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

  With another longing glance toward the gate, I decided to try to push Sean’s absence out of my mind and enjoy the evening. After all, along with a lot of other people, I’d worked hard to make this evening happen; I wanted to enjoy it.

  “This food is awesome,” Zach commented, finishing off his caprese salad with zest.

  “You can thank Lila for that,” Flora spoke up. “She arranged the entire menu with How Green Was My Valley.”

  Jude tipped his glass my way. “Excellent menu choices, Lila. I’m sure your boyfriend would agree, if he were here,” he added with a glint in his eye.

  Everyone’s head snapped to the vacant spot next to me. My mind flashed back to that night a couple of weeks ago when I sat alone in Voltaire’s waiting for Sean to arrive. A familiar feeling crept over me—impatience, tinged with a bit of worry and covered in a whole lot of ticked off. Suddenly, I felt like the odd one out. But I swallowed back my pride, along with the last forkful of my salad, just as the second course was served. I’d opted for the hickory-encrusted pork, while a couple of my tablemates chose the vegetarian plate. According to the general consensus, they were both delicious. I picked at mine, trying to enjoy it, despite the still-empty chair next to me and the little empty feeling that was growing in my heart. I did understand that Sean’s career, like my own, was important to him; his time was not his own when it came to the inconvenient hours when crimes were committed. I just had to accept that as part of our relationship and trust his love for me. So why did my skin prickle whenever I turned toward that empty seat?

  Finally, halfway through the main course, I folded my napkin and placed it by my plate. “I think I’ll go check on the caterers. I want to make sure they got the updated instructions for serving the pie.” Nell and Flora had come up with the idea of serving the pies family style. So instead of having waiters serve individual slices, several pies would be placed on each table, allowing guests to help themselves to their favorite flavors. I thought the idea was ingenious and lent itself to the bucolic, down-home feel of the evening.

  Across the table, Flora started to rise. “Let me take care of that, Lila.”

  I motioned for her to sit back down. “Don’t be silly. Stay here and enjoy the rest of your dinner with Brian. I’ll be back shortly.”

  I wound my way through the tables and spied Paul on the other side of the pergola, dishing out orders to his waitstaff. They’d set up a food tent, complete with food warmers and a fully stocked bar. I couldn’t imagine how much went into pulling off the food for an event of this magnitude. The whole process amazed me.

  I caught up to him just as he was finishing directing one of his waitstaff. “Paul! Hold up a sec.”

  “Lila,” he answered with a tentative expression. “Everything’s okay with the food, I hope.”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful, Paul. I just came back to tell you so. Everyone is singing your praises.”

  He clapped his hands together. “Oh joy! I’m so happy to hear that. You’ll be glad to know that the pies have been sliced and we’re preparing to deliver them to the tables now.” He cupped his hand over his mouth and leaned forward. “I have to admit, I sampled a piece or two. That Nell is one amazing baker. By chance, is she single?”

  I tipped my chin up and laughed. “I’m afraid not,” I replied, knowing that Ed from Catcher in the Rye and Nell had been seeing each other for some time. “But I’ll tell her you approve of her baking skills.” I waved my hand toward the tables. “Everything’s gone so well this evening, Paul. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad you think so. If you were on this side of things, you’d see how many little things have gone wrong. But I’m glad it hasn’t been noticeable to the guests.”

  “Not at all. In fact, everyone, including Damian, is dazzled by your food.”

  “Good. I was hoping to catch up with him after the festivities this evening. Maybe rehash the old times.”

  I thought back to when I’d mentioned Paul to Damian. He didn’t remember ever knowing him. “You know, Paul, it’s been a long time since Damian grew up here. He might not remember all his childhood friends.”

  Paul shook his head. “He’d remember me. We were both ‘C,’ so we always ended up seated by one another. Alphabetical seating charts, you understand.”

  I blinked. “But York starts with a ‘Y.’”

