Every Trick in the Book Page 15

  My hunger forgotten, I dumped my purse on the floor and gave Bentley my undivided attention. “I’d be glad to deliver the report on your behalf,” I assured her hastily.

  “Good.” She handed me a piece of paper. “This is Mr. Felden’s flight itinerary, faxed to me by his assistant a few minutes ago.”

  I examined the neat bullet points typed on the sheet. According to this document, Ruben Felden had flown to Chicago on Friday and returned late last night. “If this checks out, then he’s off the suspect list,” I said. “Did his assistant happen to mention why he went to Chicago?”

  “Yes, she was most helpful.” Bentley paused and a look of disapproval crossed her face. “Though if she’d discussed my affairs so openly with a stranger, I’d have her fired on the spot.”

  “Of course. But what did she tell you?” I prompted.

  “Ruben’s aunt has been in declining health for the past few months. He received a call at work Friday morning that she was fading quickly, so he rushed from the office and took the first flight out. His aunt died on Saturday and Ruben was very distressed by her passing. Too distressed to call his assistant on Monday to say that he’d be absent. She found his itinerary through his work email.”

  I glanced at the itinerary. The scant lines in my hand represented another loss. Albeit a natural death, Melissa’s coworker had obviously cared for his aunt and I felt a pang of sympathy for him.

  As if reading my thoughts, Bentley said, “Apparently the aunt raised him and worked two jobs in order to pay for his college education. He stayed in Chicago for the funeral and to pack up some of her belongings before returning to New York.”

  “Poor man,” I murmured.

  Bentley wasn’t interested in the editor’s sorrows. “Ruben’s assistant told me that he’d indeed been angry with Melissa. One of their authors, an established writer of bestselling women’s fiction whose name the assistant actually refused to divulge, originally signed with Ruben. However, she was uncomfortable having a man edit her work and begged Melissa to take over her contract.”

  “But Melissa couldn’t do that, could she?”

  “No, that would have been completely inappropriate. However, the editorial director of the publishing house could, and in the interest of keeping this author happy, transferred the contract to Melissa.”

  I could see how such a decision would serve to wound Ruben’s pride and told Bentley as much.

  She shrugged dispassionately. “This is a business, Lila. And a tough one at that. Eventually, Ruben would have recognized that keeping this author content and pumping out bestselling novels was worth more to the company than his ego.”

  “Sounds like Ruben Felden hasn’t had the best of times lately,” I mused. “But if his flight confirmation checks out, then at least he won’t be considered a murder suspect. I’ll tell Sean—uh, Officer Griffiths—what you’ve told me and drop this fax off at the station later this afternoon.” I thanked Bentley for finding out about Ruben and headed off to lunch.

  After loading a plate with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots at the grocery store’s hot food bar, I selected a small café table near the windows and tried to read a few query letters. However, I started thinking about Melissa’s murder instead. My look-alike hadn’t been killed by a disgruntled coworker or her husband. More than ever, I was certain that Kirk Mason was responsible.

  I recalled how I’d felt when he’d dropped the black feather on my table during the pitch session. He wore menace like it was yet another body piercing, and I’d been instinctively afraid of him. If I’d had enough sense to feel fear, then why had a woman as smart and savvy as Melissa followed him into a dark and deserted corridor? Even though she’d received the photograph of her son’s teddy bear, what had driven her to meet an obviously unstable man all alone? A significant piece of the puzzle was missing, but I didn’t know what more I could do other than relay the information about Ruben to Sean.

  My meal devoured, I dialed his number. Once more I was disappointed and to be honest, a little irritated to be put through to his voicemail. I gave him an abbreviated account of Ruben’s activities during the weekend Melissa had been killed and said that I’d be happy to drop the fax off at the station, but I’d rather do so when I knew he’d be there.

  Returning to the office, I tried to be as industrious as I’d been during the morning, but failed. As if in tune with my recollections of Kirk Mason, the slate gray sky darkened into a shade of charcoal and it began to rain. I sat at my desk, wondering how I’d concentrate on query letters when I felt so distant from the people I cared about. Trey was busy at the co-op, Sean was tied up with the case, and lately, my mother only called me when she didn’t have clients to see.

