Mercedes grabbed her phone and purse and headed into the living room where her mother sat watching television. “I’m going to the library to pick up a book by JL Cordele. Do you want to go with me?”
Carlita set the remote in her lap. “I have to hang around here in case Shelby needs help with the kids.”
“PJ, Noel and Gracie are next door?”
“Yes, Shelby offered to let them come play with Violet while Paulie and Gina spend time alone together.”
“Is everything okay? I heard loud voices coming from Tony’s place earlier and he told me Gina and Paulie were fighting like cats and dogs.”
“I think they’re finally starting to work through their disagreements, with a little motherly and mother-in-law butting in, as much as I didn’t wanna do it,” Carlita said. “Let’s just say they’re trying to hammer out a compromise and they better work it out or I’m gonna knock a couple heads together.”
Mercedes grinned. “I’m sure you will. Remind me to never fight with my husband in front of you - if I ever get married, that is.”
***
The library was only a few squares away, so Mercedes decided to walk. It was a beautiful day and the fresh air gave her time to mull over the clues. If she could only figure out a way to confirm JL Cordele and Jon Luis were the same person.
After JL Cordele started receiving death threats, he must have decided to start writing under the name Jon Luis. Still, writing about unsolved murder mysteries under the name Jon Luis would potentially make him a target, and Mercedes suspected that was why his public biography and personal information for author Jon Luis were vague.
JL or Jon Luis’ killer could’ve been any number of people. It would take Mercedes time to study his books and search for clues, and even if she did, there was still no guarantee she would be able to figure out who murdered Jon Luis.
She thought about the people in her author group, trying to remember who had first mentioned Jon Luis’ name. When she reached the library, Mercedes still couldn’t recall who had brought his name up.
She stopped in front of the magnificent historic building. Mercedes had passed by the library many times, but never stopped. She knew it was old and had seen a blurb online that the library, built in 1916, recently celebrated its one-hundredth birthday.
After restoring the library to its former glory and doubling the original size to an impressive 66,000 square feet, the city changed the name from the Bull Street Library to the Live Oak Public Library. Mercedes suspected it had something to do with the towering live oak trees surrounding it.
She ascended the sets of steps and walked between the massive white Georgia marble columns as she entered the library.
Mercedes paused to appreciate the beauty of the building as she gazed around. The murmur of soft voices echoed in the hall as she made her way to the information desk. “Yes, I’m here to track down a book.”
The woman behind the desk smiled. “Do you have a library card?”
“Not yet.”
“No problem. We can get you set up. Do you have a picture ID?”
Mercedes reached into her pocket, pulled out her wallet and handed the woman her driver’s license. After the woman entered her information in the computer, she handed Mercedes her ID and new library card. “What book can I help you find?”
Mercedes gave the woman the name of the book.
“Follow me.” The librarian led her to the non-fiction mystery section where she plucked a book from one of the shelves and handed it to Mercedes. “Is this it?”
“The Death Club. Perfect. Thank you,” Mercedes said.
The woman accompanied Mercedes back to the front desk. “This is a popular book today. This branch only carries two copies of The Death Club. The other copy was checked out this morning.”
She continued. “Now that you have a library card, you can reserve books online.” The woman scanned the book before she tucked a receipt inside the cover and slid the book across the desk. “The return date is on your receipt. You should check out our library before you go. We have over 500,000 items. You can download e-stuff, like e-books, audio and videos, plus we have a whole bank of computers available to residents.”
“I’m kind of on a tight schedule today,” Mercedes said. “I’ll be sure to come back when I have more time. I love libraries.” She thanked the woman for her help and exited the library.
When she returned home, her mother was gone and the apartment was quiet. Mercedes settled onto the sofa and began reading. The Death Club was a fascinating story with a preface about JL Cordele’s research. While she read, she jotted down several of the names he mentioned, so she could research them later.
