Buried in a Book (23 page)

Checking the history file on her Internet browser yielded better results. I found several links to web pages about bee sting allergies and anaphylactic shock. My pulse quickened as I typed and clicked. One page in particular contained a detailed article on how anaphylactic shock can cause death. Luella had also visited herbal medicine sites that sold bee venom capsules.

Apparently, bee venom used in a therapeutic manner can alleviate arthritic and joint pain. However, at the bottom of the page was a warning stating that bee venom should under no circumstances be ingested by individuals with any kind of bee allergy. My fingers trembled over the keys as I recalled Marlette’s bloated fingers and puffed face when he lay dead on the couch.

Sitting back, I went over the sequence of that tragic morning—finding Marlette, Franklin administering CPR, Jude suggesting someone had committed murder, Carson Knight pointing out that Marlette’s death looked like an allergic reaction. Luella hadn’t arrived at the office until after the police, so how could she possibly have injected Marlette with bee venom?

Then I remembered that she was the one who pointed to
the dead bee on the floor, making the suggestion it had come in with the flowers.

It was as if a jolt of espresso hit my brain. I didn’t know how or when, and wasn’t completely certain of the why, but with an Althea-like certainty, I knew that Luella had done the cruel deed and then dropped a bee on the floor in an attempt at misdirection.

I heard voices in the distance. They jarred me out of my ruminations, and I quickly turned off the computer. By the time footsteps sounded on the stairs, I had scurried to my office, where I opened the yogurt and stuck a spoonful into my mouth.

Feigning interest in the queries on my desk as I ate, I kept track of the agents returning to the office. I waved to Franklin, called hello to Flora, smiled at Jude, and raised a strawberry to Zach. I wasn’t sure what I would do when Luella walked past my door, and I realized I should phone Sean and tell him what I knew, but I was too keyed up at the moment and needed to calm down in order to speak to him rationally.

My attention was drawn to a disturbance in the reception area, and I went to investigate, thankful for the distraction. A very short, stout woman with a cloud of wild dark curls and round tortoiseshell glasses stood with hands on hips, looking vexed. In her magenta pantsuit, she seemed the antithesis of Bentley, who towered over her and was gesticulating with one hand, her diamond bracelets glittering in the light.

“I’m sure she’s just running a bit late. We’ll track her down, Calliope. Never fear. I’ll get someone to bring you a coffee while you wait.”

“I don’t want a coffee!” the woman named Calliope
replied in an angry voice, gesticulating dramatically. “I had an appointment with Luella that should have started fifteen minutes ago. I am
wasting
precious writing time.”

As she turned toward the stairs, Bentley touched her lightly on the shoulder. “Please, don’t do anything rash, Calliope. Think of the years you’ve been with us. Luella ran an errand to the pharmacy and is likely on her way back as we speak. Just wait a little longer while we get ahold of her.”

A man’s figure dashing up the stairs caused both women, and me, to stop and stare in that direction. Jude burst onto the landing, his smile searing away the tension in the room. My heart did a little skip.

“Calliope, Lady of the Midas Pen,” he said, bowing slightly and holding out a small gold box. “I believe your favorite truffles are raspberry and champagne.” He gave her a beautiful smile. “When I heard you were coming to the office, I rushed out to get some just for you.”

Calliope blushed and twittered. “Oh, thank you, Jude. I’m
so
flattered you remembered.” Taking the box, she turned to Bentley. “All right, I’ll give Luella the benefit of the doubt. This
is
the first time she hasn’t been prompt. I’ll wait a
little
longer.” She sat primly on the sofa, the very one upon which Marlette had expired. I was thankful it had been cleaned. Calliope glanced up at Jude, blushing again, before focusing on her chocolates.

Jude winked at Bentley, and she grinned deviously in response. I couldn’t believe she’d used Jude’s sex appeal to pacify Calliope. And if he was already back in the office, where was Luella?

