Buried in a Book Page 4

  “M-me?” I stammered, flabbergasted that she would even consider jetting off to New York with a dead man in her agency. “Don’t you need to be here when the police arrive?”

  Apparently, she found nothing amiss in her behavior. “My dear, Mr. Knight, Jude, and I have a late lunch meeting with a senior editor in New York. We have a few minor details to work out, and after that, Mr. Knight will officially become the highest-paid author of the Novel Idea Literary Agency.” Her eyes glimmered with dollar signs. “As for this unfortunate incident”—she gestured at Marlette without looking at him—“I’m confident that I can entrust you to manage the police as well as your daily allotment of queries. A woman with your experience and maturity can certainly give a succinct account to the authorities. Come, Jude.”

  Jude shook his head. “I’m staying, Bentley. This needs to be taken care of. You can handle the details in New York.”

  “Suit yourself. See you Monday.” And with that, she was gone. Carson gave me an apologetic bow, shook Jude’s hand, and followed the clip-clop of Bentley’s heels down the stairs.

  “Oh dear.” Flora began wringing her hands again. “Oh dear, oh dear.”

  I looked over at Franklin, who continued, without any sign of success, administering CPR. I marveled that he refused to give up despite his obvious weariness. “Has anyone ever read Marlette’s query letters?”

  Flora shrugged. “My goodness, I have no idea! The interns were all warned about his regular visits and his…quirks. To tell the truth, they were a bit scared of him. He’s been coming here for almost a year now, and he brings flowers every day. Such a nuisance.”

  “And his letters were always attached to the flowers?” I asked, wanting to confirm what Marlette had told me earlier.

  “Yes.” Flora sank into one of the club chairs and began to dab at her flushed face with a tissue. She then continued the motion across her neck and down the deep V of her cleavage. “But I have no idea what they said.”

  I felt anger on Marlette’s behalf. No one had bothered to spend five lousy minutes reading his letter? And yet, he had remained undeterred. Day after day, he reappeared at the agency, clutching his bouquet and his query, only to have his hopes dashed afresh each morning. “Everyone just assumed he was crazy,” I murmured sadly.

  Flora stood. “Yes, dear, that’s about it.” She patted my arm. “Don’t judge those young interns too harshly. That awful man didn’t always make sense. He often babbled or talked to himself and could be a tad frightening. I can’t begin to imagine the germs he carried into the office. I encouraged Bentley to get a restraining order against him, but the rest of the agency thought he was harmless, so we never bothered. I guess…we all got used to him. He was a fixture, if a rather odoriferous and unsavory one at that.”

  “But no one saw him as a person, just a nuisance. A brief blight on one’s day,” I grumbled. “When in truth, he was more of an odd, flower-bearing writer wannabe.”

  Flora’s eyes darkened. “It is terrible that we can become so immersed in our regular tasks that we ignore a person right under our noses.” She blinked, and the hostility in her eyes evaporated. “Perhaps I’ve been unfair to him. I don’t even know his last name. Or if he had a home or a family. I feel terrible.” She hurried back to her office.

  Franklin straightened up. “It’s not working. He’s definitely dead.” He brushed his hand over his brow and shrugged. “I did what I could.”

  “You were amazing,” I told him. “Don’t blame yourself. I think it was hopeless from the start.”

  As Franklin shook his head and disappeared down the hall, Jude touched my arm. “I’ll be in my office if you need anything. Let me know when the police arrive. I want to talk to them. I’m sure Marlette’s death is a result of foul play.”

  “Why do you believe that?” I asked.

  “Okay.” He looked from left to right, then directly at me. “When I was straightening him on the couch, I noticed a puncture mark on his neck.”

  “Like a bee sting?”

  Jude shook his head. “Maybe that’s what we were intended to think, but I know what a needle puncture looks like, and that’s definitely what it was.”

  I couldn’t keep the shock off my face. Not just at Jude’s insistence that Marlette was murdered, but over his statement about needle marks. “But why…and who?”

  “I don’t know, but I have to tell the cops.”

