Off the Books Read online

  “That is good news,” I said.

  I was about to add my own theories when he snapped back with, “But the bad news is that he’s convinced your client, Lynn, is the killer.”

  “Oh no.” I collapsed my head into my palms and closed my eyes for a second.

  “Yup. Apparently, he’s been asking around town about Chuck and has come up with some interesting facts. And he says they all point to Lynn.”

  I squeezed my eyes even tighter. Without opening them, I asked, “And what facts might those be?”

  I heard Jude stand and opened my eyes to see him heading toward the door. “Heck if I know,” he said over his shoulder. “Just thought I’d warn you before the meeting.” He reached for the door handle and paused, turning his wrist to see his watch. “Which, by the way, starts in just a few minutes.”

  *

  THE TENSION IN the conference room was almost palpable. Gone was the usual chatter and good-natured ribbing that usually occurred when we gathered. Instead, all the agents, except Flora, who was still out sick, sat in their prospective seats, staring straight ahead with rigid expressions. Well, all except Zach, who looked like he was about to burst with excitement.

  At precisely ten o’clock, Bentley made her grand appearance, breezing through the conference room door with Olive tucked under her arm. She gently set the pooch in the new pale pink doggie bed in the corner before she turned to face us with a determined look. “Good morning, team. I’m glad to see we’re all here. We have a lot of ground to cover this morning, so let’s look alive, shall we?”

  Franklin cleared his throat and sat a little straighter. Jude shifted forward and ran a finger under the collar of his shirt and stretched his neck. Then there was Zach, who was already looking alive. So much so that he was practically bouncing out of his seat. Only Vicky remained quiet and somewhat disengaged.

  Bentley regarded her, pursing her lips before putting on her reading glasses and moving toward the whiteboard. Pointing up to the timeline we’d sketched earlier in the week, she started, “First item on the agenda is—”

  Zach’s hand shot up. “I’ve solved the case! It wasn’t Jodi. It was Lynn. Lynn Werner. Lila’s client. I’m sure of it.” He shot me a smug look. “You really are a murder magnet.”

  “Zach!” Bentley tore off her glasses and regarded Zach with disdain. “Have you uncovered some sort of irrefutable proof against Lynn? Because if I’m not mistaken, our goal this week was to keep our eyes and ears open for anyone, other than one of our clients, who could have committed this murder.”

  Zach’s eyes went googly. “It’s not my fault the clues point to Lynn as the killer.”

  “Lynn’s not the killer,” I fervently maintained. Although I’d been doubting Lynn all along, I was now certain, not to mention measurably relieved, to have a more likely suspect—Chuck’s fiancée, the mysterious out-of-town woman.

  I was about to mention my conclusions when Franklin asserted himself. “Why don’t you tell us about these facts first, Zach, and then we’ll all decide if they really do point to Lynn’s culpability.”

  “Okay,” Zach started, sitting up a little straighter. “Well, I’ve been doing a lot of checking around the last couple of days, asking everybody I know about Chuck Richards. And I mean everybody.”

  Jude sighed. “And what did you discover?”

  “For starters”—he hesitated and shifted a few times, obviously trying to prolong his moment in the spotlight—“that lady who owns the Magnolia Bed and Breakfast …”

  “Cora Scott,” Vicky inserted.

  “Yeah, that’s her name. She said that she’d overheard Chuck talking on his cell phone several times to some woman.”

  His fiancée, I concluded in my mind. The woman at the funeral.

  “Did she know who the woman was?” Bentley wanted to know.

  “Naw, but it’s not hard to figure out.” That comment stumped me, but before I could ask what he meant, he tapped his head and said, “Then I got to thinking, Chuck’s a working man and where do working men hang out?”

  By now, everyone was getting a little annoyed. Jude sighed yet again. “We don’t know, Zach. Perhaps you could enlighten us?”

  “The Pub, that’s where,” Zach said as if it were the most brilliant thing ever. “So, while everyone was heading home after last night’s event, I headed over to the James Joyce to mingle with the Friday night crowd. Asked almost everyone there about Chuck. And as it turns out, he was in there a couple of nights before he met his demise.”