  Paul cocked his head to one side. “York? No, didn’t I tell you? York was his mother’s maiden name. His last name was the same as his father’s name, Cartwright. He must have taken his mother’s name as a stage name. Damian York does have a better ring to it, don’t you think?”

  My mind was working overtime. Cartwright? Where have I heard that name before?

  Paul went on, “I can’t wait to ask him if he remembers the crazy pranks our class used to play on Mr. Stevens, the math teacher. I swear, that man had the patience of saint. All the crazy stunts we pulled and he never once gave us detention.”

  I couldn’t help but smile as Paul went on to describe a few of his adolescent shenanigans. All this talk about pranks reminded me of Trey’s middle school years. Too bad his teachers weren’t as understanding as their Mr. Stevens. I’d fielded more than my share of calls from irate teachers.

  “There you are!” We both looked up to see Flora quickly approaching. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said, completely out of breath as she reached us.

  “You have?”

  She reached under the neckline of her blouse and extracted a lacy handkerchief and began dabbing at her face. “Yes, it seems your beau has arrived. He was going to come find you but I told him to sit and eat his dinner. Besides, I wanted to meet the man behind all this delicious food.” She eyed Paul. Realizing the two probably hadn’t met yet, I made a quick introduction.

  She gestured to the other end of the pergola. “He’s back at the table, waiting, dear. Go on. If there’s anything to do here, I can take care of it,” she added, turning her focus back to Paul. I excused myself while they started chatting about the success of the dinner and Nell’s delicious pies.

  Now I could really enjoy the evening, I thought, making my way back toward our table, my steps a little lighter than before. I was looking forward to sitting back and enjoying a slice of Nell’s pie and listening to Damian’s speech with Sean, finally, at my side.

  Only … I was passing the stage when I spied Damian slipping down the service path and heading toward the catering vans. What was that all about? He was due to announce the van Gogh award and give his speech anytime now. “Damian!” I called out, but he kept going. I took off after him. Maybe he’d lost track of time or was confused about the schedule. I broke into a jog, trying to keep up with his pace. He walked past the catering vans and started for a group of cars parked in the back lot. As I saw him approaching his rental car, I slowed down my pace, thinking he must have left something in his car, probably the notes for his speech. Still, I should remind him he was scheduled to speak very soon.

  Then he did something that shocked me. Instead of unlocking his own car, he stopped and peered inside Flora’s sedan. “Damian?” I asked, catching up to him. “Is there something you need in there?”

  He wheeled around, surprised to see me. “Lila! Uh, no. I was just coming back here to get something from my car.” He seemed embarrassed by being caught snooping around. Looking down, he shuffled toward his rental, extracting his key fob and hitting the button to release the locks. “I’m afraid I left my speech notes out here.”

  I’d figured as much. I glanced at my watch. “You’re on in about fifteen minutes, you know?”

  “No problem.” He opened his door, leaned in, and stretched across the driver’s seat, rooting around in his car’s glove department. I glanced down and noticed a white bandage, instead of a sock, peeking out from under the hem of his pants.

  “Oh my. Did you hurt yourself?”

  He glanced down at the bandage. “Oh, that? Gardening injury.” He chuckled. “Those thorny bushes out at the Walker pla
ce got the best of me.”

  I laughed. “A great showing tonight, huh? Looks like you sold out of books at the signing.”

  He shoved the piece of paper into his suit pocket. “I did. Bentley was thrilled, to say the least.”

  “I bet. She lives for the bottom line.”

  Damian relocked his car and turned to me. “We should head back to the party,” he said, motioning for me to walk in front.

  I scooted ahead, turning sideways to squeeze between a station wagon and a compact that were practically sharing paint, they were parked so close together. Zach and Jude, tonight’s parking directors, must have been snoozing when these were parked. “Say, were your ears burning a while ago?” I teased Damian.

  “What?” he asked from behind.

  “Paul Cohen and I were just talking about you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, he’s the catering director from How Green Was My Valley. I told you about him the other day. Anyway, he’s done a wonderful job with the dinner menu, don’t you agree?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “It’s funny you don’t remember Paul. He has strong memories of you from junior high.”

