Buried in a Book (6 page)

Eventually, Franklin escorted Flora back to her office. Jude, Zach, and I stood around looking at one another, then at the policemen. One of them was on his hands and knees shining a flashlight under the couch, while the other was flipping through a notebook. It was as if we expected them to provide us with an explanation, to reason away the morning’s tragedy. No one said anything for a while, and a sudden breeze wafted up as the gurney was taken outside. Downstairs, the door closed with a click, then almost immediately opened again. Heels tapped up the stairs.

“Oh my!” a genteel voice exclaimed. “Whatever has happened?”

An elegant woman stepped into the reception area. She was wearing an ivory pantsuit that looked like it was fresh from a boutique in Paris. With strappy gold sandals on her feet and a gold-threaded, multicolored scarf arranged artfully around her neck, she exuded an air of sophistication and drama. Her red hair was arranged into a complicated chignon at the nape of her neck, accentuating her incredible cheekbones. Who was this beauty? Could she be a movie star? If so, what was she doing here, in a literary agency in Inspiration Valley?

Standing—no, posing—at the agency’s entrance, she took off her sunglasses. Green eyes the color of jade cast around the space, taking in all of us standing about like thoughtless zombies. Barely glancing at me, her gaze alighted on both Jude and Zach longer than necessary before she turned to Griffiths.

“Oh, officer,” she gushed, approaching him. “Has something terrible happened here? I saw men outside with a gurney.
Pray tell, who was under the sheet? Not…one of us. Tell me it wasn’t…” Her hands fluttered at her heart, and she batted long eyelashes at him.

Griffiths blushed and cleared his throat. “I’m Officer Griffiths, ma’am. And you are…?”

The woman stood a little straighter. “I am Luella Ardor, an agent here at Novel Idea. Please, what’s happened?”

Ah, the romance agent. Jude and Zach stared at Luella as if they were under some kind of spell. I felt an odd twinge of jealousy.

“A man named Marlette was found dead on this couch.” Griffiths’s tone was solicitous. “Maybe you could tell me something about him.”

Luella brought both hands to her cheeks. “Oh! Oh! Poor Marlette. Such a strange man. But rather a fixture around here.” She sighed. “How did he die?” Her eyes widened as she looked at Griffiths.

“We won’t know until the coroner submits his report, ma’am.”

The stocky policeman suddenly appeared beside Luella and touched her elbow. “Are you all right, Ms. Ardor? Would you like to sit down? I know this must be a shock.” He gently guided her to a chair.

“Why, thank you. You’re just as sweet as a caramel apple in autumn.” She smiled, small dimples appearing in her cheeks, and lowered herself into the seat.

Griffiths looked at me. “Maybe some water?” I pretended not to notice and shuffled the folders of queries on the coffee table.

“Oh, are you the new intern?” Luella suddenly seemed to realize I was in the room.

I introduced myself.

“Nice to meet you, Lila. Could you be a dear and get me a coffee? A skinny latte?”

“I don’t do coffee,” I answered pleasantly.

Luella’s eyes widened, and she quickly looked away. “Eww, what is that?” She pointed to a spot on the floor near her chair.

We all directed our gaze to the place she indicated. Griffiths bent and picked up an object with his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a dead bee.”

“A bee?” I looked at Jude. Maybe Marlette had simply succumbed to an innocent bee sting.

Griffiths examined it closely. “They do fly indoors sometimes.”

Luella perked up. “It could have been inside Marlette’s flowers.” She touched Griffiths’s arm as if she wanted him to appreciate the brilliance of her deduction. “He brought in a bouquet of weeds every day.”

Griffiths’s eyes circled the room. “I see. And where might those flowers be now?”

“Jude threw them out,” I quickly replied as I pulled a tissue out of my bag. “I can take that from you, Officer Griffiths.”

“Thank you for being so helpful, Ms. Wilkins.” He took the tissue with his free hand and then gave my fingers a brief squeeze, causing my pulse to skip a beat. “But I’ll take care of this little insect.”

He smiled, and our eyes met.

“Ahem.” Luella coughed, causing Griffiths to break his keen gaze. “Can
I
help in any way, Officer?”

“Why, yes, Ms. Ardor.” Griffiths pulled his notebook out of his pocket. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

She stood up and started toward the hall. “Let’s do that
in my office, shall we?” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder with a flutter of false eyelashes.

Griffiths and the other cop were quick to follow her. Zach and Jude hustled behind them. I watched them all disappear down the corridor, the beauty queen and her entourage. Shaking my head, I looked at my stack of queries. Although it seemed somewhat disrespectful, I decided to attempt to focus on work. After all, I still had to prove myself at this job.

I eyed the couch. It would be irreverent, not to mention a bit creepy, to use as a backrest the piece of furniture on which a man had just died. Reluctantly, I gathered the files and wormed my way back over to the student desk. Ignoring my discomfort, I picked up the query at the top of the pile.

A chill tiptoed up my spine as the similarities between this poorly written query and the events of this morning crossed my mind. The paper fluttered out of my hand as I sat back and pondered. Marlette’s death was mysterious. In fact, everything about him was mysterious. No one even knew his last name, and he’d climbed those stairs carrying wildflowers day after day. I, for one, wanted to know more.

If only I’d been able to read his query letter!

And then I remembered the wilting bouquet of flowers
Jude had been directed to throw in the Dumpster. There had been a piece of paper fastened around the flower stalks. The least I could do was fulfill the last wish of this tragic stranger.

I couldn’t concentrate on the folder of query letters for another second. A man had just died a few feet from where I now worked. I was too rattled to read, but not to hunt down Marlette’s final words.

I tossed my pencil aside and hustled down the stairs. Nothing was going to stop me from reading that query, even if it was too late to help the author. After all, that poor writer was already on his way to the morgue.

