Bookman Dead Style

by Paige Shelton

  “What?” she said without looking over at me. She sent a stern grimace to the pedestrians, but they ignored her.

  “Matt Bane is under arrest?” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s in one of the cells at the police station?”

  “For now.”

  “Has he had any visitors?”

  “No visitors allowed right now. We’ll let an attorney in, but no one else.”

  I paused.

  “What?” Jodie said.

  “Any chance you could look the other way for a minute while we’re walking by the door that leads to the cells?” I said.

  “No. And it wouldn’t do you any good anyway. You have to be buzzed in.”

  “Would you buzz me in? Please?”

  “No! Why do you want to talk to him?”

  “I’m not sure, Jodie. Until this very second it hadn’t even occurred to me, but we’ll be in his general proximity. I met him shortly before the murder, and he seemed so . . . non-murderous, I guess. I’d just like to talk to him. I bet he could use a friend.”

  “All killers are lacking for friends. Unless you count those freaky prison pen-pal people.”

  “Come on. What harm could I do?”

  “Clare, it’s totally against policy.”

  “Will Creighton be there?”

  “He’s gone, but he said he’d be back later.”

  “He’s the big boss now, right? If he’s not there at the moment . . .”

  “Clare.”

  “We’re almost there. What harm could I do? Just think about it until we get inside.”

  We remained silent as Jodie pulled into the station lot and parked the car. I knew she was ruminating on my request even if she seemed disinterested. Once the flashing lights atop the car were switched off, the surrounding parking lot and streetlights became bland and boringly normal. Big snowflakes were still falling, but not heavily yet.

  I pulled my coat collar up around my mouth and followed closely behind her as we went through the front doors toward the hallway that led to her office. She came to a hard stop before we reached the left hall that would take us to the holding cells.

  “Why do you want to talk to Matt Bane, Clare? I know you’re not starstruck, and I know you despise the paparazzi. It’s not like you’re going to snap a picture and try to sell it.”

  “Of course not. No, Jodie, but having met him, I feel like there’s a connection. Nothing romantic, just something there. Believe it or not, I’m concerned about him.” I looked around. No one was listening. “Coincidentally, Nell Sterling also came into the shop today. I liked her as well. I don’t know. Maybe I’m making up the connections or I could be a little starstruck and not know it, but I don’t think so. I just want to check on him. I don’t have a file in my purse, like I would if it were you in there. I’d break you out for sure, but not Matt Bane.”

  She angled one eyebrow.

  I held a small, hopeful smile.

  “All right,” she said a beat later. “We do allow visitors for prisoners—just not this one because he’s so famous, but that’s only Creighton’s rule, not policy. I suppose you could talk to him for a minute.”

  “Thanks, Jodie.”

  “Whatever. If I get fired, you have to date Creighton again just so he’ll give me my job back.”

  I was never going to date Creighton again, but I made a gurgled noncommittal noise to keep her from changing her mind.

  We came upon a large, thick steel door. Jodie hid her fingers as she punched in a code. A buzz preceded the loud thunk of locking mechanisms before the door swung inward.

  “Wow, I thought we were just little old Star City,” I said.

  “High-tech security. We might be small, but we get visitors from all over the world, Clare. We’ve got to be prepared.”

  “I guess.”

  We traveled down the starkly lit gray hallway, the sense of being in a vacuum coming over me. I swallowed the claustrophobia that was inching through my chest. It wasn’t a tight space, but the closing door behind us and the fact that there was no sign of an exit or even a window ahead got to me a little.

  “Jodie, what’s up?” Linus said. Linus had been on the police force for about a hundred and fifty years. He’d never climbed the ranks and had, in fact, mostly been given desk jobs. He was a well-known figure throughout town because of his friendly smile and his short stature. He wore short better than most tall men wore tall, Jodie once said.

  “Linus, can you buzz Clare back to talk to the prisoner in number three?” Jodie said.

  “Nope. Creighton said no visitors.”

  “Yeah, I know, but that’s because of the whole press, paparazzi stuff. Clare’s a friend of Mr. Bane’s. She just wants to make sure he’s doing all right. You know Clare Henry, don’t you?”

  “Sure, you and your grandfather have the word place up there on Bygone. Your grandfather fixed my typewriter twenty years ago and I haven’t had to fight it once since.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I said.

  Jodie and I both fell silent as Linus considered the request. I was sure Jodie was trying not to frown as much as I was trying not to over-smile.

  “Well, okeydokey, then,” Linus finally said.

  “I’ll be in my office,” Jodie said to me. She turned to Linus. “Send her my way when she’s done. Thanks, Linus.”

  I didn’t watch her leave the hallway, but I heard her heavy, quick footsteps fade as she walked away.

  “All righty, young lady. You may talk to the prisoner. You have to stay back from his cell by five feet. There’s a line on the floor to keep behind. You may either stand or use one of those folding chairs against the back wall. I’m not going to work hard to listen, but there’s no privacy in there, in case you were wondering. If he confesses to killing that young lady, or any other crime for that matter, those words could be used against him. Got all that?”

  “I do. Thanks, Linus.”

  “Welcome.”

