Whole Lotta Trouble

by Stephanie Bond

  “What?”

  “That Shavel guy…when I saw him the other day, I was on my way to pick up the manuscript from the taxicab company.”

  From Keith’s expression, Tallie could tell he was starting to buy into her theory. “So if he had been listening to your conversations, he would have known you were on your way to get it.”

  “Right.” She grabbed Keith’s arm and squeezed. “I was almost mugged on my way to Kara’s. A guy on a bike snatched the purse of this woman in front of me—” A woman wearing a coat that reminded her of her own striped wool coat. “Omigod—the guy mistook her for me. She was carrying a black shoulder bag and wearing a coat like mine!”

  “Then you delivered the manuscript to Kara,” Keith said in a rush, “and she was strangled.”

  “And now we can’t find the manuscript,” Tallie said breathlessly. “It has to be it!”

  He looked bewildered. “But what value would the manuscript have? Could someone sell it?”

  “Sure,” Tallie said. “What a coup for the black market to get a copy of a book before it’s even published…especially for an author on Gaylord’s level. Plus this is supposed to be his last book in the series, so there would be a lot of interest.”

  “Could you sell enough books on the black market to make any money?”

  “With the Internet, absolutely.”

  Keith pursed his mouth and nodded. “You just might be on to something here. Didn’t you say that Jerry Key was Gaylord Cooper’s agent?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So Key is connected to the manuscript. And Ron Springer?”

  “He’s been Gaylord’s editor up until now.”

  “And now he’s missing.” Keith’s pace picked up as they walked back to the cruiser. “That Shavel thug could be some kind of middle man.”

  As she fastened her seat belt, Tallie’s heart was pounding like crazy, and she felt decidedly ill: If she had kept the manuscript, it might have been her body outlined in tape instead of Kara’s. Her cell phone rang, and she dug it from the depths of her purse. The caller ID showed Felicia’s name. Tallie hit the Call button.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you okay?” Felicia asked.

  “I’m fine,” Tallie said, then glanced at Keith. “In fact, I’m better than fine.”

  He lifted one eyebrow.

  “I mean, I think things are going to be okay. Keith and I are looking into something that might explain everything.”

  “That’s great,” Felicia said. “Does it have anything to do with Jané?”

  Tallie frowned. “Jané?”

  Felicia sighed. “You know I’ve had a bad feeling about her from the beginning. When I got home today, I did some checking around, made a few phone calls.”

  “And?” Tallie asked, rife with anticipation.

  “And it seems that Jané was fired from Bloodworth for passing a copy of a manuscript of a hot book to a website that printed the titillating details and gutted sales for the book.”

  Tallie’s pulse raced, and she covered the mouthpiece. “Jané could be in on this,” she said.

  “And there’s more,” Felicia said. “Remember the manuscript she had you read that Jerry plagiarized?”

  “Sure. Ames, I think was the name on it. J. P. Ames.”

  “J. P. Ames is Jané,” Felicia said. “She wrote that manuscript.”

  And would have been more than furious with Jerry for lifting her own work. Tallie swallowed hard at the thought of having shared drinks with a cold-blooded killer. “Meet us at the police station.”

  Chapter 32

  The next day, Tallie was still reeling over Jané’s arrest while she tried to deal with the aftermath of the lost manuscript. The woman had denied everything, from the murders to knowledge of the Cooper manuscript, but Tallie suspected that the book was, at this moment, in the hands of some smarmy publisher who would have pirated copies of Whole Lotta Trouble in every English-reading country by the end of the week, and elsewhere within a couple of weeks.

  She picked up the phone and dialed the number Ron’s assistant Lil had given her. Gaylord was not going to be happy about this, and after all the legal dust settled, would probably own Parkbench Publishing. It would serve Tallie right if she had to crawl back to Circleville and beg for a job. She waited nervously as the phone rang once…twice…three times…four—A tone sounded. “We’re sorry. The number you called has been disconnected.”

  Tallie sighed at her clumsiness, then redialed Gaylord’s secretary’s number. She tried not to ponder Ron’s involvement in all of this. Had he been in cahoots with Jané? Tallie simply couldn’t accept the fact that he’d sell out an author and a job that he loved so much…but where was he?

  The tone sounded again. “We’re sorry. The number you called has been disconnected.”

  She frowned at the receiver, then called Lil to see if she had the right number.

  “That’s the right number, Tallie. The woman would always take a message, then Gaylord would call Ron later.”

  “It seems that the phone has been disconnected. Do you have another way to reach him?”

  “Actually, no, I don’t.”

