"I think we are being that," I said, nodding.
Mark looked around, apparently satisfied that no one was within earshot. "I'm an honest person. I say it how I see it. Do you want to keep being Miranda Marchmont?"
I started to speak, then stopped. Wasn't that the very question I was asking myself over and over? "I don't know, but maybe," I said, feeling braver, especially since Esther wasn't around to talk over me. "I think I want to try writing other stories. At least, for now."
"What kind of stories?" Mark picked up his glass and took a sip. Something about him made me feel comfortable. He wasn't aggressive or yelling about my sales, numbers and earnings, or what his firm had done for me and how much I owed them. Instead, he seemed genuinely interested.
"I've written a thriller," I told him, the words nearly bursting from my lips. "It's only a draft but it's the kind of action novel I've always wanted to read. The heroine is vulnerable but brave and I have a great back story for her. There's romance in it too but there's also international travel, villains and suspense. It's so exciting."
"You didn't look this excited over lunch yesterday."
"I don't remember talking," I said with a shake of my head. I remembered how Esther interrupted me at every moment she could.
"I meant your facial expressions when Esther spoke." Mark winked and I laughed. "I'm sorry, I'm keeping you from your meeting and I know it's late and you clearly have somewhere better to be. Why don't we talk about this some more tomorrow? How are you fixed for lunch?"
"I'm free and I'd like to talk. I don't know if you'll be happy with what I have to say. That is, I haven't fully decided what to say."
"It doesn't have to be a decision lunch. It's a talking lunch. We'll just throw around some ideas and then you can give me that city tour. How does that sound?"
Wonderful. "Sounds good," I said, trying to keep the eagerness from my voice. If I could convince Mark I had something else to offer, it might be the start of something newer and better for me. I glanced at the stairs. Still no Esther. She was probably waiting for me in her room. "I better get upstairs. I don't want to keep Esther waiting any longer."
"Why don't I walk you up? My room is on the floor directly above. There's no pointing getting the elevator for two separate flights." Mark gathered his jacket and held a hand out for me, helping me to my feet like a true gentleman. "Have you stayed here before?" he asked as we headed for the stairs.
"No, I've never had the need to since I live in town."
"Ah, of course. It's a nice hotel. It's not home but I can live with it."
"You must be looking forward to going home," I said, thinking less about his undoubtedly well-appointed apartment and more about the beautiful girlfriend who would be anxiously waiting for him. She was probably tall and willowy with perfect hair and manicured nails. Just like my characters, and nothing like me.
"I guess. I have to socialize for work a lot and when I'm not actively doing that, I'm reading new manuscripts. Keeps me out of trouble," he said and winked again.
"Do you get into trouble a lot?" I asked, wondering if I sensed a flirtatious tone in his voice.
Mark stroked his beard. "I'm very well behaved."
"I will remember that in case you ever get into trouble and need a character reference."
"I might have to call on you for that one day," he laughed. "Esther's room is this way," he added as we reached the landing. "Do you think you'll need a bodyguard?"
"Are you volunteering?"
"It seems like a good exchange for a character reference. Here we are. Room five. I think she's expecting you." He nodded to the open door.
"Looks like it," I agreed. "Thanks for walking me up, Mark."
"Anytime. Hope it goes well. Good night, Ava." He stepped backwards, lifting a hand to wave and turned, still smiling.
"Good night." I waited for him to start walking away before I knocked on the door and pushed it open further. Esther probably didn't want to bother getting up. "Esther, it's me," I called.
Instead of Esther's voice yelling at me to come in, there was silence. I stepped inside, looking around for her. The bed was partly hidden by the bathroom wall jutting out, but I could just see one leg lounging over the end. She could have been relaxing, or reading, but if she'd fallen asleep, I decided to write her a short note and leave quickly, closing the door behind me. There was no way I intended to wake her up. It would have been like poking a hibernating bear.
"Esther?" I stepped further in, my heels soft on the carpet, and stopped as I rounded the bathroom.
