subtle shrewdness glimmered in her eyes. Marlette had captured an expression of arrogance underlying her innocence, and the longer I looked at her, the more uncomfortable I became. Underneath the face he’d written two lines:

  Sue Ann Sue Ann Sue Ann Sue Ann Sue Ann.

  I should never have let you in never never never.

  “Oh my gosh, it’s her. It’s Sue Ann.” I stared at the sketch. What did Marlette mean about letting her in? I felt a flutter of memory stir. Something about the face looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite—

  The café door was thrust open, severing my train of thought. Three men wearing suits entered, their boisterous laughter charging the atmosphere.

  “I’ll be right back,” Makayla said as she went to take their orders.

  I closed the notebook and put it back in my bag. While gathering together the debris from our lunch, I pondered Marlette’s ramblings. Would they help us find his murderer? Was Sue Ann a key to the mystery? I tossed the trash into the bin and put the dishes on the corner of the counter. I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye to Makayla, so I stared out the window and waited for her to finish with her customers.

  A woman with a twin stroller jogged past, and then a robust young man on a bicycle pulled up outside the pharmacy. A man hustled down the sidewalk, glancing furtively back at our building. As his head turned, I realized he was Franklin.

  Makayla, having come to the window, watched with me as he made his way into the park and disappeared beyond the fountain.

  “Now there’s a man you might want to investigate,” she said.

  I looked at her incredulously. “Franklin? Why?”

  “That man carries a secret like a Hollywood starlet toting a dog in a Chanel bag. Every day he heads out at lunchtime and is gone for exactly forty-five minutes. And he never reveals anything personal about himself, no matter what I ask him.” She shook her head. “He looks over his shoulder too much, just like he did today.”

  I was bewildered. Franklin seemed like such a sweet, ordinary guy.

  “Girl, you’re gonna have to hand that over to the police.” Makayla gestured at Marlette’s journal, which was sticking out from inside my bag.

  “I know.” I clutched the straps tightly. “But you said yourself they’re not going to spend much time on Marlette’s murder. It seems a shame for them to have it and then just file it away.”

  “So make a copy for yourself. You’ve still got a few minutes before you get back to the grind, right?”

  “Smart and gorgeous,” I told her, waving good-bye.

  The first thing I did when I got back upstairs was to follow Makayla’s advice by making a photocopy of Marlette’s journal. I stapled the pages together and stuck the bundle in the bottom of my bag. The original went into a large brown envelope with Sean Griffiths’s name on the front.

  I left the door to my office open, hoping to catch Franklin when he returned from lunch so I could casually ask him where he’d been. In the meantime, I dialed the cell phone number on Sean’s card. Unfortunately, I only got through to voicemail.

  Just as I was leaving a message, Franklin walked past without a glance in my direction. Shoot. A missed opportunity.

  The rest of the afternoon flew by. I managed to get through both proposals and a good chunk of the email queries. I now had three letters in the possibilities folder, but I decided to give them a second read in the morning before passing them on to the appropriate agents.

  Satisfied with a good day’s work, I tidied my desk and prepared to leave. Flora popped her head in my open door on her way out.

  “Toodle-loo, my dear. I hope you had a productive day.”

  “I did, thanks.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and walked with her. “Did you have a chance to follow up on that query?”

  “Indeed, I did. The author and I are having an email conversation.” She smiled. “She was thrilled to hear from me and responded to my email within seconds. She is very receptive to my recommendations. I just love it when an author understands the need for flexibility.”

  I held the door open for her. “Well, it was kind of you to spend extra time on it.”

  “Oh, I think something good might come out of this.” She touched my arm. “Thanks to you.”

  Basking in her praise, I watched Flora walk to the parking lot. Her vehemence this morning about the homeless seemed so contradictory to this round, kind lady to whom I just wished a good night.

  Unbidden, three words popped into my head. Purple martin house. I suddenly remembered our conversation from this morning and what she’d said about Marlette, that he’d put bits of paper in the purple martin house at the children’s park. Right then I decided to take a detour on my way home. I had just enough time to make a quick stop at the park before my Monday evening appointments. But I didn’t want to sleuth alone, so I dashed back to Espresso Yourself to find Makayla locking up for the night.

  “Would you like to do some investigating with me?” I asked her.

  She grinned. “Free as a bird. What are we doing? Breaking into a bank vault? Getting our hands on secret files?” Glancing down at her fuchsia T-shirt and white jeans, she smirked. “I’m not dressed in my best cat burglar outfit.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Neither am I. Fortunately, we’re going to a public place to see if Marlette hid something in plain sight. It won’t take long. Follow me.”

  The playground was on Dogwood, north of the town center. It was fairly new with brightly colored wood and plastic climbing equipment set in pea gravel, a flock of bird-shaped spring riders, and swings. Benches surrounded the
perimeter, close enough for parents to keep watch.

  At each corner of the park stood a tall pole with a birdhouse on it. One was a pink replica of the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast across the street, including an intricate gingerbread trim and a little front porch. Another looked like a log cabin. A small Noah’s ark stood at the top of the third pole, and on the fourth was a miniature white apartment house with three rows of three round holes on each side. That, I knew, was the purple martin house, having had one at my childhood home. How I loved nesting season, when the birdhouse was filled with chirping and the bustle of the mother bird flying in and out with food in her beak. I wondered if this house had any martins residing within. I needed to see if there was anything from Marlette inside, but I didn’t want to risk disturbing a nest.

  A bench stood close to the house, and I figured if I stood on the armrest I’d just be able to peer into the closest hole.

  “Can I hold your hand while I climb up here?” I asked Makayla.

  She nodded. “Sure. If anybody asks, I’ll tell them you’re practicing lines for a play.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Which play?”

  Makayla shrugged. “How about One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest?”

  Grinning, I paused for a moment to look around. Two little redheaded boys who appeared to be twins were taking turns climbing up a ladder and going down a slide with their mother standing nearby. A blond, curly-haired girl of about three with her thumb in her mouth sat on one of the spring rider birds—a big green hummingbird—staring at a jean-clad teenager talking on a cell phone. A boy of about seven was sitting on the ground in the corner by the Noah’s ark birdhouse, making intricate roadways in the gravel for his collection of cars. His concentration on his task reminded me of Trey laying out the tracks for his Thomas the Tank Engine collection. Somehow, it didn’t seem all that long ago.

  I put down my bag, took off my shoes, grasped Makayla’s hand, and climbed onto the bench. Standing on my toes, I stretched up and was able to see into the holes on one side. There were bits of twigs and grass within, but nothing else. I twisted to look in the holes on another side.