Buried in a Book (22 page)

Scrutinizing the adults, who stood at the end of the rows of campers, I picked out Marlette with more difficulty. Though his hair was as bushy and wild as it had been the day he died, the man captured in this photograph seemed
utterly carefree. With one foot up on a rock, Marlette had his chin propped on his hand and his elbow resting on his elevated thigh as he gave the photographer an easy smile. The other adults, a woman and an older man, had been caught laughing out loud, and I wondered if Marlette had said something amusing a second before the photographer snapped this picture.

I scanned over the faded text below the picture. Their names were listed. Professor Marlette Robbins. Sue Ann Grey.

It wasn’t like me to be confrontational. In fact, I did my best to avoid conflict and to keep the peace. But after seeing an image of Marlette’s younger self—a man who seemed so normal, so grounded and self-assured—my anger flared. I knew it made more sense to wait and show the photo to Sean, but when I recalled Marlette’s pathetic appearance and confused eyes on the day he died, I had to act. It was impulsive and aggressive and totally out of character, but I decided to confront Luella now.

“Let’s see how she’ll react to a little trip down memory lane,” I whispered to the fresh faces in my hands and then carefully put the photograph back in the bag. On the way out of the coffee shop, I grabbed my latte, waved at Makayla, and marched upstairs.

I’d barely made a copy of the photograph, placed it inside a transparent sleeve, and then settled into my desk chair when Zach burst into my office. “Zach Attack!” he shouted, and I was so startled that I nearly overturned my coffee cup.

“Can you stop doing that, Zach?” I glowered at him. “
Most
people knock.”

“Whoa, sorry! The Zach knows how important the morning
cuppa Joe is! I was just stopping by to tell you that I scored two extra tickets to the Dunston Bulls baseball game. I thought your son might like them.” He plunked an envelope on my desk. “Great seats, right behind the dugout. Zach
loves
the stadium dogs with chili and cheese. Tell your kid to get at least three. That way he won’t miss any action taking a second trip to the concession stand.”

I felt horrible for just having snapped at my exuberant coworker. “You are too sweet, Zach. Thank you so much.”

Before I could indulge in a rosy vision of Trey and I bonding over baseball, Zach did a drumroll on my doorframe. “Step lively, über-intern! We’ve got a staff meeting in five!” He spread out the fingers of his right hand to emphasize the point.

Examining my day planner, I found no mention of a meeting in its pages. “Did I miss a memo or something?” I asked Zach.

He shook his head. “Boss Lady has big news. She only calls us in for these kinds of meetings if there’s a reason to start opening bottles of Cristal or a reason to get out a jumbo-sized pack of tissues and cry your eyes out. Trust me, I got no vibes from Bentley either way.” A movement down the hall caught his eye. “Ah, remember how I said we had five minutes? Make that zero.” He cupped his hand into a big O and then gestured for me to follow him to the conference room.

Bentley was seated at the head of the table like a queen waiting to grant an audience to her subjects. She’d paired a cobalt blouse with a charcoal gray skirt suit. Multiple strands of irregular pearls hung as low as the second button on her jacket, and there was an enormous pearl and diamond ring on her right hand.

“All right, people,” she began, giving each of her employees an intense stare as if we weren’t already giving her our undivided attention. Satisfied, she put on her reading glasses and examined the notes she’d made on a legal pad.

“I have some news,” she said, her eyes twinkling with pleasure. “A Novel Idea and the Inspiration Valley Community Center will be joining forces in order to produce the very first Central Carolina Writers’ Conference.”

The agents broke out in spontaneous applause and immediately began to exchange animated small talk about the event. I happened to have sat down directly across from Luella, and despite the energy created by Bentley’s announcement, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

In this room, in these circumstances, it was difficult to see the girl known as Sue Ann in my coworker, a woman who nodded agreeably to the list of tasks Bentley began to assign. After scribbling a few items on her to-do list, Luella touched the back of Zach’s hand as he complained about the date of the conference.

“But college basketball starts that weekend,” he protested in his quietest voice, which was still several decibels above normal. “And it’s Halloween! Inspiration Valley has the best costume parties!”

