Off the Books Read online

  Dr. Meyers suddenly shoved me in the back, the force of the impact sending me sprawling against Rufus. We both landed against the far wall with a thud, office supplies flying everywhere. I looked up but Dr. Meyers was nowhere to be seen. I recovered and started after her, flying down the steps and racing to the front door. Outside, I stopped and scanned the lot, but she wasn’t anywhere. How’d she get away so … The back door! I turned, ran back through the office building, and burst through the back door just in time to see Dr. Meyers’s sedan peeling out of the lot.

  I pulled out my cell. I knew Sean said he was heading out on a case, so I wouldn’t be able to reach him in person. Instead, I dialed 911. “This is Lila Wilkins,” I told the operator. “I have important information about a murder the police are investigating.”

  Chapter 20

  After spending almost an hour fielding police questions, and then answering even more questions from Sean after he arrived on the scene, I drove straight to Machiavelli’s to give Trey back his car. I was in a hurry and no one was available to give me a lift, so I ended up walking back to the agency to pick up my Vespa in order to get to the expo. In the meantime, it had started snowing again, so I was wet and cold and just a wee bit cranky when I swung open the door to the Arts Center.

  “You’re over an hour late,” Bentley said, catching me as soon as I entered the building.

  I started to tell Bentley about Dr. Meyers and why I was late, but she cut me off, pointing to a pale pink dress draped over her arm. “We’ve got a problem,” she said. “Ms. Lambert is out with some sort of stomach virus. Half her crew has it, too.”

  Dread crept over me as I eyed the dress. If Bentley had a problem, I was going to have a problem. She was a master of problem delegation. “What type of a problem?”

  “Well, thank goodness the auditorium is already set up. Franklin and Jude really came through for me there. They organized our agents and the rest of Ms. Lambert’s crew, prepared the stage, and got the seating situated. Flora and Vicky already took care of taking down the author booths.”

  Uh-oh. She was building up to something big.

  She continued, “And I got all the authors situated, except for Dr. Meyers. No one can find her anywhere.”

  Again, I started to tell her why, but she shoved the dress my way. “So, it’s your turn. See if this fits.”

  “This dress? Why?”

  “We need a bridesmaid.”

  “Oh, no.” I started shaking my head. “Not me. Can’t you get someone else? Besides, I look horrible in pink.”

  “It’s not pink. It’s called light blush. And it’s supposed to complement any skin tone.” She pointed me toward the auditorium. “The models are changing in the small room off the back of the stage. There’s an entrance down the hall from the main auditorium doors. You can’t miss it. Someone will be there to do your makeup and hair. Vicky’s in there, taking care of the lineup. Just find her and she’ll tell you what to do.”

  “Vicky’s here? Did you leave Olive alone at the office?” Visions of shredded furniture and chewed documents snapped to mind.

  “Are you serious? Of course not. Olive’s here, tucked safely in the Potter’s Room. Zach has offered to keep an eye on her for me. Oh, here comes Lynn.” She motioned her over. “Be a dear, won’t you? Show Lila where the dressing room is in back of the stage area. Would you mind?” Without waiting for a reply, she pointed a bejeweled finger in the general direction. “Now go on, Lila!” she said. “There’s not a second to spare.”

  I took off with Lynn to find the dressing room, thinking perhaps it was better I didn’t get a chance to tell Bentley about Dr. Meyers. It had been enough for her to see one of our writers arrested for murder. Clearing Jodi as a result of a confession of yet another of our authors would not please my boss one bit. That bad news could wait until the show was over.

  “Lila? Are you okay?” Lynn was asking. “You seem upset. I heard about your mother. Is everything okay with her?”

  “Yes, she’s fine. It’s just …” I thought about how close Lynn was to Dr. Meyers. Certainly the news that she’d confessed to Chuck’s murder and would soon be arrested would be upsetting to her, too. I hesitated, deciding that as soon as this fashion show crisis was over, I’d call a meeting and tell everyone at once. The news could wait another hour. “It was just upsetting to see Mama in the hospital today. She’s doing fine. But I wish I could have stayed with her, though.” Guilt pricked at my conscience. With everything going on, I hadn’t called to check up on Mama.

