by Lotta Smith
“In that case, the most likely profile of the killer would be a stalker,” Jess commented. “Perhaps a crazy, obsessive fan?”
“Maybe a crazy, obsessive fan of Shane?” Beverly said.
“That should be the killer.” All the assistants agreed on that theory.
Rick crossed his arms. “How long would it take to check all the millions of complaints?”
“Millions of complaints over killing Shane?” Kylie asked. “I don’t think so. The last I heard from Frankie, it was seventy thousand, but perhaps the number has grown.”
“Wow, how reassuring,” Rick muttered, massaging his temples.
CHAPTER 8
Approximately thirty minutes later, Frank Wingate arrived at the Wellington residence.
He was a slim guy in his mid-thirties with bags under his eyes and a slightly receding hairline. He was in a heavily wrinkled suit, and his tie was askew. I imagined his attire represented his and the editorial house’s shock, distress, and panic.
“Hello, Holly. I don’t know how to say this, but I’m deeply saddened by the loss of a great talent. And I’m sorry for your loss,” he mumbled his condolences as soon as he was led into the salon where Rick and I were staying. He handed her a paper bag with the Plaza Hotel logo. “I brought you some cakes. I wasn’t sure how many people were coming, so perhaps I’ve purchased too many.”
“Thank you so much, Frank.” Holly offered a weak smile. “Nothing is as powerful as comfort food at such tragic times. Let me fix some tea for you.”
When he was seated on one of the sofas, she scurried toward the kitchen with the bag in her hands.
Rick and I introduced ourselves to him. “Can we ask you some questions before Brian joins us?”
“Sure. Of course,” Frank said, but his face was sullen. “Am I the prime suspect?”
“You don’t need to worry too much unless you killed her,” Rick said casually. “Look, it’s just a routine process to talk to everyone who was close to the victim. And you have a rather solid alibi, don’t you?”
“I think so.” Frank nodded.
As Beverly had told us, he’d been working on the phototypesetting until ten o’clock, and then brought the manuscript to the printing company. It was way past the business hours, but thanks to The Wonderland magazine being one of their huge clients, they were willing to work for him—even in the graveyard hours, as long as he’d call ahead. And, as soon as he handed the manuscript to the person manning the shift, he collapsed on the floor, and the guy who witnessed his fall had called the ambulance, thinking that his client had a heart attack. But the paramedics found him asleep, and as a result, he was left sleeping in one of the conference rooms that wasn’t in use that night.
Had I been a medical professional, I would have envied his talent to sleep wherever he was.
“Some say that Eve troubled you with her slow pace of working, is that correct?” Rick asked.
“Yes, I had some difficulties with her pace, but it was just that,” Frank said nervously.
“No thanks to her work pace, you had to stop the printing company in the middle of their tasks. Did it really happen?”
“Oh yes. That happened twice.” Frank let out a chuckle that sounded more like a cackle.
“That’s something serious, isn’t it?” Rick asked.
“Of course, that’s serious. Can you imagine the complaints and warnings I had to deal with?” Frank scratched his head.
“Okay then. How about this rumor about you spending nights on the publishing house’s floor?”
“That’s true.” Frank started to giggle, as if he couldn’t stop. “In case you’re gonna ask me if I’ve broken into hives from the stress, or if I broke up with my girlfriend, or if I’m going bald—the answer is yes to all of those questions.”
“Fine.” Rick nodded, looking somewhat satisfied to hear something that matched with Eve’s story.
Frank’s pale face turned paler. “Look, I didn’t kill her!” He leaned forward, prompting Rick to pull away.
“You have a solid alibi, right?” I interjected.
“Yes, I do, but that’s not all. The Wizard Smirks Under the Twilight was almost made into a TV series, and we were negotiating the details about this deal. It wasn’t just Eve who was absolutely looking forward to seeing the characters possibly played by the Hollywood A-listers. I was looking forward to seeing them on the TV screen. Except there’s this setback. The producers have become hesitant to go on with this project. Due to the creator’s death, this series has been forcibly terminated without having a real ending, and even the top-notch screenwriters aren’t sure if they would be able to finish the story without making it a total bomb.”