Esther wasn't asleep. She wasn't awake either.
Instead, she lay on the bed, her face up, her glassy, lifeless eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. A butcher's knife was lodged in her chest, the blade impaling a sheet of typed paper and deep red blood stained her once bright pink blouse. "Esther!" I screamed, rushing forwards.
Chapter Four
"I'm sorry, but she's dead." Detective Logan looked down to where I was perched on a chair at the end of the hallway. I watched uniformed police officers walking to and fro, speaking to each other in low, rapid voices before they ushered away curious guests who nosily emerged from their bedrooms along with bored employees that drifted towards the commotion. Dina Preston, the hotel manager, stood on one side of me and Mark on the other, his hand firmly on my shoulder, providing an unexpected comfort.
"Yes, I guessed," I said, lifting my eyes from the busy carpet to look up at the detective. It was funny to think of Sam Logan as a police officer. Back in school, he'd been two years ahead of me. He'd been one of the popular kids, athletic and handsome with his dark red hair and green eyes. Lot of the girls had liked him. He'd paid me precisely no attention. Why would he? I was one of the bookish girls, quiet and studious, when he had the pick of the most popular, prettiest girls. Then he'd graduated and gone. When he came back to town, years later, he'd taken up a position as detective with the Calendar Police Department but no one seemed to know where he'd been in the intervening years. "The knife in her chest was a clue," I added somberly as my jaw trembled. "How long has she... was she..." I trailed off, instead nodding to the room where Esther's body lay.
"Not long," said Detective Logan. "The medical examiner should determine a more precise time of death but I'm guessing probably less than an hour. How did you get into her room?"
"The door was already open. That is, it was slightly ajar. I pushed it all the way open. She was expecting me and I just thought she didn't want to get up. Then, when I saw her on the bed, I thought she might have fallen asleep while waiting for me. I thought I'd check just to make sure and if she was, I'd leave a note." The words came out in a tumble.
"So you went inside the room?"
"Yes. I called her name. I could see her leg on the bed... that's why I thought she might be asleep. Then I saw her and the knife." I broke off, dropping my face into my palms. I felt cold and shivery, making it hard to concentrate.
"Ava's been over this, Detective," said Mark. He squeezed my shoulder and I reached up, placing my hand over his, and feeling so glad for his company. His fingers tightened around mine.
"I just have a few more questions, Mr.?" Detective Logan paused, waiting.
"Boudreaux. Mark Boudreaux."
"You're a guest at the hotel?"
"Yes. I traveled down here with Esther."
"You work together?"
"My firm works with her firm and we have business in town."
"What kind of business might that be?" asked Detective Logan.
"Can we go somewhere else? Ava's had a terrible shock," said Mark, skilfully heading off the detective's question with one of his own.
"Just a few more minutes. Ms. March, you never said why you were visiting Ms. Drummond at this time? It's rather late for a social call."
"It wasn't social..." I stopped, and gulped. The last thing I needed right now was to announce exactly why I was summoned to the hotel. There were too many ears listening. "It was business-re
lated," I said.
"Ava is one of Esther's..." started Mark.
"Virtual assistants," I cut in before he could supply the incriminating details and blow my cover to every listening ear. "I do typing for Ms. Drummond. She wanted me to come over and discuss my workload." The last bit wasn't a lie. I did do typing for Esther; words that were a product of my own mind. Plus, I was on my way to see her about my workload because I couldn't imagine what else she might have wanted.
"Isn't Ms. Drummond based in New York? Why would she hire a VA so far away?"
"Good assistants are hard to find," I said.
"Huh," huffed Detective Logan. "Do you know anything about the paper that was found on the body?"
"I saw the knife but I don't remember any paper."
"I took a photo," said Detective Logan. He tapped the screen on his phone and moved his fingers across it before turning it to me so I could see the zoomed in page. "Do you recognize it?"
"It looks like a page of typing."
"Do you recognize the words? Is it something you typed for her?"