  We were standing in front of the dressing room. I jostled the slippery peachy fluff of the dress hanging on one arm and my shoulder bag on other arm and started shrugging out of my coat. “I hate to ask this of you, Lynn, but would you mind watching my purse for me? I don’t want leave it unattended in the dressing room. And could you check my coat for me?”

  “Of course. Would it be helpful if I gave your mother a quick call? I could explain that you’ve been called to duty, but that you wanted me to check on her.”

  Oh, how sweet. I breathed a sigh of relief. “You wouldn’t mind? It would make me feel a little better.”

  “Absolutely not. Anything to help,” she added, gathering my coat and shouldering my purse. “Consider it done. What’s her number?”

  I anxiously glanced over my shoulder as I entered the dressing room. “Oh, just use my phone. It’s in my purse. I listed her under Mama in my contacts.”

  Lynn chuckled. “Sounds good. I’ll give Mama a call.” She offered a quick smile. “You’re going to do great. Good luck.”

  *

  ONCE IN THE dressing room, it wasn’t difficult to find Vicky. Her A-line skirt, wool stockings, and sensible shoes stood out like a sore thumb in the room of flowing taffeta and high heels. “I’m supposed to try this on,” I told her.

  She turned a harried look my way, reading glasses teetering on the edge of her nose, and then she stole a quick glance at her clipboard. “Let’s hope it fits. There’s no time for me to find anyone else, and each bride is supposed to be preceded down the catwalk by a bridesmaid. It simply won’t do to have an unaccompanied bride.” She pointed toward a bank of stalls with curtains. “Go slip it on and come out here so I can see how it looks. And hurry.”

  I scurried to the dressing room. As quickly as possible, I slipped out of my clothes and stepped into the dress, tugging and shimmying until I maneuvered the bodice past my hips. Lucky for me, the skirt flowed softly from a high empire waist that actually minimized what I liked to think of as my pleasantly plump hips. And it camouflaged the bit of tummy I preferred not to think about at all. I breathed a sigh of relief. It looked okay. Good, actually.

  “Lila!”

  I turned from the mirror and stepped out. Instantly, I was snatched to the side by a woman wielding a comb and a can of hair spray. She plunked me in a chair by a lit mirror, raised a hand to start her magic, and squeaked, “What have you done to your hair? It’s matted against your head. I’d have to be a miracle worker to do something with this.”

  Talk about the pot calling the kettle black, I thought, daring a glance at her own closely shaven style that sported multicolored streaks. At least I had an excuse. My snowy walk to the agency from the police station had thoroughly soaked my hair, and then slapping on my helmet to get to the Arts Center had form-fitted my chestnut tresses flat to my skull. But all I said was, “It was snowing outside, and I was wearing a helmet.”

  “A helmet? Cool.” Her eyes lit up. “Harley?”

  “Vespa.”

  “A what?” She scrunched her nose at me.

  “Vespa. It’s a scooter.”

  “Oh.” She quit talking then and started torturing me with the comb, pulling, backcombing, and pulling more, intermittently dousing me with hair spray. Then she started spinning me in the chair, examining me from every angle.

  “How’s it going over there?” Vicky wanted to know.

  “I need a little more time,” my torturer claimed. T
hen she said to me, “You need color. You look as pale as a ghost.” She turned to dig through a bag on the counter. She whipped back around with a tube of lipstick in hand. “Pucker.”

  I did, and she swiped color on my lips. Then, tossing me a tissue, she ordered, “Blot.” She turned back to her bag again and started rooting for something else. “Darn! Thought I packed brown eyeliner. I’ve got every other color in my tool bag.” She sighed. “Guess black will have to do. Look up.”

  Tool bag, I thought as she started penciling around my eyes. Funny she should call it that. But I guess for a cosmetologist, a makeup bag did hold the tools of her trade. Tools. I thought back to something Dr. Meyers had said earlier. “Smuggling in the nail gun was easy. I just carried it in my book bag.” But how’d she know Chuck would be here? More precisely, how’d she know the refrigerator would break down at that particular time? The good news was that Sean would probably get all those answers soon. He’d reached me on my cell earlier on my walk back to the Arts Center and told me that the state police had already apprehended Dr. Meyers on the freeway to Raleigh and they were transporting her to his department for questioning. He promised to shoot me a text later with an update … and to let me know if we were still on for dinner. Which I hoped we were. After a day, heck, a week, like this, I was craving some downtime and a chance to pick his brain about the case. There were still so many unanswered questions.

