The Rogue Reviewer (Primrose, Minnesota Book 3) (11 page)

***

No! No! No! This was not supposed to happen!
He planned for Dara to come to him; Turner had no right to distract
her with a kiss! The situation was getting completely out of hand
and he needed to gain control – direct her attention away from the
detective and back onto him.

He drummed his thumbs against the steering
wheel as she led the way out of the parking lot. As much as he
hated to believe it, he felt Dara might be falling for the
detective and his smooth moves. Couldn’t she see the other man was
simply trying to lure her away from the investigation? Although he
hadn’t meant for her to become a suspect, he sorely disliked
Turner’s method of keeping her away. He wrapped his fingers around
the steering wheel and squeezed. Perhaps he had given Dara’s
intelligence too much credit – there was no logical reason for her
to fall victim to the detective’s deceit. Obviously, she wasn’t
thinking clearly. He would have to work harder to recapture her
attention.

Sooner rather than later.

***

Tucked into the usual booth at Hannigan’s,
Dara glanced around at her circle of four friends and released a
much-needed sigh of relief. DRAMA nights were one therapy she
couldn’t do without and this time Bri’s presence proved to soothe
her even more.

“Okay, Dara,” Annie said as she reached into
a basket of tortilla chips, “since Alex isn’t here, fill us
in.”

Regan frowned. “Where is Alex? I figured she
was just late.”

“My money’s on Detective Stewart.” Marnie
smirked. “Again.”

“Jackson?” Bri lifted an eyebrow. “Why?”

Marnie shrugged. “She left with him after
Mace arrested us.”

“Arrested you?”

“Yep.
Someone
suggested we drop by the
townhouse to take another look around and we ended up breaching a
crime scene.”

Bri moved her straw around the edge of her
glass and glanced at Dara. “Did you enjoy the handcuffs?”

“Ha ha on you, he didn’t use them.” She gave
the other woman a smug smile and kept her next thought under wraps.
What a shame.

“Thank goodness,” Marnie groaned. “Riding in
the police car was humiliating enough.”

“You guys should’ve seen her.” Dara released
a hearty laugh. “She slumped down so far in the seat she
practically squatted in the floorboard.”

“Glad you found it humorous,” Marnie
grumbled.

Bri glanced back at her. “And how was the
ride for you?”

“Oh, Dara didn’t mind at all,” Marnie
answered for her. “She and Detective Turner argued the whole way.
By the end of the drive, I’m sure he was thankful for the cage
between them.”

Both Annie and Reagan sat wide-eyed,
obviously stunned or better yet, insanely curious.

Bri lifted both eyebrows. “Mace hauled you to
the station in a cruiser?”

Marnie nodded. “To jail. To a cell complete
with several other colorful prisoners.”

“
Detective Turner
assumed he proved a
point,” Dara added.

“But?”

“What do you think, Bri?” Marnie mumbled.

“There’s more?”

“Not yet.” Marnie folded her arms across her
chest. “Dara has a plan.”

“Sorry Dara, but this is way better than your
novels.” Annie leaned forward. “What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to solve the case.”

For several seconds, the table fell silent.
Not one eyelash blinked. Not one hair moved on any of the four
heads.

Bri finally broke the silence. “Need some
help?”

Dara couldn’t stop the
whoosh
that
left her lungs. “That would be wonderful.”

“Uh Bri, what about Jake?” Marnie unfolded
her arms and reached for her drink.

“I’ll keep it to myself. He knows he can’t
pry a secret from me. And if I need to, I’ll call Liberty. With all
of our brain power, we’re bound to come up with something.”

Reagan’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve never solved a
crime! Where do we start?”

Dara smiled at the other woman’s enthusiasm
and wished it could be directed at something other than murder. “So
far, we’ve come to the conclusion the suspect is male.”

“Messy crime scene.” Marnie shuddered. “The
things nightmares are made of.”

Bri laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder in a
comforting gesture. “What else, Dara?”

“How he gained entry is still a mystery.”

She could almost literally hear the wheels
spin in Bri’s head while she spoke. “Evelyn’s throat was slit,
correct?”

