Murdered in the Man Cave (A Riley Reed Cozy Mystery) (20 page)

Later, I worked on my blog, providing tips to
readers for a simple bedroom makeover, suggesting the use of
neutral colors for the walls or textured wallpaper, to go with mix
and match bedding and a rearrangement of the furnishings for a
contemporary look. I also suggested a bouquet of light pink,
yellow, and purple tulips would help spice up the room with a nice
blend of coloring.

After dinner, I read a few chapters of one of
Brent's novels, which reminded me just how talented he was, before
I headed off to bed.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

On Saturday our book club met informally at
the Cozy Pines Bookshop in the Suntime Mall, about an hour ahead of
Pierce's reading and signing, taking front row seats. The only
no-show was Meryl, but she texted me and asked that I pick up a
book for her anyway for the next formal club meeting.

"This is so exciting," declared Barbara
Sinclair. "I can't wait to see Pierce O'Shea and get my very own
autographed copy of his latest novel."

"It should be interesting," Josh said, seated
between us. He smiled at me as I got a whiff of his musky cologne.
I wondered if he still had an interest in me beyond us both being
avid book fans. Moreover, I wondered if I was ready to begin dating
anyone at this point in my life with my busy schedule.

"I suspect that Pierce is just as eager as we
are to meet us and get our take on his new mystery novel," I
said.

Annette leaned forward and said, "I read some
advance reviews and, for the most part, they were stellar. In fact,
one reviewer went so far as to call it a masterpiece that Brent
London would even tip his hat to."

"I saw that review, too," Kelli said. "It
suggested that Pierce O'Shea had practically reinvented himself
with this novel and it could only lead to bigger and better
things."

"Just don't give anything away," pleaded
Judith Eckersley, who was nearly six feet tall, with long dark
hair. "I'd rather read it and judge for myself."

"Me too," Stephanie seconded. "I'm also going
to pick up a copy for my sister. She doesn't normally like
mysteries, but she wants to give this one a try."

"Maybe O'Shea should give us a commission for
every extra book sale we generate for him," Josh joked.

"That's a thought," Judith said with a laugh.
"Then we could all get rich and retire early in life."

"Thanks, but I think I'd rather work for a
while longer," I said amusingly. "Besides, I'm sure that Pierce and
his publisher are used to his growing fan base spreading the word
through social media about his books. In fact, I'm sure they're
encouraging it, making the novels that much more successful."

"I'd love to be a writer," Barbara said, "but
I doubt I'd ever be able to collect my thoughts in such a way as to
put them into book form. Seems like really hard work."

Her words made me think about Brent and the
fact that, with Alzheimer's disease, he was slowly beginning to
lose his ability to put together thoughts cohesively to write books
before he was murdered. The one bright spot in his passing was that
he'd been able to pretty much keep it together before he reached
that stage.

"There he is," Kelli announced as we all
looked up and saw Pierce and the store manager headed our way.

We all stood as the store manager, a slender
woman in her early thirties, introduced him.

Pierce looked at me with a tender smile and
put his hands on my shoulders. "Riley and I go way back as friends
of the late Brent London."

"Hello, Pierce," I said warmly.

"And these must be the members of your book
club," he said, glancing at the front row.

I introduced everyone as he shook their
hands. He even received a hug from Barbara.

"Do you mind if I take a picture with you?"
she asked him, taking out her cell phone.

"It would be my pleasure," Pierce said
charmingly.

After Barbara snapped the selfie, everyone
else decided to follow suit. I even took one with Pierce, though we
had previously taken one together with Brent at a book launching
party in his honor.

Pierce was able to take a few questions from
club members and answer them equably before the place began to fill
up. Soon there was standing room only as Pierce read the first
chapter, took more questions from the audience, and signed
books.

By the time it was over, everyone seemed
satisfied. Pierce promised to show up at our next book club meeting
and we, in turn, promised to read his latest novel as a prelude for
discussion.

