Kiss and Tell (12 page)

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At the Barrington, Esme herself answered the door to her suite. Pale and wearing glasses, the romance writer looked a lot less glamorous and a lot more down to earth. Nancy thought that Bess might be disappointed to see her idol looking so plain without her glowing makeup and fabulous clothes and jewelry, but for Nancy, Esme's casual attire made it easier to ask the questions she wanted answered.

“Are we interrupting?” Nancy asked politely.

“Not at all,” said Esme. “I was working, but it's nothing I can't put down. Come on in. What can I do for you?”

Nancy introduced Sam. “He's been handling the police side of our investigation,” she explained.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Esme, shaking Sam's hand.

“Esme, Sam and I have some questions to ask you,” Nancy said. She sat down on the sofa while Esme took a seat in an armchair across from her.

Sam joined Nancy on the couch. “This may not be pleasant,” Sam warned. “Occasionally the truth isn't.”

Esme swallowed visibly.

Nancy leaned forward, her elbows resting on
her knees. Looking up at Esme, she plunged in. “Sam and I have reason to suspect that you and Giancarlo aren't married. Is that true?”

Esme sat back in her chair, shock expressed on her face. For a moment her glance darted back and forth between Nancy and Sam. She tried to speak several times, but simply ended up taking a succession of deep breaths. Finally she said, “It's true. I won't deny it. My agent and my publisher and I—I accept responsibility—all thought the pretend marriage would be an excellent publicity move.” Esme smiled softly. “We've done nothing illegal, and there's never been any danger of our falling in love. And being ‘married' to Giancarlo has helped my sales. However, you must know what a scandal you'll cause if this information gets past this room.”

Nancy assured Esme that she wouldn't tell. “We're not interested in harming your career,” she said. “We simply need to know who has solid motives for harassing you.”

“Not Giancarlo!” Esme protested. “Of course, he has a contract with me, and I pay him dearly to be my traveling companion. But he and I both know that he can cancel at any time. He'd never use threats and tactics to break off the arrangement.”

“What about Kim?” asked Sam. “She seems to have a big-time grudge against you.”

Esme shook her head and stared at the floor. “I don't think so. Kim may seem tough and cool on the surface, but she'd never sink this low. And I
do think she'll make it someday as a writer. She simply needs to be patient.”

“Todd?” Nancy put in.

“I don't seem to be surrounded by the most trustworthy people,” Esme said on a sigh. “Is that what you're telling me? Next, you'll be suggesting Janine.”

Nancy held back from confirming Esme's suspicions. “Let's get back to Todd,” she insisted gently. “Would he have reason to threaten you?”

“You were right,” said Esme, wiping a tear from her eye. “This isn't very pleasant.” The romance writer got up, crossed the room to the desk, and returned with a tissue to dab at her eyes. After blowing her nose, Esme went on. “Todd and I had an extremely volatile relationship. We loved each other madly, and sometimes that meant we also fought terribly. He's worried I'll write about all that. In fact, I did get a restraining order against him, but it's not what you think. He once threatened to kidnap a beloved cat I owned. I wanted to do everything I could to keep him away from poor Sophie.”

Nancy exchanged a look with Sam. “That's the secret Todd is afraid you'll reveal?”

Esme smiled softly. “I know it doesn't seem like much, but imagine the press. ‘Todd Gilbert threatened to kidnap prized cat.' It wouldn't look very good, would it?”

“Would Todd try to hurt you now?” Sam asked.

“I honestly don't think so,” said Esme sadly.
“I've assured him I will never write about his threats, or the danger I felt I was in when we were together. The truth is, he never did harm me—or Sophie—and I do believe now that he has learned to control his anger. It's unfortunate, since the Todd I see now is someone I truly could love, if only there weren't such a past between us and the present weren't so complicated.”

The room was silent. Nancy believed Esme, and thought how sad it was that someone who had devoted her life to romance and passion had seemed to miss out on the great love of her life.

“Is there anyone else?” Sam asked. “Someone from your past, from when you still lived here in River Heights maybe?”

Esme thought, her eyes closed. “I just can't think of anyone,” she said.

Suddenly Nancy had a thought. “What if we read through
Telling All?”
she suggested. “If the harasser is someone from your past, we might find something in the book.”

Esme nodded in agreement. “That's an excellent idea. Obviously, I don't have a perspective anymore on what's going on. My publisher sent me two copies after the manuscript was stolen. I'll get you one.” Esme got up, went into the bedroom, and came out with a manuscript. “Needless to say, this is confidential.”

“We'll keep it to ourselves,” Sam said, taking the manuscript from Esme. “Let's hope your hunch is right, Nan, and we find our harasser somewhere in these pages.”

After leaving Esme, Nancy and Sam stopped to pick up lunch. “We'll need a comfortable spot to read through Esme's book,” Sam said as they were pulling out of a fast-food drive-through. “I don't feel like staying in the office all day. How about my place?”

Nancy took a long sip of the soda in her lap. “Sure,” she said, trying not to act nervous.

Quit it, Drew, Nancy thought. He doesn't have anything in mind besides reading Esme's book and cracking this case.

Nancy couldn't relax. She remembered the huge bouquet from Ned. Yet here she was, driving through River Heights on a sunny February day—Valentine's Day—thinking about what Sam had planned for them when they got comfortable in his apartment. What was she doing? Nancy resolved that this thing with Sam had gotten out of hand. She was thinking about him too much. As soon as she got home, she'd try calling Ned again, tell him how much she missed him, make a plan to visit.

