by Libby Howard
“You Kay Carrera?” A uniformed officer approached me while the other cops got busy roping off the immediate area of the parking garage. A woman with a camera began snapping photos.
“Yes, I’m Kay Carrera, the one who found her and called it in.” I shook the man’s outstretched hand. Poor guy to be out on a Saturday night like this. I guess the rookies got the crappy shifts. And I was pretty sure he was a rookie because he was young—young enough to fall into my ‘boy’ category. Under twenty-five, by my reckoning.
“I’m Officer Raoul Gonzales,” he told me. Officer Gonzales had the bold direct eye contact, the self-assured stance, the firm grip of every police officer I’d ever met—even the ones who stopped in our office to shoot the bull with J.T. and grab whatever pastries I’d brought in for the day. His dark hair was barely a shadow on his head, his face freshly shaven. There was a little scar at the corner of his eye, something old that had probably needed stitches but hadn’t received them. He was a good-looking man, the type you’d call in an emergency, the type you’d feel safe with in a dark alley at night, or a parking garage at night next to a dead body. If he’d encountered the vampire Roman in the pursuit of justice, my money would have been on Officer Gonzales.
Pulling a notepad from his pocket, the officer led me over to his car and graciously allowed me to sit in the passenger seat with the door open as I told him everything that had happened, including all my theories about the possibility that Luanne’s choice in footwear had led to her death.
“Probably just an unlucky fall,” he agreed as he scribbled on the notepad. “We’ll have to treat it as suspicious until the M.E. says otherwise, though.”
I dug a card out of my pocket and handed it to him. “If you need anything further, let me know.”
He glanced at it, then looked up at me in surprise. “You work for Pierson? Hey, you’re that skip tracer of his that figured out the football player murder, aren’t you? Miles Pickford told me you’re pretty smart. And that you make really good muffins.”
It was nice to know I had a fan at the Locust Point police force, and that Miles had been spreading the word of my skills and my baking prowess. “That’s me. Not that I’ll be of any help in an accidental death, but just in case it turns into something more, please pass my information along to the detective. I spent the last few days as the event liaison to Ms. Trainor, so I might be able to provide some insight.”
He nodded, pocketing my card. “Will do. You’re free to leave, Ms. Carrera. Just duck under the tape to the left there.”
To the left was where a group of onlookers had gathered, Holt’s ghost still present and lurking at the outskirts of the crowd. A quick glance backward told me that Luanne’s ghost was still hovering over by her shoes—which she’d probably continue to do until they eventually removed them from her body. The spirit didn’t seem angry, just agitated and stressed. Her shadowy form wasn’t as sharp as Holt’s ghost, giving me the feeling that she wouldn’t be staying around for long. Which would be a relief since Holt’s ghost showed no signs of leaving.
I headed for the police tape and the others. Nancy stood at the front, her hands fluttering wildly, her face twisted in distress. Eva beside her stared, numb, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Everyone else seemed equally horrified and curious about what had happened to our guest of honor. I slid under the tape and Nancy moved over to make a place for me between her and the agent.
“Did she have any next of kin we should contact?” I asked Eva. “Someone who would want to fly in and make arrangements?”
The woman shook her head as if clearing the fog from it. “I think there’s a brother in Chicago. Greg, or something? She only mentioned him in passing. I don’t know if they were close or anything.”
“Would someone at your agency know?” I pressed. “An editor at the publishing house? The police will probably check her phone, but I thought if we could call someone…it might be easier coming from someone who knew her rather than the police.”
Eva took out her phone and stared down at it. “No one’s going to be at the agency or publishing company until Monday morning. There might be something on her travel profile, though. I’ll call my assistant and have her look it up.”
The agent turned and squeezed her way past the onlookers, dialing her phone then putting it up to her ear.
“Poor woman.” Nancy’s voice was agitated and breathless.
“It’s shocking,” the woman next to her agreed. “What was she doing out in the garage?”
