by Libby Howard
I grinned, ready to grab my purse and drive straight to Milford. Holt’s ghost did the same. Well, except without the purse. I eyed the shadow, thinking that today was turning out to be a lot more exciting than skip traces and repossession research.
“When am I supposed to meet the detective?” I asked Miles.
“I told him you’d just gotten in and to give you until around eleven.” Miles turned to J.T. “Is that okay? I’m sure Kay has work to do, but…”
My boss puffed his chest out. “Consulting on a major case like this? Of course it’s okay. We’re happy to be a resource to the Milford P.D.”
“Well, it’s not exactly as a consultant. She was there on the scene. He needs to interview her. It’s not like Kay is going to be working on the case with him.”
J.T. grinned. “Of course she will. I have every confidence that five minutes after meeting Kay, she’ll be consulting on the case. Free of charge, of course. We want to show the Milford P.D. how valuable a resource our firm is so they continue to use us in future cases. I’ll contact their accounts payable department and start the paperwork for billing and contracts, just like I’ve done with the Locust Point P.D. and the county sheriff’s office.”
Miles put his hands up, a half-eaten scone still in one of them. “I’m not guaranteeing anything, J.T., especially with the Milford guys. It’s up to Keeler if he wants to take you up on the offer or not.”
I looked from the officer to the container of scones by the coffee maker and smiled, knowing I had the perfect bribe for Detective Desmond Keeler. Perfect.
Chapter 18
“So…” The detective eyed the container of scones. “Miles told me I should interview you sooner rather than later. He said you’re some kinda Miss Marple, or something?”
I smiled over at the man, trying to ignore the shadow lurking behind him. Holt had followed me from my office to the Milford police station. I’d made him ride in the back.
“If I were Miss Marple, we’d have a confessed killer in custody and you and I would be sitting here drinking tea, eating those little sandwiches with the crusts cut off and discussing the weather.” He eyed the scones again and I pushed them forward a few inches. “Instead, let’s talk crime scene and suspects and have coffee and scones.”
“You make those?” His desire for the pastries was palpable.
“Yes, I did.”
“And you work for Pierson, right?”
“Yes.” Technically I was still a skip tracer until the paperwork came in to make me a licensed investigator, but J.T. had given this visit his enthusiastic blessing. The more we coordinated with local and neighboring police, the easier our job would be. And from what he’d said in the office this morning, he had some idea of consulting work with the local officers. Which sounded good to me. I’d love it if my job included this sort of thing. Well, maybe not with murder, though.
“Pierson gave us some tips a few years back on that string of break-ins. Heard he solved the case with your mayor, too. And the one with the football player.”
It was me that had done the latter two, but I was happy to let the agency take the credit. “I’m sure Miles told you how helpful we were coordinating with police on the Holt Dupree murder.”
He nodded, eyes still fixed on the scones. “That’s why you’re sitting here instead of me just using the statement you gave at the scene.”
Right. I took the lid off the container and extended the box of scones toward him. “Cherry vanilla and maple spice.”
The man took one and bit into it. I swear his eyes nearly rolled backward in his head. “So,” he said, his mouth full of scone. “Tell me exactly what happened leading up to your finding the body.”
I went over my search for Luanne, leaving out the ghost, and ending with my discovery of the author at the foot of the steps.
“So then I called 911 and waited there for the police to show up.”
“Hmmm.” He reached in the box for another scone and set the paper down. “So, you were following her around since you picked her up at the airport Friday morning, right?”
“Not really. I picked her up at the airport, dropped her at the B&B, then didn’t see her again until the next morning for the brunch. Then I went home to get some things ready and came back about an hour before we were due at the theater. I was with her pretty much from that point until I found her—well, except for when she pulled her disappearing act at the meet-and-greet and I had to go look for her.”
He nodded. “So, let’s hear it. Who do you think would have wanted Luanne Trainor dead?”
I snorted. “It’s more like who wouldn’t have wanted her dead. We’ve got the obvious suspects—those fans upset about the death of Barton Wells, for starters. Eva said they’d been sending nasty letters to Luanne and even a cow’s heart. It came up at the brunch, and one of the attendees came back later and fought with Luanne, according to Gene and Paula. Her name is Amy Shep.”
The detective blinked a few times. “Gene and Paula, the B&B owners, right? They witnessed this…argument? Brawl? And Eva is the agent woman? But who is Barton Wells and what is this about him dying and some cow’s heart?”
“Barton Wells was a character in the books.” I waved my hand in the air. “It doesn’t matter except that quite a lot of Luanne’s fans evidently went bonkers when she killed him off and she got threats. And a cow’s heart. Twice. Once last year in the mail and then the one this Amy Shep brought.”
He nodded, a bemused expression on his face. “Go on.”
I ticked the additional suspects off on my fingers. “There’s also Star Swift and her plagiarism lawsuit. She showed up to the theater and was shouting accusations. Oh, and crazy knife-wielding fan and her boyfriend.”
Detective Keeler got to his feet, taking a scone with him, and wrote on a white board with Holt’s ghost floating off to the side. “So Amy Shep’s motive would be anger over the book plot, kind of like that character in the Misery movie.”
