Buried in a Book (27 page)

“You’re in the clear as well, Franklin,” Jude stated miserably. With his rumpled clothes and slouched posture, he looked like a different person. “A piano lesson with Maddox Ryan. The perfect alibi. The whole town loves Maddox, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s a retired judge.” Moaning, Jude sunk his head into his hands while Franklin turned his flushed face toward the window. I felt sorry for him. Was Maddox’s former profession the reason they kept their affair a secret?

“
I’m
the only one who can’t supply a decent alibi,” Jude continued. “And I’m the one who chased after Luella yesterday. When I couldn’t catch her, I didn’t feel like coming back to the office right away, so I wandered through the park. Then Bentley had me drive all the way to Dunston to buy Calliope’s favorite truffles. The chocolate shop is only five minutes from Luella’s house. Don’t you see how guilty I look?”

Zach shook his head. “Why did you take off after her? I didn’t think you guys were together anymore.” There was a sharp edge of envy in his tone.

“We haven’t been an item for nearly a year, but I still care about her,” Jude said defensively. I wondered whether his concern was genuine or if he was just a skilled actor. He did have a weak alibi, and he could easily be lying about his relationship with Luella. Perhaps she had been the one to
end things and he was still nursing strong feelings for her. Unrequited love could turn people inside out, and there was something very intimate about Luella’s death. Whoever had struck her, then smothered her, and finally, arranged her body so carefully was no stranger.

I studied Jude out of the corner of my eye. Was he capable of murder? Of creating a storybook scene using his former lover’s corpse?

Flora put down her teacup and placed a hand on Jude’s shoulder. “The truth will out, honey. Don’t twist yourself up in knots. We know you’d never hurt her.”

Her remark was met with silence, but I noticed that the other agents nodded in agreement.

“How’s Bentley handling all of this?” I asked.

Franklin gave an embarrassed cough and said, “She seems rather preoccupied with an offer Jude received yesterday from some Hollywood studio.”

“Which Jude or
I
should be handling.” Zach sulked. “Carson is Jude’s client, and
I’m
not called Mr.
Hollywood
for nothing.”

I sipped my coffee and wondered if Bentley was really working on a deal or was deliberately seeking seclusion in her office while she grappled with the loss of her agent. Or worse, was she hiding because she was somehow involved in these crimes? “What’s the title of Carson’s book?” I asked, hoping to introduce a different topic. “I guess I should know it since it’s going to be all over the place next year.”

“
The Alexandria Society
,” Jude answered, perking up at once. “Carson is going to be bigger than Dan Brown or Stieg Larsson.”

As he proceeded to give me succinct summary of the plot, I was still reacting to the title. My coffee went down
the wrong pipe, and I gagged and coughed, struggling to breathe.

“Are you okay, dear?” Flora inquired.

I nodded and bit into my scone, fearing that if I spoke now I’d blurt out the truth. The idea for Carson Knight’s thriller belonged to Marlette! As I chewed mechanically, I realized that Carson was a prime suspect for Marlette’s murder. Sending Jude a quick glance, I swallowed the bite of pastry and said, “I’d love to read it. Do you have a copy?”

“I have one on my computer and the original manuscript locked away in my file cabinet,” he replied. “You can look at that version, but you can’t take it out of the office. That manuscript is worth more than all of our salaries combined.”

It took a Herculean effort to muster a grateful smile. “I’ll stop by later, thanks. I have so much work to catch up on before then.” I looked around at the rest of the agents. “Are the police done with us, do you think?”

“
You
seem to have an in with Officer Griffiths,” Zach stated sourly. “Why don’t you tell
us
?”

I folded the rest of the scone in a napkin and stood up. “I don’t know any more than the rest of you. I only got involved because no one else seemed to care that an innocent man dropped dead in this office!” The anger had come out of nowhere, surprising both my coworkers and me with its vehemence.

“But—” Flora spluttered.

“No, Lila’s right,” Franklin said solemnly. “If we hadn’t turned our backs on that poor man, he might be alive today. Maybe Luella, too. I don’t know if there’s a connection between the two of them, and I pray the police will sort this mess out, but at least Lila had enough gumption and enough
heart to take action on Marlette’s behalf.” He touched my arm. “I, for one, am ashamed of my callousness.”