  And yet, my case of the blues was nothing in comparison to what Melissa’s husband and son were experiencing. For them, the immediate future was like the sky over Inspiration Valley: sunless, bleak, and filled with tears.

  BY MIDAFTERNOON I had a crick in my neck. I stretched my arms high, reaching for the ceiling to unfurl the tension, when Flora knocked on my open door.

  “Oh, Lila, I’m sorry to interrupt. Could you do me a favor?” She held up a spiral-bound notebook that I recognized as Tilly’s by its bright pink cover. “I called Tilly to tell her I had this and she’s frantic to have it back today. I’d run it over, but I can’t leave my desk as I’m waiting for an important phone call. Do you mind?” She pointed to a Post-it note stuck on the cover. “That’s her address.”

  “Sure, Flora. I welcome the distraction.” Taking the notebook from her, I said, “I can’t really ride my Vespa there in the rain, though. I’ll call my mother and see if I can borrow her truck.” I could also take the opportunity to drop the fax off at the police station, and at the same time sit with the sketch artist to render a likeness of Kirk Mason. Perhaps Sean would have returned by then.

  My mother answered the phone at the first ring and agreed to pick me up at the agency. “I was about to leave for Dunston myself. I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail and you can tag along to see that policeman of yours.” Once again, Amazing Althea was close to the mark. It occurred to me that, since I’d moved to Inspiration Valley, my skepticism about her powers had lessened. If only those powers could help us nail Melissa’s murderer.

  “Thanks, Mama. I have some errands to run while we’re in Dunston. Is that okay?”

  “That works out fine, honey. You can take the truck after droppin’ me at ol’ Miz Margaret’s. She’s bedridden now but still needs my guidance.” She coughed importantly. “You can collect me when I’m done and then we can go to Bill’s Bar and Grill. I’ll be needin’ plenty of Jimmy Beam’s special brand of reenergizer after readin’ for Miz Margaret.”

  She sounded cheerful about the supper plan, and I realized she was probably delighted to have a designated driver.

  THE RAIN HAD stopped by the time we reached Dunston, although the sky remained stubbornly gray. I delivered my mother to Miss Margaret, my ears buzzing with her predictions and advice, and headed for the Dunston police station. Even though I was dating Sean, I’d only visited this place twice.

  Climbing the steps, I recalled the first time I’d been here, when Trey had been in trouble for destroying school property, and subsequently when I came to give an official statement regarding violence and death. I shuddered at the memories, and then, as if by divine intervention, the clouds in the sky drifted apart and the afternoon sun shone brightly overhead.

  Those incidents were behind me, and today I was here to deliver a document that would exonerate one man and hopefully bring the police closer to arresting a guilty one. I squared my shoulders and pushed open the door.

  The young policewoman at the front desk smiled as I approached. “Can I help you?”

  “Is Officer Griffiths in?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. He’s out on a case. Do you want me to call his partner?”

  “No, could you just please give this to hi
m?” I handed her the envelope containing the fax from Ruben Felden’s office. “Tell him Lila brought it by. I also need to meet with the sketch artist.”

  “Oh, you’re Lila! Griffiths has been smiling much more since you two got together.” Giving me a sisterly wink, she stood and said, “Follow me.”

  I drove out of the parking lot in good spirits, despite revisiting the image of Kirk Mason, thanks to the policewoman’s words and the sun now shining through the clouds. Being on the streets in Dunston felt unaccountably strange, considering it had been a mere six months since I’d left. I felt so settled in Inspiration Valley that it was as if my Dunston life belonged to an entirely different person. My situation was very different now, with Trey out of the house, me in my cozy yellow cottage, and my job as a literary agent. Perhaps Dunston had just been a stepping-stone to the life I was meant to live.