“Getting in her car and skipping out early on the reception, that’s what,” another woman chimed in. “I thought she’d be nicer. Or at least put some effort into acting like she wanted to be here. Not that I want to see anyone die, but she was kind of a jerk.”
“Oh, no! Had she finished the last few books in the series yet?” the first woman’s voice edged toward panic. “What if we never find out what happened to Trelanie and Roman?”
“They kill all the ghouls and ride off into the moonrise together, that’s what happens. And she didn’t have a rental car, so she wasn’t here skipping out early on the meet-and-greet unless she planned on hobbling all the way to the B&B in those shoes.”
I turned in relief to hear Daisy’s voice behind me.
“She was probably grabbing a smoke and fell,” I said to the crowd in general. “Those heels…it’s a wonder she could walk at all on those things.”
Everyone nodded and murmured in agreement. Except Daisy.
“She smoked? All that gluten-free, organic, probiotic stuff and she smoked?”
I shrugged. “Maybe? Everyone has a vice.”
“Maybe she was taking a shortcut to the Mexican place,” Daisy conjectured. “I don’t blame her for sneaking out for some tacos. Besides your icebox cake and the ham salad, the food at that meet-and-greet was appalling. Who eats that kind of stuff? Rice flour and bean paste and Brussel sprout sandwiches? The most tasteless stuff I’ve ever had.”
“Why subject us all to the gluten-free, organic, probiotic stuff and sneak out for tacos?” I countered. “That’s as much of a stretch as the idea of her smoking.”
The reason for that tasteless stuff had been Luanne’s strict diet. Had the woman been cheating on her self-imposed food regime, sneaking out for a taco as Daisy suggested?
“Taking a phone call?” I suggested. “One that she absolutely didn’t want anyone else to overhear?”
“Then she finished it and put the phone back in her pocket before she tripped,” Daisy pointed out. “Or her phone would have been smashed on the ground beside her.”
“That’s plausible.” More plausible than Luanne smoking or sneaking out for a taco, anyway. But who would she have been calling on a Saturday night? Her agent was right here, and business stuff would have had to wait until Monday anyway. Suddenly my imagination was running wild with the thoughts of Luanne calling a secret boyfriend.
The paramedics loaded the body into the ambulance, the ghost right along with the body, and the crowd began to disperse. I waited with Daisy and Nancy, watching as the police did their final pictures. With Luanne’s sprawled form removed, it did look as though she’d pitched forward onto the bottom step. I winced, thinking of how horrible that must have been. Hopefully it had been quick and painless.
“Do you need a lift back to your car?” Daisy asked me. “Or are you parked by the theater?”
I turned to look at Eva, who was still talking on her phone and pacing back and forth in front of the payment machine. I wouldn’t need to come in to take Luanne to the airport tomorrow, but I did owe the B&B owners an explanation as to why one of their guests would not be returning. Eva could tell them, but I was the coordinator for Luanne, and I felt it would be better coming from me. Besides, I really wanted a few moments alone with the agent.
“I’m parked out in front of the theater, but I need to go back to the inn first. Eva’s staying there. I’ll walk with her or call Gene and ask him to pick us up.” I looked do
wn at my sensible flats, then over at the modest heels the agent wore. “The walk will probably do us good, though.”
“You sure?” My friend eyed me with concern. “You seem pretty calm now but coming upon someone like this has got to be a shock.”
A shock I should be getting used to. How many dead bodies had I come across in the last five months? This was getting ridiculous.
“I’ll be fine, I promise. Yoga tomorrow? I don’t exactly have to get up early to go to the airport anymore.”
“Yoga,” Daisy agreed. “And this time I’ll bring breakfast. Real breakfast. Bacon and eggs, and more gluten than a bread factory.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Deal.”