Dara nodded.

“Judging by that method, I would guess he’s a
quick thinker; he makes up his mind to do something and then
follows through without hesitation. Applying that hypothesis to
entering your condo, I would say he found the fastest way possible.
My guess is he had access to a key or even made one.”

Annie lifted an eyebrow. “Have you ever
called a locksmith?”

“No, and even the super wasn’t much help
during the times I’ve locked myself out. The HOA secretary let me
back inside with the master key.”

Bri tapped her bottom lip with one finger.
“Female?”

“Yes. She’s probably sixty years old and not
in the shape to pose much of a threat to anyone.”

Reagan snorted. “Not even with a knife in her
hand?”

Dara shook her head in the negative.
“Besides, she and her husband have fifteen grandchildren. I don’t
see her as murderous or threatening.”

“Are we absolutely sure there’s only one
master key?” Annie’s question didn’t surprise her considering the
other woman’s attraction to numbers.

“The same thought crossed my mind and yes,
when I signed the paperwork on my condo it stated very explicitly
that only one master was available per unit.” She paused to lift
her glass to her lips and swallow a generous amount of wine.
“Taking that fact even further, I’m only the second owner of my
condo and the locks were changed when I took possession. My theory
is that someone picked the lock.”

Reagan nodded. “That means the suspect may
have a criminal background.”

“If not, he will,” Marnie murmured.

“It also means,” Bri interjected, “that he’s
patient and that tedious activities do not dissuade him.
Individuals of this nature usually possess strong management and
people skills. Do you know anyone that fits that description,
Dara?”

“I can think of several agents, but I’m
almost certain none of them would commit murder due to a negative
review.”

Annie seemed genuinely perplexed. “Really?
Why?”

“Research shows negative publicity can boost
sales. Besides, book reviews are simply opinions and although a
negative one stings the author, not every reader agrees.”

“I refuse to read book reviews,” Marnie said.
“I want to draw my own conclusions.”

Bri poked a loose tendril of hair behind one
ear. “Do we know anything about Evelyn?”

“Not much,” she admitted. “She’s a freelance
reviewer for several publications, the
Primrose Daily
Chronicle
included. Based on previous reviews, it appears she
targets authors within their own communities. The only thing I do
know for sure is that she didn’t have friends in the business.”

“Her style leaves a lot to be desired.”
Marnie reached for a chip then broke it in two pieces. “Downright
uncouth if you ask me.”

“Perhaps she was jealous,” Bri suggested.

Reagan tilted her head to one side. “I don’t
get it.”

“Maybe she attacked others because she wasn’t
able to achieve the same degree of success.”

“I’ll agree with that diagnosis.” Dara
grabbed an empty straw wrapper and tied it into knots. “But even
analyzing her motives I can’t identify a suspect. There’s too
many.”

Annie ran a hand across her forehead. “Let’s
take a break and read your e-mail, Dara.”

Dara pulled her laptop from the leather case,
opened the lid, and pushed the power button while aggravation
vibrated her nerves. If a certain stubborn detective would agree to
share information, most likely identifying the suspect would be
much easier. Although she realized he needed to keep his
investigation quiet to the public, she also knew her assistance
could be invaluable. Writers tended to keep to themselves but when
they chose to socialize, they did so with other writers. She could
provide entry into circles normally closed to him.

She signed into her email account and waited
for the messages to load, still frustrated at Mace’s lack of
cooperation. Creativity was something in which she prided herself;
she’d just have to use it to convince him to let her
participate.

“Guess who, girls?” She grinned at the first
message on the list.

“What does the message say this time?” Marnie
crowded next to her.

She pushed the computer back to allow them
all to see the screen, clicked on the message, and read aloud:

Dearest Dara:

The unfortunate chain of events over the last
few days has angered me.

What a shame that a murder has overshadowed
the release of your next

beautiful masterpiece. Perhaps the reviewer
finally got what she deserved.

In any event, I thoroughly enjoyed reading
your novel and lovingly give it

five stars.