  I turned onto a tawny-colored pebbled driveway in front of a pretty white house and parked the truck. This was a lovely treed neighborhood with beautiful houses and well-maintained gardens bursting with blossoms of chrysanthemums, zinnias, ageratum, and roses. Autumn-colored leaves added vibrancy to the green manicured lawns. The large homes had varied façades, some with red brick, others with colored siding; all were affluent. As I stepped out of Althea’s rusty pickup, I felt a little conspicuous.

  The path that led to Tilly’s house was pebbled like her driveway, and it ended at steps leading up to a welcoming porch. One end was screened in, with windows half open and white wicker furniture with puffy floral cushions arranged around a small table. I could imagine how delightful it would be to sit there and read. Large windows framed by forest green shutters looked out onto the veranda, and as I glanced in one, I noticed Tilly sitting at a desk typing away on a computer.

  Wanting to avoid appearing as if I were eavesdropping, I quickly approached the door and rang the bell.

  “Hello!” Tilly exclaimed when she’d opened the door. “Flora told me you’d stop by. Thank you so much for bringing my notebook. I don’t know how I could have left it behind.”

  “No problem. I had other errands in Dunston,” I said, handing her the pink-covered book, which she accepted and immediately hugged tightly to her chest.

  “Would you like to come in? I was just about to have some hot cocoa, and I baked oatmeal cookies this morning.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to keep you from your work…”

  “Please, I was ready for a break anyway. Besides, the kids will be home from school soon and I try not to write when they’re here.” She held the door open wide and gestured inside.

  As I didn’t need to pick Althea up for another half hour, I decided to accept Tilly’s offer. “Well, those cookies do sound tempting,” I said as I stepped across the threshold. Tilly peered anxiously down the street before shutting the door.

  Inside, light poured in from the windows, reflecting off glistening wood floors laid with intricately woven rugs. I followed her to the kitchen, where the scent of baked cookies hung in the air. I immediately felt at home. The cream-colored walls were covered in framed children’s artwork, which coordinated very well with the beautifully grained cherry cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and coffee-colored granite countertops. A vase with a brilliant bouquet of gerbera daisies sat in the center of the table.

  “How many kids do you have?” I asked, inspecting a vibrant painting of fish in the sea.

  “Two. Peter and Emma are twins; they’re nine. They’ve been the joy of my life,” she said as she placed two milk-filled mugs in the microwave. “Would you like some whipped cream on your hot chocolate?”

  “Yes, please.” I nodded. “I know what you mean. I have one son who’s almost eighteen, and he has enriched my life in innumerable ways.” I smiled ruefully. “Of course, there were the teenage years…” I let my sentence hang in the air.

  Tilly laughed. “Oh, I’m not saying there aren’t challenges. But my kids fulfill me.” Having arranged a tray with two mugs and a plate of cookies, she picked it up and asked, “Shall we sit in the screened porch? It’s warm enough now that the sun’s out. Then we can see the school bus coming.”

  I held the door for her, and we nestled into the wicker chairs as we sipped our hot chocolate. I inhaled the fresh air and listened to the sparrows twittering in the tree behind me.

  “It’s lovely out here,” I said.

  She nodded. “I know. I can’t believe how lucky I am. I have a wonderful husband, two fantastic kids, an amazing home. And now, to top it off, a successful writing career. I don’t know what I did to deserve all this.”

  “You must be a good person,” I suggested, gazing at her. Her dark eyes filled me with the same disquiet I’d felt when I first met her at the pub. What was it about her that unsettled me?

  A shadow crossed her face. “I used to be different.” She glanced over her shoulder, her features pinched. “Remember yesterday when I said I felt like I was being watched? I still feel like that. Did you see anybody on your way here? Other than that group of moms waiting for the school bus?”

  I scanned the street, paying particular attention to the clusters of trees and shady bushes. At the corner three women stood chatting. A black cat walked up the brick driveway across the street. “No.”

  “I don’t know if I’m becoming paranoid or if my suspicions are rational. Either way, I can’t shake this creepy feeling.”

  I was uncertain how to respond. I didn’t know her well enough to determine if her paranoia was unfounded. Instead of speaking, I took a bite of my cookie.

