Off the Books Read online

  “You okay, Lila? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  I blinked a few times and swallowed hard. “Is that a nail gun?”

  He walked over and picked it up. “This thing? Yeah, I rented it for the day. It sure makes the job easier.”

  I couldn’t help but notice how well it fit his giant hands. I nodded. “Those things can be dangerous, can’t they?”

  “Heck yeah. Gotta be careful with these things. You could really hurt someone with one of these.” As if to demonstrate, he bent down, pressed the tip against the floor, and pulled the trigger: click-thunk!

  Or kill someone, I thought.

  Chapter 11

  The noise from the nail gun still haunted me as I stomped my feet on the mat just inside the office door. Olive greeted me with a little bark and scurried over for a quick sniff of my boots. “Hello there,” I said, scratching between her ears. “And good morning to you, Vicky.” I did my best to put on a cheerful tone, despite the fact that my stomach was in knots from everything that had happened this morning. I quickly told Vicky about the breakin at Espresso Yourself.

  “That’s simply dreadful. Who would do such a thing? Did they apprehend the perpetrators?”

  “No. The police think it’s related to some vandalism incidents in Dunston. Kids, they think. We were able to get most of it cleaned up in time for her to open this morning.”

  “That poor girl. I’ll go down on my break and see if there’s anything else she needs.”

  “I also paid a visit to Matt over at All Creatures, Feathered and Furry. You were right. The accident was caused by a faulty stand. And he told me that Chuck built it.”

  Vicky nodded triumphantly. “Just as I presumed.”

  “The worst part is, when the aquarium broke, it flooded the whole back room. The carpet, even part of the drywall, was destroyed. And insurance won’t cover all the costs.”

  “The repairs sound expensive.”

  I nodded. “And there’s more.” I almost hated to mention the rest, because it painted an ugly picture of Matt. And the truth was, he was a good guy. I really liked him. Still, the destruction caused by Chuck’s subpar work could easily have been motive for murder. “Apparently, Chuck did some work on the shop before it opened last summer. When Matt tore out the carpet, he found that Chuck hadn’t properly nailed down the subflooring. So he was taking care of it himself. With a cordless pneumatic nail gun.”

  “That’s what—”

  “Yeah. That’s what the killer used on Chuck. Gave me the creeps to see Matt holding one. And the sound …” I shuddered.

  “Yes, but it does establish the fact that Matt knew how to use one. I was thinking that I’d have no idea how to operate one of those things. I bet a lot of people wouldn’t.”

  She was right. The killer would have to have some knowledge of how to handle a nail gun. Of course, if they’d planned the murder to set up Jodi, or Lynn, they would have had plenty of time to learn how to use one. But … “I just thought of something. I keep assuming we had to consider Jodi or maybe Lynn, too, on our suspect list. But now, with the nails found in Jodi’s room, it’s looking like someone really intended to frame Jodi all along. I mean, it makes sense, right? Why would she use the same method that was used in her book and then be careless enough to just leave a strip of pneumatic nails in her room?”

  Vicky nodded. “I agree. It would seem that she’s being framed.” Suddenly she darted from her chair. “Stop that! Bad dog!” She ran over to where Olive was chewing on the leg of one of the waiting room chairs. She pulled her away and placed her on her doggie mat in the corner of the room before returning to her desk with a disgruntled sigh. “Sorry. Please go on.”

  “I’m just wondering, if Jodi was framed, how did the killer know Chuck was going to be in the kitchen at that very moment with a nail gun in his tool bag? And why’d Chuck bring in a nail gun in the first place? It wouldn’t seem a likely tool for fixing a refrigerator.”

  “Perhaps he always carried one in his bag,” Vicky supplied.

  “Maybe.” Although it was kind of a big thing to carry around all the time. “Still. The timing was incredible. And getting back to Matt. We don’t know if he was anywhere near the Arts Center that afternoon.”