  I was leaning forward, all ears. Zach continued. “And get this. He was flashing a ring. Said he and his girl had picked it out at that secondhand store, Beyond and Back.”

  Beyond and Back. Of course! I blinked double time, surprised that Zach had come up with something substantial. Beyond and Back, a charming consignment shop, had just opened last summer. I hadn’t even thought about the store when Sean mentioned calling around to local pawnshops. I made a mental note to try to get hold of him and tell him where Chuck had purchased the ring. Maybe one of the clerks would remember the woman’s name.

  “A terrific store,” Franklin was going on. He looked across the table at me. “Do you remember all those wonderful items we found there for our last event?” I nodded and offered dear, sweet Franklin a smile. Last summer, Franklin and I were in charge of planning a gala for a local television celebrity and budding author. We’d created the most beautiful table decorations from repurposed items purchased at Beyond and Back. The event didn’t go quite as planned, something I’m afraid Franklin blamed himself for … but that was a whole other story. “Such good deals,” Franklin added, his voice tinged with regret as he reminisced.

  Zach pointed his finger and clucked his tongue. “Righto, Franklin. But getting back to our current murder.” He emphasized the current with a solicitous glance my way. “The bartender told me that Chuck was going on about how he and this girl had split up, she’d returned the ring, but now she’d seen the light and was begging for him to come back. He was getting ready to meet up with her.”

  “Did the bartender know the name of the woman Chuck was talking about?” I eagerly asked.

  Zach rolled his eyes and sighed. “Well, duh. Isn’t it obvious that he was talking about Lynn? But just to make sure, I stopped by Beyond and Back this morning and had a little chat with the owner. He’d only sold one engagement ring lately and he remembered the couple—well, not their names, but what they looked like. And yes, I asked about a sales receipt, but they paid cash.”

  My heart fell as my hopes for a solid lead were dashed. Still, maybe Sean would have more luck ferreting information from Beyond and Back’s owners.

  “But here’s the big clincher,” Zach was saying. He paused for drama. “The woman had brown hair.”

  The room went silent. Finally Bentley asked, “That’s the clincher?” She glanced around the room with an incredulous look. “Both Lila and I have brown hair.”

  “Half the women in town have brown hair,” Vicky added, patting her own silky white mane.

  Zach blinked a couple of extra times. “Well, when you put it all together, it’s obvious the killer was Lynn.” He held up his hand and used his fingers to tick off the points. “The brown hair; Lynn has brown hair. The bartender said they’d broken up; Lynn and Chuck are divorced, right? And … well, I guess that’s it.” He quickly put down his hand, glancing around sheepishly.

  “It couldn’t have been Lynn with Chuck at Beyond and Back picking out the ring. She hasn’t been back to the area for several years,” I pointed out.

  “That’s what she wants you to think,” Zach said. “You only have her word for that. And, really, how well do you know Lynn?”

  He had a point. I really didn’t know Lynn all that well. Still, there were a lot of holes in his theory. And Sean thought I easily jumped to conclusions.

  Bentley had moved to the whiteboard and readjusted her glasses, and was making a few notes. “I don’t agree with your asses
sment, Zach. But you have made a few valid points and revealed a few facts about Chuck that we didn’t know before. First of all, he was in a relationship of some sort. Perhaps engaged or not.” She wrote the word girlfriend on the board and followed it with a giant question mark. “And I believe this mysterious woman may hold the key to this entire case,” she said. “We need to find her.”

  “I may have met her,” I admitted. All eyes turned to me, curious and expectant. I explained about the funeral and the woman I’d met in the restroom. “I didn’t get her name, but I saw her drive away,” I finished. “She had a sedan with mismatched paint, gray on the front passenger side, like she’d been in a wreck and hadn’t had time to have the car repainted.”

  “Did you tail her?” Zach wanted to know.

  I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. And I have no idea how to find her again.”

