Buried in a Book (32 page)

“Mom,
please
.” He sat down across from me. “I like it at Red Fox, and I’m only just discovering what I’m good at. I don’t want to quit right now. College would totally disrupt my journey of self-discovery and—”

“Journey of self-discovery?” I exclaimed. “What kind of mumbo jum—” A glare from my mother made me stop midsentence.

Trey snatched his opportunity and stood. “I’ve gotta go. I have to make a delivery this morning. Talk to you later.” He kissed my cheek and was out the door.

I glowered at my mother. “You’re encouraging him to take this flight of fancy, but in this day and age, he needs to go to college if he wants any kind of secure future.”

“He’s still a young colt, Lila. He’s got plenty of time to have a little fun before he gets stuck behind some cubicle like a racehorse in a stall.” She began to clear dishes from the table. “Let him sow his oats for a while.”

“Oats? Hmph!” I stuffed the rest of my pancakes in my mouth to prevent my saying something I’d later regret.

CLIMBING THE STAIRS
to the entrance of the Dunston police station, I felt a little uneasy as I considered the fact that Carson was incarcerated somewhere in this building. The last time I had been here I’d come to collect Trey, and now I had to give a statement detailing how a man had tried to kill me.

Thankfully, I spied Sean leaning against the reception counter, and the sight of him lifted my spirits as if they were inflating with helium. I knew his desk was on the other side of the building, and that meant he was only in the lobby to meet me. He looked up and, upon seeing me, cut off his conversation with the receptionist. He strode over and took
me by the elbow. This small physical connection did wonders. It was as if Sean knew that my world had come unbalanced last night and would offer whatever help he could to force the ground to level out beneath my feet again.

“Lila,” Sean said, his voice a caress. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, now that I’m with you.” I smiled feebly. “But mostly I feel like an overcooked piece of spaghetti.”

“That’s to be expected, considering what you’ve been through.” His fingers curled more possessively around my arm. “Come on back. My chief said we could use her office to record your statement. The interview rooms can be a little unnerving.” He nodded at the receptionist as he led the way. “Vanessa will bring us some coffee.”

Inside the chief’s office, Sean closed the blinds and wrapped his arms around me. In his embrace I felt safe, and I leaned into it, not wanting to be released. We kissed, slowly, tenderly, and then he held me for a minute longer before letting go. Reopening the blinds, he smiled at me. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s get to work.” He led me to one of two vinyl chairs positioned in front of a glass-topped table, sat down in the other, and shoved aside a mound of documents. “I’ll be recording your statement. After it’s been typed, you can read it over for accuracy. Ready?”

I nodded, reluctant to relive last night’s terror-filled moments. “Where shall I start?”

Sean pulled the recorder toward him. “Give me a minute to identify myself, but you can begin with your visit to the Secret Garden and your conversation with Addison.”

“What does Addison have to do with this mess?” I asked, perplexed.

“Please, just describe everything you can remember. I’ll explain why later.”

He was about to press the record button when a knock on the door interrupted us. Vanessa entered, carrying two mugs and a plate of fruit Danishes. “I thought you might want something sweet with your coffee,” she said, placing them on the table.

The aroma of coffee made me think of the office, and I realized that I hadn’t called the agency to inform them I’d be late for our meeting this morning. “Oh no!” I exclaimed. “I need to phone Bentley and tell her why I’m not at work yet.” I rummaged in my purse for my cell phone.

“I’ll do it,” Sean said. “I can explain what happened and officially confirm that Carson plagiarized Marlette’s novel. I’m sure this will raise a few issues for your boss, but she needs to know the truth. Mr. Knight provided us with a very detailed confession, but more about that later.” He couldn’t hide a glint of satisfaction.

“That would be great. Tell Bentley I’ll be in as soon as we’re done.”