Clearing my throat, I approached her. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, Lila, thank goodness you’re here.” Bentley grabbed
my elbow and steered me toward the hallway, where she said in a low voice, “I need you to drive over to Luella’s house and see if she’s there. She’s not answering her home phone or her cell.” Quickly looking back at the woman sitting on the couch, she whispered, “Calliope is a
very
important client, and she’s here to discuss the details of a contract for three more books in her bestselling Passionate Plantation series. She’s been threatening to change to a New York agency whose name I
will
not mention because they apparently know how to wine and dine their clients to Calliope’s high standards. But we cannot lose her! She is one of our most lucrative clients. You
must
find Luella.”

“Where does she live?” I stammered, my thoughts darting about as I considered having to face Luella on her own turf after making her my enemy. “I don’t have a car.”

“Take mine.” Bentley thrust a set of keys in my face. “She lives in Dunston, on Persimmon Avenue, number eighteen. Hurry!”

Caught up in Bentley’s urgency, I scampered down the stairs and to the parking lot before I realized I didn’t know what car Bentley drove. One of the keys had the BMW logo on it, so I scanned the cars and found the lone Beemer on the lot—a silver Z4. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I wondered what Trey would think of his mother sitting behind the wheel of this sleek machine.

My mind didn’t stay on Trey for long. As I drove to Dunston, I kept going over the reasons I believed Luella might be guilty of murdering Marlette. I wondered why she hadn’t returned to work, knowing she wasn’t really sick when she rushed out of the office this morning. I was both afraid and determined to meet her face-to-face.

Driving on Dunston’s main street felt so familiar, yet it
seemed so long since I’d been there. Life had changed for me, and this town had become a part of my past, not my future.

I knew how to find Persimmon Avenue because Trey had attended a playgroup in the area when he was a toddler. I found number eighteen without any problem and sat in the car staring at the cream-colored clapboard Victorian house. Its wide front porch had wild rose vines climbing over the railings all the way up to the gingerbread trim. A flagstone walkway led to the porch steps, and at one end of the spacious porch, a large oak cast a cool shadow on the house.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the car.

My knock echoed inside the house, and I tried to still my nerves. No one else involved in the investigation knew Luella’s true identity, and if something happened to me…I backed down the stairs and took my cell phone out of my bag. Sean’s voicemail answered after four interminable rings, and I whispered a harried message, indicating where I was and for him to please call me. Hoping I didn’t sound too hysterical, I added, “I might be in a dangerous situation here.” I then snapped the phone shut and climbed back up the stairs.

Knocking a second time generated no response. Steeling myself, I turned the knob and was surprised to find it unlocked.

“Luella?” I stuck my head inside and called out, louder this time, “Luella? Are you home?”

The house was silent. I stepped inside, leaving the door open behind me, just in case I should need to make a hasty retreat. In the closed hallway, I was glad for the daylight streaming inside.

My first impression was that of polished wood. Yellow
pine with a rich patina formed the floor, trimmed the doorways, and made up the wainscoting in the hall. The living room was furnished just like Luella’s office at Novel Idea, with beautiful antique furniture, a Persian carpet, and flowery upholstered chairs and sofa.

The kitchen featured bright red appliances, yellow cabinets, and a blue granite countertop, splashing the room with color. Everything sparkled, and nothing seemed out of place.

I continued along the hall. The first door revealed a study with a desk and book-filled shelves. The second room, a bathroom, was decorated in retro colors, with black-and-white tiles and green fixtures. A guest room was calming in sedate blues and grays. All the rooms were clean and tidy, as if they had recently been cleaned. I found it difficult to reconcile the woman who owned this neat, comfortable home with the monster Luella had become in my mind.

At the last door I paused, for no reason that I could fathom; I just knew that I would find something amiss. I opened the door and looked inside.

A scream escaped from my throat, sounding too loud and strangely foreign as it reverberated down the empty hall. I leaned against the doorframe and struggled to breathe. My mind did not want to accept what my eyes were seeing.