Josh walked up to me afterward. "Do you want
to grab a bite to eat?"

"I'd love to," I told him, trying not to seem
too overeager.

"There's a great Italian deli here in the
mall that we can walk to."

"Sounds great."

Five minutes later, we were standing at the
counter looking over the menu board.

"Anything excite you?" Josh asked. "If not,
I'd recommend the prosciutto ham sandwich."

Though I had been thinking about homemade
lasagna, I took him up on his recommendation. I also ordered a
small cannoli and orange vitamin water.

We sat at a table with our food.

"So that was quite a show Pierce O'Shea put
on," Josh said, digging into his sandwich.

"Yes, he did a good job making everyone feel
welcome," I conceded.

Josh grinned. "The man's obviously a natural
when it comes to wooing the audience."

"Maybe it comes with the territory as a
novelist, as they're used to creating comfortable storylines," I
suggested, not sure I truly believed that, since each writer was
different in how he or she related to an audience.

"Perhaps, but I think I'll wait until I read
the novel before I decide whether or not it measures up to the
advance billing."

I smiled. "I can't wait to debate it at the
next meeting."

"O'Shea will definitely be on the hot seat,"
Josh said, sipping beer. "Or the cold seat, depending on how things
turn out."

"Agreed."

He gazed at me. "So how's your blog coming
along?"

"It's been great," I told him. "It makes me
feel good to know I'm helping people improve their homes and places
of business with practical ideas."

"I've checked it out and I like what you have
to say," Josh said smoothly. "In fact, Faith used to visit your
blog all the time, probably still does, and found your advice
helpful."

Faith was his ex-wife and former member of
the book club. "I'm glad to know that." I drank water, while
wondering if he wanted her back. I also wondered if Yvonne and
George could work through their issues and keep their marriage
intact.

"So how are things with your job?" I asked,
knowing that he was in private practice as a clinician.

"No complaints," he said. "Keeps me pretty
busy and gives me the opportunity to both help and educate my
patients."

"It's nice that you're able to find the time
to be in a book club."

"It keeps me grounded and allows me to enjoy
one of my passions," Josh said, taking another bite of his
sandwich. "So, in that case, Faith did me a big favor."

"Must be hard without her in your life," I
said, tasting the cannoli.

"It used to be, but not any longer. In truth,
we'd been drifting apart for some time. Making it official just
allowed us to move on." He wiped his mouth. "How's your love life
been lately?"

"Nonexistent," I said truthfully. "I haven't
been involved with anyone for a while."

"That by choice?" he asked.

"Yes and no. It's hard to meet people when I
do most of my work from home. Then I'm busy doing volunteer work
with seniors, tending to my garden, and—"

Josh broke in with, "Sounds like you're open
to meeting someone if the connection is there."

I smiled. "Exactly."

I felt comfortable with him, enjoying his
easygoing nature, warm humor and, of course, his penchant for
reading.

By the time we left the food court two hours
later, we had made plans to see a play the following week. I really
hoped it might be the start of something nice with a handsome man
who clearly had a lot going for him. I recalled the same was true
for Brent when we first met. Only things were not meant to be
beyond friendship.

Maybe it would prove to be more than that
with Josh as we got to know each other better.

That night, I read a few chapters of Pierce's
novel in bed. The more I read the more there seemed to be an air of
familiarity about it. I wondered why. I obviously hadn't read it
before, since it was a newly published novel.

As I pondered this, I drifted off to
sleep.

* * *

On Monday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk
working when my cell phone rang. I grabbed it and saw Yvonne's
name. We hadn't spoken since she and George left my house on
Saturday morning, presumably to discuss their future. I had decided
it was best to give them their space without interfering.

I clicked on the request for a video chat.
"Hey," I said evenly.

"Hey to you," she responded, giving no hint
in her inflection as to which way the wind was blowing in her
marriage.

"Is everything okay?" I asked gingerly.