Luella smiled prettily at him. “Just think of the
fresh
talent you could discover. And of
all
the good-looking women who’ll be simply dying to attend your panel. The Great Zach Cohen, in the flesh. I bet
your
workshops will sell out the fastest.”

The boisterous young agent puffed up like a peacock. Grinning, Luella turned to talk to Franklin while Zach stared into space, his eyes glazing over. He was undoubtedly indulging in a fantasy in which dozens of adoring fans
pleaded with him to read their manuscripts, offering him a host of pleasures in exchange for a few minutes of his time.

Watching Luella work her charms on Zach provoked me into reaching in my purse for the Woodside Creative Camp photograph I’d copied seconds before the meeting. Tearing a sheet from my notepad, I wrote,
Do you remember when this picture was taken, Sue Ann?
I then signed my name, because I wanted it to be perfectly clear to Luella that I knew her real identity. I was hoping for a telling reaction, but I also wanted her to see that I was the aggressor and wasn’t afraid of her. That wasn’t entirely true, but I was going to do my best not to show any fear.

Sticking the note in the transparent sleeve on top of the photo, I waited until Bentley’s attention was diverted by Jude’s suggestion to bring in a big name to serve as the conference’s keynote speaker. While the pair debated over which author would draw the largest crowd, I pushed the photo sleeve across the slick surface of the conference table.

Luella raised a quizzical, pencil-drawn brow at me, as though we were in school and were in danger of being caught passing notes discussing a cute boy in our class. She read what I’d written and blanched. Digging her French-manicured nails into the photo sleeve, she whisked my note out of the way and stared at the image of her younger self. And Marlette.

Her lips formed a tight red line of anger as she crumpled the pages between her hands. She glared at me, her green-eyed stare filled with loathing. If her eyes had the power to burn, she would have happily reduced me to a pile of ash. I realized two things at that moment: one, Luella wore colored contacts; and two, I had just made an enemy of Luella, a potential murderer.

I’d expected her to be shocked, to appear guilty or even hostile, but the raw hatred on her face was terrifying. I was the one person who could expose her, who could call the police and explain how Luella and Marlette were connected. She would become their chief suspect at once, and I’d shown her my hand without giving it a second thought.

But was she guilty of murdering Marlette? What would her motive have been? Her false accusation of so many years ago wouldn’t threaten her career as a literary agent, would it?

“
Hel-lo?
” Bentley gave an impatient wave of her hands. “Earth to Lila?”

“Sorry,” I said quickly, relieved to have a reason to escape the intensity of Luella’s stare. “Could you repeat the question?”

Bentley sighed in exasperation while Flora leaned toward me and whispered, “She wants to know if you’d like to be the moderator for a panel on writing fiction queries.”

“Yes, of course!” I declared as I saw movement from across the table out of the corner of my eye. Luella had risen to her feet, still glowering at me.

“We’re not done,” Bentley informed her briskly, but Luella’s expression instantly changed to one of agony.

Clutching her stomach, she murmured miserably, “Please excuse me! I’m going to be sick!” and rushed from the room. She’d barely reached the hall before Jude sprang from his chair and dashed after her.

“What the hell is going on?” Bentley tossed her pen down in disgust. “This is
not
how my meetings are run!” She examined her watch and folded her arms across her chest in irritation. “I need to call an editor soon anyway, so why don’t we adjourn until everyone is
healthy
enough and
focused
enough”—Bentley cast a steely glance in my direction—“to continue.”

The agents remained seated until Bentley breezed out, at which point they began twittering excitedly about the conference. I joined in long enough to prove my enthusiasm for the event and then went after Luella. Her perfumed office was empty, so I checked Jude’s next. It was also unoccupied. I hurriedly checked the bathroom, the kitchen, and the reception area, and it was then that I heard voices on the stairs.

“Luella, my beautiful flower, talk to me!” Jude’s tone was pleading.

“Just leave me alone!” she cried above the sharp refrain of her heels striking the tiled floor in the lobby below. Seconds later, I heard the heavier treads of Jude’s loafers echoing up the stairwell as he descended after her. Within seconds, both agents were gone.

