"It seems like a message. Could be that Esther rejected an author who didn't take it well. Perhaps someone here in Calendar, which would mean she knew at least one more person."
"It doesn't make sense that they would leave a page from their own manuscript on her body. Surely they would have taken it with them?" I said, trying to think the logic through. Too late, I realized I already said the wrong thing.
"That's what I thought. All the same, I need to track down the writer to eliminate them from my investigation, especially given the content."
"The content?" I gulped. Of course, Detective Logan didn’t fail to notice the similarities between the fiction and Esther's death.
Detective Logan reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and handed it to me. It was a photocopy and several sentences were highlighted in yellow. "I happened to notice that the murder on this manuscript page sounds a lot like the way your employer was killed. Do you recognize the prose?"
"I don't think it's an author Esther was currently working with," I said as I promptly handed it back.
"I looked on her web page and saw that she works mostly with romance authors. I'm no expert but this page looks like something straight out of a mystery or a thriller. Miranda Marchmont seems more like Mrs. Drummond's pace. Can you think of any way she could have gotten a hold of this manuscript?"
"I have no idea." And that was just the problem. I'd spoken about it to her, but she told me she wasn't interested. I emailed her yesterday anyway, hoping she would take a second look. Had she printed it out after all? Or decided to read it? If not, who could have gotten a copy? Did they copy the murder I described? I was sure Esther and I were the only two people who ever laid eyes on the manuscript but could there have been someone else?
I looked up at Detective Logan's expectant face. The moment he knew the mysterious page was mine, he would want the whole truth. I couldn't tell him about my nom de plume or it would surely become public knowledge. Perhaps he would brush the planted page away as a red herring; or dig deeper and find out I had written it and wonder why I lied to him. "Actually, that's not true," I said, deciding on the partial truth. "I should have told you earlier but I do know where that manuscript came from. I don't know how it got on her body; or how someone could have murdered her just like the one that was written. I wrote it, but Esther told me weeks ago that she wouldn't pitch it to publishers."
"She didn't want her assistant getting above her station?"
I blew out the tense breath I held in. "Something like that."
"For what it's worth, it's good. I liked the writing. Pitch it somewhere else. Esther can't be the only agent, even if you did know her personally," said Detective Logan as he got onto his feet and set down the cup on the tray. "Thank you for the coffee and for your time."
I followed him to the door. "What happens now? With your investigation, I mean."
"I have some leads to follow. I might need to ask you a few more questions and I have to confirm the alibi you gave me yesterday. I'm glad to rule out the line of inquiry that had a disgruntled, rejected author killing her." He flashed me a smile and stepped outside, raising one hand in a wave before he took off towards his car.
"Me too," I said softly.
Chapter Six
Even though Detective Logan had been gone for over an hour, I still couldn't manage to get any work done. Instead, my half drunk coffee turned cold and I was becoming much better acquainted with my neighbors' daily schedules, thanks to staring endlessly out the window. The couple to my left had gone to work, their happily-clapping infant daughter safely strapped in the back of the car, and they wouldn't be back all day. Both of them seemed to work long hours and despite how frequently they looked tired, they never failed to seem like a very loving family. The older couple to my right had also gone out. They were retired and probably had an engagement or some other kind of pleasant event to attend.
My laptop was open but the screen had long since gone dark while I contemplated my conversation with the detective. I was pleased that Sam Logan remembered me and glad there was no awkward flirtation. Unlike a lot of the girls at school, I never developed a crush on him. Cynthia, however, would be dying to know every detail when I called her next!
Still, his words troubled me. He might have had some leads to follow but he didn't seem to have any suspect in mind. At least, he would confirm my alibi soon and my secret would remain safe, but how long until he dug deeper into Esther's life and realized who I really was? And that the information I revealed to him was insignificant compared to my big secret?