I leaned in, my eyes roving over the small amount of words on the screen. I paled, gulping. I knew exactly where Esther had gotten that page. "Yes, I typed that. It's from one of Esther's rejected manuscripts." My thriller manuscript that she hated. Why on earth was that on her body?
"How do you know that?"
"She told me yesterday that it was a no go."
"Hmm." Detective Logan tapped the phone screen and it went blank.
"Hmm, what, Detective?" asked Mark. "Is it significant?"
"It might be," replied Detective Logan. A deep frown marred his forehead and I was pretty sure I knew why. He thought my manuscript was somehow related to Esther's murder. "Thanks for answering my questions. If you leave your address and cellphone number with Officer Nixon, I'd appreciate it. I might have some follow-up questions. You too, Mr. Boudreaux. Are you staying in town?"
"I was scheduled to leave in two more days but I might stay longer."
Detective Logan nodded and walked away, disappearing into Esther's room.
"Would you like to come to my office?" asked the hotel manager, Dina Preston. She arrived within minutes of raising the alarm and handled everything from ensuring I had somewhere to sit to escorting the police with cool professionalism. I recognized her from Esther's flouncing exit the day before. She'd been standing with Janey at the reception desk but if she remembered me, she didn't say. Despite the smart navy suit and calm, outward demeanor, she wrung her hands together, her expression a mix of worry and uncertainty. "I can get you a hot drink or something stronger? You look like you're in shock."
"No, I'm fine, really. It was a shock but I'm all right," I said. What I really wanted to do was go home, take a long, hot shower, and climb into bed with all the lights on. I longed to pretend this had never happened.
"Are you sure?" asked Mark. "A stiff drink might be exactly what you need. If you don't want to sit in the office, you're welcome to relax in my suite. Or I could take you home?"
"I think I'd like to go home."
"I'll call you a taxi," said Dina.
"No need." Mark waved her away. "I hired a car. If you give me directions, I can take you. I'd rather drive you myself than put you in a taxi and wonder if you got home safely, especially after..." He glanced towards Esther's room where Detective Logan filled the doorway, realizing there was no need to finish his sentence. Esther hadn't even been safe in her hotel room.
"It's no trouble," started Dina. "I would like to help in any way I can."
"I already have my car parked outside," I told them. I didn't relish the drive home but I couldn't leave my car here overnight.
"Let me go with you. Please, Ava, it would put my mind at ease. I can make my own way back," said Mark.
I considered that. The idea of getting into my cold, dark car while wearing my frivolous, pink dress and impractical heels, and driving home by myself didn't fill me with an abundance of confidence. I never considered myself the shaky, feeble sort, but after finding Esther's dead body, I wasn’t as pulled together as I normally was. Company would have surely made me feel better. "Thank you, Mark," I said, deciding it was no use to argue, especially when he was being so kind. I got to my feet and gently rolled my shoulders, part of my routine to pull myself together and adopt a confident pose that said I was stronger than I actually felt. "I appreciate the company."
"Would you like me to have a car waiting for you when you get there?" asked Dina. She followed us from the corridor to the landing, casting a worried glance back to the room. All the guests had returned to their rooms but the police officers would be there for hours.
"Please," said Mark softly.
I gave Dina my address and she insisted on escorting us both to the lobby doors. Two crime lab technicians carrying cases had just arrived and she called over one of the night receptionists and directed them upstairs. "I am so glad it's late so most of the guests aren't seeing this. I'm afraid everyone will check out," she said. Her hand flew to her mouth. "I don't mean to sound like I'm only thinking about profits. I was just worried that people will be frightened. I am so sorry about your friend and the awful shock you've had."
"We understand," said Mark. "And I won't check out. Just be honest with your guests if they ask. I’m sure they'll appreciate that."
"I better go talk to the night employees. Is there anything else I can do for you? You look so pale," she said to me. "You've had a terrible shock."
"I'll be okay when I get home," I told her.
"If you're sure..."