According to him, he had been the editor in charge of Eve Wellington for three years, and during his work with her, they had many possible projects with TV and movie executives. Still, no project had been realized so far. He had a huge expectation for this project, and when things were finally flowing smoothly, Eve was killed.
“That’s… terrible, you know,” I muttered.
“No, terrible is an understatement.” He shook his head. “I’d rather call it a clusterfuck. I’ve been involved with this project since the plotting stage. I could almost picture a total blockbuster TV series that would be aired not only in the US but throughout the whole world. In order to expand the audience, we’ve avoided graphic, shocking scenes that usually excite the readers. Instead, we’ve focused more on the action.”
“That’s interesting,” Rick said. “So, whose idea was it to bring in Brian Powers to work with that project?”
“It was all mine,” Frank declared. “Considering his busy schedule, I wasn’t sure if he’d agree to work with us, but he happened to be a huge fan of Eve.”
“Oh really?” A corner of Rick’s lips quirked up into a lopsided grin. Apparently, he was plotting how to make fun of his longtime buddy once he’d arrived.
Frank sighed deeply. “Hell, this year’s presidential award was going to be mine. Really, I was looking forward to having the honor and the bonus that comes with that award, and I’m not stupid enough to believe that I’d still win if I’d killed her.” Then he added hastily, “Of course, I didn’t kill her.”
“I’m listening.” Rick rolled his eyes as the editor’s motormouth talked nonstop.
“By the way, did I mention that Eve used to be one of the creators who was easiest to deal with?” Frank said abruptly.
“The easiest to deal with?” I parroted. That completely contradicted Eve’s statement.
“Yes.” He nodded. “The only issue with Eve was her slow pace with the manuscript, but that was manageable. Believe me, I’ve worked with far worse creators bordering on pure evil.”
According to him, there was a smorgasbord of graphic novelists in this world. Some of them never appeared at the meetings and refused to communicate. Some had bad habits of picking fights online whenever possible, and some demanded him to bring pricey sweets for the meetings. Also, The Wonderland’s exclusivity with female creators had produced issues unfamiliar to the boys’ club kind of magazines. Sometimes, the rivalry between the creators was so fierce that they started cat fights at parties, and on other occasions, they took things to a whole new level by competing against each other as to which of them would win a certain male editor’s heart. And of course, the editor being treated as some kind of a trophy would rather decline both women—except neither woman cared about his opinion nor feelings, much less that said editor would have done anything to get the hell out of the relationship with these women.
“Okay then. So Eve was relatively easy to work with,” Rick said.
“Yes she was. The biggest reason was that she had the meticulous Holly as her manager, and I didn’t have to worry much about anything else. Yeah, I’ve never hated Eve.” Frank nodded, but then he furrowed his eyebrows like he’d just regurgitated something totally foul.
“But?” Rick interjected encouragingly, apparently attempting
to learn whatever caused the editor to grimace.
“If I were confident that I’d get away with killing someone, I’d kill Abby Cowell before Eve!” Frank spat, punching the coffee table. “That bitch was not only very close to missing the deadline, but she actually missed deadlines! As in plural! On bad days, she’s escaped by totally ditching me, going MIA by switching off her phone and ignoring e-mails and everything! Approximately 80 percent of my hives and other problems have been caused by that evil bitch!”
“Oh,” I muttered. “Why do you still keep working with her, then? Is she popular like Eve and Kathryn Anderson?”
“No way.” He snorted. “Not even half as much. Okay, so I’ve seen some strange people who claimed to like her work, but the only reason for the publisher to force us into working with her is because she’s sleeping with one of the executives at the company!”
“Oh… that’s tricky, but such bitches do exist in society,” Jackie commented, prompting me to gasp.
Rick glanced at me. “Is Jackie here?” he mouthed to me. I nodded lightly.
