Every Trick in the Book (11 page)

“And I swear they were still in position during dinner,” added Franklin.

“But not anymore,” insisted Vicky. “Come along, I’ll show you.”

Sean followed Franklin and Vicky, and I stayed close behind him. My earlier uneasiness
returned, and the image of Kirk Mason came to the forefront of my mind.

“See? It’s as if someone hurriedly pushed them out of the way.” Vicky pointed to the
opening that led into that dark hall. “Even the cobweb is torn.”

The two wooden barriers had been roughly shoved clear of the doorway, one rammed up
against the other. And the large synthetic cobweb that hung across the entry had been
ripped in half, unveiling the portal into the black passageway that had been the site
of my encounter with Mason.

Sean went closer and examined the cobweb. “From the direction of the tear, it looks
as if someone split it by running out of the hall rather than going in.” He looked
up. “Does anyone have a flashlight?”

“I have a torch,” Franklin said in an English accent. He pulled a thin black Maglite
out of his pocket. “I know Holmes wouldn’t have had one, but I believe in always being
prepared.”

Sean took it from him. “Thanks. I’ll go check it out.” Flicking on the light, he shone
it into the darkness and ventured across the threshold.

I could not stay behind wondering what Sean might find. I inched behind him and followed,
heartened to discover that Franklin and Vicky were coming as well.

We crept after Sean, following the dim illumination of the flashlight beam shining
in front of him. Our footsteps echoed quietly in the dank corridor and we carefully
stepped around the rubble, making our way through the passageway, peering around Sean
to see what he was seeing on the floor up ahead. A curved white shape glowed in the
darkness.

We all saw the conspicuous item at the same time and stopped.

“What is that?” whispered Vicky.

“Let’s find out.” Sean moved toward the shape, shining the flashlight directly on
the surface of the mysterious object, which seemed to have increased in mass as we
neared.

It was a familiar shape, yet it didn’t make sense for such a thing to be here, residing
in the middle of the shadows, surrounded by silence.

“Oh no.” Sean lurched forward, crouching onto his ankles and drawing in a quick breath.
The air about us changed, becoming heavy with questions. And with fear. “Call an ambulance!”
he shouted. The volume of his command was intensified in the lonely corridor.

Vicky and Franklin raced back to the entrance while I squatted next to Sean. “Who
is it?” As the question left my lips, I recognized the high-collared cape, the white
makeup, and the red-tipped fangs. “Melissa!” Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving.

Sean held her wrist, feeling for a pulse. “You know her?”

“Yes. She’s an editor from New York. I had coffee with her this morning.” I dropped
down but Sean held me back.

“Don’t come too close,” he said, handing me the flashlight. “Shine the light for me.”

Trying to hold my hand steady, I directed the beam on Melissa as Sean placed two fingers
on her neck.

“No,” he whispered angrily, and at that moment I saw a dark inkblot shape the color
of deep burgundy wine on the floor beneath Melissa’s head. My eyes met Sean’s as the
implication sank in.

“Point the light over there.” Sean gestured at a brick lying not far from Melissa.
It was stained the same dark red as the floor.

“Someone killed her,” I croaked, my eyes welling with tears. “Someone ended her life
using that brick.” Weakened by despair, I lowered the flashlight. “I bet it was that
Kirk Mason.”

Sean said nothing. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head in disgust, and I knew he was
also feeling grief and anger over Melissa’s murder.

I suddenly went cold as another thought came to mind. “What if Mason thought Melissa
was actually me? What if I was supposed to be his target?”

Staring at Melissa’s waxy visage, I believed that I’d never feel warm and safe again.

NOISES INVADED THE TOMBLIKE STILLNESS OF THE
corridor. I both welcomed and resented them. I knew that the voices bouncing off
the walls meant reinforcements were on the way. Members of the police force were hastening
toward us. I could practically hear the clink of their gear, the swish of their uniforms
as they moved, and the tread of heavy footwear on the lobby’s marble floor. They’d
enter the gloom fearlessly, filling the silence with the sound of their tasks. The
darkness would be banished by portable lights, and while that was a relief, those
same lights would put Melissa on display, highlighting her wounds and the lack of
life in her body. She would no longer be a smart, savvy, inspirational editor from
New York. Her roles as wife and friend and mother would lose their significance.

Instead, her identity would forever be changed to “the victim.” Her name, her lovely
face, and the way her eyes danced when she laughed would not be considered relevant.
People would examine her injuries, take pictures of her corpse from all angles, and
write reports on the cause of death. File folders would be filled with evidence statements
and crime scene data. They would smell of printer toner and cigarette smoke, holding
not the slightest trace of her sweet pea scented perfume.

I looked at Sean and saw that his mouth was pinched into a thin, grim line. It was
as if he was also reluctant to yield this woman to the ministrations of his colleagues.
The warmth that had fled from me upon discovering Melissa’s body returned as I stared
at this strong, sensitive man. Dressing in gladiator attire, he should have appeared
incongruent in the dim space as he knelt beside my fallen look-alike, but at the moment,
he appeared as fierce and powerful as Hercules.

“You’d better go join your coworkers,” he told me, but I shook my head in defiance.

“I’m not going anywhere. It wouldn’t be right. She doesn’t have anyone else. I don’t
want to…” I trailed off.

Sean took my hand and squeezed it gently. “You don’t want to leave her. I know. But
this is a crime scene now, Lila. And I’ve got to assist in any way that I can. Finding
out what happened to this woman is my responsibility.”

“And mine!” I was surprised by my vehemence. “I had coffee with her today. She went
out of her way to help me with one of my client’s projects.” I pointed toward the
main room where the party had been held, my ire rising. “Melissa was just down that
hall, eating the same food we did. She was talking shop and encouraging writers and
laughing. Look at her now! Why? Why is she here?”

