Played by the Book (A Novel Idea Mystery 4) Read online

  About thirty minutes later, I found Mama in the kitchen, flipping pancakes like crazy. Trey, Damian, and a couple of other guys were at the table, hunched over tall stacks of steaming flapjacks. The syrup bottle was being passed around at breakneck speed.

  “There she is,” Mama said, handing me my own plate. “Now eat up. You’ll need a full stomach to take on today.”

  After several minutes of grateful munching and smacking sounds, a chorus of thank-yous rang out from the film crew guys as they carried their empty plates to the sink and excused themselves to get things started outside. After they’d left, my mother turned to Damian and snatched up his empty plate. “Let me just fill that back up for you,” she cooed. “A man like you needs a good breakfast.”

  Damian flashed his smile. “Oh, I really couldn’t eat another bite. But your pancakes are simply amazing, Althea.”

  “Oh, psshh,” she said with obvious delight. My eyes darted over to Trey, who met my gaze with a slightly raised brow. I could scarcely believe it. Mama was smitten by Damian’s good looks.

  “Though it’s fittin’ you’d say that,” she continued. “Folks around here do call me the Amazing Althea.”

  I quickly swallowed my mouthful of pancakes and opened my mouth to intervene, but she was too fast.

  “I do readin’s, you know?”

  “Mama, I don’t think—”

  Damian put down his fork. “Readings? Are you an editor?”

  Trey spoke up, a hint of pride evident in his tone. “No, my grandmother reads people. Like in psychic readings.”

  I closed my eyes and winced as Mama elaborated. “That’s right. And I’d be tickled pink to lay out cards for you. Free of charge, of course,” she added.

  Damian ran his hand over his chin. “Cards?”

  Encouraged by his curiosity, Mama turned from the sink, reached into her apron pocket, and withdrew her ever-handy tarot cards. She pulled out a chair and spread the deck in front him. “Tarot cards. They’re my specialty.”

  Damian’s eyes grew round. “Well, I don’t know.”

  I placed my plate of half-eaten pancakes on the counter with a thud. “I’m afraid Damian doesn’t have time for that now, Mama. Maybe later.”

  Pushing back from the table, a relieved Damian agreed, said good-bye to Trey, and thanked my mother for her hospitality. “But I’d love to take you up on your generous offer another time,” he added, nodding toward the tarot deck and bringing another girlish smile to my mother’s face.

  As soon as we were outside, I began to apologize. “Sorry about that. My mother means well, she just doesn’t realize that not everyone’s a believer.”

  The little lines around Damian’s eyes crinkled. “Actually, I think your mother is very charming.”

  I had to chuckle a little. I’d never actually heard anyone call my mother charming. I’d add that to the long list of adjectives I’d heard over the years when people discussed my mother. Words like “straight-talking,” “flamboyant,” even “ornery,” and of course—“amazing.” Always amazing.

  We were making our way to the corner of the yard where Damian’s crew was gathered with what looked like enough film equipment to shoot a major movie when suddenly nerves kicked in and I wished I hadn’t eaten any pancakes at all.

  Damian cast a sad look toward my foundation, where the row of hawthorns once lived. “Are the police any closer to discovering the identity of the young woman who was found here?”

  “I’m afraid not, but I’ve been doing a little checking of my own.”

  He raised a brow. “Is that right?”

  “We’re ready for you, Damian,” one of the guys called impatiently.

  Damian held up his hand, “Be right there, guys.” He chuckled. “Franklin was telling me that you have a bit of Nancy Drew in you.”

  “Oh, please don’t listen to everything people say about me. Most of it isn’t true.”

  “Most of it?” he asked with a wink, then we both chuckled again.

  “By the way,” I continued, “a friend of yours is catering the dinner next week: Paul Cohen. Do you remember him? He says he knew you way back when.”

  He blinked a few times. “No, that name doesn’t sound familiar.” He turned to check the crew’s position and turned back with an enthusiastic expression. “What do you say we get to work on your outdoor reading nook?”