“Yes, although Eva told me that although Luanne received a lot of hate mail and the cow’s heart before, none of that had ever progressed into an actual attack on her person. But that woman from the brunch… I got the guest list from Nancy just in case someone else was equally upset but waited until later at night to show their displeasure. But the one who returned and got into a fight with Luanne was this Amy Shep.”
“She came back later, you said?” The detective turned toward me. “Nothing happened during the brunch itself?”
“No. Everyone was happily chatting about the books, speculating on whether Luanne was going to resurrect him or something. I mean, it is a series about vampires and ghouls, so that’s not necessarily out of the question,” I added at Keeler’s skeptical look. “Luanne shouted that he was dead and was going to stay dead, and things were just kind of subdued and awkward after that. I really don’t know why that one woman came back afterward.”
The detective made some notes on the board. “I’ll check her out. Any of the other guests seem particularly upset? Were there crowds outside the theater holding signs demanding that this character be brought back from the dead? Petitions?”
I got the feeling he was making fun of all this, murder aside. “Well, no, although there probably were when the book was released. It’s been a year since Barton Wells was killed off in book six.”
“Kind of late in the game to take action, don’t you think?” Keeler took another bite of the scone and eyed the board.
“Maybe not.” I pulled the list of attendees out of my purse. “Like I said, the topic came up at the brunch, and Luanne flipped her lid. She started screaming that Barton was dead forever and he wasn’t going to come back. If a fan was holding on, thinking that Luanne was going to resurrect the character, this might have been the snapping point.”
The detective took the list and stuck it on the white board with a magnet. “Suspect two?”
“Knife-wielding woman was in custody during the time of the murder, but she did say ther
e was a Roman protecting the building from ghouls. Maybe Roman got angry that his girlfriend got arrested and decided Luanne was the enemy?” I squirmed a little in my chair. “And I saw him. At least I think it was him. After I called the police and was waiting by the body, this guy wearing a cape came around the cars.”
The scone froze halfway to his mouth. “You saw a guy in a cape, and didn’t mention it?”
“Why would I mention it?” I asked defensively. “Everyone thought Luanne tripped on those stupid shoes she was wearing and died by accident. Knife-girl was in custody. Even if this was her boyfriend, he seemed absolutely shocked when he saw what I was standing next to. There’s no way he’s that good of an actor.”
The detective scowled. “Even so, I’m questioning him. I’ll get his name—his real name— from the girlfriend and bring him in.”
“Are there security cameras in the garage?” I asked, suddenly remembering that a city parking deck should have some sort of cameras installed.
He nodded. “Yeah, but from past experience, the surveillance footage from that parking garage is crap. They’re mostly focused on the payment machines and where the cars exit. The one near the stairwell might have caught something, if it’s not blurry as all heck.” He turned back to the white board. “Suspect three?”
“Suspect three would be Star Swift,” I told him. “Her plagiarism lawsuit was dismissed, and she was angry enough to come all the way to Milford and publicly confront Luanne in front of everybody in the theater. It was so disruptive that Nancy was thinking of hiring some -off-duty cop as a bouncer for the next speaker.”
Keeler put a dot beside the woman’s name. “I’m thinking this case is going to be less about eliminating the suspect pool and more about following the evidence and leads to the killer.”
Because there were too many suspects. Even though we had only three on the board, there could be more fans who were furious enough about Barton Wells to kill, or ones who Luanne had been rude to, or ones who felt she’d stolen their ideas. The announcement of a film deal could have been a trigger to anyone harboring a grudge.
Which reminded me.
“There’s something going on with the producer guy, Sebastian Codswim. He was angry and very unhappy at the theater—not at all what I’d expect from a guy whose studio had just bought the rights to what is going to be a blockbuster. Eva said it was a legal/contract matter. What if the publisher decided at the last minute to go with a different studio? Or stiffed the company on the rights or something?” I remembered Gerry and her contract. “What if the deal fell through because of something Luanne did or didn’t do, and the guy was going to lose his job over it?”
Keeler wrote down the assistant producer’s name and a few notes. “Anyone else? This Eva woman might have had enough of Luanne’s abuse. Or maybe the innkeeper lady had taken one insult about her cooking too many.”
“Maybe.” I couldn’t see Paula or Gene sneaking up behind Luanne in a parking garage and doing her in. Or Eva. She’d be killing the cash cow. Although, if she’d found out about Gerry, then maybe the knowledge that there was another cash cow might have loosened her inhibitions.
“I don’t get why Luanne was in the parking garage at all,” I told the detective. “She didn’t smoke that I knew of. Why would she have left the theater, gone through that little alleyway and into the parking garage, and walked all the way down to the back exit—all while wearing those absurdly high heels?”
Keeler shrugged. “Maybe she was taking a shortcut to the Mexican place? Or had a phone call she didn’t want anyone from the theater to hear? Or maybe she was meeting someone there.”
They were all good theories—well, all except for the Mexican place one. Was she placing a desperate call to Gerry about the new contract and hadn’t wanted anyone to know? Had someone lured her into the garage by telling her Gerry was there with the contract, only to whack her on the back of the head with…something?