  “Done!” the cosmetologist declared, turning me for a quick glance in the mirror. My face reflected back the shock I felt. I’d never worn this much makeup in my life and my hair poofed out like a poodle’s! But there was no time for adjustments. As if on cue, the first notes of the string orchestra filled the air, signaling the start of the show. Vicky began sending the first of the models out to the catwalk.

  “There’s nothing to it,” she told me, once I found my place in line. Of course, it was just my luck to get paired with a tall, lithe bride, in an ever so slinky mermaid-styled shimmery satin wedding gown. Together we looked like a mismatched pair of bookends. “Listen for your cue and when it’s your turn, walk to the end of the catwalk and step to the left side. That’s your left side. Your bride will be right behind you, with a groom meeting her halfway. When they reach the end of the catwalk, she’ll stop and both of you will turn a couple of times to let the audience view the dresses from all angles.”

  All angles? The very thought of it sent shocks of fear through me. Instinctively, I pulled my tummy in against my backbone.

  The hair and makeup woman butted in with a pair of strappy sandals in her hand. “Size eight?” she asked.

  “That’ll work.” I dropped them on the floor and slid into them, bending to fix the strap around my ankle.

  Vicky continued, “After you’ve turned a couple of times, follow your bride off the catwalk and onto the floor. You’ll be mixing with the audience, so the ladies can get a close-up look at the dress.”

  I smiled and bobbed my head as if I were happy about all this, when in reality, I wanted to turn and flee. “You’ll do great,” Vicky promised, before hurrying off for a few last-second adjustments to one of the brides’ veils.

  While my bride and I waited for our stage cue, my mind wandered back to my earlier quandary. If Dr. Meyers had brought the nail gun to the Arts Center, she must have known Chuck would be here at that precise time. How’d she know? Unless … was it possible that she’d sabotaged the kitchen refrigerator? Workmen had been in and out to set up the expo, using both entrances; it was plausible that she’d managed to sneak in at some point. But how’d she know Chuck would be called for the repair? Bentley could have called any other repairman in town. Something niggled at my mind, but before I could think it through, the music shifted and the announcer started the program.

  “Okay, we’re on,” Vicky proclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Organizing and multitasking was Vicky’s strong point, and she was definitely in her element. It was good to see that her normal enthusiasm had returned, if only for one evening.

  Ahead of me, ladies started shuffling forward, stepping up the back stairs, which led to the stage area. With every inch we moved forward, my heart beat faster. Soon, I felt my palms grow moist; my legs felt heavy. I tried to swallow down my nerves but my mouth was so dry, everything seemed to stick in my throat. Then, before I knew it, we were up. As our ensemble was announced, I tentatively stepped out from behind the curtain and moved toward center stage, my every step tracked by a blinding spotlight.

  At first, my movements felt stiff, and probably looked stiff, but as I made my way down the catwalk something overcame me. My breathing eased and my grip suddenly loosened on the bouquet I was carrying. I began to imagine my own wedding, all eyes on me as I walked to the altar and Sean’s waiting arms. At the end, I stepped to the left and waited. When the bride and groom arrived at the end of the platform, we all effortlessly turned, receiving a large round of applause. How exhilarating!

  Stepping off the stage, I started weaving my way through the crowd, turning this way and that, showing the dress to its best advantage. After I’d worked my way around the room a couple of times, Bentley waved me over to where she and the other agents were seated at the back of the room. Well, all except Zach, who I imagined was regretting his decision to watch over Olive. “Lovely,” Bentley commented as I approached. “Didn’t I say that color would suit you?”

  “It sure does,” Jude chimed in with an appraising up and down.

  “Our Lila always looks good,” Franklin offered.

