Played by the Book (A Novel Idea Mystery 4) Page 10

  Vicky snorted. “Grant? He hates Eliot. Why, he’d let the poor thing starve just out of spite.”

  The terrible thought of a cat wandering that old house, scared, hungry, and all alone was a lot to bear. I could see why Vicky was upset. “What can we do?”

  Vicky stuck her chin out stubbornly. “There’s only one thing to do. We need to rescue Eliot. Fannie gave me a key to her house long ago. I took care of Eliot and her houseplants whenever she and Robert traveled and—”

  I held up my hand. “Hang on. We can’t just go over there and take Eliot. There has to be some rule about that.”

  Vicky straightened her shoulders and fixed a determined gaze on me. “If you won’t go with me, then I’ll go alone. One way or another, I’m going to get Eliot before Grant Walker neglects him to death, or worse yet, disposes of the poor creature the same way he did Fannie.” My mind’s eye flashed to a horrible image of a sweet little kitty being offed with the steel edge of a garden spade. I shuddered. “Okay, okay. But let’s be sensible about this.” I couldn’t believe I’d actually just said that to Vicky. She was usually the epitome of sensible. “I’ll call Sean this afternoon and see if he’ll arrange for us to get the cat after work. Just promise me you won’t go over to that house alone. What if you’re right and Grant is the killer? Would you really want to face him down in that giant house alone?”

  Vicky lowered her chin. “What do you mean, if I’m right? Of course I’m right. Grant Walker is a murderer and I’m counting on you to prove it. As for Eliot, I’ll wait for you to call Detective Griffiths.”

  Before she left my office, I promised I’d get back to her later that afternoon with an answer about Eliot. I still felt a bit duped about the Grant Walker thing, but after considering it further, I decided it might actually work out. I could let the afternoon do double duty, since Franklin and I needed to work with Damian on the upcoming events anyway. Plus, Damian certainly wasn’t unpleasant to be around. Grant Walker, although decidedly unpleasant at Ruthie’s office, might have a different attitude when talking to Damian about selling his property. And who knew what I just might discover in the process? In the meantime, however, I wanted to focus on my new pile of queries. I bribed myself with the promise of a midmorning cup of coffee if I could make decent progress on my stack.

  I began leafing through the pile, feeling a familiar rush of anticipation. The possibility of finding a new story was a thrill I never grew tired of experiencing. Nevertheless, the first few queries fell flat before the title Murder and Marriage caught my eye. Probably because I seemed to have nothing but marriage—and unfortunately, murder—on my mind these days.

  I snapped up the query for a closer inspection. The title needed some work, but I didn’t let the lackluster name of the book deter me from reading more. In my experience, titles were no indication of an author’s capabilities. Take Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Most people didn’t realize that it was submitted to her publisher under the title First Impressions. For being such a talented author, Austen seemed ambivalent toward titling her works, as are many of the authors who seek my representation. At first, I didn’t understand this ambivalence. To me, a title was a glimpse into the soul of the book and should be chosen with as much care as one would choose their own child’s name. Now that I’m a more seasoned agent, I just overlook the title and jump right into the query. This one was a treasure.

  Dear Ms. Wilkins,

  Thirty-two-year-old Emma White’s much-anticipated wedding is only a couple of weeks away when preparations suddenly go awry. Her invitations are lost in the mail, her flaky seamstress hems the wedding gown too short, and the groom-to-be is acting strangely. But things soon go from bad to worse when the cake designer ends up facedown in three tiers of fondant perfection and Emma’s maid of honor is the main suspect. Will Emma be able to sift through all the ingredients for murder in time to find the cake maker’s real killer, or will her best friend have to trade her bridesmaid dress for stripes and shackles?

  Murder and Marriage is a 75,000-word completed humorous mystery that won first place in in the Bay Town Mystery Contest. I’ve worked in advertising for over twenty years and have won multiple awards for my work in print ads. I look forward to sharing my full manuscript with you.

  Sincerely,

  Lynn Werner

  “Yes!” I said out loud. The author’s light, witty voice worked perfectly for the type of story line she was proposing. I set the query next to my computer. Later, I’d email and request a synopsis and a partial read. If the first few chapters proved to be as tightly written as her query, I might have a new author.