  Linus reached to the far side of the desk and pushed a hidden button. This time the buzz preceded an iron-barred door swinging open.

  Again, it did not seem like I was in little ol’ Star City, but I went through anyway. Fluorescent lights on the short ceiling came on as though they were on a sensor switch set to illuminate one at a time as I passed by. Suddenly, the black bars of the four cells seemed to become much more real—inky and cold.

  “Hello?” a voice called from the far cell.

  “Matt?” I said as I made sure I stayed behind the line as I approached.

  “Yeah. Who’s here?”

  “Hey,” I said as Matt’s cell came into view. He was standing and holding on to the bars, just like they do in the movies. His disheveled hair matched his untucked shirt, but he was still movie star handsome. He still wore black jeans, but he’d been given a different white T-shirt; this one looked new with straight creases from where it had been folded. There was no blood on either the new shirt or his hands. I was surprisingly relieved.

  I’d never once seen these holding cells. I’d never asked for the tour or Jodie would have obliged. They were stark with a mattress-free cot and a utilitarian toilet, but nothing else. I’d never given one thought to the holding cells inside the station, but they were just awful. At least they didn’t smell bad.

  Matt’s eyebrows came together when he saw me. A beat later he said, “You’re the woman from the note card place. The word rescuer.”

  “Clare Henry.”

  “Okay, Clare Henry. I’m confused. Why are you here?”

  “Well, I wanted to see how you were doing.” I cringed.

  “Not well. But . . . thanks.” His face was drawn and even though a night hadn’t passed yet, dark circles had already formed under his eyes.

  I grabbed the folding chair leaning against th
e far wall and set it precisely behind the line.

  As I took a seat, I said, “My best friend is a police officer. We were here because she has some work to do, and I asked if I could check on you. I’m very sorry about your sister.”

  “That’s very kind.” He ran his fingers through his hair, making it even messier. “I can’t believe she’s gone. I can’t believe they think I killed her.”

  “Do you have an attorney?”

  “I believe so, but I haven’t met him or her yet. My assistant is taking care of the arrangements, I hope. I haven’t seen him either,” he said as he took a seat on the edge of the cot.

  Though it didn’t smell bad, there was a damp scent that burned my sinuses slightly.

  I nodded as I rubbed my finger under my nose. Now that I was there, I realized how really weird it was that I had wanted to talk to Matt Bane as he sat in a prison cell. How strange it must have been from his side of the bars.

  “Matt, your old and new girlfriends stopped by The Rescued Word today,” I said, searching for something that might make my being there somehow more valid.

  “Oh?” He blinked up from the depths.

  “Yeah, both Nell and Adele stopped by. Adele picked up your note cards.”

  “Really? Huh. Well, that was nice of her, I guess. Do you want to know if we’re really a couple? That’s what most people want to know.”

  “No, I don’t care much about that. I really liked Nell, though. She seems smart and friendly.”

  “She’s also much older than me, which was no big deal as far as I was concerned. She didn’t like the ‘cougar’ title.”

  “No. I imagine not.”

  We’d taken a tiny step forward. I could see Matt’s shoulders relax a little bit. Despite the fact that he must have been distraught about his sister and concerned about his own freedom, I trudged forward.

  “Matt,” I said. He looked at me, his eyes less glazed over now. “Who do you think killed your sister?”

  He shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea. None at all.”

  “Hollywood jealousy maybe?”

  He blinked again as if he hadn’t even considered the idea. Maybe he hadn’t considered any idea. If he wasn’t the killer, he was probably still in shock. If he was the killer, he was putting on his best performance. But I still hadn’t seen Kill Night, so it might be too soon to judge.

  “I truly don’t know.” He paused, seemingly considering my words. “I can’t imagine why anyone would be jealous of Cassie.” He blanched. “Oh my God, she’s dead.”

  His head fell into his hands and I had the urge to get out of the chair and offer comfort or something. I stayed put.

  “I’m sorry, Matt,” I said.

  The awkwardness stretched, but I couldn’t find the right moment to jump back in, and getting up and leaving seemed rude. Fortunately, Matt moved us forward.

  “I’m sorry, Clare. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Actually, if I give it some thought, I might have a couple of ideas of who could have killed my sister. Maybe.”

  “Did you give the police any ideas of where to look?”

  “No, and I wouldn’t yet anyway. I’m waiting for my attorney before I talk to them.”

  “Of course. That makes sense.”

  “I didn’t kill my sister, Clare.”

  “Good. The police will find the killer, then.”

  “I hope so. I have . . . Well, I just hope so. I wonder . . .”

  “What do you wonder?”

  Matt stood from the cot and moved to the bars again, lowering his voice. “I wonder about my fame. It can either work for or against me.”

  “Most likely for. At least that’s been the history with these kinds of things.”

  He tapped on the bar twice with his fingertip. “Would you consider doing me a favor?”

  “I guess. What is it?” Truthfully, I didn’t want to do Matt Bane a favor. I didn’t even completely understand why I’d wanted to talk to him, except for that weird sense of a connection that I couldn’t quite shake.

