Every Trick in the Book (18 page)

Still, something nagged at me. Over the course of the past few months, life had given
me too many lessons proving that things weren’t always as they appeared, and with
Jasper’s flippant attitude toward such an abrupt lifestyle change, I suspected him
of hiding an ugly secret.

It had grown late and I was tired, but I continued to prod the burning logs, nudging
orange sparks into life and
ruminating over the changes at Red Fox Mountain. When my phone rang, the sound seemed
to come from far away, and I realized with a start that my focus on the flickering
fire had been so intent that I’d involuntarily reached a meditative state.

“Sorry to call at this time of night, but I just wanted to check in on you.” Sean’s
voice flowed through the speaker, smooth and sweet as honey.

“I’m glad you did. It’s been a strange evening, but before I tell you about my day,
how has yours been? Any progress in the investigation?”

Sean sighed and I could sense his weariness and frustration. “We interviewed Coralee
Silver. She unabashedly admitted to arguing with Melissa and threatening her as well.”

Suddenly, the poker felt too heavy in my hands. Dropping it on the hearth, I asked,
“Did she…is she Melissa’s killer?”

“No,” Sean answered readily. “Believe me, there were several officers who would have
liked Ms. Silver to have been the culprit. She is a rather unpleasant woman, to put
it mildly. However, there is apparently one gentleman in town who finds her utterly
winsome.”

I groaned. “Let me guess. This guy’s provided her with an alibi.”

“You got it,” he said.

Imagining Coralee’s green eyes narrowing with hostility, her pointer finger raised
in an intimidating gesture, and Melissa Plume’s rightful indignation, I clenched my
jaw tightly, fighting back a surge of anger. “Are you sure she’s in the clear?”

Sean seemed reluctant to elaborate. “This is between you and me, Lila, but Ms. Silver’s
gentleman friend escorted her
to the party Saturday evening and then rushed her out of the old town hall well before
Melissa was killed.”

“How do you know what time they left?”

Clearing his throat, Sean haltingly explained that not only did Coralee’s date have
a penchant for engaging in sexual encounters in public places, but he also enjoyed
filming said encounters. The video included a time stamp.

“Oh my,” was the only reply I could manage. “Please tell me they didn’t pick the Fountain
of the Nine Muses. That’s my favorite place to eat lunch on a sunny day.”

Laughing heartily, Sean assured me that while the fountain was safe, I might not want
to enjoy any meals on a town center park bench for a while.

“I know you probably can’t divulge the man’s name, but at least tell me that he wasn’t
an author and that I’m not going to be reading about his evening with Coralee in a
proposal one day.” This was delivered in jest, but Sean took my statement at face
value.

“He was attending the conference and is most definitely an aspiring author, but let’s
just say that you don’t represent his genre.” Sean seemed to be suppressing a chuckle.
“Oh, this is exactly what I needed, Lila. For someone to lighten my mood.”

I hesitated to bring up the subject of the co-op. Now that Coralee had been dismissed
as a possible suspect, Sean and the rest of the officers on his team had to search
out new leads. I told him that Bentley would undoubtedly dig up useful information
on Ruben Felden, Melissa’s disgruntled coworker, and then forged ahead and described
my visit to Red Fox Mountain.

“Lila.” This time, when Sean spoke my name, his tone carried a hint of warning. “We’ve
been through this before.
There isn’t a speck of evidence indicating that Jasper or any other co-op member deals
in illegal drugs. Granted, I haven’t been up there since the meditation center was
built, but I doubt it’s stuffed with black lights and marijuana plants.”

I groaned a little at the image.

“Organic products are all the rage right now,” Sean continued. “Maybe he made a successful
business deal and the goat’s milk products are being subsidized by a company with
a wide distribution. Up until this point, the co-op’s goods have only been sold in
Inspiration Valley and Dunston. Perhaps the demand is greater than those two towns
and the co-op is reaping the benefits.”

Sean’s theory was certainly logical, but Jasper hadn’t answered my question about
the goat’s milk products becoming more lucrative. Then again, he might have felt that
the co-op’s business practices were none of my concern. Still, it seemed odd that
he wouldn’t let Trey in on the windfall. Trey had designed the new packaging and was
very involved with the goats. He knew the names of each and every animal and took
great pride in the milk, cheese, soaps, and lotions created on-site.