I hesitated. Chasing after Luella without proof that she’d harmed Marlette might be a waste of time. It could also be dangerous. I needed to find a substantial piece of evidence and then hand it over to Sean. Heading back to my desk, I decided to go about business as usual, but when all the other agents left on their lunch breaks, I would stay behind in order to search Luella’s office.

It would have taken a stellar query letter to capture my attention that morning, and I have to admit that not a single one ended up in the possibilities folder. At noon, I wasted a precious fifteen minutes buying yogurt, strawberries, and a granola bar at the grocery store, but I was back at Novel Idea with plenty of time to spare.

I dumped the food on my desk and checked to be certain that the agency was truly empty. It was. Even Flora, who
usually brought lunch from home, had gone out today. Bentley always left for nearly two hours to dine at a restaurant in Inspiration Valley or Dunston, but I poked my head in her office just to make sure.

The place was deserted, and Luella’s office was unlocked.

It was now or never.

I turned the knob and pushed open her door. The cloying scent of roses infused with jasmine that was Luella’s perfume assaulted my nostrils, and I warily ventured inside, feeling uneasy about entering the workspace of a possible murderer. But the suspicion that Luella had taken the life of another person for her own selfish reasons propelled me forward, and soon I stood behind her desk, looking around, trying to think of where to start.

Straight ahead, two ornately carved mahogany bookcases lined the wall. In the corner, atop a colorful Persian rug, a round Duncan Phyfe coffee table was encircled by two wing chairs upholstered in the same pink floral fabric as the drapes that graced the window. The file cabinet was crafted from wood and etched with intricate designs. Luella’s computer sat upon a magnificent antique mahogany desk with two drawers and an inlaid leather top. It reminded me of a photograph I’d seen in a magazine of Agatha Christie’s writing table that had been sold at an auction last year.

I pulled at the drawer on the left. It didn’t move and was obviously locked. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make it budge. The second drawer slid open easily, and I sneezed as a hodgepodge of scents wafted out. A disorganized assortment of makeup containers and bottles and potpourri sachets were mixed in with a jumble of pens, paper clips, and other stationery items. Nothing of significance there.

Cocking my head to make sure there was no sound in the hall, I left the desk and quickly scanned the bookshelves. The books lined up in neat rows were romance novels, their spines depicting bare-chested, muscular men and bodacious maidens swooning, or women falling out of their dresses in the arms of brawny buccaneers. Many of the authors were big-name romance writers, and I was awed at Luella’s stable of clients.

I riffled through the files, carefully opening each drawer and trying not to disturb anything. Contracts for authors, catalogues from publishers, brochures for various conferences, references for editors—nothing that pointed to any kind of involvement with Marlette.

Turning my gaze back to the desk, my eyes fell on Luella’s desktop computer. I hadn’t found anything among her things, but surely there would be a clue or connection to Marlette on her computer. I quickly stuck my head out the door to ensure that no one had returned from lunch, as I was beginning to feel a bit concerned over how much time had passed. The hall was silent.

Booting up the computer, I was dismayed to see that it was password protected. I sat back in frustration. Would my one chance to explore her hard drive be stymied from the start? I racked my brain to think of possibilities for her password, but I didn’t know her well enough to come up with any viable solutions.

I started with the first words that came to mind—
Sue Ann Grey
,
Woodside
,
Marlette
—but even as I typed them, I realized she wouldn’t want to remind herself of her past every time she logged onto her computer. I keyed in
romance
,
money
,
men
, and other words that made me think of her, but nothing would unlock the computer.

Idly, I wondered what Luella’s perfume was called and rummaged through the desk drawer, sneezing twice. A small glass bottle in the shape of a woman’s torso emitted Luella’s overpowering scent and had the name
Goddess of the Hunt
inscribed on it. I smiled ruefully, thinking of Luella’s perfume as a metaphor for how she saw herself.

Hurriedly I typed in
goddess
and was thrilled to find that it worked. I quickly scanned through the document files and her emails but found no reference to anything relating to Marlette’s murder.