  “Is there any chance you could check on my assistant, Howie? See why he hasn’t come to talk to me and ask him what he thinks might have happened to Cassie. He’s in room four at The Fountain.”

  “I think the police will do that,” I said. “And there’s a chance that Howie has tried to talk to you, Matt. You’re off-limits to all visitors except an attorney.”

  “Why? Oh, of course, that makes sense. Every trash tabloid reporter would be all over me. I guess I should be thankful for the protection. How did you get in?”

  “My police officer friend. I twisted her arm.”

  Matt nodded. “All right.” He paused. “Will you ask Howie why he hasn’t sent an attorney yet?”

  “Again, I bet the police are working on it, or they’ll ask Howie.”

  “Howie won’t be up-front with the police, probably won’t talk to them unless they cuff him. It’s what he does. He lies, particularly to media people, paparazzi, and the police. It’s his nature. He doesn’t trust anyone. He would do what he could to avoid them. He wouldn’t lie to you, though, not if you told him I’d asked you to talk to him.”

  “Why would he believe that you sent me?”

  “I’ll give you a code word. We have to use them, like when we check into hotels under aliases. We have secret words, stuff like that. Part of the price of fame.”

  “Kind of like parents give their kids so they know who to trust if someone approaches them?”

  “Exactly. Howie and I have used a particular one frequently. It helps.”

  “What’s the code word?”

  “You’ll do it, then—talk to Howie?”

  “I will.” I wasn’t sure I’d be able to manipulate another meeting with Matt, but I was willing to try. Besides, now I really wanted to know what the code word was.

  “Thanks. It’s ‘Sundance.’ I loved Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid when I was growing up.”

  “Sundance. I can handle that.”

  “Thank you, Clare. Let him know I’m doing all right. Ask him to send an attorney. Ask him to come see me himself.” I heard a smidgen of hope with his words. It was always good to be proactive, I guess, even if that just meant asking someone else to do something.

  “Will do.”

  “I owe you,” Matt said sincerely.

  “Not at all.” I stood and moved the chair back to the wall. As I headed toward Linus and the exit, I stopped in front of Matt’s cell again and pushed up my glasses. He didn’t remind me so much of a movie star anymore.

  “What a mess,” Matt muttered as he made his way back to the cot. “I can’t even mourn my sister properly because I’m so scared I’ll be falsely convicted for her murder. I go from devastated to scared to death and back again. Over and over. I’m sure I sound frantic. I’m sorry.” He paused briefly. “And I’m sorry to ask you for a favor. You don’t owe me a thing, but I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s fine, Matt. I’m sorry for what you’re going through, and I always believe in innocent until proven guilty.” My heart hurt for him and that connection that I’d sensed grew a little bigger. I wondered if I’d feel the same way about all my friendly customers who got arrested for murder or just the ones who played superheroes in movies. And serial killers—I needed to remember that part too.

  “I didn’t kill her, Clare. There’s no reason you should believe me, but I didn’t kill her.”

  He was a good actor. Or he was telling the truth.

  “The police will figure it out, Matt. They’re a top-notch group.”

  “I hope so.”

  I doubted even the best of actors could have put as much emotion into the word “hope” as he’d just done.

  But maybe he was just really, really good.

  “I hate to even ask this,” he said as he came back to th
e bars again, “but could I have your phone number? I don’t know if they’ll ever let me make calls, but I feel so lost. If I can’t get to Howie, I . . . I guess I just need a connection, someone I know I can talk to if I need to.”

  “Sure.” I recited the number and he memorized it.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice full of relief.

  I didn’t know what it was like to feel so alone, and my heart hurt for him.

  “See you later, Matt,” I said.

  “Thanks, Clare. Thanks more than you know.”

  6

  “That wasn’t one of the best. Sorry. I knew there was a reason I got the tickets so easily,” Jodie said as we left the small theater.

  “I kind of enjoyed it,” I said. The plot about an elementary school teacher’s drunken weekend had been pretty weak and predictable, but I’d relished the fact that I was able to spend an hour and a half in my own thoughts and not feel like I missed too much.

  “Dinner was good.”

  “Dinner was great,” I agreed.

  We walked slowly toward the police car. Surprisingly it wasn’t so cold that we felt the need to hurry. The clouds had cocooned us, and the snow had stopped. It would start again soon, I predicted.

  The temperature was pleasant, particularly for a January night in Star City. If we both didn’t have to work in the morning, we’d probably stay out with the festival crowd. When we were younger, we’d spent an evening or two in search of movie stars. We might not be as interested in that sort of thing anymore, but the party atmosphere was fun if you were in the party mood—which we weren’t, hadn’t been for some time. A sudden wave of concern over Marion came over me. When I was seventeen and the festival was in full swing, I wasn’t on my best behavior. But I had to remember that her father was my overprotective brother, Jimmy. He was probably standing sentry outside her bedroom door. I smiled to myself. When did I get so old?

  “I’m surprised I liked it,” Jodie said.

  I blinked. “Oh. The dinner. You’re surprised you liked sushi? Me too. I thought you’d hate it.”

  “Clare, what’s on your mind?” Jodie said. “You’re only half here.”