  Watching him walk away, I picked up my latte from the coffee table. Just as I took a sip of the unappealingly cooled brew, I heard the heavy tread of several men on the stairs.

  A pair of officers from the Dunston Police Department met me at the top. The one in the lead, a stocky, thick-necked man in his late twenties, walked directly over to Marlette. A couple of paramedics carrying a stretcher pushed past me and followed him. The second policeman, an all-American-looking blond with blue eyes in his early fifties, held out his hand. “Officer Griffiths. Are you all right, ma’am?”

  I was charmed by the fact that he asked how I was faring before peppering me with questions. I told him I’d had a heck of a first day on the job and explained how I’d found Marlette dead on the sofa.

  Officer Griffiths wrote down every word I said, and his bright blue eyes and professional, courteous manner were a balm.

  “That’s some first day,” he commented when I was finished. “Would you like to sit down?”

  I shook my head, feeling more unnerved than I let on. My mother’s gloomy premonition kept repeating in my mind. Every now and then, her foresight was accurate, but the circumstances were usually positive. She’d stop a young couple in the grocery store and predict that they would soon be married or tell an expectant mother the gender of her baby. Sometimes, she knew the location of a lost pet or a missing object, but she’d never known about a death before it happened. I rubbed my arms, feeling chilled as I recalled her certainty that someone would die in this office.

  The medical examiner arrived and quickly moved toward his patient. After inspecting Marlette’s lifeless body, he conferred with the paramedics and the stocky police officer. I tried to listen in on their conversation but only caught snippets, words and phrases that put my senses on high alert and caused my brain to start whirring. “Fresh needle puncture,” I heard the ME say. “Doubt it was self-administered because there was no…”

  I wished I could have heard the whole conversation, but I did catch part of the cop’s response: “Possible homicide.”

  Jude’s suspicions were right! Someone had murdered Marlette. Even the police thought so. At that moment, I decided I would do everything I could to discover who had harmed a man who just wanted to have his query letter read.

  “Do they know what happened to him?” I asked Griffiths as the two paramedics began to unfold the legs of the gurney.

  Griffiths made a noncommittal shrug. “Nothing definitive until an autopsy is done. Results could take anywhere from six to twelve weeks.”

  “And that’s it? He just goes…in some refrigerated drawer until the autopsy?” I felt as though someone should be concerned on Marlette’s behalf.

  “We’ll search for next of kin.” Griffiths looked over his notes. “So he came here every day carrying flowers? I should probably talk to someone who’s been here a bit longer than you about his past behavior.” He said this with a smile. “Would you take me to your boss?”

  I shifted on my feet. “She left to catch a flight to New York.”

  Griffiths raised his brows. “Before or after this man died in her office?”

  I glanced around the officer’s shoulder in order to watch the men strap Marlette into the gurney. One of them grimaced, no doubt over the pungent smell emanating from the corpse. The second paramedic was all business and quietly directed his partner to prepare to hoist the gurney. I felt sorry for the two men. It couldn’t be easy to bear Marlette’s weight down a flight of stairs. Suddenly, I wondered how a person with a physical disability would make it up to our office and whether
the Novel Idea Literary Agency represented any handicapped clients.

  “Ms. Wilkins?”

  Returning my attention to the policeman’s patient face, I answered, “Ms. Burlington-Duke left afterward, and I’m sorry to say that I doubt she, or anyone else in the back offices, could tell you much more about Marlette. I believe he was assigned to the interns. No one else interacted with him.”

  “Do you think you could get me contact information for the most recent intern?” he inquired, his grin transforming from friendliness into something intangibly flirtatious as he handed me a business card.

  I told Griffiths I’d be glad to help. Why not? He seemed like a sweet guy, and I wanted to talk to that intern myself. Not only would I like to find out more about Marlette, but I’d also love to know why my predecessor hadn’t been able to hack it at the agency for more than a mere three months.

  I took the card and returned the lawman’s inviting smile. “I’ll get back to you soon.”

  As the professionals concentrated on their tasks, the literary agents drifted out of their offices. Jude pulled the stocky policeman aside and talked to him. I wanted to listen in on the other cop’s reaction to Jude’s murder theory, but Officer Griffiths kept demanding my attention.