I DON’T MAKE A HABIT OF RUNNING, ESPECIALLY DOWN
stairs, but I moved my body as fast as it would go, my mind locked on the wildflower bouquet Bentley had told Jude to toss into the Dumpster.

When I reached the garbage receptacle, I groaned. It quickly became clear that Novel Idea shared a Dumpster with the coffee shop. The smell of rotten fruit and old coffee grounds mingled with even more repugnant odors, but I was determined to find that query letter.

Unfortunately, the top of the Dumpster was locked, leaving only the sliding doors open, through which all the trash had been shoved. As this opening was at eye level, I was able to view the most recent deposits. Though I saw several black garbage bags and a few flattened pieces of cardboard, there was no sign of the cluster of white flowers.

Looking around for something to stand on, I spied a plastic crate near the back door of Espresso Yourself. Balancing
on top of the crate was a challenge. The pointy heels of my shoes keep slipping into the holes of the crate, and I had no choice but to grab onto the edge of the Dumpster’s open door in order to maintain my footing.

This angle, however, allowed me to see into the darkened corners, and I was certain I saw a glimmer of white petals in the far left. There was no way I could reach it, so I eased myself off the crate, now in search of an object with which I could slide the bouquet back toward the front, but where was I going to find a rake or a broom in this tiny unloading area?

I knew I couldn’t spend much more time down here. My first day on the job and I’d already left my desk unmanned without a word of warning. The truth was, I didn’t know whom I could trust. A man had just died at Novel Idea by suspicious means, and I had to have answers.

Raising my chin in determination, I strode over to the back door of the coffee shop and pulled it open. I was a bit surprised to find the door unlocked. In Dunston, it would have been securely bolted, but I suppose the merchants of Inspiration didn’t have to worry about break-ins. This realization gave me a warm feeling even though I felt like a trespasser as I entered a narrow hallway where the restroom and a tiny closet were located. In the closet, propped inside a yellow bucket, was a mop.

Eureka! For someone who never enjoyed having to use this particular domestic tool, I was quite pleased to see one now.

I admit to being rude and cowardly, but I didn’t ask Makayla if I could borrow the mop. She’d find out about Marlette’s passing soon enough, having undoubtedly noticed the paramedics taking his body away, and I’m sure she was
aware of the police presence, but I didn’t want to get caught up explaining what had happened. However, if I discovered any pertinent information about the unfortunate writer’s death, I felt certain I could entrust my findings to Makayla.

Back at the trash bin, I flailed about with the mop handle, forcing the ragged flowers to inch toward me. When they abruptly stopped moving, I noticed that the string holding them together had gotten snagged on the ripped corner of a sign illustrating the refreshing purity of a glass of cold cranberry pomegranate tea. No matter how I batted at the bouquet with the mop, the flowers remained stubbornly attached to the torn sign.

“You won’t get the better of me!” I shouted, my voice echoing against the metal walls. “I am
not
leaving without that query letter.”

Kicking off my pumps, I wriggled my upper body into the opening and stretched my arms out as far as they would go. The flowers were a mere finger length away. I scooted my hips forward, grabbed onto the stems, and tipped forward.

“Oh no!” was all I had time to exclaim before my entire body came crashing down onto a bag containing foul-smelling milk cartons and banana peels. My weight caused the bag to burst open, and I found myself up to my elbows in a pile of spoiled food.

Muttering curses I’d never allow Trey to speak, I grabbed hold of the flowers and waded through garbage bags until I reached the sliding doors. Suddenly, the daylight was blocked and a face appeared in the opening.

I heard a high-pitched shriek, and then a woman exclaimed, “Lord have mercy! I thought you were the world’s biggest rat! I admit we don’t know each other all too well, but I never pegged you for a Dumpster diver.” Makayla
peered in at me, and I could see an amused smile directed my way.

“Just give me a hand, would you?” I pleaded.

Safely back on solid ground, I inspected the flowers. They were still tied together, but there was no sign of the query letter. I examined the stems around the base, which were so tightly bunched together that there was no way the piece of paper had haphazardly fallen out.

Someone had taken Marlette’s query letter. Was it Jude? He was told to toss the flowers into the trash. But why would he do that today when Marlette had shown up month after month with a letter that no one had cared about?

Makayla was staring at me, hands on her narrow hips. “Girl! Are you gonna tell me what is going on at the crazy place you work? Here I am, fixing espressos and serving muffins, when I look out my window to see a body bag being loaded into an ambulance.” She stopped speaking and scrutinized my face. “Talk about a tough first day! Are you doing okay?”

I nodded and gave her a succinct account of this morning’s events. It already seemed like months ago that I’d first boarded the Inspiration Express. Maybe I should have stayed on the train. I could have feasted on a frosted cinnamon twist and sipped a cup of rich decaf as the industrial parks of Dunston were left behind and the locomotive burst through a tunnel into the lush, green paradise that was Inspiration Valley. I could have been lulled to sleep by the train’s gentle rocking and remained onboard when everyone else disembarked. But I hadn’t. I’d wanted an adventure, and now I was right smack in the middle of one.

“Well, you might feel fine, but you don’t smell fine.” Makayla wrinkled her nose in distaste.

She was right. “‘There’s small choice in rotten apples,’” I murmured unhappily, quoting Shakespeare’s Hortensio. I possess an uncanny ability, which I’ve had since childhood, to recall random lines of text from my favorite literary works. In moments of intense emotion, I turn to the words of familiar authors to help me express my own feelings.

Makayla, instead of being impressed by tribute to the Bard, ignored my mutterings. “I’m gonna have to spray you with the deodorizer in the bathroom. Smells like a lemon ammonia cocktail, but it’s better than a mighty powerful whiff of rotten cheese Danish and brown bananas.”