If my secret life came out, my quiet existence would be over. I didn't mind signing books and answering emailed interview questions, but I couldn't imagine a life where I was continually asked who my characters were based on, or when my next book would be published, and could I introduce so-and-so to my publisher? I didn't want the inevitable stream of continuous gossip about me that would surely accompany the discovery of my true identity. Worst of all, I was sure my readers would be disappointed. Miranda Marchmont was supposed to be a glamorous jetsetter, not a lonely woman who lived with her cat and struggled with her social life. How could I write the perfect romance when I'd never once experienced one? Sure, I had a couple of boyfriends here and there but never one whom I loved passionately, or could have possibly envisioned a long future with.
I'd never even had a single, heart-stopping moment until I saw Mark Boudreaux.
I blinked. Where did that thought come from?
I tapped a key and my laptop stirred to life. I pulled up the document Esther sent to me, noting with a sigh all the red marks and capitalized adjectives and reactions she interjected at regular points: BORING. UNBELIEVABLE. YAWN.
"Charming," I muttered. I peered at the notes again as I scrolled the pages. "Is it really that bad? Purrdie, what do you think?" I glanced across the room at my cat. She raised her sleepy, fluffy, white head and yawned widely, revealing sharp teeth. "You agree. Great!" I tapped a couple of keys and the document disappeared, replaced by my rejected thriller manuscript. This time, when my eyes drifted across the prose, I felt satisfied. Maybe the romance novel was boring. The premise was good but I failed to love my characters. My heroine, Jessica, was drippy and prone to deference around my hero, Ryder. Ryder liked being the one in charge and nothing I wrote could persuade him to listen to Jessica. Instead, he just did what he wanted and Jessica skipped along meekly in his wake. Even their kissing lacked passion.
Was that because I hadn't been kissed in... oh no! Was it really six months? And even then, it was a terrible kiss, during a date after taking the Halloween Haunted Gardens Tour. I bit back a smile and remembered thinking that I would have rather smooched a pumpkin. Perhaps that was why I turned Ryder into a pumpkin, one that my Cinderella-heroine was bored with kissing.
At least my thriller provided plenty of excitement. The heroine did all kinds of adventurous things, only kissing her hero because she wanted to, not because he was her sole reason to exist. This heroine could have jumped right into Detective Logan's investigation and discovered the killer by now. She refused to wait for any man to rescue her.
"Perhaps," I said, rocking back in my chair as I steepled my fingers under my chin, "perhaps, I should think more like my heroine. I knew Esther the best, out of anyone else in town, maybe even including Mark. If I could find her killer, and tell Detective Logan, I’d be out of his crosshairs. He'd never know who I really am! What do you say, Purrdie? Evil laugh time? Mwah-ha-ha! Oh, you're asleep. Never mind." I shook my head at my unperturbed, sleeping cat and swiveled away from her.
Suddenly inspired, I pulled a pad of paper from my desk drawer and grabbed a pen from the tray. What did I know about Esther death's and the investigation so far? I knew Esther was stabbed with a knife. The handle looked like a big one, maybe a professional chef's knife that was driven in with substantial force. That instantly suggested a man to me, or at least a woman of similar size and strength as Esther
. Esther was considerably taller than me, standing at least at five-foot-eight. Did the size and strength of the killer matter if the victim were lying down? I wasn't sure but it did raise another question: whom did Esther allow into her room?
Trying to recall if I’d seen any damage to the door, I felt sure I would have remembered, and no, I hadn't noticed anything that suggested the door might have been forced. It was, however, strange to find the door left open, like someone had departed from the room in a hurry.
With a sick feeling of dread, I wondered if I barely missed seeing the killer. Even worse, what if they heard me approaching and were still inside the room when I entered? Mark left as I knocked on the door, and I stepped inside, going past the bathroom and the closet, to stand over her bed. As soon as I realized she was dead, I ran out again, screaming for help and colliding with Mark in the corridor near the stairwell. Could someone have slipped out of the room who was totally unseen by us? I needed to check the hotel for another possible exit from that corridor.