  Rubbing the kinks in my shoulders, I decided I’d earned a little reward. The rest of the queries could wait awhile. I was in dire need of a caffeine fix. Besides, I wanted to touch base with Makayla to see how the plans for decorating were coming along.

  I’d just started down the back steps when I ran into Flora. I retreated to the landing to allow her to maneuver the narrow stairway. “Hello, Flora,” I chimed brightly.

  She met my greeting with a dark look. “Hello.” Her voice lacked its usual cheerfulness and she was huffing, out of breath from her ascent up the stairs.

  “I’m just going to grab a quick cup of coffee. Can I bring you up something?”

  “No thank you. And what do you have on your agenda today?”

  “Just trying to get ahead on paperwork. The rest of my week seems to be filling up with appointments.” I was already having misgivings about agreeing to the Grant Walker thing. Driving out to the property and inspecting it with him on a ruse really wasn’t a good use of my time and rather, well, sneaky. As eager as I was to help Vicky, my schedule was already jam-packed for the next week and a half leading up to the dinner and signing, and just how much good would I be able to do for her anyway? Not to mention Vicky’s expectations that I would surely prove her right (when I might not) meant extra stress. And, heaven knows, I already had enough stress.

  Flora’s chin jutted out. “I see. And I suppose one of those appointments is with Peggy Cobb.” Her features were growing tight.

  I squinted. “Peggy Cobb?” Suddenly the name rang a bell. With all the events of the last couple of days, I’d forgotten that I’d mentioned my home’s previous owner to Flora. “No, I haven’t had time to track her down. Why? Did you want me to tell her something?” I remembered that Flora had mentioned knowing the Cobbs.

  “Oh no. Why would I?” Flora said, tugging her polyester chartreuse blouse away from her body and wiggling a bit under what I thought was a stifling fabric choice for our mid-June heat and humidity. “I just wondered what you were up to,” Flora continued, pulling a hankie from her purse and dabbing her décolletage.

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. I wasn’t “up to” anything. But I no sooner opened my mouth to ask what she meant than she pushed past me and headed into the building.

  How strange, I thought, continuing down the steps toward Espresso Yourself. Flora was usually the most cheerful person in the office, but considering yesterday’s tragic events, it did make sense. Flora liked to believe the world was as magical as the fairylands created by her children’s book authors, so it only stood to reason that tragic events like Fannie’s murder upset her more than most people. I made a mental note to try to do something extra nice to cheer her up later.

  The first thing I did as I entered Makayla’s shop was inhale. The slightly burnt smell of coffee grounds mixed with the sweet scent of chocolate laced with spicy cinnamon enticed my senses and drew me to the counter like an eager pup to a bone.

  Before I even uttered a word, Makayla turned and started steaming milk. “I wondered if I’d see you today.”

  “You know I can’t make it through a single morning without my usual sweet jolt of caffeine.”

  Makayla’s lovely laugh rang through the empty shop. “Actually, I’m glad to see someone. It’s been incredibly slow.”

  “Probably the heat. It’s unusually warm today, don�
��t you think?” I glanced toward the back of the room. “Is Trey around?”

  “Afraid not. I sent him out to pick up some supplies,” Makayla said, topping off my caramel latte with a healthy dose of whipped cream. She also plated a two-bite streusel muffin and shoved it my way. “On the house. You look like you need a little extra sweetness this morning. I heard what happened to Fannie. It’s so awful.”

  “I didn’t really know her, but still …” I let my words hang while I gripped my mug and took my first sip of deep, warm, sweetly laced richness—nectar gifted straight from the hands of Makayla, the caramel latte goddess. I exhaled with satisfaction. “By the way, is there a time we can get together and go over your decorating plans?”

  “Why not now?” Makayla chimed in her melodic voice. “There’s no one here, so this is perfect. Just let me make myself a little something.”