I insisted I was and Mark and I stepped outside. The night air had cooled several degrees and I wished I brought a scarf along with my lightweight coat although I wasn't planning a night excursion. All I wanted was a sociable evening, rather than spending another dreary night at home with the cookie jar and the TV remote control. I cherished the opportunity to wear a pretty dress. Finding a dead body, being questioned by a detective, and taking an impromptu drive with Mark Boudreaux never featured into any of my plans.
"Which car is yours?" asked Mark. He nodded toward the line of cars parked on the street.
"Not the one with the flashing lights," I quipped. "It's the black convertible over there in the lot." I pointed to the side parking lot now shrouded in darkness and gave a silent mental thanks that I didn't have to walk there alone.
Mark whistled softly as we got closer. "Nice car. BMW six series? Very sexy."
"Thank you. As a little girl, I always wanted a convertible so when it came to buying a new car, I knew exactly what model and type I wanted."
"Do you want me to drive? Not that I question your ability to put the pedal to the metal but you have had quite a shock."
"No, I can drive, but thank you. I was pretty shaken but I feel much calmer now. You really don't have to drive with me. I'm sure there's plenty of other people you need to inform. Oh, Esther's husband has to know. Poor Derrick!"
"I'll call Derrick when I know you're home safe. Everyone else can wait. I feel that I should come with you. Plus, there will be a car waiting for me at your house, and I'll have to pay the driver anyway. I'll see you to your doorstep, make sure you're okay, then come straight back. I'd like to ask Detective Logan if he knows who could have done this."
We stepped off the broad path to the lot, my heels clicking in the cool night air, and I beeped the car open. Mark opened the door and I got behind the wheel before he rounded the car to the passenger's side. I pulled out of the space, turned the car around and headed back the way I came.
I drove like a robot, barely thinking about my speed or the turns, and relying on auto-pilot. Inside, my head was filled with thoughts of Esther. Did she send the text before she was attacked, and did she know what was about to happen? Was she already dead by the time I got to the hotel? What would have happened if I hadn't stayed to talk with Mark in the lobby? Could I have saved her? My questions were too awful to contemplate. "I can't think why anyone wo
uld want to kill Esther," I said, breaking the silence a couple of minutes into the drive.
"I can think of a dozen or more people she's annoyed in the last twenty-four hours," said Mark.
I glanced at him, then I couldn't help it. I laughed. "She was that bad with everyone at the hotel too?"
"So you noticed?"
"She walks all over people! Walked." I sobered up. Esther wasn't a pleasant person and I had no doubt that Mark spoke the truth when he mentioned how much she annoyed people and in such a short space of time. Having worked with her for years, I must have had twenty or more draft emails in which I told her in no uncertain terms where she could stick her agent's fees. Sometimes the language was strong and concise, other times, I was dignified. The message was always the same: I hated the way she spoke to me. Over the years, however, I came to realize it wasn't personal. Esther spoke that way to everyone, from her office employees to the unfortunate server delivering her dinner. Luckily for me, I was hundreds of miles away... except on the day she was murdered.
"Yes, she did, but I don't know any person that would want to kill her. Maybe the author of that rejected manuscript tracked her down and murdered her." Mark stopped at my sharp intake of breath. I was afraid someone would say that. I was sure it had already occurred to Detective Logan and now Mark voiced the same thought. I knew the question would come up. The problem was: how did I answer it? If I told the truth, that I recognized the page, I would make myself the prime suspect. If I didn't, and the lie was later discovered, it would be even worse. "What? Do you know who wrote it?" he pressed.
I nodded. Now was definitely the time I had to admit it. "Me. I wrote it, but Mark, I can assure you, I didn't kill her! I emailed her to ask her to reconsider her initial rejection of it; but I haven't seen her all day. I've been at a special dinner event all evening and there must be twenty or more witnesses to confirm where I was!"
"You wrote that?" I nodded. A long minute passed by before Mark said, "I liked it."
Murder in March Page 4