After reading for a couple of hours, Mercedes realized that if she researched every single person in the book, and she’d only made it a quarter of the way through it, she’d be researching for weeks.
Frustrated, she tucked the receipt between the chapters where she’d left off and slammed the book shut. “Ugh. This is going to take me forever. There has to be a better way.”
Mercedes grabbed a pillow and covered her face. She was in the same position when her mother returned to the apartment a short time later.
“Hey,” Carlita lifted the corner of the pillow. “You feelin’ all right?”
“No. I’m depressed. I feel like I’m running around in circles. I have no idea who murdered Jon Luis.” Mercedes uncovered her face. “I’m almost certain JL Cordele and Jon Luis are the same person, but based on what I’ve read in this book, any number of people could’ve taken him out. All of the people he wrote about…they can’t all be dead.”
Carlita perched on the edge of the chair and stared at her daughter thoughtfully. “Remember how Tierney Grant told us Jon Luis contacted her about the Honeycutt / Madison Square murder? I don’t think it was a coincidence he wanted to meet with you. He even jotted your name and address on a notepad. I think he was lookin’ for info on George Delmario.”
“If we could figure out who was involved in the third case…” Mercedes sat up. “Wait a minute. I took a bunch of papers from Jon Luis’ storage unit. They were clipped together and in a plastic bag. I thought that maybe it was part of a manuscript. I forgot about them after Detective Wilson stopped us.”
“The bag is still in the car.” Mercedes sprang from the sofa and ran down to the pawnshop.
Tony was at the desk, working on the computer.
“I need your car keys.”
“What’s up?” Tony reached into the top drawer and pulled out a set of keys before tossing them to his sister.
“Remember that bag I took, er, I mean borrowed from Jon Luis’ storage unit? I left it in your car and completely forgot about it after the detective followed us. It’s still in your car. I’ll be right back.” Mercedes stepped into the hall.
“Don’t forget to lock it,” Tony called out after her.
Mercedes found the bag right where she’d left it, and after locking the car, she returned to the pawnshop and handed Tony his keys.
“You found it?”
“Yep.” Mercedes waved the papers in the air. “I can’t believe I forgot all about it.”
“Well, bein’ followed by the fuzz probably rattled you, not to mention being chased out of the storage place by the manager.”
“Right?” Mercedes thanked her brother again and then returned to the apartment. “I got it.”
“Great,” Carlita said. “What is it?”
“Jon Luis aka JL Cordele’s manuscript.” Mercedes sat on the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her as she pulled the papers from the bag and unclipped them. “I found three JL Cordele books inside a plastic bin, along with this, written by Jon Luis. They’re the same person.”
“Well?” Carlita asked.
“This is definitely a manuscript.” She quickly flipped through the pages. “Unsolved Murders in Savannah: Mafia Ties, White Lies and Rush Into Murder. The Cold Case Files by Jon Luis.”
Mercedes tapped the
top with the tips of her fingers. “Why was it in the bin? If Jon Luis was working on it, why would he hide it in a storage unit?” She remembered how they’d spotted the storage unit keys, along with other keys, next to Jon Luis’ body.
“Didn’t you say that the young detective, Mr. Jackson, told you Jon Luis reported his apartment had been ransacked shortly before his death?” Carlita asked. “Maybe he was hiding the manuscript in the storage unit.”
“You’re right, Ma. That makes perfect sense. Someone is desperate to get their hands on this,” Mercedes said. “And I’m itching to read it!”
“I’ll make some coffee.” Carlita wandered into the kitchen. After the coffee brewed, she poured a cup for Mercedes and set it on the end table, next to the sofa.
Rambo began to whine, so he and Carlita headed out for a long walk down by the river.
Mercedes’ nose was still buried in the manuscript when they returned, so Carlita headed across the hall to check on her grandchildren and then down to the pawnshop to see if Tony and their part-time employee needed any help.
When she returned to the apartment, she found Mercedes pacing the floor. The manuscript was lying on top of the coffee table.