My tirade finished, Sean helped me to my feet and wrapped his arms around me. “Something
drew her to this place. And if the killer was able to succeed in convincing
an intelligent woman to enter a dark and deserted corridor alone, then he had leverage
over her. That makes me think he wasn’t after you.”

I curled my hands into fists. “It doesn’t matter which of us he wanted. If Kirk Mason—”

“We can’t jump to any conclusions, Lila. We don’t know who did this.” Sean’s tone
was firm. His arms slid away from mine, and I could feel a chasm growing between us
as his professional side took over. He was about to continue when he suddenly eased
the flashlight from my hand and pointed the beam at Melissa’s right hand. It was curled
around a crumpled piece of paper. I only saw it for a moment, but I could tell that
the paper was made of thick stock, like a notecard. The edge of a photograph protruded
from between the card’s folds. Every fiber in my being longed to reach out and pry
the card loose from the woman’s fingers. I wanted to know what had led her back here,
what had lured her to her death. The answer was inside that note or on the photograph;
I was certain of it.

Sean sensed the tension in my muscles and pivoted me away from Melissa. “Come on,
hon. I can’t touch it, either. No gloves.”

He escorted me toward the lobby, holding an index finger out to his coworkers from
the station as they passed by. I knew that the signal meant he would immediately return
to the crime scene, leaving me to wrestle with my shock and fear without his comforting
presence.

And that’s exactly what happened. Franklin and Vicky had rounded up the rest of the
agents and they were waiting in the lobby, huddled close to one another as if they
were all seeking shelter from a rainstorm. Sean spoke hastily to Vicky, but Jude interrupted
their conspiratorial exchange.

“I’ll take her home. She’ll be safe with me,” Jude told Sean and whoever else was
within earshot. “And I’ll stay as long as you need me,” he added in a low whisper
only I could hear.

Sean nodded his thanks, made eye contact with me for a brief second, and then disappeared
down the dark corridor. At that moment, I began to question whether I really wanted
to be in a relationship with a cop. We’d hardly seen each other over the last few
months, and now, when I wanted Sean with me most, he wasn’t available. I knew I was
being selfish and childish, but seeing Melissa had stripped me of my usual aplomb.
I didn’t want to be alone tonight. Glancing at Jude, I nodded in gratitude. He draped
his coat over my shoulders and put a protective arm around my waist.

The faces of my coworkers mirrored my own. The news of Melissa’s death had frozen
their expressions into blank stares. They each gave me a sympathetic nod as I said
good-bye, and I knew they were too stunned to do more than that.

“I hope you have something stronger than wine at home,” Jude said as we turned to
leave. “You need a shot of the hard stuff.”

I managed a rueful smile. “I always keep a supply of Jim Beam on hand. My mother won’t
drink anything else. After I moved in, she made me put a bottle on my shopping list
before I could finish unpacking my first box.”

Jude raised his brows. “Amazing Althea. Maybe she knew that you’d be in need of a
splash of whiskey tonight.”

“Maybe. Her intuition is better than most people’s, but she never warned me of any
danger lurking at the book festival,” I said, refusing to mention the warning she’d
delivered after I’d broken my mirror on moving day. Once again, anger welled within
me. I had no one to take it out on so I directed
it at my mother, and I murmured darkly, “I guess there are limits to her psychic powers.”

I drew the coat lapels tighter over my chest, feeling one of the tresses from my wig
brush against my skin. I pulled the collection of curls from my head in disgust. All
traces of the gaiety I’d felt earlier in the evening were gone, evaporated like the
wisps of smoke from the spent candles in the jack-o’-lanterns. The other agents had
piled all the hollowed pumpkins from the party tables into a large garbage can, and
the topmost pumpkin stared at me over the can’s edge, its slanted eyes and crooked
grin morphing into a wicked leer.

“Get me out of here,” I pleaded, and Jude didn’t need to be told twice.

He led me out into the night and drove me home under a black and starless sky.

AFTER TWO FINGERS
of whiskey, the shock had loosed its hold on me and I was left feeling drained and
taciturn. I apologized to Jude for being such bad company and told him that I’d prefer
to be alone with my thoughts. He left reluctantly and only after I promised to call
him if I felt the slightest bit scared.

My body was weary, so I lit a fire and stretched out on the couch, watching the flames
flicker as I replayed my conversations with Melissa Plume. I recalled her mentioning
that she’d had several uncomfortable exchanges with aspiring writers and that a few
of those authors had behaved inappropriately after she’d rejected their work.

“They crossed the line. Those are the exact words she used,” I said to the crackling
kindling in the fireplace, my eyes glazing as I got lost in the memory. Had she rejected
Kirk Mason’s work? Did he kill her because of the rejection?

The heat of the fire made the room feel close and cozy. Setting the whiskey tumbler
aside, I pulled my purse over to the couch and dug around inside for Melissa’s business
card.

I hadn’t looked at the card when she’d first given it to me, and I don’t know what
compelled me to do so now, but the moment it was bathed by the soft, dancing light
of fire I drew in a sharp breath.

Wasting no time, I dialed Sean’s cell phone.

“Lila?” His voice was filled with concern and I instantly regretted how I’d entertained
thoughts of breaking up with him earlier.

“Sean, I think Kirk Mason is the killer.”

A pause. “Have you remembered something specific?”

“Just a conversation Melissa and I had about writers. For some reason, it made me
want to look at her business card. I’ve got it right here in my hand.” I tilted the
card so that the shadows from the flames stretched over its creamy surface like twitching
fingers. “She had a black feather embossed on her card, probably because her last
name is…was…Plume.”

Sean caught on right away. “And Mason dropped a raven’s feather on your table during
the pitch appointment session.”