“You must be wondering why I’m crashing in on you, but Eve wants me to visit here and listen to what everybody is saying about her,” Jackie explained before I asked her. “She says she used to google her own name when she was alive, and she can’t stand being left out of all the potentially juicy gossip about herself. So here I am, spying on this meeting. Oh, no worries. I won’t tell her anything that could make her mad.”
Rick cleared his throat. “So, being an editor for graphic novelists is… well, tough?”
“Still, it’s something I love doing.” Frank smiled, and it looked genuine.
One of Rick’s eyebrows twitched, as if he were resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Okay, one more question. Will Brian Powers benefit from Eve’s death? Such as from a financial perspective?”
“Oh, Brian?” Frank crossed his arms. “Okay, so he’ll earn some cash out of the tribute projects, but like I said, he could have earned a lot more from working on the TV series with us. From a financial standpoint, he’s better off keeping her alive so the TV project would be able to go on.”
“Okay. Thank you.” When Rick nodded, his phone beeped. He excused himself and went outside.
Two minutes later, he came back, shaking his head.
“What was the call about?” I asked.
“It was one of the officers who went to Kathryn Anderson’s. She said the star creator was infuriated and she’s heading here.” He shrugged. “How convenient.”
“Excuse me?” Frank exclaimed and shivered. “Are you sure she’s really heading here?” With his teeth clattering, he reached for his phone. “Oh my God! I’ve gotta call the editor in chief. Or maybe I’d be better off getting the hell outta here.”
While he was fumbling with his belongings, Jackie perked up. “Wow, is Kathryn joining us here?” As I glanced at her, she went on. “Oh my God! I really, really love her Secret Billionaire Vampire series! Hey, Mandy, can you please ask her for an autograph?”
Putting my phone to my ear and faking a phone conversation, I whispered, “I can try, but I can’t guarantee.”
“Fabulous! Hey, don’t forget to ask Kathryn to address the autograph to me, okay?”
“Okay.” I rolled my eyes.
And then a loud screech was heard from outside.
“Oh my God! She’s here!” Frank held his head, and the buzzer beeped.
“Do we have new guests?” Holly asked, coming back from the kitchen.
“I’m afraid so.” Frank furrowed his eyebrows nervously. “It’s Kathryn Anderson. I can tell from the sound of the car. The engine is specially tailored to make the loudest noises.”
“I’ll get the door.” Holly went toward the entrance, and Frank, Rick, and I followed her.
The moment Holly opened the door, Rick whistled. In front of the house sat a truly flashy Lamborghini. The car was totally customized with a shocking pink exterior with golden hues and was vibrating to loud hip-hop music coming from what sounded like a state-of-the-art audio system.
One of the car doors popped up and a petite woman, probably in her late fifties to early sixties, literally jumped out. She was as flashy as her car—or perhaps flashier—dressed in a little black dress that took the word “little” to a new level. The skimpy skirt barely covered her thigh, and her gold bra was slightly peeking out of the revealing neckline.
“Hi, Kathryn.” As Holly waved at her, the flashy graphic novelist dismissed her with a wave of her hand.
“Who is the idiot who’s accusing me of murdering Eve?” she demanded, flapping her arms, her wavy, long, platinum-blonde hair swaying like the ocean tide. “Tell me who.” Hands on her hips, she glared at us one by one, prompting everyone to freeze like we were being stared down by Medusa.
“Well,” Rick started, as he was the first to recover, “actually, no one has accused you of murdering Ms. Wellington. It’s just that there was a little shake-up about the popularity ranking with the magazine, and that Eve had beaten you for the first time in years—the ranking in which you’ve dominated as the number one practically forever. And there’s this little rumor that you’re shocked about that.”
“It’s just a routine questioning, and there’s no hidden meaning,” Frank added hurriedly.
“Did you just say that I’m shocked about the ranking?” Kathryn snorted. Without being invited, she strutted in her sky-high Louboutin heels, opened the Wellington residence’s door, and went inside. “Everybody, come inside. It’s freezing outside.”
“Oh, of course, Kathryn!” Frank agreed and followed after her. If he was a dog, his tail would have been wagging.
