I couldn’t really imagine Molly killing anyone, even if she had a bad temper, but I’d been wrong before. She was part of the fan club.
With breakfast done and an hour or so at my disposal before I needed to help Alicia with some cleaning, I decided do a little internet sleuthing. Harper’s mention of serious conflicts in the Amanda Nobel fandom, along with Molly’s speedy departure, had sparked an idea in my mind. Perhaps Molly had been deeply involved in the fan war herself. Maybe that was why she had seemed so antagonistic toward Lisette, and so anxious to leave Chapters.
I cast a glance at the ARC of Amanda’s latest book before I pulled out my laptop and settled down on my bed. Maybe I should give that to Harper or Molly, I thought, as I leaned back on the pillows I’d stacked against the headboard of my iron-framed bed. Especially since I’d have to read eleven other books to catch up before I read this new one. I dug my bare toes into the ridges of my white chenille bedspread. My bedroom, with its coral-painted walls set off by crisp white curtains and glossy white trim, still bore the imprint of Great-Aunt Isabella’s decorating. My only additions had been photos taken with Brent during our vacations. I’d also hung one of my favorite pictures of Brent in a prominent spot. It was a photo that captured all of his charm and vitality and, I had to admit, sometimes spurred me to talk to him when I was alone in my room.
“What do you think?” I asked the portrait. “Am I entertaining another murderer at Chapters, or is the killer someone from the outside?”
Or someone who just left, I thought, as I scrolled through the results of my first search. Molly Zeleski’s name popped up almost immediately. I zeroed in on one promising article from a fan blog, where they identified her as one of the major players in an incident involving Lisette Bradford’s Amanda Nobel fan club.
Apparently, she’d participated online using the handle “MerryMolly.” Reading through the timeline of events associated with the fan war, I was shocked by the vitriol MerryMolly had spewed in post after highlighted post.
She was no fan of Lisette, that was for sure. In fact, she’d led the charge against one of Lisette’s most popular pieces of fan fiction, claiming it was a plagiarized version of another writer’s work. Molly was supported by several other members of the fan club, but strangely, the author who’d supposedly been victimized—someone who wrote under the pseudonym “Amethyst Angel”—was silent. Although Molly referenced her repeatedly, Amethyst Angel’s fan fiction was posted on other sites, and she never popped up on the fan club to defend herself. Apparently, she wasn’t even a member of Lisette’s online community.
Which made me wonder if Molly and Amethyst Angel were one and the same person.
I surfed through several analyses of the incident on other blogs and websites before calling Ellen to share what I’d learned about the online conflict.
“You think it’s possible that Molly was actually the author of the story that Lisette was accused of stealing?” she asked when I’d recited all the facts I’d gleaned from various sites.
“It isn’t uncommon for people to have more than one online persona,” I replied. “Especially for distinctively different sites. If Molly wrote the story she claims Lisette stole, wouldn’t that be a good reason to hate her?”
“But enough to murder her?” A tapping sound told me that Ellen was drumming her fingers against the phone receiver. “I suppose there are some who would kill over such a thing, but I think someone would need to be an extremely volatile, perhaps even unstable, person to do that.”
“Molly certainly seemed to dislike Lisette, and she does appear to have a short temper, but I don’t know if I’d call her unstable. Not that I know her well, or anything, but she didn’t come across that way on short acquaintance.”
“Did Lisette profit off the fan fiction?”
“I don’t think so. It was on a free site and her website, from what I could tell.”
“Which means she didn’t actually steal any income from this Amethyst Angel person.” Ellen cleared her throat. “Would bragging rights over a popular story really have spurred anyone, including Molly, to kill Lisette?”
“Hard to say, isn’t it? People can commit murder for strange reasons.”
“Very true, but then you also said there were other members of the fan club who were equally vicious in their attacks on Lisette. Some of them could’ve been in attendance at Saturday’s event, couldn’t they?”
I stared at my blank laptop screen for a moment before closing the computer with a sigh. “Absolutely. Which doesn’t really narrow the field of suspects.”