I recited the number, and he made the call. While listening to him talk, I had the strange sensation that he was referring to someone else when he succinctly described what had occurred at Marlette’s cabin. When he finished, he handed the phone to me. “She wants to speak to you.”

Bentley sounded uncharacteristically solicitous. “Lila, there’s no need for you to come in today after all that you have been through.”

Gratitude flowed through me. “Thank you. I can come in on Monday.”

“Take as long as you need—even a few days off. As soon as the police give me the information I need, I’ll be flying
to New York to deal with the mess that Luella and Carson have created. Between the lawyers and the editors, I may be gone for several days.”

An hour later I was ready to sign my official statement. My hand was cold on the pen, and my signature reflected the hint of a tremor. I pushed the paper over to Sean. “It’s done.”

“I know it wasn’t easy for you to relive that.” He touched my wrist. “I wanted to tell you about something I learned from Carson’s confession. Remember the skull that was painted on the door of your house in Dunston? He was responsible for that. I’m telling you so you don’t have to look over your shoulder in the future.”

“He was already targeting me
then
?” I ran shaky fingers through my hair, thinking about what might have transpired had I not moved in with my mother.

Sean’s face was solemn. “Luella thought you were far too interested in Marlette’s death, and she wanted to scare you off, so she got Carson to deface your front door.”

“And he claimed to have been no one’s puppet,” I scoffed angrily. “How did those two find each other?”

“They met in a bar,” Sean replied. “After a few drinks, Carson told Luella that he’d do anything to live the good life, to have nice things and stop working menial jobs. Judging from his employment record, he was bright but lazy.”

It was easy to picture the scene—Luella seizing the opportunity to manipulate the embittered man she’d met over shots of tequila, taking him as a lover. Together, they formulated their plan to steal Marlette’s book and then kill him. All in the name of money.

“Carson told us about the deal they made,” Sean continued. “Carson would take on the role as its author. If the book
was a success, he was going to be rich, although she was taking a bigger cut. She somehow arranged for the advance and future royalties to be deposited into an account that only she had access to. But Carson wasn’t the pliable lump of clay Luella supposed him to be. Her hubris had been her undoing.”

“She convinced him to play the part of the modest but brilliant thriller writer,” I mused. “But why did he turn on her?”

Sean smirked. “Ms. Ardor felt the net tightening. We were digging around;
you
were nosing about. Actually, her plan starting falling apart as soon as Jude mentioned that the spot on Marlette’s neck looked like a needle mark. The dead bee she’d planted wasn’t going to do the trick. Once you’d shown her the photo from Woodside Creative Camp, she knew she was going to have to run. Sadly, Carson was waiting for her at home. He had his own key and would often spend time at her place, preferring it to his own apartment.”

“He told you all of this?” I shook my head in disbelief. “Why? And how did he know I was going to Marlette’s cabin last night?”

“Addison told him where you’d be. She’s his half sister. After you left the garden center she called Carson and told him that you viewed him as a murder suspect. She also shared your plans to have supper at the co-op. Carson was already in the woods when you arrived at Red Fox, and then he followed you to the cabin.”

“Addison is Carson’s
sister
?” It was hard to believe that she’d almost gotten me killed. Then I remembered her immediate reaction to my accusation about Carson. “Did she know he’d murdered Luella? And stolen Marlette’s manuscript?”

“She didn’t know what Carson had done, but she was his alibi for Luella’s murder. Addison did lie for him, although he’d given her some other reason to do so. Now, he wants to protect her. I told Carson we’d drop all charges against her in exchange for a confession. He took the bait. He really cares about Addison. We still need to bring her in for questioning, but no one’s seen her since yesterday.”

I considered all I’d learned, probing the gaps in my knowledge. “But how did Luella know about Marlette’s book in the first place?”