Tapping the pen against the paper pad, I thought about why Esther left the door open. She could have been expecting someone she knew, like me or Mark, or perhaps she called room service and never checked to see if it were actually room service at the door? She was awaiting my arrival, but I didn't expect her to provide any beverages or snacks. I seriously doubted she would have thought to order any. Perhaps she ordered some supper? Or could someone have pretended to be from housekeeping just so she would have unsuspectingly opened the door?
It had to be that! She didn't know anyone else in town, except for Mark and me. Mark was with me in the lobby for at least fifteen minutes before I found Esther, but didn't Detective Logan say she'd been killed earlier than that? Mark said he'd been out for a walk, but could anybody verify that? I added his name to the pad with a large question mark.
I thought about his clothes. He was dressed in casual attire but it wasn’t raining so there was no dampness on his shoes to prove he'd been outside. His jacket was neatly folded over the side of the chair. I didn't recall him saying he purchased anything while on his walk. So far, Mark hadn't offered any verification that he'd been where he said he was.
Could he have killed Esther? Then gone out for a walk, and sat in the lobby for his alibi, to be seen by countless people? Bumping into me would only further establish his alibi, but would he really have intentionally wanted me to find Esther? I didn't know which thought was more worrying: that he killed her, or if he had, that he wanted me to find her.
That made me think about the knife. The hilt was large and black, the type used in kitchens, rather than a hunter's knife. There was no reasonable explanation for Esther to put something like that in her luggage, so the killer must have provided it. But why would they need to arm themselves in advance? That sounded very suspicious.
Something else puzzled me. Why had my manuscript been pinned to Esther's body? That made no sense, unless it was supposed to act as a red herring. Perhaps that was all it was! The page choice was still interesting, given that it detailed a murder by stabbing. How had the killer come by my manuscript? And where was the rest of it? Did the killer know that I wrote it? Were they actively trying to point the finger at me?
The questions came quickly. As soon as I'd written down one note, another one appeared in my head.
I turned the sheet and wrote SUSPECTS at the top of my list before I added Mark. Then: a hotel employee. As annoying as Esther was, I couldn't see her enraging a hotel employee quite that much, but perhaps the employee was also suffering from some kind of a delusion. I only witnessed her being rude and dismissive to our waitress at lunch but Mark said she annoyed plenty more. Finally, I added: an unknown assailant.
Just because I assumed Esther didn't know anyone but Mark and me in town, that didn't mean it was true.
The brief list was very disappointing. I didn't want my prime suspect to be Mark, but I had no clue whose names belonged to the other two unnamed suspects.
Two things were very clear: I needed to go to the hotel to investigate further, and I had to talk to Mark.
Before I got up, another thought hit me. What if Detective Logan thought Mark and I were in on it together? What if he thought we provided each other with an alibi or even that we teamed up to overpower Esther? I shook that thought from my head. Detective Logan hadn't suggested he suspected anything like that, plus, I reminded myself, Mark could have easily overpowered Esther on his own. He wouldn't have needed my help. Not only that, but he'd have been more likely to get away with her murder if it occurred in New York rather than in my small town, where suspicion would automatically fall on him as her traveling companion.
That gave me some hope. Mark was unlikely to be the killer. Unfortunately, I couldn't see how he would escape becoming Detective Logan's prime suspect once my alibi was cleared.
I got up and closed my laptop before jogging downstairs. Grabbing my light blue mac from the coat rack and my tan leather bag from the bench below, I put on my sneakers and let myself out, locking the door behind me before I hurried to my car. There was no time to waste! I had to find answers. The killer had already gotten away with it for too long!
A police car was outside the hotel when I arrived. I parked a few cars away and walked inside, smiling when the concierge looked up. It wasn't Janey but another younger lady. "Hi," I said, "I'm looking for a guest. Mark Boudreaux. Do you know where I can find him?"