“It’s just as I suspected. Jon Luis, aka JL Cordele, started this book after returning to Savannah. He was working on solving the Honeycutt murder, as well as Delmario’s murder. Somehow, he linked us to Delmario and possibly to the family.”
Carlita began to feel lightheaded and reached for the back of the chair to steady herself. “Will this never end? I wonder if Jon Luis shared his suspicions with anyone else.”
“I don’t know. Unsolved Murders in Savannah: Mafia Ties, Rush Into Murder and White Lies. The Cold Case Files., is about three separate, high profile unsolved murder cases. Mafia ties is about George Delmario. White Lies is about the Madison Square / Herbert Honeycutt’s murder. According to Luis’ notes, he didn’t have all of the puzzle pieces in place. His theory was Mrs. Honeycutt lied to protect her husband’s killer.”
“And the third one?” Carlita asked.
“Rush Into Murder is about Warren Paulson. Warren and his family lived here in Savannah and Warren’s family was involved in local politics. According to the few notes Jon Luis jotted down, Warren was a bit of a wild card. He’d drifted from job to job until he landed a position as a defense contractor. Luis’ theory was that the family pulled some strings to get him the position. Not long after getting the job, rumors began circulating that Warren was selling satellite secrets to Russian spies.”
“Wow. It sounds like the makings of a movie,” Carlita said.
“Or the beginning of a great story,” Mercedes said. “It gets even better. According to Jon Luis, the feds were turning up the heat on Warren and word began to circulate that Warren was getting ready to rat out his Russian contacts. Right afterwards, Warren went missing. The investigators discovered his fishing boat was missing from the marina so the Coast Guard was sent out to search for him. They eventually found Warren Paulson’s boat, but there was no sign of Paulson.”
“The Russians took him out,” Carlita whispered. “No wonder Jon Luis is dead. He was digging into an espionage case.”
“Which was either really brave or really dumb.” Mercedes continued. “Jon Luis believed the Russians paid Warren tens of thousands of dollars.”
Carlita sipped her coffee. “Let me guess. The Coast Guard never found Warren’s body.”
“Nope.” Mercedes shivered. “He’s probably at the bottom of the ocean or ended up being fish food.”
“You still think there’s a link to your author group?” Carlita asked. “Do any of them speak Russian or have Russian ties?”
“I have no idea. Let’s just say the killer or killers, either Herbert Honeycutt’s killer or the Russian spies, found out Luis’ was workin’ on a new book, so they set into motion a plan to take out Luis and frame one of the potential suspects…me.”
“Could be ‘the family’ from up north, too,” Carlita pointed out.
“True, but here’s the reason I’m leaning towards someone that’s an author or in my author group.” Mercedes turned to the last page of the manuscript. “Check out Luis’ handwritten notes. He wrote in here he suspected someone knew about the manuscript, although he hadn’t told anyone, other than mentioning it to his agent and the book publisher.”
“So maybe you can link the killer via the publisher.” Carlita sank into the chair. “That’s gonna be tricky.”
“Tricky, but not impossible and I’m hoping Autumn can help.” Mercedes tugged on a stray strand of hair. “The group already knows that Autumn works for the newspaper and is writing a book. I could ask her if she’ll go to this week’s meeting and tell them she’s looking for a publisher and see if she gets a bite.”
“It’s a stretch, Mercedes.”
“What other choice do we have?”
“None,” Carlita said. “None other than waiting for Detective Wilson to look into Luis’ manuscript, figure out George Delmario was murdered on our property and the man who was researching the book, the man you were meeting, was found dead.”
“Like I said, someone managed to pull off the perfect setup,” Mercedes said. “But it ain’t gonna stick to Mercedes Garlucci, not if I have a say in it.”
Chapter 17
“Let’s go over this one more time,” Mercedes said. “What’s the name of your space opera book?”
“Zebulon Galaxy: The Final Frontier. Why did I have to pick such a stupid genre?” Autumn groaned.