“Apparently, when Marlette first came to the agency, he was hustled out of the office by Zach, and Luella passed by them on the stairs. She’d told Carson that as soon as she saw Marlette, she recognized him as the monster who’d assaulted her, even though he looked like a bum. She realized that Marlette also knew who she was when he ranted at her, but she didn’t even acknowledge him. She managed to follow him later and discovered where he lived.” Sean ran his fingers through his hair. “She kept an eye on him for months, learning about all his hidey spots, and coercing Carson into spying on him, too. She knew Marlette’s novel had the potential for success, because all those years ago at the camp she’d read some first-draft excerpts. According to Carson, she’d never forgotten about that book.”

“So she seized the opportunity to steal the manuscript from Marlette when it presented itself,” I concluded.

Sean nodded. “Setting in motion all that happened these past weeks.”

“Did she do it just for the money? Or was she still out to get Marlette?”

Sean shrugged. “We can only guess. According to Carson, she did it to get back at Marlette for having stolen her
girlhood. However, since Marlette never did what she accused him of, and we know this for certain because we found her diary from that summer, I believe it was all about the money.”

“Maybe that was also her motivation when she was a teenager,” I surmised. “She wanted to steal his idea, and when that didn’t work, she destroyed his reputation.” I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting all the pieces fall into place. “Well, I’m glad it’s all over.”

He nodded. “Yes, for you it’s over.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “You faced down a monster last night, Lila. That experience is going to change you. Take some time to work through what’s happened. Enjoy the little things. Your family. They’ll see you through.”

IN ADDITION TO
the weekend, I took three days off from work. Three days of sleeping late, sitting around in my pajamas, losing myself in a comforting Alexander McCall Smith novel, and drinking tea with slice after slice of Althea’s chocolate banana bread. When I found myself concocting a dinner for my mother and me of angel-hair pasta with goat cheese and sun-dried tomatoes, accompanied by wine, I knew I was ready to face the world again.

Before heading in to Novel Idea the next day, I stopped in at Espresso Yourself. The coffee shop was quiet. Only two tables were occupied, and Makayla was in the corner by the bookshelves, removing books from a paper bag.

“Hey, girl! Long time no see,” she said upon noticing me. “Take a look at these.” She held up two books. The first was
The Book Thief
by Markus Zusak and the other,
The Help
by Kathryn Stockett. “One of my regulars dropped off this
bag for my little lending library. There are some fine books in here.” She put them on the shelf and pulled out another. “Oh, I am going to get lost in this one during my break. Ever read any of hers?”

I took
The God of the Hive
by Laurie King from her and perused the back cover. “No, but it sounds like an interesting series.” I handed it back.

“Did you read the paper this morning?” Makayla asked. When I shook my head, she said, “There’s an article about Marlette and his book.” She handed me a copy of the
Dunston Herald
. “Page three.”

Eagerly, I opened the paper. In the bottom left-hand corner, Marlette stared out at me from a black-and-white photo, younger than when I met him but older than in the camp photo. His eyes gazed out knowingly beneath his wild hair. For a moment I felt him in the coffee shop, as if he were standing behind me, looking over my shoulder.

ARTS CENTER BEQUEATHED TO INSPIRATION VALLEY
read the headline. I pored over the article, which briefly described Marlette as a former university professor turned author. There was no mention of his recent lifestyle or how he died. I wonder whose influence directed this account.

The article continued:

Beaming, I looked up at Makayla. “This is wonderful! Marlette gets credit for his book, and an arts center in his name will ensure that the town will always remember him.”

“Too bad we didn’t appreciate him more when he was alive,” she remarked, tamping down coffee grinds.

My smile faded. “I know. But given everything that’s happened, this is a pretty good result.”

“Here you go, sugar. That’ll fuel you for your first day back.”

“Thanks.” I picked up the takeout cup and turned to go, glancing through the window. As if summoned by the memory of Marlette, a sparrow flew past the coffee shop and landed in the tree on the corner. A group of people ambling down the sidewalk broke out into spontaneous laughter. A young woman trailing closely behind them had a long braid. Addison!