Every Trick in the Book (26 page)

Recovering her poise, Glenda sat up a little taller in her chair. “My coworker in
Records said that the name the young man had given wasn’t listed in our files, and
when I turned to ask him about it, he’d disappeared. I wonder if he ran off because
he heard what my colleague said. She’s one of those loud talkers.” She gave a hapless
shrug. “Though he put Justyn on the form, the last name he gave us wasn’t in our records
and neither was his address. Maybe he knew
he’d have to tell me the truth about his identity and he just…couldn’t.” She swallowed
hard.

“Go on,” Sean prompted.

“When I found out that Melissa was murdered, I started wondering if the young man’s
deception had some significance.” Glenda looked at Sean hopefully. “Or it could be
that he was just scared. It’s not easy for some of these kids to face their birth
mothers, especially if they’ve spent their whole lives dreaming about the moment they’ll
meet for the first time.”

I shook my head in sympathy. “Talk about a high-pressure situation.”

“Exactly,” Glenda agreed and then quickly brightened. “But I’ve seen some beautiful
reunions in my time. And I’ve also seen foster parents fall in love with a child in
need of a home and discover the family they’ve always longed for. Family’s in the
heart, not the blood. That’s what I always say.”

Sean opened a notebook and subtly cleared his throat, hoping to get back to the subject
at hand. “According to Justyn’s case file, his last name was Kershaw, but do you remember
the fake surname he used on his request form?”

“No,” Glenda replied with genuine regret. “After he left, I threw it out. I figured
if he really wanted to contact his birth mother he’d be back.”

“A fair assumption,” Sean said kindly. “Could you describe his appearance?”

Glenda let loose a small snort. “Sure could. He was tall and thin, but didn’t look
scrawny. ‘Lean’ is a better word. Dark hair and eyes.” She raised her hand to her
brow. “Bunch of piercings here. Silver hoops and a few barbell thingies, too. I’m
not sure what they’re called. Dressed all black from his shirt right on down to his
boots. And he seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. Real tense. On edge.”

“I’d like to show you a sketch. Does this look like the man you saw?” He removed the
drawing made the day I’d worked with the sketch artist at the Dunston police station.

Glenda didn’t even have it in her hands before she was nodding vigorously. “That’s
him all right.”

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.” I was amazed by how calm Sean sounded. My heart
was beating triple time in my chest. Glenda had just identified Kirk Mason!

“I’ll see what I can find out about Justyn Kershaw,” Sean said, reclaiming the sketch
and tucking it inside his file folder. I was relieved when he closed the cover on
Mason’s angry glare. “But if I come up empty-handed, I might need your assistance
again.”

Glenda’s glance flicked to the photo of Justyn as a boy, and I saw her eyes fill with
pity. “I’ll do anything in my power to help, Officer.”

“What about Justyn’s birth mother, Mattie Kershaw?” Sean asked. “I read that she was
a drug addict and had been arrested several times for illegal possession and misdemeanor
shoplifting charges. But can you tell me anything else about her?”

“I wish I could, but she was assigned to Melissa. The only thing I could add to what
she wrote in her files probably won’t be of any interest to you,” Glenda said.

I might have been overstepping my bounds, but I leaned forward in my chair and smiled
encouragingly at Glenda. “So far, everything you’ve told us has been important. I
bet this detail will be, too.”

She gave me a grateful look in return. “It was a long time ago, but I remember Melissa
telling me that she was really struggling over how to help this lost young girl named
Matilda. I know she went by Mattie, but Matilda was her real
name. However, Melissa called her something else entirely. Only to me, of course.
Only in private.”

Sean’s pen hovered over his notebook. “And what was that?”

“Troublesome Tilly,” Glenda replied. Grinning a little, her face took on a wistful
expression as she traveled to another time in which she and Melissa discussed their
cases with each other.

Sean and I exchanged astonished glances. Here, at last, someone had confirmed the
connection between Melissa, Tilly, and Justyn.

Except that Justyn had transformed into someone else. He didn’t exist as Justyn Kershaw
any longer, but was posing as Kirk Mason. And under that guise, he had become a murderer.

I ENTERED NOVEL
Idea rubbing my hands together to warm them. Not only would I have to buy a thicker
coat, but I’d also need to invest in gloves. I was beginning to think that my little
yellow Sunshine was not the most practical vehicle for the coming months.