  The room grew silent as everyone contemplated this new information. No one seemed to have anything to add. Of course, I knew of a couple of other things, like the fact that the ring was found on Chuck’s body and that it was the same ring displayed in the missing photo from Makayla’s café, the very same photo that had been stolen, but I wasn’t sure if Sean would want me to divulge that type of information yet.

  Bentley started in again. “Our next step, then, is to see if we can find this woman. Remember, people, one of our own is sitting in jail for a crime she didn’t commit. It’s up to us to find a way to prove her innocence.” She paused for a second before changing topics. “As for today’s agenda. There aren’t any authors scheduled for presentations this afternoon, but at the conclusion of today’s fashion show, each and every one of you is expected to dismantle your authors’ booths. Ms. Lambert has made it clear that this responsibility is not to be left for her people at Southern Belles Bridal Company.” She turned to Jude. “Do you have an up-to-date sales record for us?”

  Jude opened his portfolio, extracted a sales sheet, and began reading the numbers. So far, it seemed nearly every author had sold twice as many books as expected. “A smashing success!” Bentley concluded. We continued to talk about the expo and then moved on to new business for a while, each of us giving a brief status on new proposals and prospective new clients before Bentley started wrapping up the meeting. “Before we adjourn, there’s one more item on the list.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I believe Vicky has something she’d like to announce.”

  All eyes turned to Vicky, who slowly rose from her chair, brushed the creases from her skirt, and moved to the front of the room. My eyes slid toward the pup in question, who, ironically, had behaved perfectly during the whole meeting: no barking, scratching, not even a whimper. Vicky removed a tissue from the front pocket of her sweater, dabbed at her top lip and began with a shaky voice, “I regret announcing that I’ve turned in my resignation. Next Friday will be my last day. Thank you.”

  “What!” The room exploded in protest as she made her way back to her chair. Everyone wanted to know the reason for her resignation and began pelting her with questions. I’d expected as much, of course. What I was curious about was Bentley’s reaction. To my amazement, she appeared stoic, almost immune to the buzz around her. I couldn’t fathom what must be going through her mind. I knew she cared for Vicky, just as much as the rest of us. And the business side of her certainly realized what an asset Vicky was to our literary team. Why, just last fall, Vicky was out sick for three days with a terrible cold and the place about fell apart! But Bentley remained silent, watching and listening, her face empty of any expression that might reveal her true emotions.

  For the next few minutes, everyone continued to fire questions at Vicky, who remained tight-lipped about her reason for resigning. I was only half listening, though. Instead, I tilted my head and let my eyes wander to where Olive slept peacefully, curled in a brown and white lump in the corner of the room. As I watched, she shifted in her sleep, yawned, and licked her muzzle with a lazy swipe of her tongue. I sighed and wondered how something so little and so sweet-looking could cause so much trouble. I thought back to the chewed furniture, the scratched-up door, the constant barking and begging for attention. It was almost as if Olive needed a team of owners to take care of her. A team of owners? I sat up a little straighter. Maybe, just maybe it might work … My eyes darted between Vicky and Bentley, the beginning of an idea forming in my mind.

  Chapter 19

  I’d barely settled behind my desk before I heard my cell phone buzzing. I opened my drawer and dug into my bag, only the moment my fingertips connected to the phone, it quit ringing. I checked the display, expecting to see that Rufus had called with the name of the couple. Instead, I was surprised to see several missed calls from Trey, apparently coming in while I was in the meeting. I was about to call him back when Vicky burst into my office. Trey was on her heels, his work apron hanging below his winter jacket. What could have prompted him to leave in the middle of work? “Trey. What is it?”

  “It’s Nana. I was at work when Oscar called. He’s was getting ready to take her to the hospital. Said she was real sick.”

  Mama is sick again? “But she was doing fine last night. I was at her place until almost midnight.” I blinked, a dread crawling up my neck as I realized I hadn’t checked on her this morning. I’d been too busy, my mind on the case, and hadn’t even thought about … “Really, she was much better when I left.” My last statement sounded pathetic, neglectful, even to my own ears as an image of Mama in a hospital bed shot shivers up my back.