  “You’re right. We’ll need to find out if he had an alibi.” A whining noise drew our attention to the door, where Olive was pawing to go out. “Oh for Pete’s sake!” Vicky grumbled, reaching under the desk, where she kept a small tote bag with her winter boots. She started slipping off her sensible pumps and sliding on her boots. “You’ll have to excuse me, Lila. Olive needs to be walked.” Her tone on the dog’s name left no doubt as to her feelings about this task.

  I glanced down the hall toward Bentley’s office door. “Where’s Bentley? Shouldn’t she be taking care of Olive?”

  Vicky pressed her lips tightly together and let out an exaggerated harrumph. “Jodi’s arraignment was scheduled first thing this morning. Both she and Flora went to the courthouse. I’m supposed to remind everyone to keep their ears and eyes open for anything that will exonerate Jodi.” She lifted her heavy wool coat from the coat stand and wrapped a hand-knitted muffler around her neck. Next to her, Olive yapped and jumped with excitement. Vicky turned to me before opening the door. “I would do a little checking around on my own, but I’ve been busy dog sitting. Of course, it seems dog sitting is all I’ve been doing lately. By the way, would you mind checking in on Eliot? He’s in the break room. He might need some extra water.” Her voice was almost sorrowful as she asked. I was starting to wonder just how wise it was for Bentley to take on Olive’s care, even if it was just temporary. Sure, Olive needed a home and she did seem to have a soothing effect on our high-strung boss. But was Bentley’s on-the-go lifestyle really suitable for caring for the lovable but highly demanding Olive? Sloughing off that responsibility to Vicky might seem a simple fix to her, but the repercussions could be disastrous. Vicky was a considerable asset to our agency; her thorough and no-nonsense personality had created a smoothly functioning office, something that was hard enough to find in any office staff, especially one with such high energy and eclectic personalities as our agency. Bentley really couldn’t afford to jeopardize that. I shook my head. I had a feeling that what started out as a good intention was going to end up as a bad dilemma.

  *

  ON THE WAY to my office, I stepped into the break room, picked up Eliot, and took him with me. After throwing my shoulder bag in the bottom desk drawer and flipping on my computer, I set him on the floor. Then I went back to the break room and retrieved his water and food bowls. “You can just hang out with me for a while, buddy,” I said, placing them on the floor by my desk. In response, he rubbed against my legs and let out a purr that sounded like a motorboat starting up. I think he liked the idea of hanging with me.

  Just as I settled behind my desk, my phone rang. It was Sean.

  “Hey, there,” he said. “Glad I caught you in your office.”

  “Yeah. Good timing. I was about to give you a call. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Bet there is. Just got in. Saw that someone broke into Makayla’s shop this morning. There wasn’t anything in the report about injuries or anything. Is Makayla doing okay?”

  “She’s fine. Shook up a little, but you know Makayla … She’s already back up and running. Didn’t really miss a beat.”

  “The report said nothing was stolen.”

  “She hasn’t noticed anything missing yet. They might have been after cash, but she’d taken in a deposit the night before, so there wasn’t much there. Just enough to open with this morning.” Eliot jumped up on my desk and started rubbing his cheeks against my computer screen.

  “And it wasn’t touched?” he asked.

  “No, guess not.” That was strange. Someone breaking in for money would have stolen whatever cash was at hand. In fact, I’d think they would have taken it even if they’d broken in just to cause havoc. “I had somethi
ng else I wanted to tell you about, though. It has to do with the case.”

  “I’m listening.” His voice suddenly seemed tight, but he listened patiently while I relayed what I’d learned at the pet shop. “Seeing Matt with the nail gun made me think of something important, Sean. I know you don’t believe me, but what if I’m right and someone is really framing Jodi. I mean, at first I thought Lynn was the one being framed, but after the nails being discovered in Jodi’s room, I’m thinking the killer set out to frame her all along.”

  “Or she’s guilty. Not all killers are smart about it. It could be she just thought she could get by with it, that no one would suspect her enough to search her room.”

  “But there’s no real connection between her and Chuck. Is there?” I ran my fingertips along Eliot’s ginger-colored fur, tracing the line of his spine until his tail rose and bushed out like a feather duster. Glancing at my frost-covered window, I couldn’t help but think there was something comforting about a warm cat on a cold day. Even when discussing something as gruesome as murder.