“It will give the police something else to go on, though. I assume you plan to tell them about what you discovered online.”
“Of course. I already shared what Harper Gregg told me about a fan war, and this confirms that story.”
“Good.” Ellen exhaled an audible breath. “This Harper person—wasn’t she a member of the fan club too?”
“She is now. But she told me she didn’t join until after the plagiarism controversy went down.”
“I’m sure the authorities will check to make sure that’s true.”
“I would hope so.” I ran my hand over the smooth surface of my laptop. “Of course, we can’t forget Lisette’s ex, who’s still apparently on the run.”
“And there’s also Roger Warren, unfortunately,” Ellen said. “I’m glad Scott was cleared. I’d hate to see him have to deal with all that scrutiny again.”
“Julie’s relieved, that’s for sure. Not that she suspected him, of course. But having that hanging over one’s head …”
“Ah yes, the looming shadow of suspicion,” Ellen said, her tone oddly sharp. “Anyway, I should let you go. I’m sure you have a lot to manage right now.”
“Not as much as you’d think,” I said, surprised when Ellen just threw out a quick “goodbye” and hung up before I could respond any further.
Something is bothering her, I thought, as I left my bedroom. I expect it’s tied up with that business involving Gavin Howard. But with all the secrets she seems to juggle with aplomb, I wonder why his snooping has her so particularly concerned.
Wandering into the kitchen, I was surprised to see Damian lounging against the island. It was unusual for him to stop in for a chat unrelated to work.
“Hi, Charlotte. How’re you doing today?” he asked, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his egg yolk-yellow cotton shorts.
I could see why. The shorts, which hung off his slender frame, had slid down far enough to reveal the elastic band of his underwear.
Alicia side-eyed him. “They still make belts, you know.”
Damian shot me a grin before meeting Alicia’s disapproving gaze. “I know. But since I’m not working today, I thought I could play it more casual.” He tucked his tropical-print shirt into his shorts. “There, maybe that will help.”
Alicia sniffed. “A few extra meals might do more good. I swear, you aren’t much of an advertisement for your food, skinny as you are.”
“That’s just genetics,” Damian said. “You’ve seen my mama. She’s the same—tall and thin.”
“Like her grandpa,” Alicia said. “He was originally from the low country down in South Carolina, as I recall.”
Damian fiddled with one of his dreadlocks. “Yeah, we apparently have some Gullah heritage. Too bad he died before I was born. I never got to meet any of that part of the family.”
“I bet you could find them if you tried,” I said, thinking of all the genealogical information available at libraries as well as online.
“Never really gave it much thought.” Damian hitched up his shorts. “But I’ve been pretty busy, just trying to survive. Not enough time or cash to just take off to visit distant relatives. Being a freelance chef … Well, you know how it goes. No steady income.”
“I know, and I wish you could land a full-time job at one of the local restaurants,” I said. “Although that wouldn’t really be in my best interest, I suppose.”
“I’d re
commend someone else for Chapters if that happened.” Damian frowned. “Even though it doesn’t seem too likely.”
Alicia, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, turned to face Damian. “I reckon you didn’t stop by to talk about your job prospects, so what brings you here this morning?”
Damian straightened to his full height. “That guest of yours. Molly Zeleski. Told you I knew her from school.”
“I remember,” I said. “But you said you didn’t know her well, even if you did know she had a bad temper. Did you hear some additional news about her?”
“Not really anything new. Just remembered something else when I heard about that murder.” Damian lowered his lashes over his eyes. “Felt like déjà vu, didn’t it?”
I cast him a sympathetic smile. Like me, he’d been considered a suspect in another murder, last summer. “At least this one didn’t happen at Chapters.”
“There is that,” Alicia said, pulling off her hairnet and shaking out her curly hair. “That girl took off this morning, by the way. Molly whatever, I mean.”
“Really?” Damian’s angular face expressed surprise. “The police didn’t make her stay in town?”