  “Well, that was a long time ago. And I’m afraid I’m not good with names.”

  “Oh, speaking of which, he said you changed your name from Cartwright …” I paused, suddenly remembering where I’d heard the name Cartwright—the spunky speedster from the group home. The same home where Peggy lived. The same man who had seen the only visitor the night before I’d come with that box of photos to talk with Peggy. A visit from his son, Janet had said. I slowed my pace and turned toward Damian, my mind slowly making connections.

  “What is it, Lila?”

  I forced myself to look him in the eyes. “When we first met, you’d told me your father was still in the area but that you two weren’t close. But there’s a Mr. Cartwright living in a senior group home in Dunston. Your father? Did you visit him at the Dunston Manor the other day?”

  He didn’t respond, but simply stared at me with a strange expression. I shifted my stance and cleared my throat. My eyes moved to his leg as I thought about that bandage I’d seen a few minutes ago. Was this the leg Mama had seen coming through our window? “I don’t recall any thorny bushes at Grant’s house. How’d you really get that cut on your leg, Damian?”

  He glanced down at his leg and then back at me. This time his expression was anything but charming. “You really should have minded your own business, Lila.”

  I gulped. The threat note. Of course. I’d been so sure it was from Alice, maybe even Grant, but I’d never considered that Damian was also in the office that morning. Why would I? He’d been there off and on all week, discussing the signing with Franklin and Bentley. What’s more, he knew Grant had been in that morning and he’d timed the threat to frame Grant. Then my gaze went to Flora’s car. He was after Fannie’s photographs. But why?

  I backed up a couple of steps. There was something else, too. Damian was at the Walker land the day I was driving Trey’s car. He would have assumed it was mine. He was the one who cut the power steering line on Trey’s car!

  I watched in horror as Damian’s expression changed to a look that scared me all the way to my toes. I backed up a little more, then turned to make a break for it, but suddenly Damian lurched forward, latching on to my arm. “Come with me, Lila,” he ordered, his voice low and menacing.

  I protested, struggling against his hold. “You almost killed my son,” I accused, lashing out with my free hand and digging in my feet. I started to scream, but his other hand came out of nowhere, hitting me so hard in the face that I tipped backward, my legs giving out under me.

  He grabbed me by my neck, wheeled me around, and jerked me against him, clamping his hand over my mouth. For a second, we stood there, pressed so closely together that I could feel his heart pounding against my back. I struggled, trying to reach my hands over my head and connect with his face, all the while my eyes scanning the parking lot, searching for help. Off in the distance, over the high-pitched buzz in my ears, I could hear the faint drone of laughter and the clinking of dishes. I knew Sean was there. Sitting at our table, waiting for me. Would he get tired of waiting and come look for me?

  “You really are Novel Idea’s own version of Nancy Drew,” Damian hissed into my ear. “I suppose that’s what happens when you spend all your time reading mysteries.” He was pulling me along, dragging me between the cars and toward a storage shed at the back of the nursery property. “You just wouldn’t give up on those stupid photos of Fannie’s, would you?”

  We’d reached the shed and he threw open the door. Dragging me inside, he shoved me up against the far wall. Before I could even react, I felt the chill of steel against my throat. I slid my eyes down to see a pair of pruning shears pressing against my skin.

  Damian shook his head over and over, his features morphing into a sinister expression. “If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have had to go have a little talk with the old woman, make it real clear that she wasn’t to talk to you two. I couldn’t take the chance that she’d point out my sister.”

  His sister?

  His nod was slow and mechanical. “Yes, my older sister, Rachel.” His eyes took on a faraway gaze, his words tumbling out, devoid of emotion as he spoke of his childhood. “When my father left us, things got tough for my mother. She was so desperate she embezzled money from her employer and was arrested. There was no one else to take us. So the state intervened and placed us kids in foster homes. They split us up.”