  I watched as she turned and filled a mug with steaming water and removed a tea bag from one of the glass display jars that lined the shelves behind the counter. She motioned for me to head to one of the tables while she disappeared in the back. A second later, she emerged with a large binder and a copy of Damian’s book under her arm. She plopped them on the table in front of me and went back to grab her tea.

  As she joined me, I detected a pleasant fruity scent coming from her mug. “Arctic raspberry,” she explained. “A new organic herbal blend I’m trying. I think my tea-loving customers are going to like it. Rich raspberry with a cool nip of spearmint and a little something else.” She raised an eyebrow suggestively.

  I gripped my latte a little harder, hoping she wasn’t going to expect me to forgo my usual carb-loaded creaminess for something that sounded ultrahealthy. “What do we have here?” I asked, pointing at the binder.

  “Just a few things Jay and I have brainstormed for Damian’s signing next …” She paused, blinking a few times. “Oh my, do you realize we only have about ten more days to pull all this together?” Then noticing what must have looked like a panicked expression on my face, she quickly sucked in her breath and put on a brave front. “We can handle this—don’t worry.” Flipping open the binder, she soldiered on. “Most of the ideas are straight from Damian’s book, which I love, by the way. I’m sure it’s going to be a bestseller.”

  “Bentley certainly hopes so. She’s got a lot wrapped up in Damian. Not to mention the costs of such an extravagant event.”

  Makayla tapped the binder. “Luckily, most of his ideas have to do with transforming the ordinary into extraordinary, so decorations won’t drag down the budget.”

  “She’ll be glad of that.” I rotated the binder and opened the cover.

  “Speaking of bestsellers,” Makayla interjected, her voice almost a whisper, “any news about my book yet?” A couple of months ago, Makayla let me read her own book, The Barista Diaries—a charming collection of seven interwoven short stories narrated by a young barista and set entirely in a coffee shop. I’d loved the book and offered to represent it right away. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to find the right publisher yet. I shook my head, hating to dash her hopes yet again. “I’m sorry. No response yet.”

  She put on a brave smile. “No worries. I just couldn’t help asking,” she added, scooting her chair around the table so she was next to me and cocking her head to one side as we flipped through the pages of her binder. She’d assembled a scrapbook of ideas she’d acquired, some from decorating magazines, but most straight from the pages of Perfect Outdoor Spaces. “These are wonderful!” I commented, taking in her clippings and notes.

  She beamed and started pointing out her ideas. “Addison says there’s only enough seating for around seventy under the pergola, so I thought we could bring in some long tables like these.” She pointed to some rustic-looking wooden tables.

  I leaned forward. “Are those doors?”

  “Yes. Isn’t it clever? Damian actually uses this idea in his book. There’s a dilapidated farmhouse being torn down just outside of town. I’ve already talked to the owner. He’s going to eventually take them to the architectural salvage yard in Dunston, but he’ll let us use as many of the old doors as we want for the dinner. Jay’s already started making bases for them. Franklin’s thrilled with the idea.”

  I was impressed. “I love it, too!”

  She became more enthusiastic as she went on. “We’ll keep the table coverings simple. I’m thinking linen runners—that way we can keep as much of the distressed wood exposed as possible. We’ll do the same with the round tables under the pergola. Since the dinner will take place in early evening, we’ll string lights like these.” She flipped through Perfect Outdoor Spaces until she located a picture with little white party globes intertwined through overhanging branches. “These will be perfect, don’t you think?”

  I bobbed my head ardently.

  “Good. I found some of the lights at the party store in Dunston. I told Franklin to rent at least two dozen strands.”

  “Wow!”

  She giggled. “It’ll be beautiful, just like we’re dining directly under the Milky Way. And what do you think of these centerpieces?” I glanced at a picture of tinted mason jars filled with white candles. “Franklin found a couple cases of these types of jars at that new resale shop, Beyond and Back. He said Damian prefers to repurpose as many items as possible, so I think these will be perfect. Especially if I wind grape vines around the bases.”

  “Perfect!” I echoed. And I meant it. It was surprising how well Makayla and I clicked. I couldn’t have come up with ideas any better than the ones she was showing me.

