Cover Story (15 page)

Teensy burst out laughing. “Mopsy always did get a bit huffy when I'd tease her. Anyway,” Teensy went on, “Sally-Jo, I do thank y'all for helping out with all this.”

Sally-Jo smiled. “It's my pleasure.”

“So tell me all about the layout here,” Teensy said, back to walking around. “I'm thinking this is my launchpad?”

Molly shook her head and then went through it again, adding the bookselling table to the left of the signing table.

“That's where Steph and I will be?” Andie asked.

“Yes, honey. We'll sit y'all back here where all the action will be taking place. I expect you two will be kept busy selling a lot of books.”

Molly went on to point out that the small round bistro tables she planned to rent would be scattered around the back lawn but all with a good view of the main patio, where Teensy would give her speech.

“A speech! I hadn't even thought about that,” she squeaked.

Lizzie couldn't tell if she was pleased or upset. “I think people will want to hear where the idea came from and how you got started writing, things like that,” she said.

Teensy brightened. “Yes, of course. You are so right, sugar. I can dress that up all nice and exciting-like. I am a writer, after all.” Teensy walked over to the table and poured herself a glass of tea, then sat in Molly's chair.

Molly continued walking around the lawn, picturing the placement of tables.

“I've been meaning to ask you, Teensy, if you're working on a sequel,” Lizzie asked.

“I'm thinking about it but I've been so busy since moving here. I'm still trying to find a house, you know. The rental's fine but it needs updating and I do so want a place of my own.” She took a long sip. “And it's been hard to concentrate what with Orwell's murder and all.”

“Are you having second thoughts about holding the launch right now, before everything gets cleared up?” Lizzie asked.

“Certainly not. It's just . . . it's not what I'd thought I'd be coming back to.”

“I'd imagine not,” Sally-Jo said, sounding solicitous. She slid the proposed menu over to Teensy. “What do you think about these foods?”

“Looks like a taste-tempting feast, sugar,” Teensy said then looked at Lizzie. “I'll just bet my eyeteeth that you've been poking around, trying to come up with some information on the murder, haven't you? Found anything?”

Lizzie took her time in answering. She didn't really want to go into any details about her visits to Urliss Langdorf and Dana-Lynn, not until she had something to share. She remembered the books. “Not really, but I did stop by Riverwell Press yesterday and the air conditioner had been turned off. It seems Mr. Emerson is penny-pinching. I didn't think that would be good for the books so I picked up all the remaining ones and moved them into Molly's garage.”
And still haven't told Mark.

“Why, you're a smart one. Thank you for doing that, sugar.”

“Speaking of which,” Molly said, pulling another chair over to the table, “I got a call from the manager at the Winn-Dixie asking about ordering the book. Now that we have the books here, why don't I set up an account for each of these places where Lizzie has you booked for signings, and then take their orders. I'll get Bob to deliver the books and then I'll send them all statements at the end of the month. I understand the vendor gets forty percent of the price, is that correct?”

“Why, aren't you the businessperson, Mopsy? Well, that would be great if you'd take over all the financial parts. I'm no good at that but I did do some investigating of publishers when I was deciding which way to go with the book, and that's certainly a standard rate.” Teensy leaned over and squeezed Molly's hand. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

Molly beamed. “I'm just so happy to be helping, Teensy. And you know, it's really a lot of fun putting this all together. Now, I think we'll be taking books to the library with us, is that right, Lizzie?”

“Uh-huh. I'm hoping Andie or Stephanie will want to come and sell there, too. It won't be until September.” She looked over at Andie, who nodded. “I understand the library will want to order copies for their shelves and we can bring in some to sell.”

They spent the next hour talking about the plans and then Teensy left. As Molly walked her out to her car, Sally-Jo leaned over to Lizzie and said, “What a character. I love her. Is she always like that or is this her author persona?”

“That's the Teensy Coldicutt I always get. I bet she was larger than life in her day.”

Sally-Jo grinned. “Well I'm glad we have something more than a couple of murders to liven things up here in Ashton Corners.”

“Watch out for O'Mara,” he whispered. “He's a bit of a cad. Not quite trustworthy.”

HER ROYAL SPYNESS
—RHYS BOWEN

L
izzie stepped out of her car and looked at her house. The afternoon sun made it look even more welcoming. She'd read recently that good feng shui was a front door facing west; it made the house brighter and welcoming. She glanced around. West facing it was. And that car pulling into the driveway had none other than Special Agent Jackson at the wheel. She took a deep breath and resigned herself to some more questions. She was glad she'd dropped Andie at the Ashton Center Mall after leaving Molly's.

“I'm happy I caught you,” Jackson said as he approached her.

“What, you need my help with the case?”

“Not with the case but I'd sure be grateful if you'd suggest a good spot to eat dinner tonight.”