  After a few beats, Sean still hadn’t replied, so I jumped back in with, “It’s just that the method of murder was so unique. Either someone read about it in Jodi’s book and copied it, or they purposefully set out to frame her. No matter what you think, I know Jodi’s too smart to kill someone the same way she killed off one of her characters. And the nails cinched it for me. It just seems too convenient that they were found in her room. And were her fingerprints on the nails?”

  “No. No prints at all.”

  More proof that they were probably planted, I thought.

  Sean continued, “And I’ve considered the same things you’re telling me, Lila. And I agree. But there’s also a lot of evidence stacked against Jodi. At this point, it’s up to the court to sort it all out.”

  He was right, but I still persisted. “True. But if you’re considering the possibility of a frame job, then you’d have to ask yourself how the killer knew Chuck would be alone in the kitchen, with a nail gun, at just the right moment.”

  He paused a few beats before replying. “That just proves my point. It wasn’t a frame job.”

  Boy, he sure was stuck on that point. “It’s the nail gun that’s bothering me, Sean. The day I met Chuck, he was doing some work over at the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast. Putting up shelves, I think. Anyway, he was using a hammer and nails. I remember because the hammering was driving everyone crazy. Then at the pet shop this morning, Matt showed me some work Chuck had done on the subfloor. He’d missed nailing down a bunch of boards, but the ones he did nail down looked like they were done with a hammer. I could tell because there were little dig marks in the wood where he’d missed the nail head in spots. Anyway, the point is, if he had a nail gun, why wasn’t he using it for those jobs? Or, what I find even weirder, why did he take one into the Arts Center when he was going to be working on a refrigerator? Does that seem likely to you?”

  “No, it sure doesn’t. You’ve made some really good points. Really good points,” he reiterated.

  My heart did a little flip. I didn’t ever remember Sean praising my detecting efforts before. It felt good. Really good. I smiled into the phone. “Thank you, Detective. I’m glad you approve of my sleuthing capabilities.”

  “Who said I approved?” And just like that, I stopped smiling. “Look,” he continued. “Don’t get the wrong idea. A little armchair detecting is fine. And you’re good at it. Just please don’t go and do something that might be dangerous. Like last time.”

  I pressed my lips together and rolled my eyes at the phone. Like I’d purposefully set out looking for danger last summer when I found myself at the mercy of a crazed killer. Or those other times, for that matter. No, I didn’t look for trouble; it simply found me. Or if what everyone said was true, I attracted trouble like a magnet. Still, it wasn’t something I could control. I sighed heavily and sank deeper into my desk chair as Sean continued with his lecture. The sudden movement of the phone cord being pulled tautly prompted a tail twitch from Eliot.

  “So, I have your word that you’ll let my team handle things?” Sean was saying.

  I was about to answer just as Eliot rose on his haunches and started batting at the phone cord with his paw. “No!” I scolded, causing him to stop mid-action and plop back down on the desk. Only when he landed, he landed on my phone receiver. I heard a click.

  “Hello, Sean? Sean?” Uh-oh. I lifted Eliot off my phone and quickly punched in Sean’s number. It went straight to his voicemail, so I left a message.

  “That wasn’t very nice of you,” I told Eliot as I hung up the phone. He responded with a twitch of his whiskers and a soft purr before circling his favorite spot next to my keyboard and plopping down for a nap.

  I decided to push my conversation with Sean to the back of my mind and focus on some work. I certainly had a long enough to-do list. In addition to the orange bundle of fur next to my keyboard, my desktop was cluttered with queries, flyers, and event schedules for the expo, and about a thousand little yellow sticky notes with ASAP written across the top. My email was overflowing with proposals that I’d requested as well as correspondence from clients.