  I met his enthusiasm with my own lukewarm response. “Sounds wonderful,” I said, but inside I was really wondering just how wonderful it would be. First, the idea of being on television, a national broadcast even, made me about half sick with nerves. I was a behind-the-scenes type of gal: the agent who helped form bestselling authors, the mom who nurtured and raised the successful college student, the daughter who endorsed the antics of the Amazing Althea. Well, most of the time, anyway. Point being, now that I thought about it, I’d successfully avoided the limelight my whole life, and being featured on national television wasn’t my cup of tea. Nor was having professionals redo my yard, turning it into something Damian’s fans would love. But, would I love it? I’d always dreamed of converting my gardens into something that resembled the soft, fuzzy hues that I admired in the paintings of the famous Impressionists. What if these so-called professionals gave me something more like … well, like splatter art? Or a starkly sterile Zen garden, like an india ink drawing? What then?

  “Lila?” Damian called out, pulling me from my gloomy reverie.

  “Coming,” I replied, sighing deeply and cursing Bentley under my breath.

  Chapter 13

  By the time I reached the office Monday morning, the heat had already gripped the day in a viselike hold, squeezing the colorful energy out of my world. Everywhere I looked, things seemed droopy. Flowers bowed under the scorching sun and blades of grass were tinged brown around the edges and bent with stress. Even Eliot’s normally bushy tail seemed deflated. “Good boy,” I said, grazing my fingertips along his curled spine. He was coiled into a tight, fuzzy ball on his usual chair in our reception area.

  Vicky appeared, balancing a full bowl of water. She placed it on the floor next to her desk on a rubber mat she’d brought in for Eliot’s food and water. “How did the filming go?” she asked.

  “Really well,” I admitted, still stroking Eliot’s fur. Truth was, I was feeling a bit guilty about my previous attitude toward the makeover. The whole thing went much better than I ever anticipated. After a couple of short interview takes, my participation in the whole affair was limited to the sidelines, where I watched the crew transform the drab, barren corner of my yard into a lush outdoor living area. One that I actually liked! Plus, the filming, which took all of Saturday and didn’t wrap up until late Sunday afternoon, turned out to be a fascinating venture. “They’re rushing it through editing and hope to air by midweek on our local channel. Damian is also doing a teaser for the national broadcast on tonight’s evening news.” Eliot let out a low meow as I accidently rubbed in the wrong direction. I quickly pulled away my hand. “Sorry fellow.” I turned back to Vicky. “My yard project looks great, but I hope the new plantings don’t go into shock with this heat.”

  “Tell me about it. I spent the whole weekend watering my garden. I sure hope this weather doesn’t carry through the week. Heat like this will discourage people from coming to the garden walk on Saturday.”

  I sighed. “And Damian’s signing.” I started toward my office, then stopped. “Oh, I was hoping to talk a few things over with Flora before this morning’s status meeting. Is she in yet?”

  Vicky nodded and pointed down the hall as she began firing up her computer. She’d probably have ten queries ready for my appraisal before I even got settled in my office.

  I rapped lightly on Flora’s door. “Come in!” She glanced up as I entered and quickly capped her fountain pen and shuffled the paper she was reading to the bottom of one of her piles. “Oh, it’s you, Lila.” I noted the downward turn in her voice. “I’m a little busy now.”

  I walked acr
oss the room and stood directly in front of her desk. “Certainly not too busy for a friend.”

  She eyed me warily.

  “We are still friends, aren’t we, Flora?”

  My directness seemed to frustrate her. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding my gaze. “Of course we are,” she replied with a shortened breath. She extracted her hankie and began dabbing her forehead with ink-stained fingers.

  “Then tell me what’s been bothering you. Are you ill? Because if so, I want to be here for you.”

  She let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “No, I’m not ill.”