Acknowledging Vicky’s greeting, I made my way to the kitchen to pour myself a hot
coffee. Wrapping my fingers around the heated mug, I walked to my office, pondering
the questions that Sean and I had bounced around on the drive back to the station:
Why would Kirk Mason kill Melissa? Hadn’t she done all she could to help him when
he was young Justyn? After all this time, what trigger had caused him to hit her over
the head with a brick? And what about Tilly? Why, after seeking his birth mother,
would he murder her once he’d found her? Had that been his intent all along in
searching for her? And the most chilling question: Would he kill again? Was there
someone else he wanted to punish?

Completely engrossed, I entered my office and was startled to see Trey sitting at
the desk, his friend Jeff in the guest chair.

“Mom.” Trey jumped to his feet. “Where’ve you been? We’ve been waiting for almost
a half hour.”

“I’m sorry, Trey, I got caught up in something.” I looked over at Jeff, who also rose
to his feet. “Hi, Jeff.”

“Hey, Ms. W.” Surprisingly, he wore a suit, although the tie was askew and a shirttail
hung over his belt. His hair was trimmed and he was clean-shaven—quite a change from
the longhaired, rebellious boy who’d worn only black T-shirts with skulls imprinted
on them.

“You’re looking quite professional,” I said.

He pulled at his shirt collar. “Yeah, we all have to wear these monkey suits at the
dealership.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I came by to get the
money, and I’ve gotta get back to work soon or my dad’ll kill me.”

“Okay.” I pulled out my wallet. “I assume Trey has told you what we need you to do?”

“Go to the co-op and buy a meditation session and report back to you.” He grinned
broadly. “I’m up for that. And you’ll pay me a hundred bucks, right?” He darted a
swift glance at Trey.

“That’s what we agreed,” Trey said. “And you can’t let on that you know me. Just find
out what they’re doing and get out of there.”

Jeff slung his arm over Trey’s wide shoulders. “No worries, my man. I’m a master at
deception.”

In that moment, I recognized the teenager who’d always been around whenever Trey got
into trouble. I was suddenly
reluctant to hand over the three hundred dollars, wondering if this was a wise decision.
“Jeff, don’t do anything foolish. Just act like a customer, pay them their money,
and get whatever they offer for it. If you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, then
leave. You get to keep the money either way.”

Jeff’s eyes widened. “Ah, Ms. W, there’s no need to worry. I’m happy to get whatever
they offer for two hundred bucks. I have an idea about what they’re doing there anyway.”

“You do?” Trey looked incredulous. “What?”

“I’m not saying ’til I find out for sure.” He held out his hand.

I placed two hundred and fifty dollars into it. “You
could
share your suspicions, Jeff.”

“Naw, that wouldn’t be cool.” He counted out the bills. “I don’t want to waste your
money, Ms. W.”

“There’s two hundred dollars for the meditation session, plus fifty for now. You’ll
get the other fifty when you report back to me. Deal?”

“Sure thing. And hey, could I interest you in buying a good used car?”

Briefly, I recalled how cold I was riding my scooter today, but then I shook my head
and smiled. “Sorry. I already have a good set of wheels.”

“Thought I’d give it a try.” He headed for the door. “C’mon, Trey, I gotta get back.”

Trey grinned and gave me a little salute. “See ya, Mom.”

I watched them saunter down the hall, feeling uneasy about sending Jeff into a situation
that could involve something unsavory at best and illegal at the worst. I closed my
eyes and silently wished for him to return unharmed.

I’d barely dug into the proposals on my desk when my phone buzzed. Vicky’s authoritative
voice came on the line.

“Lila, Ms. Burlington-Duke wants to see you at once. And a messenger just dropped
off a package addressed to you.”

I hurried to the lobby, wondering what the delivery was and who might have sent it.
Vicky held out a thick courier’s envelope.

“You’d better go directly to Ms. Burlington-Duke’s office. She’s asked for you several
times today and is most displeased that you haven’t been available this afternoon.
I tried to provide reasonable excuses on your behalf, but…” She shrugged. “I didn’t
know where you were all that time.”

“I was at the police station sharing what I knew about T. J. West, remember?” I tried
not to squirm under her frank scrutiny. “Thankfully, he’s innocent. But I’ll tell
Bentley all of this in person. I appreciate how you covered for me.” Grabbing the
envelope, I hastened down the hall.