It wasn’t for me to offer forgiveness as, one by one, each of the agents voiced regret. I could only listen and sympathize, and eventually there was nothing else to say, so we dispersed and headed for our individual offices.

At my desk, I eyed the overwhelming stacks of queries, knowing that when I turned on my computer, there’d be an endless stream of emails to tackle as well. I knew I must put aside the emotions and thoughts that were swirling around in my head like a whirlpool and focus on the work I needed to do.

But first I had to call Sean to tell him about Carson’s book. Getting that off my mind, and giving the police that valuable information, would clear the way for concentrating on my job.

I reached for the phone. It rang just as I was about to pick it up to dial, and as a result, my hello was somewhat breathless.

“Good morning, Lila,” Sean said with a glint of humor in his voice. “You sound as if you’ve been running.”

“Me? Run? Only when the oven timer beeps,” I quipped back. “I was about to call you, actually.” The idea that Sean and I had both thought of each other at the same time made me smile.

“Oh, what about?”

“I think Marlette’s story was stolen, and while I still have to follow up on a few things, I’m fairly certain it’s the key to his murder. I believe I might even know who’s responsible.” The names of my three suspects flashed across my mind. Jude. Bentley. Carson.

“
Hold on there, Lila. Don’t start making accusations until you have all the facts. Yesterday you thought Iris was a murderer, and your suspicions were completely unfounded. She has an airtight alibi. While Trey was at the grocery store, Iris was visiting an elderly, wheelchair-bound aunt.”

“Oh.” Feeling properly chastised for suggesting that Iris was a murderer, I toned down my fervor. “Then I’ll hold off on sharing my theories for now. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to tell you that I’ve sent Marlette’s query to forensics to see if there are fingerprints on it. If so, we’ll find out if they match any of the prints we took from Ms. Ardor’s house.”

I gripped the phone receiver tightly. “A match for the killer’s fingerprints?”

“No jumping to conclusions until we have all the facts, remember? I’ll talk to you later, Lila.”

I reluctantly said good-bye, thankful that at least he thought there would be a “later” for us.

Hanging up the phone, I pulled a stack of queries toward me and opened the first envelope. The letter carried the faintest whiff of a woody scent, reminding me of Marlette. I closed my eyes for a moment and willed him to disappear so I could focus on the task at hand. Mind cleared, I began to read.

By the end of the letter, the author had drawn me into Valetta’s world in much the same way that I’d been pulled into Marlette’s Alexandria League. Pondering how a writer was able to accomplish this, I thought about Carson’s novel. Surely it was more than a coincidence that the title and the plot were nearly identical to the novel in Marlette’s query. And Carson, not Marlette, would be raking in the big bucks
for an idea that wasn’t his own. Had Carson stolen Marlette’s novel? Had the two men known each other? Or was Carson in collusion with Jude or Bentley? Had one of my coworkers stolen from a gentle, befuddled recluse for profit?

The answer popped into my mind like a thought bubble in a comic. It
had
to be Jude! Since he was Carson’s agent, he would also make a ton of money from
The Alexandria Society
. And he’d had regular opportunities to come in contact with Marlette, to read his query and, later, his entire manuscript.

Then again, Bentley was also profiting from Marlette’s novel. Was she a part of it, too, or just an innocent bystander? And how had Luella become involved?
Had
she murdered Marlette? Or had the bee venom evidence been planted in her house and computer? If so, who was her murderer?

As each question raised another, I felt more on edge. I was so close to figuring the puzzle out, but I just didn’t have enough information. I needed to see Carson’s manuscript.

I worked through the rest of the day, but part of me was merely waiting for time to pass and for the rest of the agents to head home. Finally, at half past five, I stepped out of my office and glanced down the hall. It appeared as though all of my coworkers had left for the day. The agency was ominously silent, and except for the break room, all the doors were closed. Checking each one to be sure, I found everyone’s door locked, and nobody called out to me when I knocked. Confident that I was the only one at Novel Idea, I felt an uncanny déjà vu from yesterday, when, alone at the agency, I’d searched Luella’s office. I felt chilled, as though the air conditioner had been set ten degrees lower.