"Things are fine. George and I had a long
talk. We're going to look into adoption as a possibility."

I lifted a brow. "Really?"

"Yes. There are so many children out there in
need of a good home with loving parents. We think we'd be a good
fit for the right child and vice versa."

"So George has changed his tune about not
wanting children?" I asked skeptically.

"It wasn't that he was totally averse to the
idea," she claimed, "but more about the timing and feeling
pressured, as well as working through some of the parental issues
he experienced during childhood."

"Well, I'm happy to hear that you're talking
again and working things out in a way that you can both live with,"
I told her, though still not convinced that George had gone from
seemingly one extreme to another in the blink of an eye.

"So am I. Running away was not the answer,
though I'm grateful you put me up for the night. I still love
George and want my marriage to work."

"As do I," I told her. "It does take two to
make that happen."

"I know and he does too," Yvonne insisted.
"We still have a long ways to go before we can make this happen
with adoption and starting a family, but I'll just take it one day
at a time."

"Good for you—and George."

Just as Yvonne had begun to talk about her
kitten, which she had named Ginger, my doorbell rang and I had to
end the conversation, sure she would keep me posted every step of
the way.

I went to the door and opened it, surprised
to find Detective Whitmore standing there.

"Hello, Ms. Reed."

"Detective."

"May I come in?"

"Of course," I told him, stepping aside as he
walked through the doorway.

He took a glance around. "Nice place."

"Thanks." I regarded him curiously, waiting
to see what came next.

"There's been a development in the Brent
London case," he said equably.

"Really?" Now he had my full attention. I was
hoping it was good news for Emily.

"On Sunday evening, a young woman fell to her
death at an apartment complex in town."

"Yes, I recall hearing something about that
on the news," I told him.

Whitmore sighed. "Well, that person was
identified as Karla Terrell..."

My eyes popped wide. "What?"

"By all indications, Ms. Terrell took her own
life by jumping from her third floor balcony down to the sidewalk,
breaking her neck in the process. She left a suicide note, in which
she confessed to murdering her onetime lover, Brent London, stating
that she could no longer live with the guilt. Wearing gloves, she
entered the house using a key London had given her and caught him
off guard, bludgeoning him to death with the pool stick. She made
her escape out the back door. The note included information that
hadn't been made public, such as the position of the victim's body
in death and where she tossed the pool stick."

"I'm stunned..." I told him, while trying to
wrap my mind around this disturbing news.

"Frankly, so am I," the detective said,
"since we were pretty convinced that we had the right perpetrators.
In any event, given this turn of events and Ms. Terrell's
confession, the charges are being dropped against Ms. Peterson and
Mr. Sullivan. They will be released from custody this
afternoon."

"I'm delighted to hear that," I said, knowing
it was news Brent would have welcomed wholeheartedly.

Whitmore frowned. "You don't look so
delighted."

I thought about the last time I saw Karla at
the Senior Center. She hardly seemed like she was contemplating
suicide. I relayed this to the detective, recalling that Karla had
promised her elderly neighbor, "I'm not going anywhere," to which I
commented, "Does that sound like a person ready to take her own
life?"

"Maybe not," he allowed, "but suicidal people
are unpredictable at best and dangerous at worst—especially when
they're harboring a deadly secret. I'm afraid Ms. Terrell reached
the point of no return in carrying this guilt and decided to check
out before the authorities could put the pieces together."

I stood speechless in thought, hating to
believe that Karla had plunged three stories to her death. Would
she really have taken such drastic measures to deal with the burden
she carried? Or was it only made to seem that way?

Detective Whitmore appeared to be reading my
mind, as he said, "I would think that this development would give
you peace of mind, Ms. Reed. After all, you did insist that Ms.
Peterson and Mr. Sullivan were innocent and prompted us to look
into other suspects, including Ms. Terrell. We did just that and,
in fact, were in the process of calling her in for an interview
when this occurred."