  Her upholstered chair let out a little puff of air as I plopped into it, determined to stay until I got to the bottom of things. Folding my hands in my lap, I let my eyes wander around her office while she nervously shuffled more paperwork. I noticed her bookshelves seemed to be crowded with more books than ever. Flora represented both children’s book authors and romance authors and was one of the agency’s most consistent agents. She usually signed several top-selling authors a year. “Have you come across any new, promising authors recently?” I asked, trying to break the awkwardness and initiate some sort of conversation.

  Except Flora’s expression only seemed to grow tighter as she nodded and pretended to be occupied with her paperwork.

  “You’ll have to talk to me eventually, Flora. We’ll need to discuss this weekend’s event and what you’ve come up with for a cake.”

  She looked up, her eyes widening. I noticed a slight tremor in her hand as she extracted a piece of paper from atop her whitewashed desk. “Of course. I did mean to discuss this with you. After talking to Nell at Sixpence Bakery, we came up with something slightly different than a cake.”

  “Different?” I leaned forward and took the sheet of paper. It was an order form for about three dozen baked pies.

  “I do hope you don’t mind. It’s just that after considering the overall theme of the dinner, we decided that the venue called for something more down-to-earth than a tiered cake. Besides, I don’t know if you noticed, but several of the photo layouts in Perfect Outdoor Spaces feature pies. Flaky crusts, perfectly brown lattice bursting with sweet berries or …” Her eyes took on a dreamy look. It was the happiest I’d seen her in a while. “Or mile-high meringue.” She pointed down at the list. “Lemon meringue is my favorite. I ordered extra.”

  I stared at the list, dumbstruck, until a tiny whimper caused me to look up. Flora had covered her mouth with trembling fingers, tears threatening the edges of her eyes. “You hate the idea.”

  “What? No, Flora. I think it’s wonderful.” I let out a nervous little laugh. “Actually, it’s the best thing since apple pie,” I said, trying to lighten the air.

  But she kept crying. I leaned across the desk, taking both her hands in mine. It was time to get to the bottom of things. “I was at Fannie’s house the other day,” I started. “And I saw a framed picture of you as a little girl. It was mixed in with a bunch of other pictures of kids. Kids Vicky explained were Fannie’s clients from the days when she worked as a social worker placing kids in foster homes.”

  Flora nodded, pulling one hand away to snatch her handkerchief from the desktop and hold it to her face.

  I continued, “I ran into Brian at the market a couple days ago. He was adamant that I mind my own business about all this, Flora, but I’m not going to do that. Something’s bothering you and I want to help.”

  She dabbed under her eyes and nodded. “You’re right. It’ll be a relief to unburden myself.”

  I leaned back, gripped my knee, dread settling in the pit of my stomach. What did she mean by “unburden” herself? Was Flora somehow involved with Fannie’s death? Certainly someone as gentle and loving as Flora could never strike another person, let alone bludgeon them with a garden spade. I shook my head. No, it just wasn’t possible. But perhaps … “Flora, do you know something about Fannie’s death?” I finally asked.

  She stopped dabbing and moved her hand to her heart. “Why heavens, no! Why would you ask something like that?”

  I exhaled with relief and shrugged. Still, what could possibly be eating at Flora?

  She opened her desk drawer, removing a tin of mints. She opened it and passed it my way. “Mint?”

  “No, Flora. Now quit stalling and tell me what’s going on,” I pleaded.

  She dropped the mints back in her drawer. She kept her gaze on her desk as she started to explain. “It’s the young woman buried in your yard. I think her death is all my fault.”

  My breath caught. Her words hit me like a bombshell. “What do you mean?”

  Her face puckered and she broke into another round of crying, choking out an explanation between sobs. “It’s the Cobbs … I was placed with them for a while … right there in your little cottage. It’s such a sweet and happy place now … but back then … back then it was awful … Doug Cobb was nothing more than a mean drunk … I finally ran away.”

  “Oh, Flora. Did he … did he hurt you?”

  She swiped at her tears. “Not in the way you’re thinking. But he would lose his temper. Especially when he was drinking, which was often. He’d push me around. He even struck me a few times. And I think Peggy was scared of him, too.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “You ran away? Where’d you go?”