“You may be right,” I told Sean, but only because I wanted to pacify him. In my heart,
I felt there was something shady about the secrecy of the meditation center and the
unusual number of college students making regular treks up the mountain. I was not
going to allow my son to continue living and working in a place where illicit activities
were being conducted.

“I can tell that you’re not convinced.” Sean chuckled. “And I know you well enough
not to bother saying to put the co-op out of your mind. I also believe that your instincts
are as finely honed as a top chef’s carving knife. If they’re
telling you something’s amiss, then it probably is. But do me one favor.”

Caught up by his words of praise, it took me a moment to respond. “Okay.”

“Wait until I can come with you for a casual look-see around the mountain before you
launch a full-scale investigation. Trey’s a good kid with more common sense than most
young men his age. Trust him to sort out what’s going on and whether he wants to be
a part of it. If he doesn’t, he’ll show up at your door none the worse for wear.”

I considered Sean’s advice. “All right, I’ll back off for now. But only because I
trust your judgment and, heaven help me, I trust Trey’s, too. Besides, I’d rather
focus all my spare energy helping you solve Melissa’s murder.”

Sean growled. “Lila! I told—”

“From the sidelines!” I added hurriedly. “Just civilian research, like the type I
did discovering Coralee’s identity. I want this to be over, Sean, for Logan and Silas
to have closure. I have selfish reasons for wanting this case closed, too.”

“You’re the least selfish person on earth,” he said with incredible tenderness.

“Not when it comes to you,” I said softly. “I want you all to myself. All of you.
To myself.” The heat rose in my cheeks, and I knew that it wasn’t generated by the
fire burning in my hearth.

“When this is finished, you and I will truly begin. I promise, Lila.”

That was a promise I could live with.

I SPENT TUESDAY
morning focusing solely on work. Armed with an extra-large cappuccino and one of
Makayla’s iced
apple and date scones, I forged my way through proposals, queries, and contract reviews.

Just before noon, Vicky’s voice emitted through my phone speaker. “Ms. Wilkins, you
have a caller,” she said. “The lady’s name is Kate Sallinger. Says she’s Melissa Plume’s
editor friend.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Please put her through.”

“Hi, Lila,” Kate began, and though she tried to sound cheerful, there was an unmistakable
heaviness to her voice.

“How are you holding up?” I asked her.

Her mournful sigh answered my question. “I spent yesterday in bed but thought I’d
come in today and lose myself in work. Nothing could hold my attention until I picked
up Calliope’s manuscript. I’d started it before I heard about Melissa.” She paused,
as if speaking her friend’s name had caused her physical pain and she needed a moment
to recover. “I was in the office by seven this morning. Messed around with this and
that until almost nine and then I picked up her book and, well, she made me forget
about the real world for two hours.”

“Sometimes that’s the best thing a book can do for us,” I said.

“Absolutely. I want the whole series, Lila.” She continued by telling me what she
was willing to offer for the first three books, and though it was an incredibly generous
amount, I tried to negotiate even more. I wouldn’t be much of an agent if I didn’t
push the envelope. Kate and I engaged in a good-natured bartering session until we
were both satisfied, and then I told her I’d have to talk things over with Calliope
and would call her back shortly.

Calliope typically spent the morning writing and always muted her phone when she worked,
but by some miracle she
answered my call. She shouted with unadulterated joy when I told her about Kate’s
offer.

“I feel like it’s the
first
time!” she shrieked. “I remember when I got that call like it was yesterday. I thought
I could just float away I was so happy. And now it’s happening again, because this
is a whole new series and one that I wanted, that I
needed
, to write. Thank you, Lila! You’re a gem!”

Her pleasure was contagious, and part of me longed to jump up and down in excitement
like a little kid on Christmas morning. This was my biggest deal yet—the kind of deal
people in the industry dream about. I knew that I’d buy the issue of
Publishers Weekly
announcing the sale, take out the page listing the details, and have it framed.