“That’s a matter of opinion. Space Opera is very popular. You can make a lot of money writing sci-fi books.”
“They’re not gonna believe I forgot to bring my manuscript again,” Autumn said. “What author joins an author’s group and never remembers to bring their manuscript?”
“I’ve got you covered. One sec.” Mercedes held up a finger and ran to her room, returning moments later carrying a manila file folder. “I put this together earlier today. Here’s your manuscript.”
“You wrote a space opera book?” Autumn flipped the folder open.
“I started a space opera draft. It’s only a few chapters, enough so that the others won’t be suspicious. It’s what you told me – it’s about two families who fled planet earth and arrive in Zebulon. Right now they’re on the run, trying to avoid being eaten by Nancrites, the carnivorous creatures, which live on Zebulon and drink human blood.”
“That’s great and gross. Nancrites,” Autumn repeated. “What if they want more details?”
“Ask them if they would like to read a copy. Tell them you’re too nervous to talk about it.” Mercedes guided her friend down the stairs and into the alley. “Your main goal is to tell them you’re considering sending your manuscript to a publisher and are looking for suggestions.”
“And who are you looking for?”
“Jon Luis’ publisher is, I mean was, The Batton Group.”
“Got it.” Autumn circled her thumb and forefinger and gave her an A-OK before easing her helmet on and fastening the strap. “I’ll be back before you know it.” She tucked the file folder and manuscript inside her backpack and slipped it on.
When Autumn reached The Book Nook, she hurried inside, waving to Tillie on her way to the meeting room where Tom Muldoon, Austin Crawford and Cricket Tidwell were waiting. Stephanie wasn’t there.
Cricket turned when she caught a glimpse of Autumn darting through the doorway. “You made it. We were wondering if you were going to show up.”
“I’m a little late.” Autumn eased into an empty seat. “I was halfway here and realized I forgot my manuscript.” She pulled the file folder from her backpack and set it on the table. “Is the other woman coming?”
“Yes. Stephanie is on her way. Ah, there she is,” Tom said.
“Sorry I’m late.” The woman hurried into the room. “My car battery died and I had to get a jump. I’ll probably need another one to get home.”
She dropped her papers o
n the desk. “Hi Autumn. Glad you could make it.”
The group began to discuss the progress they’d made on their manuscripts the previous week. Austin was almost done with his first read through on his next book. Tom told the group he’d finished publishing his new book two days earlier and planned to take some time off.
Cricket reported she’d started a spring cookbook she hoped to have finished by early February. “What about you Stephanie?”
She rolled her eyes. “Harlequin wants me to write another in my Charlotte Laine Regency Series.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Austin asked.
“Nothing, I suppose. The money is good. My problem is that I can’t stand the main character. I’m thinking of killing her off.”
“You can’t do that,” Cricket said. “It will be career suicide, especially if your readers are attached to her. What’s her problem?”
“She’s too nice, too sweet…syrupy sweet.”
“Maybe you could give her some sort of contagious illness,” Autumn suggested. “That way, you can cause her to be bedridden and then segue one of the other characters, one that you do like, into playing a larger part in the book.”
“Great idea,” Stephanie grinned. “That might work. How about you?”
“It’s a slow go,” Autumn said. “Maybe I picked the wrong genre.” She patted the file folder. “I brought my draft with me in case anyone wants to check it out. I was thinking that maybe it’s time for me to start researching publishers. Does anyone have a suggestion?”
Austin lifted a hand. “I’m indie all the way. Publishers take too much of your money.”
“I’m no help,” Stephanie said. “The Harlequins are traditionally published through their own company.”
“I had a publisher,” Tom said. “I’m going indie this time around. Austin is right. They want too much of your money, plus I would never recommend mine, so I’m of no help.”
Setup in Savannah: A Made in Savannah Cozy Mystery (Made in Savannah Cozy Mysteries Series Book 7) Page 11