  “Ms. Wilkins, we need to conduct a search of the premises. If you and your coworkers would please make room, we’ll get started.”

  I was about to reply when Franklin stepped forward. “I think you need a warrant for that. Especially since Ms. Burlington-Duke is not present.”

  “Sir, this is a possible crime scene, and we can search the open areas of this lobby without a warrant,” Officer Griffiths replied. A trifle embarrassed, Franklin acquiesced and went to stand beside Flora.

  Zach and Jude moved forward to assist the men from the coroner’s office with their burden, but their offer was courteously declined. Flora began to weep again and was comforted by Franklin, who made soothing noises while handing her tissue after tissue. As I stood aside with the agents, Griffiths asked them several questions about Marlette, but it was obvious they knew almost nothing about him. The other officer started to search the area around the sofa, peering behind the throw pillows and running his hands between the cushions.

  Eventually, Franklin escorted Flora back to her office. Jude, Zach, and I stood around looking at one another, then at the policemen. One of them was on his hands and knees shining a flashlight under the couch, while the other was flipping through a notebook. It was as if we expected them to provide us with an explanation, to reason away the morning’s tragedy. No one said anything for a while, and a sudden breeze wafted up as the gurney was taken outside. Downstairs, the door closed with a click, then almost immediately opened again. Heels tapped up the stairs.

  “Oh my!” a genteel voice exclaimed. “Whatever has happened?”

  An elegant woman stepped into the reception area. She was wearing an ivory pantsuit that looked like it was fresh from a boutique in Paris. With strappy gold sandals on her feet and a gold-threaded, multicolored scarf arranged artfully around her neck, she exuded an air of sophistication and drama. Her red hair was arranged into a complicated chignon at the nape of her neck, accentuating her incredible cheekbones. Who was this beauty? Could she be a movie star? If so, what was she doing here, in a literary agency in Inspiration Valley?

  Standing—no, posing—at the agency’s entrance, she took off her sunglasses. Green eyes the color of jade cast around the space, taking in all of us standing about like thoughtless zombies. Barely glancing at me, her gaze alighted on both Jude and Zach longer than necessary before she turned to Griffiths.

  “Oh, officer,” she gushed, approaching him. “Has something terrible happened here? I saw men outside with a gurney. Pray tell, who was under the sheet? Not…one of us. Tell me it wasn’t…” Her hands fluttered at her heart, and she batted long eyelashes at him.

  Griffiths blushed and cleared his throat. “I’m Officer Griffiths, ma’am. And you are…?”

  The woman stood a little straighter. “I am Luella Ardor, an agent here at Novel Idea. Please, what’s happened?”

  Ah, the romance agent. Jude and Zach stared at Luella as if they were under some kind of spell. I felt an odd twinge of jealousy.

  “A man named Marlette was found dead on this couch.” Griffiths’s tone was solicitous. “Maybe you could tell me something about him.”

  Luella brought both hands to her cheeks. “Oh! Oh! Poor Marlette. Such a strange man. But rather a fixture around here.” She sighed. “How did he die?” Her eyes widened as she looked at Griffiths.

  “We won’t know until the coroner submits his report, ma’am.”

  The stocky policeman suddenly appeared beside Luella and touched her elbow. “Are you all right, Ms. Ardor? Would you like to sit down? I know this must be a shock.” He gently guided her to a chair.

  “Why, thank you. You’re just as sweet as a caramel apple in autumn.” She smiled, small dimples appearing in her cheeks, and lowered herself into the seat.

  Griffiths looked at me. “Maybe some water?” I pretended not to notice and shuffled the folders of queries on the coffee table.

  “Oh, are you the new intern?” Luella suddenly seemed to realize I was in the room.

  I introduced myself.

  “Nice to meet you, Lila. Could you be a dear and get me a coffee? A skinny latte?”

  “I don’t do coffee,” I answered pleasantly.

  Luella’s eyes widened, and she quickly looked away. “Eww, what is that?” She pointed to a spot on the floor near her chair.