  She tapped her finger to her chin. “I’m just thinking the tables will need a little something more, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet. Damian’s book touts the idea of using nature in tablescapes. It’s easy in the fall, when there are gourds and mini pumpkins aplenty, but I’m not sure what to use now. I want something more than just flowers.”

  I agreed, but couldn’t figure out what it would be. I thought of those soft-toned heathers of that mystery book I’d just accepted; each locale offered a unique color and tone to any book—or event. “Whatever it is, it should be regional. If he wants the food to be local, I’m sure he’ll want the decorations to fit the same theme. Speaking of food, later this week I’m meeting again with Paul Cohen, the catering manager at How Green Was My Valley, to finalize menu choices. Sometime in the next couple of days, you should contact him to discuss plates and flatware. You’ll probably want to choose something that melds with the rest of your decorating scheme.”

  “Definitely. I’ll do that first thing tomorrow.” She snapped the binder shut and settled back in her chair, taking another a sip of tea. “Now tell me how things are going with you and Sean.”

  I stared down and swirled the dregs left over in the bottom of my cup. “Well, we’re both busy.”

  Makayla’s green eyes clouded. “He hasn’t popped the question, has he?”

  “Not yet. I don’t seem to be high on his priority list these days.”

  She shook her head. “He stopped in yesterday afternoon, you know?”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, late afternoon.”

  “Oh, that must have been after he finished upstairs. He was questioning Vicky about discovering … well, you know.” Makayla nodded and stared at her tea. I eyed her curiously. “And?”

  She looked up, her face drawn with concern. “This isn’t my business, Lila, and I definitely don’t want to get mixed up in all this, but there’s something you should know.”

  My heart thudded in my ears as I waited for her to continue. What could she possibly have to tell me that seemed so serious? “Go on, spill.”

  She let out a long sigh. “Sean and Trey exchanged a few words.”

  My brow shot up. “Meaning?”

  She ran her finger along the brim of her teacup, searching for an explanation. “Meaning they had quite the argument. Seems Sean has it in his mind that you’re seeing someone else.”

  “Oh no.”<
br />
  Makayla nodded. “Yes, and Trey overheard him asking me about it. He lit into him. Got right in his face. Told Sean you’re not that type. He was really angry, Lila.”

  A horrible guilt settled over me. Of course Trey would jump to my defense. He’d seen, firsthand from his own father, how infidelity hurt families and destroyed lives. He valued loyalty in his own relationships and was fiercely loyal to my mother and me. I’d seen evidence of that loyalty last year when he came to my rescue, saving me from a ruthless murderer.

  Numbly, my gaze wandered away from Makayla to the front window of her shop. Outside, I saw people scurrying on the walk. A bank of dark thunderclouds had moved in, threatening rain. The arrival of the dark skies seemed to mirror the sudden change in my own mood. This was mostly my fault. I’d known Sean felt insecure about Damian and I’d used those insecurities to try to manipulate him. I’d played a dangerous game with Sean. I’d hurt him and even worse, I’d hurt his relationship with Trey.

  “Lila?”

  I snapped back and started explaining. “Saturday night, Sean cancelled our date at Voltaire’s because he was tied up at work. That’s been happening a lot lately, but I was especially frustrated that night because I thought …”

  “You thought it was the night.”

  I nodded. “I ignored him most of Sunday, then yesterday he caught up with me. He wanted to reschedule, but I told him I was too busy. I wasn’t really. I was just being spiteful, that’s all.”

  “That’s understandable. You’ve been waiting a long time for his proposal, Lila.”

  “Still, I told him I was busy with planning Damian’s event. I said some stuff that probably led him to believe that I was personally interested in Damian.”

  Her green eyes widened. “And are you?”

  I shook my head. “No. Oh, I admit, he’s good-looking. I couldn’t help but notice that.” I chuckled, then sobered again when I noticed her sharp look. “Honestly, Makayla. I don’t feel that way about anyone except Sean.”

  “Well, let me tell you, girlfriend, you need to be getting things cleared up with Sean before it’s too late. You’ve got that poor fellow all worked up in a tizzy. Nothing good’s going to come out of this game you’re playing.”