In the break room, I took down the coffee can that hid the master keys and pulled out the one to Jude’s office.
Looking up and down the hall once more, I crept to his door and let myself in.

Once inside, it struck me how cold and austere Jude’s office was. Compared to the other agents’ homey spaces, Jude had chosen a desk and accoutrements that appeared to have come straight out of Office Depot. His unadorned, impersonal office could easily reflect the personality of a cold-blooded killer.

Is that what Jude was? I didn’t want it to be true. Jude was such a charming man, so filled with laughter and playfulness. I’d been attracted to him the moment we met. I touched my lips as I remembered our impulsive kiss in this very room.

The first drawer of the file cabinet was locked, as were the others. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. Perhaps the keys were in his desk.

Perching myself on the ergonomically designed chair, I opened the first and second desk drawer, but neither of them contained the keys. As I opened the bottom drawer, a plethora of sweet scents was released, and my stomach grumbled. Guiltily I took a Twix bar, ripped it open, and bit into it while I considered where Jude might keep the file cabinet key.

The starkness of the furnishings did not offer many options for hiding places. To one side of the desk was a sitting area, the only part of the office that gave any semblance of comfort and relaxation. I sat on the edge of one of the two leather wing chairs as I finished the candy bar and scanned the bookshelves directly across from where I was sitting. The spines of the books were dark and shadowy, their titles containing words like “death,” “murder,” “killer,”
“spy.” A sense of foreboding filled the room, and I suddenly wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.

As I stood up, I noticed a small wooden box on the top shelf, sitting between a tennis trophy and an oddly shaped rock. My fingers tingled. Would the key be in there? Could I now unlock the file cabinet, and in so doing, unlock the most significant clue in this investigation?

I reached up on my toes to take it down.

“What are you doing?” Jude’s voice pierced the silence like a gunshot. My heart plunged to my shoes, and I jumped, knocking the box to the floor. It sprang open, revealing a black, empty space. I spun around.

Jude stood in the doorway, looking outraged, his dark eyes glinting. A gym bag was slung over one shoulder, a racquet handle sticking out of its opening. He glanced at the box on the floor and then at me. His rugged chin thrust forward, and again he demanded, “What are you doing in my office?”

“I was…I just…” In a panic I could only stammer. Alone in a room with a potential murderer, an
angry
potential murderer, I was too scared to respond coherently! Gripping the bookshelf for support, I squared my shoulders and steadied my voice. “You said I could read Carson’s manuscript.”

“I said I would show it to you, but I didn’t say you could go through my things! That manuscript is entirely handwritten! It could be extremely valuable one day. Carson had it transcribed, but he agreed to let me keep the original. You can’t just barge in here and help yourself to it!” He stepped across the threshold and advanced toward me, the racquet handle swinging ominously at his side.

In that moment, I was like the rabbit Trey and I had cornered in our yard last spring, after it had eaten all the petunia buds. My eyes darted from left to right, just like the rabbit’s, looking for a way to escape as Jude came closer.

My alarm heightened. The seconds that had passed since Jude first startled me seemed to stretch into minutes. As if in slow motion, Jude edged forward until he stood in front of me. My mind raced, and I looked around for a potential weapon.

I could
not
let Jude hurt me as he’d hurt Marlette and Luella!

His arm reached out, and I lunged for the coffee table. Grabbing an oversized book, I swung it with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. It made contact with the side of Jude’s head with a resounding smack, and he crumpled to the floor.

He landed on his back, the gym bag skittering under the desk. His hand cradled the side of his head. “Ahhhh,” he moaned. “Why did you do that?” Slowly, he struggled to a sitting position. Shock and dismay radiated from his eyes.

“What were you planning to do to
me
?” I demanded, standing over him. My arms were tensed, preparing to strike him with the book again if need be.

Confusion spread across his face. “
Do
to you?” He touched the reddish bruise forming on the side of his head and winced in pain. “I wasn’t going to do
anything
to you. Except kiss you again if I could.” He attempted a smile but grimaced instead. “I sure won’t try that again without making my intentions clear.” He eyed the book, which was getting heavier in my hands by the minute.