The detective capped the marker and surveyed the board. “I’m still not sure on the murder weapon, though. It was something heavy enough to act as a bludgeon. It broke the skin but didn’t leave a huge wound. The M.E. found a tiny sliver of glass in her scalp, so it wasn’t a tire iron or a rock.”
Glass? “Like someone hit her with a bottle? A beer bottle?”
“Clear glass.” Detective Keeler sat back down at his chair and after a moment’s hesitation, took another scone. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Carrera. We’ll be in touch if we need anything further.”
Chapter 19
I’d just been dismissed from the police station—and the case—and I wasn’t too happy about it. I’d tried J.T.’s line about us being consultants, then I’d bandied Miles’ name around, but Detective Keeler hadn’t changed his mind. He’d gotten what he wanted from me, including half a dozen of my scones, then waved me out the door.
Jerk. I was tempted to not share any further information with him out of spite, but we both wanted the same thing—to find Luanne’s killer and bring him to justice. And only one of us was authorized to make an arrest. Even Holt had deserted me. It should have made me happy that the ghost had stayed behind to haunt the detective, probably rolling pencils and paperclip holders off his desk, but it didn’t. His abandonment of me made me feel as if he doubted my abilities to solve this case.
J.T. wasn’t expecting me back at the office for a while, so I decided that while I was in Milford, I’d swing by Paula and Gene’s and see whether Eva was there or not. She’d not returned my messages, and I was eager to get her the contract copies so she could organize things at the publishing end following Luanne’s death. If she wasn’t there, maybe I could e-mail them to Gene and have him print them out for me at the inn. That was probably a breach of confidentiality, but oh well.
Imagine my surprise when I walked through the door of the inn and saw Eva there in the living room, papers spread out across the coffee table. There was a manila envelope that looked a lot like the one the manuscript had been in beside her. She looked up at me in surprise, quickly flipping the stacks of papers over.
“Kay! Hi! I’m sorry I haven’t called you back. I’m a bit busy with…stuff.”
“Well, you’re about to be busier. What’s your cell phone number?” I plopped down across from her and pulled out my phone, studiously avoiding any glance toward the stacks of papers.
She eyed me suspiciously. “Why? If you’ve written a book you want to query to me, I have to let you know that it’s a really bad time right now. Maybe in a few months—”
“I saw Gerry Pook yesterday.” That shut her up. “Luanne had asked me to do a quick detour to see her before her flight, so she was expecting to see her. I’ve got pics of the contracts—the original one she signed with Luanne and the one she’d gotten a few weeks ago. She hasn’t had the new one notarized but was planning on doing it today and mailing them up to you.”
Eva let out a whoosh of air and slumped back on the sofa. “Thank goodness! I was pretty sure that was going to be the most awkward conversation ever. She’s willing to continue writing the series? And will sign away the film rights? I’ve been working all morning on getting the publishing company to chip in for a signing bonus to sweeten the deal. We can’t lose this film contract. There’s too much riding on it.”
I wasn’t about to tell her Gerry wasn’t expecting any further compensation. “I’m sure she’d welcome a bonus, especially since she’s been working for a pittance as you’ll see when you look at the contract.”
That got her moving. I texted her the pictures, verified that she’d received them, then deleted them from my cell phone.
Eva opened up the message, scrolled through the picture, and grimaced. “Yikes. I’ll have the publisher draft a new contract with some better terms, although we’ll still probably have to pay something to Luanne’s estate to license the series titles and to continue using her name on the books. I’ve got no idea how shark-like her brother is, but we won’t want to chance a further lawsuit b
y screwing him over.”
“Is he here yet?” I asked. “Did he fly in this morning to make arrangements?”
She shook her head. “He can’t get out until Wednesday, so he asked a local funeral home to take care of…things.”
Obviously, she hadn’t gotten word yet that Luanne’s death wasn’t an accident and that the M.E. would probably be keeping the body for a bit longer. No doubt she’d find out soon enough when Detective Keeler showed up to ask her further questions. Until then, I figured I might as well ask some questions of my own.
“Gene told me about that woman coming back. The one with the cow’s heart in a box? Amy Shep?”
Eva made an exasperated noise. “Luanne was darned lucky that wasn’t the woman with the knife. By the time I got downstairs the pair of them were rolling around the floor, screaming at each other, and yanking hair. I owe the innkeeper for some vase and a little cat statue they smashed.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t call the police on her,” I commented.
“If I called the police every time Luanne pissed someone off, half of her fans would be in jail. I did what I always do—I smoothed things over. Promised the woman an advance copy, then sent Luanne upstairs where she couldn’t insult or attack anyone else.”
“I didn’t see her at the event. Amy Shep, I mean. Was she there? I figured she would have had a ticket.”
Eva shrugged. “Maybe. There were three hundred people there, and I didn’t notice her. If she came, she didn’t make another scene, and I don’t remember seeing her at the meet-and-greet.”
“I didn’t see that Star woman there either.”
The agent’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Now I was ready to call the police on her. She knows better than to stick around, though. She said her piece, then probably got on the next plane back to Boston.”