"He's having breakfast in the orangery, ma'am. Is he expecting you? Shall I show you through?"
"No, thanks. I know where to go." I stepped back from the desk, turned and walked through the doors to the rear of the hotel where the orangery lay. It was a pretty room and about ten times larger than my own little sunroom with glass on three sides and lovely views of the east gardens. French doors, that were currently closed, led onto a terrace where people lunched under parasols during the warmer months, and sipped on cocktails in the evenings. Sometimes, the hotel chartered the room out for parties or small wedding receptions but I couldn't remember the last time I'd been invited to one.
Mark sat alone at a table beside the window. His chair was pushed back, and a newspaper was spread over his crossed legs. His blue shirt was open at the neck. A finished plate remained on the table along with a full cup of coffee in front of him. I was glad I hadn't disturbed him while he was eating.
He looked up as I stopped at his table, a smile spreading across his lips. He folded the paper quickly and got to his feet, holding out his hand. I shook it, feeling a little awkward at the formality, but strangely satisfied at how pleased he appeared to be at my appearance.
"I'm glad to see you, Ava. I was just thinking about you."
"What? While reading the headlines?" I nodded to his discarded newspaper as he walked around the table and pulled out a chair for me. When I sat, he retook his own place opposite.
"I was looking at the bestseller list. You're number one," he said.
I waved for him to be quiet as I glanced around in a panic at the diners nearby. "Shush. Someone will hear you!"
He looked around too, then back at me with a frown. "You really don't want people to know?"
"No!"
"Esther said you were very guarded about your privacy but I didn't realize she really meant it."
"No one, and I mean no one, knows who I am. The person I also am," I clarified. "And I would rather it stayed that way."
"Usually we can't get our authors to stop telling everyone who they are. You are an anomaly. Should I ask why?"
I wrinkled my nose. "I prefer that people don’t know. They'll just be disappointed," I said.
"Are you sure? I think people would love to know who the real..."
"Don't say her name!" I said, holding up a hand as a warning.
Mark mimed zipping his mouth shut. "Okay, but congratulations on making the list anyway. I don't know if that's any comfort, especially given what's happened, but you should be proud of your success." He stopped, his face softening. �
��I was worried about you after last night. How are you doing?"
My heart gave a funny little leap when he said he was worried and a blush heated my cheeks. "I'm okay. It's horrible, of course, and I don't know how to make sense of it. Detective Logan already came to see me this morning," I added.
Mark signaled for the server and she walked over and poured me a coffee. "I hope he told you he doesn't think you did it."
"Pretty much. He's checking on my alibi anyway."
"Prudent."
"Mark, I wanted to ask you about what happened. You and I are the only ones who know Esther so you and I are the most likely suspects. I know he spoke to you too."
"Detective Logan is already ruling you... oh." His face fell. "Please say you don't think I had anything to do with it."
"No, I don't, but I'm not sure Detective Logan will come to the same conclusion. I wondered if we could talk about where you were last night. I'd like to get things straight in my mind."
"I told you last night. I went out for an evening walk, then I didn't feel like squirreling myself away in my hotel room, so I got a drink and sat in the lobby, and shortly afterwards, you turned up and made my evening a lot better until it got a lot worse."
"Were you having a bad day?" I asked.
"Non-stop phone calls and emails and a very long meeting with Esther that ended with her calling me some names I'd prefer not to repeat." He looked heaven-wards and sighed.
"You argued?"
"I think that was Esther being nice." I laughed and Mark grinned. "I thought you might have experienced it too," he continued. "Esther never knew how to sugarcoat anything. I tried not to take it personally but her comments have, I mean, had, a sting in their tail."
"She's like that with everyone. She was probably not as awful to you because you're in a position of power and she wouldn't want to lose her shot at selling you a manuscript."
"True. Anyway... After that meeting, which was in the lobby, I had dinner alone in my room, then I decided to take a walk and clear my head. Get a little thinking time."
Murder in March Page 6