Daisy left, and Nancy headed back to the theater once she was sure I would be fine on my own. I made my way over to Eva as the woman hung up her phone and stared down at it with slumped shoulders. A shadow formed to her right over by the payment machine, slowly creeping forward to hover over the agent like a foggy photo filter. It seemed Luanne’s ghost had abandoned her shoes in favor of the location of her death. The agent shivered, put her phone in her pocket, and rubbed her arms.
“Walk back to the B&B with me?” I asked her. “I figured you could use some company and I need to talk to Gene and Paula anyway.”
She nodded, giving me a wan smile. “Thanks. I’d feel kind of creepy walking on my own, especially after everything that just happened. Do you think we can get back into the theater, though? My purse is in there along with a few other things.”
Goodness, I hadn’t even thought of that. I’d left my purse locked in my car, figuring I’d need both hands free tonight and not wanting to worry about keeping track of it, but I would need to collect my icebox cake dishes and the cooler. Suddenly I remembered the dressing room and realized I should probably gather Luanne’s things as well. Should I give them to Eva? The police? Ask Gene to hold them for when this brother or whoever came in to make arrangements?
“Nancy is probably over there by now.” I led the way up into the sidewalk passageway between the two buildings, but someone had moved the brick and closed the fire door. We walked around to the front where, thankfully, the caterers were still moving tables and warming trays out and into a large cargo van. One of them recognized me and nodded me in where I found Nancy standing in what had been our reception hall.
“We’re here to get purses and stuff,” I told Nancy.
“I’ve got your cooler and dishes over here,” she told me. “Can I have a moment, Eva? I’ve got a few things here I need to ask you about in light of…in light of what happened.”
The agent glanced toward the stage area and hesitated.
“I’ll get your purse,” I told her. “It’s in the dressing room with Luanne’s stuff?”
Again, I sensed her reluctance. “Yes. I just…I need to get Luanne’s purse and briefcase as well. We shouldn’t leave it here.”
“I was thinking of that, too.” I patted her on the arm. “I’ll grab it all and meet you here.”
She smiled. “Thanks. Be careful with the briefcase. Luanne might have some confidential stuff in there. Contracts and things. Don’t want any of them left behind.”
Why would Luanne have been carting around confidential documents in hard copy in a briefcase that she carelessly left in an unlocked dressing room? I hoped they weren’t national secrets or anything, although when it came to fans of her books, I could completely imagine someone trying to sneak backstage and take a quick look to see if there was an early edition of the next novel they could sell on one of those torrent sites.
The dressing room looked just as forlorn as it had before. I eyed the flowers sadly, thinking I should grab them and take them down to the B&B or have Nancy take them home. No sense in having them just wilt here unappreciated, waiting for the Monday cleaning crew to toss them in the trash.
Reaching out to touch the velvety crimson petals, I saw a shadow form off to my side. I knew immediately that it wasn’t Luanne’s ghost but Holt’s.
“Why are you here? I’ve really had enough death and ghosts for the evening. Can you just leave me alone for a few days? Come back Monday when I’m in the office and I’ll let you read the latest Creditcorp skip trace file.”
The briefcase wobbled and fell over, papers spilling from it.
“Holt! You were going to stop this, right? No rolling potatoes off my counter or other poltergeisting.” I stooped to shove the papers back into the case, eyeing them because I’m nosy.
A letter from the production studio demanding a release of rights by noon today or they would revoke their offer. Eek, was this why that producer’s assistant was so upset? Was this what Eva was talking about in the bathroom when she said there were some legal snags? What the heck was the problem? Just sign the darned thing already.
Feeling a twinge of guilt for snooping among a dead woman’s belongings, I pushed the letter into the briefcase along with three other ones from the production company demanding that Luanne secure a full release of film rights to the Fanged Darkness series. Each letter had a thick release document attached. The very last page had a spot for signatures and notaries—Luanne’s signature and someone named Geraldine Pook.