Lizzie narrowed her eyes and looked at him. Was he for real? Was it a trap? “What kind of food did you have in mind?”

“Well, what do you like?”

Lizzie heard warning bells. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I'd like to choose someplace you'd enjoy since I'm hoping you'll join me.” He gave her a big smile that reached his eyes. He looked as far removed from a federal agent as possible, with a black short-sleeved cotton shirt and beige chinos. The black emphasized his black hair and swarthy coloring. She wondered if there were some Latino roots in his family tree.

Lizzie's breath caught as he grabbed her left hand and looked at her ring finger. “I didn't think so. Are you worried he'll be upset? I could check with the chief to make sure it's okay with him if you'd like.”

Now she knew he was joking; still she felt her face turn red. “You do not have to ask Mark's permission.”

“Good. Then it's settled?”

“It is not. That's not what I meant. It's just that I make my own decisions and I still think it's not a good idea.” She was glad she'd worn her sleeveless red dress today. She knew it made her look more determined. It certainly gave her self-confidence a boost.

Jackson leaned against her car, arms folded across his chest, a Cheshire grin on his face. “What about if I said I need your help on the case and having dinner would be a much more pleasant way than in the police station.”

“Police station? What, am I a suspect? Of what?”

“I didn't say that. It's just that Ormes could be in on it, too, if we went to the station. He's checking some things there as we speak. That might work out better after all.”

Entrapment.
He must know I'm not too enamored with his partner.
What's his game anyway? Is this a come-on or is he being up front?
She thought the latter was highly unlikely but still . . . she might just learn something useful. But what would Mark say? She'd been that “dinner-with-another-male” route before and didn't want to travel it again. She'd accept but she'd also tell Mark about it.

“Fine. Dinner sounds good. When and where?”

Jackson grinned. “I'll pick you up, say about six tonight? You decide where we should go.”

She thought about it a moment. The Broward Street Brew Pub would be nice and public. Mark couldn't mistake this for a romantic dinner, although a very small part of her wondered what that would be like as Jackson drove off. She pulled her cell out and punched in Mark's number.

“Where are you?” she asked when he'd answered.

“I'm heading back to the station. What's up?”

“I need to talk to you. It won't take long.”

“This doesn't sound good.” She heard his police radio in the background. “How about a quick Patchett walk?”

“Great. I'll see you shortly.”

She hopped in her car and drove the few short blocks to Mark's house, arriving at the same time as he did. She parked on the street and met him as he exited the cruiser. He gave her a quick kiss and an inquiring look.

“Just let me harness up Patchett and we'll talk as we walk,” Mark said and went to get the dog. Patchett strained at the leash and started barking excitedly at the sight of Lizzie. “I know how he feels,” Mark said with a grin.

Lizzie felt a flutter of apprehension. “You're going to be working late tonight?” she asked, looking at Patchett.

Mark groaned. “Again. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?” he asked as they headed down the block toward the school.

“Umm, I wanted to tell you that I'm having dinner out tonight.” Mark looked over at her, eyebrows raised. Might as well just get it out and over with. “With Special Agent Jackson.”

Mark's look of surprise quickly turned to a frown. “And the reason you're telling me this?”

“Because I didn't want you to hear about it and get the wrong idea.” She told Mark how it had come about. “Am I a suspect?”

Mark stopped when they got to the back field of the school and let Patchett off his leash. He threw an old green tennis ball for him then put his hands on Lizzie's shoulders.

“You're certainly not a suspect in either of the murders. And I can't imagine how the FBI would tie you in to the counterfeiting. I made Officer Vicker our FBI liaison just so I wouldn't have to be drawn into every conversation and he hasn't said anything about you even being on their radar.” His face hardened. “Either Jackson's playing it close to his chest, not sharing information with us, or there's something else he wants close to his chest.”

Lizzie smiled. “You know there's only one chest I want to be close to.” She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. He pulled her closer and she lost all sense of time and place until Patchett came running back and jumped up on them.

“Down,” Mark commanded and Patchett sat looking from one to the other. Mark looked at his watch. “I'm sorry, I've got to get back to the station. This will have to make do for a walk.”

“Why don't I keep him out a bit longer?” Lizzie suggested.

“Great. He does need it. You don't happen to have a little plot hatching about trying to get information out of Special Agent Jackson, do you?”

“Now, why would you think that?” Lizzie tried for an innocent look.

“Because I've gotten to know you pretty well.”

• • •

L
izzie gave her image the once-over in the tall hallway mirror. The cream ruffled tank, oatmeal woven cardigan and darker embellished polyester skirt she'd chosen to wear to dinner hit the right note. Flattering but nothing that gave out the wrong signals. She would treat this like a business dinner, no matter how cute the agent was. She was not interested in him other than for the information she might get, something to help clear Bob, she hoped, or to clear herself if need be. She couldn't believe she'd be on their suspect list. In fact, Mark had called her shortly after she got home to say he'd met with Officer Vicker and Lizzie had not been mentioned as a person of interest by the FBI.