There was Luella, laid out on the bed like Sleeping Beauty, her dress tidily arranged, her hands crossed over her breast. Her abundant hair was fanned out almost lovingly, draping across the plump pillow. And on the pillow was a large red bloodstain.

Slowly, I approached and picked up her cold hand. I could find no pulse at her wrist.

Luella was dead.

As I struggled to take the phone out of my purse with
shaking hands, a movement outside the window caught my eye. I turned and looked. There, on a branch of the large oak tree, sat a crow. He cocked his head and cast his beady eyes at me as I stood there, frozen in shock.

I stared back at him, reluctant to return my gaze to Luella’s waxen face. As if to mock my helplessness, he spread his wings and took flight, leaving me alone with the dead.

I DON’T REMEMBER CALLING THE POLICE.

I vaguely recall the sound of sirens, but they seemed to remain at a distance, never coming close enough to break through the fog enveloping my senses.

I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there when the first officers on the scene found me huddled on the front porch steps, my arms crossed protectively over my chest.

A policewoman touched me gently on the back of my hand and, keeping constant physical contact with me, knelt down and spoke to me in a calm, even voice. “Ma’am? Did you place the 911 call? Are you Lila Wilkins?”

Her eyes were beautiful in the afternoon sunlight, like honey melting in a cup of hot tea. I saw kindness in the young woman’s face, but I also noticed the slight twitch of her fingers. She was on edge, and I guessed she was experiencing the same surge of adrenaline I’d felt tiptoeing through Luella’s house.

I wondered if this woman in blue, this girl with the honey-hued eyes, would catch her breath when she entered the back bedroom. Would she pause on the threshold and think of Sleeping Beauty? Would she wonder why the red-haired beauty lying lifeless on the bed would never wake from her slumber? Would this officer burn with anger on Luella’s behalf or become steel cold with a determination to solve the mystery behind the crime? Would she be haunted by the sight, as I was sure to be?

“Ma’am?” Her voice was soft but more persistent this time.

I swallowed, trying to moisten my throat enough to push the words out. “Yes, I called you. The woman inside is my coworker. Her name’s Luella Ardor and…” I looked away from the officer’s lovely eyes and stared up into the canopy of tree branches reaching toward the roof. “And she’s dead. Someone killed her. Someone killed her because of me.”

That was all I managed to say to the policewoman. She asked me more questions, but I had nothing more to add. I went numb while the world around me broke open into a thousand different sounds.

Radios crackled, car doors slammed, commands were shouted in and outside the house, footsteps clumped up and down the steps and across the groaning porch. I stared at the parade of policemen and technicians without seeing. The image of Luella was still burned into my mind, like a Polaroid photograph that kept developing over and over again.

At some point, a blanket was placed around my shoulders and a strong hand squeezed my arm. The pressure allowed me to return to the moment, and I looked up to find Sean gazing down at me, his face pinched with concern.

“
Lila,” he murmured and pushed a metal thermos cup into my hands. “Drink this.”

I cradled the cup, welcoming the feel of its heat against my palms, and then drank. Sean had spiked black coffee with a shot of whiskey, and the bitterness surprised me, jarring me from my numb state and filling my throat and belly with a warm burn. It was exactly what I needed.

“More,” he directed, pushing the cup back to my lips.

As I complied, he watched me, his handsome, intelligent eyes intense with worry.

“I’m better now,” I assured him, feeling the whiskey’s dull fire and the comforting weight of the blanket on my shoulders drawing me forth from a state of shock.

Sean sat quietly next to me until I was ready to explain what I was doing at Luella’s house. I began by telling him about Sue Ann Grey and how she’d forever changed Marlette’s life so many years ago. I went on to describe how I’d let Luella know that I’d discovered her secret identity and how that was the last time I saw her alive. I recounted how I’d searched her office and described the bee venom websites on her Internet search history. My voice faltered as it struck me that while I was trying to find proof that she was a murderer, Luella herself was falling victim to violence. I shuddered.