  “I stayed with friends here and there. But when that didn’t work out, I was out on the streets.”

  My hand flew to my throat. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry, Flora. I never knew.”

  “No, of course not. It’s not something I talk about. It’s painful to think back to those years and how alone I felt. If it weren’t for Brian … that’s why I always think of him as my hero. Because he saved me from what could have been a lost life.” She paused and collected herself, wiping under her eyes and blowing her nose, before continuing. “You see, I stumbled into a soup kitchen one day. He just happened to be there, volunteering. He wasn’t much older than me, maybe nineteen.” Her eyes took on a faraway look and I noticed that a quiet peacefulness came over her. “He approached me after the meal and asked some questions. I can’t explain it, but we seemed to instantly connect. He always brought me a book he’d finished reading and encouraged me to read it. We started seeing each other more often and sometimes just talking for hours, at first about books, then eventually, about everything. He was so kind and encouraging. I fell in love with reading … and with Brian. Can you imagine, a girl like me with a handsome young man from a well-to-do family? I felt like a fairy-tale princess.”

  My own eyes were misting over. “That’s one of the most beautiful love stories I’ve ever heard.” I clasped my hand over hers again. “But, I don’t understand why you feel you may have had something to do with the young woman’s death. Did you know her?”

  Her gaze moved downward. “No, but don’t you see? If only I would have told someone about Doug Cobb’s temper. Warned someone at the foster care agency not to place another child in their home …” She let out a shaky breath. “Maybe her death could have been prevented. Instead, I just ran away.”

  “You were only a child, Flora. None of this is your fault. None of it,” I emphasized. “But you do have an obligation to take what you know to the police. You have the key to helping them identify the young woman. To possibly bringing peace to her family.”

  Flora lifted her shoulders and adjusted her blouse. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll give them a call soon.”

  I stood, reached into my bag, and took out my cell. “How about now?” I said, punching in Sean’s number. “I’ll call Sean. He’s working the case. Besides, it would be so much easier to explain this to someone you know, right? And get it behind you?”

  She hesitated, then nodded, taking a couple more deep breaths as I connected with Sean and explained the situation. He was already in the Valley taking care of some other business, so he said he’d stop by soon and take Flora’s statement.

  After disconnecting with Sean, I walked around Flora’s desk,
leaned down, and gave her a quick hug. “I know this is hard for you, but you’re doing the right thing by coming forward with what you know.”

  She sighed, a small smile forming on her lips. “Thank you, Lila. I do feel much better.”

  *

  I LEFT FLORA’S office, mindful of the time. If I got busy, I could just make it through a few emails, duck downstairs, grab a coffee at Espresso Yourself, and have a little time left over to visit with Makayla before Bentley’s ten o’clock status meeting. My boss liked to start the week off by reviewing our current projects and passing out tasks. With Damian’s signing at the end of the week, her to-do list was sure to be a doozy. A caramel latte and Makayla’s happy face were just what I needed to put myself in the right frame of mind.

  I breezed into my office, threw my purse in my desk drawer, and pushed the button to boot up my computer. That’s when I noticed the envelope on the corner of my desk with my name scratched in black ink across the front. For some reason, the hairs on the back of my arms prickled. I slowly reached over and picked up the envelope, staring at the angry handwriting for a few seconds before finally slitting the seal. I opened the threefold sheet of typing paper, a knot of fear forming in my belly as I read the words: Mind your own business or you’ll end up like Fannie.

  My free hand jerked to my mouth, stifling the scream that threatened to form. Taking a few deep breaths, I forced myself to stay calm and think rationally. Someone had been in my office this morning, and no one gets by Vicky unnoticed.

  Clutching the letter, I made my way down the hall and back to Vicky’s desk. As I approached, she looked up from the stack of brochures she was sorting. “What is it, Lila? You look as white as a ghost.”

  I held out the letter for her. “Who’s been in this office this morning?”