  “And Rachel was placed with the Cobbs?” I whispered, hoping to keep him talking while my eyes searched the shed walls for some sort of weapon.

  Suddenly his eyes took on a wild expression. “Fannie Walker put her there,” he bit out.

  “I don’t understand.” Although a horrible picture was starting to come together in my mind. The body in my yard—it was Rachel, his sister. And Fannie placed her with the Cobbs. Did Damian kill Fannie out of revenge?

  “All these years, I thought she’d run away. Left us like my father did. I’ve been searching for her ever since.” His voice cracked. “I never gave up.”

  A little piece of my heart went out to Damian. All these years, searching and hoping, just to find his sister had been dead all along. “But the night you brought me home from Voltaire’s you recognized my house as the home where they’d placed your sister.”

  His face was screwed into a sinister look. “Yes, and you told me about the skeleton you’d found, and I knew. I knew Doug Cobb had killed Rachel. Everyone in town knew he was a mean old drunk. And Fannie made her live there.”

  “You blamed Fannie. So you killed her.”

  “I didn’t mean to kill Fannie. It just happened,” he stated, his voice taking on a panicked tone. “I called and told her who I was and what I suspected about the skull in your yard. We arranged to meet at her house. After I called, she’d gone back into the social services office and snuck out her old file on Rachel. She kept showing me the paperwork, telling me about all the background checks she’d run on the Cobbs. She just kept saying she didn’t know, she didn’t know that Doug Cobb was an abusive drunk. But she should have known—that was her job. She acted so sorry, so righteous, so sincere, like she couldn’t have known, like she wasn’t responsible. All those types are the same, all sweet smiles and saying the right words but never, ever responsible. She even said she’d be willing to go to the police and make things right.” He shook his head back and forth and let out a low chuckle. “Make things right? There was no making things right. My sister was dead!” His eyes desperately searched mine for any sort of compassion. “The spade was there on the ground,” he explained. “I don’t know what happened. I just hit her.” I felt the steel blade gnawing on my skin as he broke down crying, his hands trembling as his shoulders shook.

  “But then, you got scared,” I whispered. “And you were afraid I was going to find out so you sabotaged my car and tried to kill me.�
� My eyes caught sight of a nearby shovel, propped up in the corner.

  He shook his head. “No, no. I just wanted to scare you. Distract you so you’d quit snooping around. I didn’t know it was your son’s car.” He was sweating profusely, his eyes wide and crazed. He raked his free hand over his brow and through his hair, causing it to jut out at weird angles, making him look even more sinister and deranged.

  “It’s not too late to turn yourself in, Damian. Anyone would understand how you might have lost control and snapped. You can’t be blamed. It was Fannie’s fault really, Fannie who did something dreadful.” He blinked as if considering that and I plunged ahead. “Everyone will understand, everyone will rally round you. Everyone loves Damian York.”

  At those words his features softened and I felt the blade slide off my neck. Seeing my opportunity, I shoved him as hard as I could, grabbed the shovel, and swung, thwacking his shoulder with a thunk! As he stumbled, I started to run. Only he was too fast. I’d barely made it outside the shed when he snatched the back of my shirt and with one fierce movement, slammed me against the outside wall.

  Instantly, I realized how foolish it was to try to escape. My bold move had sparked his rage and now there was no stopping him. I watched in frozen horror as he raised the shears over his head, their points aimed for my chest. I screamed and turned away, pressing my face against the rough wood of the shed. Then a large cracking sound pierced the air. I flinched and pressed harder against the rough wood.

  “Lila!”

  I managed to turn my head. It was Flora! She was standing over me, wielding a heavy gilded serving tray and staring in disbelief at Damian’s crumpled body. I heard footsteps and voices in the parking lot.

  “Over here,” I called out, taking the tray from Flora and pulling her away from Damian.

  She looked at me, her face flush and her eyes wide with shock. “Oh my! Are you okay, Lila? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  I stared down at the shears on the ground and shook my head. “No, Flora. Thanks to you, I’m okay.”