“You deserve this, Calliope,” I told my client. “You’re an amazing writer, and your
willingness to be flexible saved the series. Now go out and celebrate.”

“Not a chance,” she countered merrily. “I am on such a high right now that I could
hammer out a thousand words before lunch. Tell Kate that I
so
look forward to working with her.” She hesitated. “And please send her my condolences
as well. I heard about what happened to Melissa Plume. It’s
absolutely
terrible.”

I swallowed, feeling as though a shadow had just invaded my office. I assured Calliope
that I would pass her messages on, called Kate back, and then sat quietly at my desk
for a moment. My elation over the deal had been dampened, but not extinguished. What
I needed was to share the news with someone, to spread my excitement around the office.
Unfortunately, as I wandered down the hall in search of coworkers, I discovered everyone
had already headed out to lunch, and the idea of eating a celebratory meal alone held
no appeal.

“There you are, Lila! You’ve certainly been holed up today,” trilled Flora. She pulled
the restroom door shut behind her and smiled at me. “Have you had anything to eat
yet?”

“No,” I said, returning her smile. “And I’d love to take you to lunch if you’re free.
I’ve made my first big deal and I want to eat a whopping cheeseburger followed by
a massively decadent dessert.”

Flora nodded with gusto. “Say no more, my dear! You can tell me all about it on the
way to the James Joyce Pub. They make the best burgers in town.”

THE JAMES JOYCE
Pub was situated near the end of High Street and was connected indoors by a large
archway to the Constant Reader, a new and used bookstore. One could browse for books
with a beer in hand, or sit in the pub enjoying a steak-and-mushroom pie while engrossed
in a newly purchased novel. Although very “unSouthern,” this little bit of Ireland
in Inspiration Valley fit well into the community and was always busy.

Walking in the brisk November air, we had carried on an enthusiastic discussion about
Calliope’s deal. We entered through the Constant Reader, eager to be immersed in its
bookish ambience on our way to the restaurant. As soon as we set foot inside, that
delicious musty scent of old books filled our nostrils, and we made our way to the
pub through pathways flanked by shelves. In my buoyant frame of mind, I reveled at
the sight of so many volumes cramming the shelves. Romance, adventure, mystery, fantasy;
they seemed to be competing with one another for our attention, promising us hours
of pleasure.

“Ah.” Flora inhaled deeply. “Whenever I’m here I dream about living in a book. I could
be anyone I wanted. Travel anywhere. Explore a glorious garden or dive to the bottom
of the ocean in search of sunken treasure.” She ran her fingers along the spine of
a thick tome, its brown leather weathered gray and the gold lettering faded.

“I know what you mean,” I said, pulling out a small anthology of poetry. Its worn
dark blue cover featured a drawing of a woman sitting under a tree, papers clasped
to her breast. I leafed through the pages. “‘The love of learning, the sequestered
nooks, and all the sweet serenity of books,’” I said, quoting Longfellow.

Flora smiled. “Exactly, my dear. Now, shall we go eat?”

I replaced the book and followed her into the pub. There wasn’t an empty stool at
the polished wooden bar, and we made our way past booths filled with people enjoying
their lunch. Flora waved at a red-haired waitress carrying a tray laden with plates
of food. She brightened when she saw Flora.

“Hi, Flora. I think there’s a free table on the patio,” she said cheerfully and began
unloading platters at a booth where four businessmen sat, sharing a pitcher of amber
ale.

“Do we want to sit outside?” I asked Flora. “It’s a bit cool.”

“Their patio heaters are very efficient. Brian and I had dinner here just last week
and it was lovely sitting out there.” She pushed open the door to go outside. “And
it’s nice and sunny today.”

Flora was right. It wasn’t at all cold on the patio. Four tall heaters glowing orange
cast their warm rays on the diners, keeping the temperature very comfortable. Several
people had even removed their coats, and if I used my imagination, I could pretend
we were eating outdoors in late summer. We
sat down at the one empty table beneath a large chestnut tree whose branches were
bare except for the occasional golden yellow leaf. As I hung my jacket on the back
of the chair, the waitress brought us glasses of water and menus.