I remain,

Romantically Devoted

“Wow, this reader is dedicated.” Bri leaned
back against the booth. “Do you know who it is?”

“No, but every week I receive a message
without fail.”

“The message is well written, concise, and
directly to the point,” Bri mused.

“This person obviously has formal education.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, realization pummeled her
brain. “Oh geez! I’d also bet he or she writes in some capacity.
Why didn’t I pick up on that earlier?”

“Probably because you found a body in your
living room,” Marnie drawled.

“I think you’re right.” Bri ran an index
finger across the author’s salutation. “And, I’d say your writer is
male.”

“How so?” Even Annie’s voice sang with
excitement.

“The verbiage,” Bri explained. “Unless this
person leads an alternative lifestyle, a woman probably wouldn’t
use terms such as
dearest
to address a female.” She tapped
on the electronic signature. “Or
Romantically Devoted
.”

“You do have male fans,” Reagan reminded
her.

She took a few seconds to process Bri’s
analysis, one she agreed with wholeheartedly. Romantically Devoted
definitely knew her work well and never hesitated to give her a
compliment. Strange, though, that he didn’t once identify himself.
Or was it?

“He’s lonely,” she said finally.

“Or lovesick.” Bri moved her finger over the
computer’s mouse to highlight several words. “Terms like
dearest, beautiful, lovingly,
and
romantically
all
have love in common.”

“He’s in love with Dara?” Marnie clucked her
tongue. “Detective Turner’s not gonna like that.”

“Not necessarily. It’s possible he’s in love
with someone else who doesn’t return the emotion or he’s been
rejected by a lover. He’s transferring emotion onto Dara because
her novels give him a feeling of euphoria.”

“You never cease to amaze me, Bri.” Marnie
shook her head. “I think I need to schedule an appointment – I’m a
psychiatrist’s dream.”

“We love you for the psycho you are,” Dara
chided.

“It’s just a theory,” Bri added, “but now we
have something to think about.”

“Plenty,” she agreed as she logged off and
powered down the computer. “But remember, no one tells Detectives
Turner, Stewart, or Rawlings. I need a bargaining chip and I think
we’ve just found one.”

Dara opened one eyelid only to slam it closed
again when sunlight snuck through a slit in the curtains of
Marnie’s spare bedroom and speared her eyeball. The pain could only
mean one thing – it was too early in the morning to even consider
being awake. Even the luscious smell of brewed coffee wasn’t enough
to lure her out of her soft cocoon.

She had just convinced herself to spend
another hour in bed when her cell phone sang.
No.
She opened
the opposite eye, slowly this time, and glanced at the dresser
where the phone lay. Not a problem.
Voicemail.

“Dara, can’t you hear your phone?”

She heard Marnie’s gravelly, sleepy voice
from somewhere outside the warm blankets. She simply grunted in
response and molded her pillow over both ears.

“Answer it,” her friend demanded as the phone
suddenly landed near her nose. “It might be Detective Turner.”

She moved one hand from the pillow as the
phone quieted. “If it’s important they’ll call back.”

“Honestly, Dara, I love you like a sister but
these vampire hours you keep have got to change. If it weren’t
summer break I’d sleep through class.”

She rolled over and pried open her eyes,
squinting in the light as Marnie threw open the curtains. “You’re a
drill sergeant,” she moaned. “Good thing I’m not a vampire because
you just threw all that light on me and I would have caught your
bed on fire.”

“If Mace were in there with you, you probably
would anyway.”

She swatted her best friend with the pillow
just as her phone rang again.

“Who is that, anyway?”

Dara picked it up and read the screen. “I
don’t recognize the number. Maybe I shouldn’t answer.”

“Please do!”

“Why?”

“Because the caller is persistent and I’m
curious.”

She smirked at her friend’s honesty as she
answered. “Hello?”

“Dara? It’s Griffin. Griffin Owens. I’m sorry
to bother you but I’ve been by your unit several times and haven’t
been able to catch you.”

“Hi, Griffin.” She glanced at Marnie and
lifted a questioning eyebrow. “I’ve been staying with a friend. I
haven’t been able to return home, it being a crime scene and
all.”