  Tilly put her mug down and continued. “I keep seeing the same man wherever I go. I don’t know who he is, but I saw him at the book festival, too. He looks nice enough, I guess. He has short hair, glasses, and dresses neatly.” She shrugged. “It’s probably a coincidence. I see lots of the same people around here. Dunston isn’t that big.”

  At that moment, a yellow school bus pulled up at the corner, and a group of children poured down the steps, dispersing with their mothers. A boy and a girl, both wearing backpacks, ran toward us. The boy was waving a sheet of paper as he bounded up the steps.

  “Mom, look at my math test!” He handed her the page on which a big, red “100%” had been written. He bounced from one foot to the other.

  “Wow, Peter, that’s awesome!” She gave it back to him. “Want to put it on the fridge?”

  He nodded vigorously and ran inside, slamming the door behind him. The girl stepped close to her mother’s chair.

  “Who’s this lady, Mom?” she asked. Wearing embroidered jeans and a pink flowered T-shirt, the girl’s brown chin-length hair was pulled away from her face with a pink barrette. The resemblance to her mother was uncanny. She had the same dark eyes that seemed inexplicably familiar to me.

  “This is Miss Lila, Emma. She’s a friend of Miss Flora. You remember Miss Flora? She helps sell my books.”

  Emma nodded and extended her arm toward me. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Lila.”

  “And I’m happy to meet you, too,” I said, shaking her warm little hand.

  She shrugged off her backpack, dropping it to the floor, and reached for a cookie. “Can I?” she asked, directing her gaze to her mother.

  “Of course.” Tilly put her arm around Emma’s shoulders and hugged her.

  I stood. “I should go. I know what after-school time is like. Thanks for the hot chocolate and cookies. They were delicious.”

  “It was my pleasure.” Tilly walked me down the steps to the truck with Emma trailing behind her. “Thanks for bringing my notebook to me.”

  The driver’s door creaked as I opened it. “This is my mother’s truck,” I said, feeling the need to explain why I was driving a bright turquoise vehicle bearing magnetic signs proclaiming the Amazing Althea. I climbed in, and Tilly and Emma headed back to the house.

  Pulling the seat belt across my chest, I waved at them as they went inside. Tilly had an idyllic life. Not only were her books taking off, but she had a beau
tiful home, a successful marriage, and adorable children. Why was her contentment being marred by a sudden case of paranoia? Was someone watching her? Or did she have deeper psychological issues?

  Unable to answer these questions, I backed the truck out of the driveway. Pushing the gear stick to drive, my peripheral vision caught a flash of black from behind a thick oak tree near where the school bus had stopped. I glanced over, but saw nothing. Slowly, I drove in the direction of the tree, keeping a sharp eye out for any sign of movement.

  I pulled up at the curb in the spot where the school bus had dropped off the children and opened the driver’s door. “Who’s there?” I called. No one answered. I jumped out of the truck and approached the tree. The sky darkened as a cloud drifted over the sun, and the large oak loomed ominously overhead. I scrutinized the tall laurel hedge beside it.

  A door slammed, making me jump, and I quickly turned in the direction of the sound. Two boys walked out of a nearby house carrying skateboards. A rustling in the shrubbery behind me caught my attention, and I whipped back around in time to catch a glimpse of a shadow disappearing around the corner of the street. My heart pumping wildly, I ran to the intersection.

  Scanning the sidewalks, I saw only children playing, a woman walking a poodle, and a large tabby cat sauntering on the curb, its tail twitching. There was no sinister presence. Yet someone had been hiding in the bushes. I felt it in my bones. Tilly wasn’t just being paranoid. She was being watched.

  Chapter 11

  USUALLY MY MOTHER SMILED FROM EAR TO EAR WHEN presented with the country fried steak platter from Bill’s Bar and Grill, but she quietly thanked our server and then sat staring at her food with indifference.

  “Not hungry?” I asked, eyeing the gravy-smothered mass on her plate with mild distaste. I’d never cared for the dish that had put this place on the map and always opted for the spicy catfish po’boy, which came with a side of slaw and a mound of sweet potato fries.