Sam's apartment was located in a quiet, residential area just west of downtown. He parked in front of a one-story, yellow-and-white cottage and quickly strode up the walk. Nancy followed him inside, where she found a cozy, one-bedroom apartment with hardwood floors and lots of light.

“Come on back,” Sam called out.

In the kitchen, Sam was laying out their lunch on a scarred antique table. It was almost two, and Nancy realized she was starving. Esme's manuscript
lay off to the side. Beyond the kitchen was a comfortable sun-room that looked out onto a small backyard. The room had a couch, several armchairs, and a stereo system.

“Nice place,” she said, sitting down at the table and digging into her burger and fries. She and Sam ate in silence. When they were done, Sam cleared away the wrappers and headed for the sun-room, Esme's manuscript in hand.

“Why don't you take the first half, and I'll take the second,” said Nancy.

Sam joined her on the couch, stretching his legs onto the coffee table. “I can see you like to be the boss,” he said, handing over a thick sheaf of manuscript pages. “Let's race.”

Nancy nestled back into a corner of the sofa and plunged into Esme's autobiography. Within a minute she was deeply involved in the story of how Esme had come to write her novel before
Passion,
and the experiences leading up to it. Apparently, Esme had been on a cruise, sailing around the world, and each night the captain of her boat told the guests of his adventures in China, the South Seas, Hawaii, and the Philippines. After the cruise ended, Esme stayed on board, sailing around the world once again to hear more of the captain's stories. These adventures became the basis of
Island Desires,
Esme's third novel to hit the best-seller list, and the one that made her name a household world.

“Having fun?” Sam asked. By now he was
stretched out along most of the couch. If Nancy moved her legs, she'd be sure to touch him.

“Learn anything?” he asked, sitting up.

“If you count how to become a romance novelist, then yes,” Nancy said. “How about you?”

“I'm still in college with Esme,” Sam joked.

After another ten minutes or so, Nancy noticed Sam was looking at her again. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” he said, stammering. “I mean, well—kind of.” Sam swallowed and turned on the couch so that he faced Nancy. Suddenly Nancy realized that Sam was holding her hand. “Nancy, I know this seems fast and everything, but I really—”

“Sam,” Nancy said, her heart beating a mile a minute. “There's something I have to tell you.”

The look in Sam's eyes was one of confusion. He held on to her hand, then leaned close enough so that Nancy could see the flecks of green in his brown eyes. “Don't talk,” he said. An instant later, Sam's hand was touching her face, and then his lips were on hers. She held her breath, and the moment seemed to last forever.

“Wow,” said Sam.

I'm in trouble now, Nancy thought, feeling Sam's lips brush her cheek, find their way into her hair, nuzzle her neck.

Nancy pulled back. It was awful to break the spell, and a part of her wished the kiss could go on and on, but she couldn't shake the thought of
Ned, and how she should tell Sam about him. “I'm seeing someone . . .”

“It's okay,” Sam said. He let Nancy's hand drop after a final caress. “I understand. You don't have to explain. It's just that we work so well together.”

“We do,” said Nancy. “That's the problem.” She got up from the couch and began pacing the room. “I'm so confused. I've been with Ned—he's my boyfriend—for a long time and I really love him. But spending time with you has been fun and exciting and—”

“And you didn't mind that kiss just now,” Sam said.

“No,” Nancy admitted, still feeling Sam's lips on hers. “I didn't.”

“Listen,” said Sam. “It's my fault. I rushed things. My mother always says I'm too impatient. I think you're great, Nancy. I'm not going to pretend I'm not interested. But I won't put any pressure on you, except to say that Ned sounds like a lucky guy and I hope he appreciates you.”

“He does,” Nancy said, thinking of Ned for what felt like the millionth time that day.

Sam sighed deeply and picked Esme's manuscript up from the coffee table where he'd set it down. “All this romance must be driving me off the deep end,” he said, smiling ruefully. “Can we get any work done after that stupid move of mine?”

Nancy laughed and tried to quell the last remaining
butterflies in her stomach. “Let's hope so. We've got a whole book to read.”

Ten minutes later Nancy felt Sam poking at her leg. “Sam!” she cried.

“Sorry!” Sam said. “I think I found something. Check it out.” Sam handed Nancy two pages from Esme's manuscript. “The passage that starts at the bottom—there.”

Nancy began to read a paragraph that described Esme's first novel. “The book was called
Black Widow.
That was Esme's nickname.”

“Read on,” Sam urged. “Read about the plot.”

Skimming the passage, Nancy was stunned at what she saw. “It says here that in the novel a character gets poisoned by her best friend.”

“And what do they find out caused the poisoning?” Sam asked.

Nancy let the paper fall to her lap. “Poinsettia leaves.”

W
EIRD, HUH
?” S
AM ASKED
Nancy. “Unless I'm wrong, we may be dealing with some kind of copy-cat crime here.”

Nancy thought for a moment. “That could be, but what I find more interesting is that someone knew about the details of Esme's first novel.” Something nagged at her, and as she reread the pages she figured out what it was. “Hold on! It says here that the novel was never published. But she wrote it with a partner in River Heights.” A name jumped off the page at her. “Pia Wieland!” Nancy practically shouted. Nancy explained who Pia was, and how she'd been at the first press conference, and the TV taping. “And at Esme's reading!”

Sam took the sheet from Nancy. “We're definitely
onto something here,” he said. “According to this, Pia's got to be over fifty.”

“So?” Nancy asked, perplexed.

“Remember how my software kept giving us the profile of an older woman?” Sam asked.

“You thought it was bombing out,” Nancy said, thinking quickly. “But maybe it wasn't. Maybe Esme really is being harassed by a middle-aged woman. Pia Wieland! Where's your phone?” she asked.