“Well, she lives in Morehead, so I guess they figured that was close enough. I mean, they can still easily question her,” Alicia said.
“Suppose that’s true.” Damian swept back his hair with one hand. “That kind of makes me stopping by pretty useless. I mainly wanted to warn you all about Molly, since she was staying here.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Warn us? Why? You told me she got in some fights, but that was years ago.”
“Yeah, but with this new murder, I reconsidered a few things. Things I didn’t think were necessary, or appropriate, to mention before. The truth is, she has a reputation for getting … well, violent is the best way to say it, even though that sounds a bit too dramatic.”
Alicia shared a quick raised-eyebrow look with me before returning her focus to Damian. “She beats people up or what?”
“She used to. Like I told Charlotte before, she had a bad temper when we were in school. Most of it was just verbal outbursts, but she got into physical fights too.” Damian shrugged. “Understand, a lot of this comes from the rumor mill. I didn’t witness the fights, so I don’t know who started what. I do know she was suspended after one altercation, so it must’ve been pretty bad. My school didn’t expel many people, or even suspend them. They mostly sent kids to in-school suspension.”
“So she has, or at least had, a raging temper,” I said, my mind drifting back to the information I’d uncovered online. Molly’s verbal attacks on the fan club site had been fierce and filled with vitriol. If she had a history of physical violence as well …
“Sounds like we’re well rid of her,” Alicia said.
“Let’s just say I’m glad she’s not staying here anymore.” Damian stepped away from the counter. “Think I’ll be heading out then. I’m considering stopping by the police station to mention this to Detective Johnson or someone. What do you think?” he asked, glancing at me.
“I believe that would be a responsible thing to do,” I said.
“I don’t know.” Damian traced the outline of a floor tile with the tip of one of his sandals. “It’s all hearsay and rumors. Not sure I want to get someone in trouble over that.”
Alicia pursed her lips. “Just tell them what you know. Can’t hurt. I mean, as long as you aren’t making stuff up.”
“I’m not,” Damian snapped, before holding up his hands. “Sorry, I just don’t like being accused of things. Stuff I’ve never done, and wouldn’t ever. Had enough of that in my life.”
I was surprised to see Alicia’s stern expression soften at these words. “I can imagine. All right, you go on then. Tell the police what you just told us, and let them sort it out.”
“If it helps, I really don’t think Detective Johnson would accuse anyone of anything without solid proof,” I said.
“No, she’s a good one,” Damian said, before he turned and headed for the back door.
“And thanks,” I called after him. “I appreciate you thinking of us and wanting to give us a warning.”
Damian paused with his hand on the latch to the back door. “No problem,” he said, shooting me a grin. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to my steadiest employer.”
I laughed, but Alicia grabbed the kitchen towel and snapped it at him. “Go on, you,” she said, as he left the kitchen. Dropping the towel onto the counter, she glanced at me. “You shouldn’t encourage him.”
“He’s a good kid,” I said. “I don’t know why you’re so hard on him.”
“Tough love,” she muttered, using her fingers to fluff out some of her silver-streaked dark hair.
“Anyway, I’m free to help with the cleaning, if you’re ready to take that on.”
Alicia looked me up and down. “Don’t trouble yourself. I can handle it. We have one less guest, and the others are still holed up in their rooms, so I can’t get to those yet anyway. I’m sure you can find something else that needs doing, especially with that book club meeting coming up tonight.”
I slapped a hand to my forehead. “Goodness, I’d practically forgotten about it. How are we doing with snacks? Anything I need to pick up at the store?”
“Nope. We’re well stocked from that do on Saturday. Lots of leftovers.” She eyed me with a questioning expression in her brown eyes. “I suppose that’s all right? I didn’t think the locals would mind leftovers, but if Ms. Nobel needs something special …”
“I’m sure she won’t care. She seems pretty easy to please, honestly.”
“True enough. Certainly not what I expected.” Alicia slipped the black net back over her hair. “Thought she’d be more demanding, famous as she is.”