  I tackled the emails first, happy to find one from Makayla’s editor. Last year Makayla had approached me with a book she’d written, The Barista Diaries. Of course, I was delighted to read something written by my dear friend, but after only a few pages I found I was completely sold on the premise of the book. She’d penned a charming collection of six interwoven short stories, all narrated from the point of view of the barista and set entirely in a coffee shop. But what really struck me was the sincerity of Makayla’s writing voice. Her talent definitely resided in the simple, heartfelt way she put together words. I could hardly wait to get her work out there in front of readers. And it looked like we were right on track for a spring release. The editor had copied me on the first round of edits sent to Makayla and let me know that the cover art would be finished soon. This was one of the things I loved most about my job. The process of discovering an author, helping them refine their talent and then walking with them, step by step, as their dream became reality. With The Barista Diaries, it was all the sweeter, because this time the dream was coming true for my best friend.

  *

  BY THE TIME I wrapped up my work for the morning, I was half starved. I stood for a couple of stretches before I went for my coat. Outside my window, the entire town seemed to be coming alive. After several days of freezing temperatures and snow, the sun was shining bright and the snow had begun to melt. People were out and about, scuttling between shops catching up on errands they’d put off during the inclement weather.

  I was glad to see the thaw. Mostly because I’d been missing my daily commute on my Vespa. I’d purchased the banana yellow beauty from my friend Addison Eckhart at the Secret Garden nursery a couple of years back and had been in love ever since. There was just nothing that could equal the happy feeling I got from zipping around town on my Vespa. Although bumming rides from my mother this past week was also nice—and warmer by far. Plus it’d given us more time together.

  Speaking of Mama, as I looked out the window I saw her turquoise pickup pulling into a parking spot across the street. What in the world? I leaned forward, fogging up the window with my breath. I stepped back. It couldn’t be! Pulling my sweater over my hand, I rubbed away the fog and looked again. It was! Oscar Belmonte was driving my mother’s pickup truck. It was hard to miss. He looked like a clown crammed into one of those tiny circus cars, the way he was all scrunched up behind the wheel. As I looked on, he swung open the truck’s door, unfolded his bulk onto the curb, and scurried around to open the passenger door. I blinked a couple of extra times. What was she doing letting that man drive her truck? My heart kicked up a notch as I saw Mama take his outstretched hand and step out of the passenger side, as if she were the queen being assisted from her carriage by a footman. Then she did something I never thought I’d see my mama do: She leaned forward,
stretched up on her tiptoes, and planted a kiss on his cheek!

  Chapter 12

  I gasped and stepped back from the window, shaking my head to clear away the image. Then, curious, I stepped forward again, rubbed another clear spot in the pane, and craned my neck to see them walking arm in arm down the sidewalk. They were laughing like schoolkids as they entered the Catcher in the Rye sandwich shop.

  Mama was going out to lunch with Oscar Belmonte? Was it a date? It looked like a date. The blushing tingle on my cheeks certainly made it feel like I was watching my mother on a date. I crossed the room to my desk, retrieved my purse, and shut down my computer. “Keep an eye on things, okay, buddy?” I told Eliot, leaving him curled up in his favorite spot as I put on my coat and wrapped my cashmere scarf—a Christmas gift from Sean—around my neck.

  “I’m heading out for lunch,” I told Vicky on my way out. Bentley must have still been at the courthouse because Olive was still in the reception area, eyeing another chair leg, tail switching, ready to wreak havoc on the wood furniture again.

  “Very well,” Vicky replied. Her voice held a hint of melancholy or irritation; I wasn’t sure which. But there wasn’t time to stop and find out. I was on a mission.

  *

  A FEW MINUTES later, I entered Catcher in the Rye and was immediately greeted by the cheerful owner, Big Ed. “Hello, sunshine.” Big Ed never actually called anyone by their real name, preferring instead to assign clever monikers to his waiting customers in lieu of numbers. Sunshine was a good start, but I couldn’t wait to see the name he’d assign after I placed my order.

  “What can I get for you today?” he asked.

  I didn’t even have to think about it. I simply ordered one of my favorites: the Homer—chicken souvlaki covered with shredded lettuce, diced onions, fresh tomatoes, and Big Ed’s homemade yogurt sauce, all served on toasted pita bread.