Okay, so the twinge of guilt was more like a brief fleeting thought. Who was Geraldine Pook and why was Luanne ignoring the right’s release papers? Didn’t she want a film deal? I threw these papers back into the briefcase along with a notebook, a planner, and an old-fashioned address book. Seems Luanne didn’t like to rely completely on her phone scheduler or database. Not that I blamed her. I had a hard-copy address book at home as well, although I didn’t lug it around with me.
I reached for the last item—a tan envelope. It slid away from me. I crab walked a few steps toward it, only to have it slide away again.
“Holt! Knock it off!” Eva would be here any minute and I’d be mortified if she found me down on the floor with the contents of Luanne’s briefcase. She’d think I was snooping, which was totally what I was doing.
I reached again for the envelope and it flipped, papers sliding out of it and across the floor. Okay, now I couldn’t help but look, even though I’d planned on not rifling through the contents of the envelope.
It was a manuscript, marked up with comments in red pen. And it wasn’t just any manuscript, it was the final Fanged Darkness novel, the one that was supposed to come out next year. I tried not to read it as I gathered up the papers. Spoilers sucked, as I’d found out yesterday. This must be Luanne’s draft, back from the editor at the publishing house and ready for her revisions. Except the notes looked a lot like they were in Luanne’s writing. Weird that they weren’t doing all of this online in this day and age. And sad that she’d never gotten a chance to do the revisions. Hopefully they’d have someone else who could button up this novel and get it out to the reading public and finish the series off.
It wasn’t until I started to slide the manuscript back into the envelope that I realized the address on the front was to this Geraldine Pook, from Luanne Trainor.
I was running out of time. Grabbing my phone, I snapped a picture of the address, then looked through Luanne’s address book, taking another picture of Geraldine Pook’s contact info. Then I took a few quick pictures of some random pages of the manuscript before shoving it all back into the envelope and into the briefcase.
I was nosy. And curious. Even more curious because a few peculiar things were beginning to be made clear.
Chapter 12
Eva was silent as we walked back to the B&B, both hers and Luanne’s purses over her shoulder and the woman’s briefcase in one hand. When Gene let us in, her gaze drifted up the staircase.
“Guess I should go pack her things,” she said, her voice numb.
“Are you flying out tomorrow? Do you need a lift to the airport?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I need to stay until Monday or Tuesday to see what the publisher wants to do and wait for Luanne’s brother to make arrangements for her…
body. Press statements. And we’ll need to make an announcement about the final books in the series.”
“Had she written them yet?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t seen the manuscript in the briefcase.
“The series will finish out,” she assured me. “And there will be other books as well. I just need to talk to the publisher first and get things squared away.”
“And the film deal?” I eyed her closely, watching for her reaction.
She shrugged. “There were some legal issues that hadn’t been completely buttoned up. The producer is a bit gun shy, but nothing sells books like a dead author. They’ll see the money and come running.”
“Did she have a will? If the estate is tied up in probate, that might complicate your already hairy legal issues on film rights,” I told her.
She shot me a tight smile. “Luanne sold full rights to the publisher. She’s out of the loop. All her estate needs to do is collect a check.”
“Then what were the legal issues?” I pressed.
“Some silly things that I’m sure will be worked out in the next few weeks.” Eva set the briefcase down and extended a hand. “Thanks for your help this weekend, Kay. I’ll send you a special edition of book seven when it releases next week, if you’d like.”
Clearly a dismissal. “Thanks, I’d really love that. It was good meeting you.”
I watched her climb the stairs then turned to Gene and Paula who had been lurking just inside the dining area. I wasn’t the only nosy one in the county, it seemed.
“We heard about Ms. Trainor,” Paula whispered, coming into the room with her husband close behind her.
News traveled fast. Milford might be larger than Locust Point, but it still had all the hallmarks of a small town.
“Yes, it was quite a shock to find her there in the parking garage,” I told them.
Paula’s eyes widened. “You found her? Oh, Kay! Come in the kitchen with us and I’ll make you a nice hot cup of tea. You poor thing.”