That was good news but a part of her mind had wondered if they would share that information with Vicker knowing that Mark and Lizzie were friends. As the liaison between the police and the FBI, Vicker would certainly report everything to Mark. She smiled as she remembered Mark's parting words to watch herself.

The doorbell rang precisely at six and Jackson stood there, bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Do you give flowers to all your suspects?” Lizzie asked, relief giving way to a slight apprehension that another game was afoot.

“You got me. We'll skip the questions for now. Just enjoy the evening.”

Lizzie quickly put the flowers into a vase filled with water and grabbed her handbag. She decided there was no need for a sweater as the temperature hovered around seventy-eight degrees and she didn't plan to extend the evening too long.

Jackson talked about his impression of Ashton Corners as he drove to the restaurant. By the time they were seated at their table, he had switched to telling her about why he'd become an FBI agent.

“So tell me, what does a reading specialist do and why did you choose to do that?” he asked after they'd ordered drinks—a glass of Pinot Gris for Lizzie and a scotch on the rocks for Jackson.

Lizzie began to relax as she described the challenges and successes that made up her days. “I can't believe summer is over in another week, for me anyway. The teaching staff heads back before the kids do.”

“You like what you do, obviously.”

“I do.”

They then took their time in perusing the menus with Lizzie finally settling on shrimp creole while Jackson went with porterhouse steak.

Lizzie took care with wording her next question. “How did a small town and a small press become involved in counterfeiting?”

Jackson looked at her a moment before answering. “It's the perfect cover. Who would suspect it in a nice, small Middle America town like Ashton Corners? And who in town would ever suspect someone like Orwell Rivers, who's lived here all his life and run a small business that many people used at one time or another?”

Lizzie shrugged. “There's got to be more to it than that. How did he get involved? Surely it wasn't his idea?”

“Not likely. It's a very well-organized, well-oiled operation. It takes more than a commercial photocopier. There's the distribution network to set up and that takes someone with a bit more resources and power than Orwell Rivers would have had. Now, are you going to grill me all evening about this or can we just enjoy ourselves?”

Lizzie smiled. “I just find it fascinating, that's all. It is my town, after all.”

“And Bob Miller is your friend,” Jackson added. “You're not trying to find out a way to clear him, are you?”

“How could I even start to do that?” Lizzie asked innocently. “You've said yourself that it's a big operation, or at least you intimated that,” she added as he opened his mouth to speak. “And besides I'm sure you already realize Bob Miller does not fit that description.” She pressed on. “I find it fascinating. Your job, too. I've never dated an FBI agent before.”

“Ah, we're dating now. That's what I like to hear,” Jackson teased.

Lizzie felt her face turning pink. Best to ignore that comment. “Is Bob still the primary suspect?”

Jackson stopped smiling. “He is and I can't talk about the case any further.”

“So am I really a suspect?”

Jackson looked as if he were giving that some thought. “I think you can rest assured that I've ruled you out . . . in that, anyway.”

Lizzie realized where he was heading with that statement. She'd found out as much as she probably would, even though it wasn't what she'd hoped for. It was time to plead fatigue.

Jackson saw her home and walked her to her door. Before she knew what he had in mind, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She knew a serious kiss when she felt one.

She gently pulled out of his arms and said, “I'm so sorry if I did or said anything that misled you, Drew. I've only been dating Mark a short while but I've known him a long time and we're trying to figure out what it's all about. I don't want to jeopardize that or even open the door to other possibilities.”

Jackson didn't look surprised. “I guessed as much but you can't blame a guy for trying, as they say. The fact that you even mention other possibilities is something. I won't bother you but I will keep my eyes open in case it could happen. After all, Birmingham is not all that far away.” He gave her a buss on the cheek and left.

Lizzie let herself into the house and stood in the dark for a few minutes, thinking. Sure, it was flattering to have someone as dynamic and dashing—okay and sexy, too—as Drew Jackson make a play, but she realized her heart had already made its choice. And unless she was totally wrong about Mark, that was how it would play out.

She phoned Mark to share what she hadn't found out at dinner, hoping he'd get the message about what she'd realized about her feelings.

“I'm glad you called,” he said. “I've been sitting here wondering if I should tip my hand as the worried lover or just play it cool.”

Lizzie laughed. “No worries. It turns out I'm not on the suspect list and he's not on any of my lists.”

She could hear the smile in Mark's voice as he said, “I'm happy to hear that. I won't ask any questions.”

“That's good because a lady never tells tales.”