  “You get going with Trey and check on her.” Vicky shooed me with her hands, her voice of reason cutting through the haze of confusion and guilt clogging my mind.

  I nodded, snatching my purse and motioning for Trey to follow me out. “I’ll inform Ms. Duke immediately,” Vicky called after us. “But please call and let us know how Althea is doing. We’ll all be worried.”

  *

  WE MADE THE normally half-hour drive to Dunston in a mere twenty minutes. The lady managing the front desk took one look at our frazzled expressions and immediately directed us through the double sliding doors that led to the emergency room area, where we were about creamed by a gurney zipping past with a bloodied man.

  “Everything’s going to be fine with Nana,” I tried to reassure a wide-eyed Trey. But my voice, which sounded thin and frantic, betrayed my own anxiety as I approached the nurses’ station to inquire about Mama’s room. She pointed us down the hall, where we found Mama propped up in bed, holding Oscar’s hand. An IV line trailed from her arm to a stand with a large fluid bag.

  “Mama!” I crossed over, stepped between her and Oscar, and clumsily took hold of her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” I took in her dry lips and shallow complexion as she nodded with a little sigh.

  Trey had moved to her other side and was nervously hovering. Mama smiled his way and reached for his hand, grasping it weakly. “Wipe that worried look right off your face, boy. No need to fret about your Nana. I’ll be just fine. Just needed a little fluid, that’s all.” She nodded toward her IV bag. “Told them to mix in some Jim Beam, but they didn’t take kindly to the notion.” She chuckled and waved me closer so she could whisper in my ear. “The sooner you can spring me from this place, the better. I’m ’bout to go nuts in here.”

  “Nurse said there’s a possibility of an early release for good behavior,” Oscar teased, his slight accent more pronounced than usual. “But seriously, Althea’s going to be just fine. Just got a little dehydrated, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” He reached around me and patted her arm. “They said she’d probably get to go home later today.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay, Nana,” Trey said, now perched on the side of her bed, holding her hand.

  “What happened?” I wanted to know as I stood beside her, still perplexed. “You seemed better when I left last night.”

  “Thought I was,” Mama said. “But the darn stuff snuck up on me again in the middle of the night.” She scrunc
hed up her face. “Lawd, but I was sick.”

  Oscar nodded. “Yeah. Lucky for you I stopped by this morning.” He looked my way. “I went by her place around nine or so, just to see how she was. When she didn’t answer the door, I got worried. I looked through one of the windows and saw her on the floor.”

  I clasped a hand over my mouth. Mama on the floor! And I hadn’t even called her this morning … She could have—

  “Oh, honey, I was fine,” she reassured me. “I just got up too fast or somethin’. I heard him knockin’ and was just trying to get to the door,” Mama explained. “Just got a bit dizzy. Nothin’ major.”

  Oscar went on. “Scared me, seeing her like that, ya know? Had to kick in her front door to get to her. Anyway, she seemed weak, a little confused. Couldn’t even recall what day it was.”

  “Aw shoot!” Mama looked around. “Y’all know I can never keep track of days. That’s nothin’ new.”

  I patted her hand and smiled Oscar’s way. “I’m so glad you were there for her. Thank you.” My voice caught as I spoke. I looked down at Mama. She seemed so vulnerable lying in bed with tubes coming out of her arm. What would have happened if Oscar hadn’t come along at the right moment? Dehydration, especially in someone Mama’s age, could be so dangerous. Guilt swept over me. I should have been the one checking on her.

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked back at Oscar, who was studying me with concern. “I know what’s going through your mind, Lila. Don’t go beating yourself up over this. You couldn’t have known.”

  He was right; still, it did little to assuage the guilt I felt. I turned back to Mama. “Well, I’m here for you now. And I’m not going to leave your side until you’re better.”

  “Oh yes, you are!” Her cheeks suddenly glowed pink. “There’s no need for you to be hangin’ out here all day. Neither one of you.” She looked between Trey and me. “You both have plenty to do without wastin’ your day here.”

  “There’s nothing more important than you, Mama,” I insisted.