I left Alicia in the kitchen and headed back to my room, where I called Ellen again to share Damian’s warning about Molly Zeleski.
“I think we should move her to the top of the list, just under Billy Bradford,” I said.
“Good deduction. But don’t forget Roger Warren. I meant to ask—did Julie and Scott ever find out why he never called earlier when he supposedly had car trouble?”
“No,” I said, realizing that this was another clue. “And apparently neither she nor Scott have heard anything from him since Saturday.”
“Which is a little odd, don’t you think? It doesn’t look good for him, especially since the people I contacted about his personality and behavior were not that reassuring. Apparently, he was quite a firebrand back in the day. He even got into legal trouble over threatening a colleague at a conference. Something to do with plagiarism, from what I heard. That was many years ago, but still …” Ellen’s voice tapered off, as if she was distracted. “Hold on, Gavin’s coming in. I don’t really want to discuss any of this around him.”
“Why? It isn’t really connected to his snooping.”
“I just don’t want him to know that we’re sleuthing on the side.” Ellen sniffed. “Especially you.”
I stared at my phone screen for a second before the realization struck. “Oh, I see. You want him to think I’m clueless, so maybe he’ll spill some information about his secret mission around me?”
“Precisely. So”—Ellen raised her voice and added a sugary edge to her tone—“nice to talk to you, dear. Let’s catch up later, okay?”
“Jolly good, Sherlock.”
Chapter Nine
Everyone but the guest of honor and her entourage had assembled for the book club meeting Monday evening when Ellen appeared with Gavin in tow.
I widened my eyes as I cast her a glance. Maybe bringing Gavin along was just part of their cover for his real identity and activities, but it still surprised me. As Ellen introduced him to the others as her cousin, I busied myself rearranging the drinks and glasses on the linen-draped desk we used as a serving table in the library.
“Very nice to make your acquaintance,” Bernadette Sandburg said, giving Gavin’s hand a firm shake
. “I don’t believe I’ve met any of Ellen’s relatives before.”
And you still haven’t, I thought, forcing a bright smile and asking, “Anyone want lemonade?”
To his credit, Gavin played the part to perfection, making polite but cryptic remarks about his work in “research” when questioned by Pete Nelson. “I’m mostly freelance,” he said, after Sandy Nelson asked where he was employed.
Scott, who was eyeing Gavin with more than a little curiosity, nudged Julie with his elbow. “Another freelancer. We should form a club.”
Julie took a sip of her white wine as she studied Gavin. “I’m glad you’ve been able to carve out a career for yourself in research. I imagine it’s difficult.”
Gavin nodded. “It is. But I’m not an author, which I think is perhaps a more precarious occupation. I collect data and other such boring information.”
Ellen cleared her throat. “Anyway, I hope you all don’t mind that I brought Gavin along tonight. I just hated to leave him alone, rattling around my big old house.”
“No doubt,” I said under my breath, a comment that earned me a warning glance from Ellen.
“And you must be Ophelia,” Gavin said, as he clasped the taller Sandburg sister’s hand. He kept hold of her fingers while he fixed her with a strangely intense stare.
“Why yes, I am.” Ophelia cast a glance at Ellen. “Has your cousin been talking about me and my sister? I wouldn’t have thought we’d be of much interest.” She fluttered her eyelashes as she refocused on Gavin.
“I just gave him a quick rundown on the folks who’d be in attendance tonight,” Ellen said, the sharp edge in her tone making Bernadette narrow her eyes as she looked from Gavin to Ellen and back again.
“How about we all take a seat and get this discussion underway? I’m sure Amanda and the others will show up momentarily,” I said, crossing to one of the hard-backed chairs I’d pulled in from the dining room. “And don’t forget—there are plenty of snacks and drinks. Just help yourself whenever you want anything.”
“Please sit next to me, Gavin,” Ophelia said, as she settled into one of the library’s leather-upholstered chairs. “We get so few guests at our book club meetings. It’s always nice to see a new face.”
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