  We all directed our gaze to the place she indicated. Griffiths bent and picked up an object with his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a dead bee.”

  “A bee?” I looked at Jude. Maybe Marlette had simply succumbed to an innocent bee sting.

  Griffiths examined it closely. “They do fly indoors sometimes.”

  Luella perked up. “It could have been inside Marlette’s flowers.” She touched Griffiths’s arm as if she wanted him to appreciate the brilliance of her deduction. “He brought in a bouquet of weeds every day.”

  Griffiths’s eyes circled the room. “I see. And where might those flowers be now?”

  “Jude threw them out,” I quickly replied as I pulled a tissue out of my bag. “I can take that from you, Officer Griffiths.”

  “Thank you for being so helpful, Ms. Wilkins.” He took the tissue with his free hand and then gave my fingers a brief squeeze, causing my pulse to skip a beat. “But I’ll take care of this little insect.”

  He smiled, and our eyes met.

  “Ahem.” Luella coughed, causing Griffiths to break his keen gaze. “Can I help in any way, Officer?”

  “Why, yes, Ms. Ardor.” Griffiths pulled his notebook out of his pocket. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

  She stood up and started toward the hall. “Let’s do that in my office, shall we?” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder with a flutter of false eyelashes.

  Griffiths and the other cop were quick to follow her. Zach and Jude hustled behind them. I watched them all disappear down the corridor, the beauty queen and her entourage. Shaking my head, I looked at my stack of queries. Although it seemed somewhat disrespectful, I decided to attempt to focus on work. After all, I still had to prove myself at this job.

  I eyed the couch. It would be irreverent, not to mention a bit creepy, to use as a backrest the piece of furniture on which a man had just died. Reluctantly, I gathered the files and wormed my way back over to the student desk. Ignoring my discomfort, I picked up the query at the top of the pile.

  In my suspense mystery novel titled No Insurance Against Murder, a woman is found dead in the office of the vice president of an insurence agency. Her cause of death is musterious, since there are no outward signs of physical truama, and no one in the Agency knows who she is.

  A chill tiptoed up my spine as the similarities between this poorly written query and the events of this morning crossed my min
d. The paper fluttered out of my hand as I sat back and pondered. Marlette’s death was mysterious. In fact, everything about him was mysterious. No one even knew his last name, and he’d climbed those stairs carrying wildflowers day after day. I, for one, wanted to know more.

  If only I’d been able to read his query letter!

  And then I remembered the wilting bouquet of flowers Jude had been directed to throw in the Dumpster. There had been a piece of paper fastened around the flower stalks. The least I could do was fulfill the last wish of this tragic stranger.

  I couldn’t concentrate on the folder of query letters for another second. A man had just died a few feet from where I now worked. I was too rattled to read, but not to hunt down Marlette’s final words.

  I tossed my pencil aside and hustled down the stairs. Nothing was going to stop me from reading that query, even if it was too late to help the author. After all, that poor writer was already on his way to the morgue.

  Chapter 4

  I DON’T MAKE A HABIT OF RUNNING, ESPECIALLY DOWN stairs, but I moved my body as fast as it would go, my mind locked on the wildflower bouquet Bentley had told Jude to toss into the Dumpster.

  When I reached the garbage receptacle, I groaned. It quickly became clear that Novel Idea shared a Dumpster with the coffee shop. The smell of rotten fruit and old coffee grounds mingled with even more repugnant odors, but I was determined to find that query letter.

  Unfortunately, the top of the Dumpster was locked, leaving only the sliding doors open, through which all the trash had been shoved. As this opening was at eye level, I was able to view the most recent deposits. Though I saw several black garbage bags and a few flattened pieces of cardboard, there was no sign of the cluster of white flowers.

  Looking around for something to stand on, I spied a plastic crate near the back door of Espresso Yourself. Balancing on top of the crate was a challenge. The pointy heels of my shoes keep slipping into the holes of the crate, and I had no choice but to grab onto the edge of the Dumpster’s open door in order to maintain my footing.