Rick cradled his chin within his fingers thoughtfully and glanced at Holly, who whispered, “She has come here before, and she knows her way.”
Kathryn marched across the foyer and went into the salon. Without any signs of hesitation, she walked toward the sofa and sat down. “Who leaked such a stupid piece of garbage to the police?” she questioned in a harsh tone.
Legs crossed, the way she glared at us reminded me of a queen almighty.
“I didn’t!” Frank declared before her eyes settled on him.
“Very well.” Kathryn harrumphed. “I have an inkling where this stupid rumor came from. After all, it was Eve herself who spread this stupidity when she was still alive.”
“Wow, how does she know that?” Jackie said, sounding totally awestricken and impressed. “I knew she was a total genius, but I had no idea she had a sixth sense. Maybe she can even see me.” She went to Kathryn, waving at her. Then she attempted to strike up a conversation, but Kathryn didn’t acknowledge Jackie. I wasn’t Kathryn and she didn’t say that she didn’t see Jackie, but the famous creator’s eyes didn’t move as the ghost bounced back and forth in front of her face, so it was safe to presume she didn’t see Jackie.
“I’d really hate to disappoint y’all, but I have a solid alibi,” Kathryn said, suddenly developing a Southern accent. “This month has been great, and we totally rocked. Indeed, I was able to submit the completed manuscript far in advance of the deadline. And guess what? I flew to Paris to participate in the biggest comic con in Europe. And I stayed in France from the second to the ninth.” She reached for her gleaming red baby Louis Vuitton purse and took out her passport.
“Hmm… I see.” Rick nodded. “You were there when Eve was killed.”
“And I have other evidence to support my story.” Kathryn took out her iPhone from her purse and showed us the photos of her and the assistants taking selfies in a Rococo-style French castle and at a European-looking winery, as well as the receipts of her shopping charged in Euros. “If you suspect that everything ranging from the stamps on the passport, the photos, and receipts are a forgery, or I’ve used some tactics to come to the crime scene and flew back to another continent, you can go on your wild-goose chase as much as you’d like.”
“I always wanted to visit Versailles Castle,” Jackie cooed. “Mandy, you
need to go there someday.”
Under normal circumstances, I’d have answered her, but I was in front of people who had no idea about my guardian angel. So, I took some distance from them, pretending that I was on the phone. When I was almost certain that I was out of earshot, I said, “I’m not sure. I heard that there are no chairs at the vast Versailles. It must be exhausting to navigate such a huge place without the modern-day comfort.”
“Come on, don’t be such a spoilsport.” She pouted. “Still, I get your point. Indeed, navigating through something so big without chairs would be tiresome. By the way, is Versailles bigger than Yankee Stadium? I’ve never been to Versailles and I think I would have some idea about its size by knowing which is the bigger.”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Okay then. Let’s go join Rick and Kathryn so we won’t miss the good parts.” Jackie flew over to the diva and Rick.
When we came back, Rick was studying the evidence, and Kathryn started cackling like an evil witch.
“All right. I understand you have a solid alibi,” Rick admitted. “One more thing. Is it true that Eve had beaten you in the popularity ranking at the magazine?”
“That’s right.” Kathryn squeezed her eyes tightly closed, and Frank opened his mouth and then closed it, repeating this process several times. If eyes could talk, his would have been screaming, “Will you stop that already?”
“Look, I wasn’t feeling well with a sudden bout of severe allergies, and my art wasn’t up to my standards.” Kathryn shook her head. “If I may say, it was more like I’d bombed on my own rather than being beaten by Eve. So if you’re thinking I’d be feeling grudge-y toward her, I’m not.” Her tone was casual but honest.
“Attagirl! That’s our Kathryn!” Jackie hooted.
“If anything, what I resent about the whole situation is that I didn’t have a chance to beat her back in the ranking. I was confident to grab back my number one spot this month, but now she’s deceased, and considering her untimely demise, it’s only natural to assume that the readers will sympathize with her and vote for her. That’s so unacceptable.” She shook her head, looking straight at Rick. “By the way, are you interested in taking a side gig with me?”