  I smiled at my friends, happy to notice that Flora was seated next to Franklin. “Flora, you made it! I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

  Touching a finger to her cheek, she replied, “Yes, but what a terrible virus. I heard it put Althea in the hospital. We’re all so very grateful to hear she’s doing better.”

  The mention of Mama reminded me that Lynn was going to give her a call. “Where’s Lynn?” I asked, not seeing her seated with the others.

  “I think she left,” Pam said. “I saw her just a short while ago. We were with her out in the hall when she …” She shrugged. “Actually, I’m not sure what happened. She might have gotten a call or something.”

  My heart stopped. I leaned forward, palms on the table. “I’d loaned her my phone to make a call to my mother for me. But you think she got a call? Was it something about my mother? Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t think so.” Pam furrowed her brow. “She didn’t actually talk to anyone. Now that I’m thinking about it, I believe she saw a text come in on the phone … something that upset her. But certainly if it was about your mother, she would have told you right away.”

  A text? My mother didn’t text. Heck, I wasn’t even sure she knew how to use the cell phone I’d given her a couple of Christmases ago. Most of the time, she didn’t even have it turned on. Could the text have been from Trey? Car trouble? But why would that upset Lynn? Then I remembered Sean saying he’d text me with updates. Had she seen his text and found out that Dr. Meyers had been arrested? I knew they were friends. Would that have upset her enough to leave?

  Then, suddenly, all those niggling doubts came flooding back to me: Lynn’s lack of an alibi, the nails planted in Jodi’s room, Lynn’s incessant bitterness toward Chuck, and something else, too. I’d thought all along it was strange how she’d become chummy with Dr. Meyers so quickly. Lunches out, drinks together, private therapy sessions, and she’d even started calling her Sloan. Nobody else called Dr. Meyers by her first name. Almost as if they’d been friends much longer than they pretended. Then there was the one thing that brought it all together. That day at the Magnolia, when Chuck said he’d just taken a job as part-time maintenance man at the Arts Center. Well, Dr. Meyers wasn’t there, but Lynn was. She was also there to plant the nails in Jodi’s room. And she was missing right before the time they estimated Chuck was killed. Was she the one who’d sabotaged the refrigerator? Zach was right! Lynn was guilty of murder. And so was Dr. Meyers. Th
ey were in on it together.

  “Lila?” Bentley’s voice cut through my thoughts. She nodded toward the other models, who were heading toward the stage for the final encore. “Aren’t you supposed to be onstage right now?”

  I ignored the question and asked a couple of my own. “How did Lynn leave? She doesn’t have a car here. Did someone give her a ride?” But as I asked, the answer came to me: my Vespa!

  In the hall, I broke into a wobbly high-heeled jog and burst through the double front doors and out into the cold air, nearly wiping out on the slick asphalt lot. It was gone. My Vespa was gone. And not only did she have my Vespa; she had my purse with my phone, my ID and credit cards, and … and my house keys. A desperate, cold-blooded murderer had my house keys!

  Fear overcame me as I turned to run back inside for help, each ragged breath of cold air stinging my lungs. What if she was at my home right now? Had Oscar already dropped off Mama? Was she there alone? Or maybe Trey was home from work and watching his favorite television show?

  “Lila!” Zach’s voice came out of nowhere. His gloved hands struggled to control Olive’s leash as she pulled him down the walk. “Is everything okay?”

  “No. No, it’s not.” I hurriedly explained about Lynn. “She’s got my Vespa, my house keys, everything. I need to get home now.”

  Zach reached into his pocket and pulled out his own set of keys. “No problemo. I can get you there in no time. Come on, let’s go.” He picked up Olive, leash and all, and started sprinting toward Bentley’s rental SUV, with me right behind him, wobbling in the strappy sandaled heels to keep up.

  He reached the car before me and pushed the key fob to pop the locks. “Get in,” he yelled, sliding open his driver’s door and placing Olive inside.

  A couple of seconds later, we were peeling out of the lot. Olive jumped onto my lap with a startled yelp as we accelerated. I gripped the dash with one hand and wrapped my arms protectively around the little dog. Not a moment too soon, either. We hit a speed bump that about took out the bottom half of the car.