Unable to contain my curiosity, I examined the return address on the packet and saw
that Thomas Wipple had sent it. I ripped back the tab and pulled out a stack of papers.
They were the first three chapters of T. J. West’s bed and breakfast cozy. Hopefully
they’d been rewritten to incorporate my suggestions, because if so, I’d offer him
representation. I knew I’d have no trouble finding a publisher for his engaging series,
as long as he took out the reference to the teddy bear and anything else that involved
a child in the murder.

At that moment, a picture of Justyn came to mind. I saw him as a small infant, sleeping
beside a worn teddy bear in his laundry basket. Then I envisaged Tilly, lying dead
and clutching a plush bear. That murder wasn’t fiction. And neither was Melissa’s.

I shook my head in an attempt to scatter those thoughts and shoved the pages back
into the envelope. Reading them
would have to wait. Having reached Bentley’s door, I took a deep breath and knocked.

“Enter.”

I stepped into her office. “You wanted to see me?” I said, approaching her large,
glass-topped desk.

Bentley’s fingers clicked rapidly on her laptop, her long, cardinal red nails the
exact color of the tailored suit she wore. I waited. When she finished, she peered
over her diamond-studded half-moon glasses. “Lila. I’m pleased to see that you do,
in fact, still work at this agency.”

“I’m sorry. I was delivering a file to the police and became involved in the investigation…”
My voice trailed off and I waved the envelope in my hand. “I have been working, though.
I’m close to signing a new client.”

“That’s good to hear. I know you have a vested interest in the current police investigation,
but please remember that you are a literary agent, not a detective.” The hint of a
smile crossed her face. “Although I do recall that you have a certain knack for detecting.”
She removed her glasses, and they dangled like a pendant on a gold-jeweled chain around
her neck. “Just try to spend more time at the office.”

“I will,” I said, properly chastened.

“I wanted to see you because I have a project to assign you. To you and Jude, actually.”
She picked up her phone and pressed a button. “Vicky, please send Jude to my office.”

“What kind of project?” I asked when she replaced the receiver.

“Let’s wait until Jude arrives, shall we? In the meantime, why don’t you fill me in
on what the police have discovered about the two murders.” She frowned. “An editor
and an author. What is the world coming to? Are the killings connected?”

“It’s possible.” I sifted through all that I’d learned, trying to decide what I could
and couldn’t tell my boss. Just as I opened my mouth to speak again, Jude burst into
the room. His eyes twinkled when he saw me.

“Ah,
two
lovely ladies wanting to meet with me.”

“Take a seat, Jude.” Bentley leaned her elbows on her desk and tented her fingers.
“The publisher for
The Alexandria Society
wants a sequel. Of course, since Marlette Robbins is no longer alive, he obviously
won’t be able to write it. I need you and Lila to put your heads together to find
someone suitable for the project.”

“A ghostwriter?” I asked, remembering Marlette’s unique voice and wondering if we’d
be able to find someone to fill his shoes.

“Exactly. Between Jude’s stable of suspense authors and your burgeoning group of mystery
writers, I’m confident you’ll be able to come up with a few names. Now, the publisher
has put together an outline, so whomever you think is up for the job needs to submit
a proposal based on their framework.” She handed each of us a printed sheet of paper.

Jude folded it in half. “I’m happy to be working on this with Lila,” he said, flashing
me a smile. “But I’ve got a full plate at the moment. I’ve just sold a thriller to
a small publisher, and I’m about to sign another author whose book is destined to
become a blockbuster. However, it needs some polishing before I shop it around.”

Bentley sat back in her chair. “Your current projects take priority, but the publisher
is eager to enter into discussions, so see that you get to it as soon as possible.”
She set her glasses back on her nose and proceeded to type on her computer.

Thus dismissed, Jude and I exchanged curious glances and left the room.

“I need a coffee,” he said. “How about you?”

I nodded and scanned the publisher’s outline as I accompanied him to the kitchen.
It was a vague summary of the proposed plot, with little detail about the setting
or characters. The potential ghostwriter would have to read
The Alexandria Society
in order to obtain the necessary background information. But I couldn’t think about
the project now. “I’m glad you told Bentley that you were too busy to work on this
immediately,” I said as I held out a mug for Jude to fill. “My brain is so full at
the moment that I wouldn’t be able to focus on this.”