  Frustration welled in Tallie’s chest. “Okay, give me his address and I’ll try to find him that way.”

  “We don’t have his address.”

  “What do you mean we don’t have his address? Accounting has to have his address to send royalty statements and 1099s.”

  “I have a PO box in Hoboken.”

  Tallie frowned. “Hoboken? Okay, let me have it.” She copied it down, then—not unhappy to have a reason—called Keith.

  “Hi,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  “Surprise…I need your help again.”

  He laughed. “Okay. What is it?”

  “I need to reach Gaylord Cooper and his phone has been disconnected. The only address we have for him is a PO box in Hoboken, and I’m kind of at a dead end.”

  “I’ll need his Social Security number.”

  She put him on hold and got the number from accounting, then recited it to him. “I really appreciate this,” she said.

  “No problem,” he said. “I’ll see what I can come up with.”

  When she hung up the phone, she worked her mouth back and forth, considering the man who had inserted himself into her life so easily. Yes, it was nice to have someone with his expertise around in light of everything she was experiencing, but she didn’t like the idea of picking up the phone and asking for his help all the time.

  It could get to be habit-forming.

  She frowned and vowed that the next time, she would exhaust every possible avenue before calling Keith Wages for his assistance.

  She called to find out arrangements for Kara’s memorial service and noted the time on her calendar. Memorial services…another bad habit. She prayed this one would be the last one, then thought of Jané. New York was a capital punishment state.

  Pushing aside that disturbing train of thought, she buried herself in the work that had piled up while her head had been elsewhere, and pushed through lunch. Around 2:00, Norah announced Tallie had a visitor. She looked up to see Keith standing in her door, and she smiled. “Come in.”

  Norah grinned and gave Tallie a thumbs-up behind Keith’s broad back.

  Tallie gave her a look. “Will you please close the door, Norah?” She smiled at Keith. “Sit down. Did you find Gaylord’s phone number for me?”

  He eased into one of the chairs in front of her desk and set his uniform hat on his knee. “Actually…no. In fact…” He gave a little laugh.

  “What?” she asked, concerned now.

  He lifted both hands in the air. “There is no such person as Gaylord Cooper.”

  She scoffed. “What? That’s crazy, of course there is.”

  “Not according to the federal government. The Social Security number is bogus, and the PO box in Hoboken belongs to some international commodities company. I couldn’t find a mention of
him in the DMV, property taxes, or voter registration records.”

  Her mind swirled. “That’s impossible—the man has been writing for this company for fifteen years.”

  “Somebody has been writing for this company, someone you know as Gaylord Cooper, but that’s not his legal name. Is it a pseudonym?”

  “No.” She touched her forehead. “There’s some mistake.”

  She called Lil again to verify, then accounting, then legal. She hung up the phone. “Everyone insists that Gaylord Cooper is the man’s real name.”

  Keith shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Tallie. The guy must be some kind of con man.”

  She gave a disbelieving laugh and sat back in her chair. “Or a spy.”

  He laughed. “Right.”

  Then a thought crawled into her head…and another…and another. A nervous shiver overtook her body as the pieces of info chained together in her mind. She lunged forward in her chair. “What if he is a spy?”

  Keith laughed again. “Come on, Tallie.”

  “I’m serious. The man walks around dressed like Elliot Ness, talking about his secret work for the government. He’s always worried about being followed—he even swept my office for bugs.”

  “Well, he obviously missed the one in your phone, didn’t he?” Keith said sarcastically. “Tallie, from everything I’ve read about the man, he’s a paranoid schizophrenic. The trench coat and all that is just an act, part of the fantasy in his head.”

  She stood up, walked around the front of her desk, and leaned against it. “But what if it’s not an act? What if it’s real?”

  He shook his head. “You’re losing me.”

  She leaned over to pick up the phone. “Norah—

  would you please go to the library and bring me one copy of every Gaylord Cooper novel? Thanks.” She set down the receiver and turned back to Keith. “Humor me. Ron Springer is in the Reserves—supposedly. He’s gone one weekend every month for duty. It’s the perfect cover.”

  Keith looked from side to side. “For what?”

  “For being a secret agent!”

  “Oh, so now your boss and Gaylord Cooper are both secret agents?”

  She sighed. “Hear me out—Ron arrived at Parkbench fifteen years ago. Shortly thereafter he discovered Gaylord Cooper in the ‘slush pile.’ Gaylord will work with no one but Ron, and Ron is very protective of Cooper—he goes to great lengths to make sure that no copies of the book are in existence until the very end of the publishing cycle. Don’t you see? They could have created this Gaylord Cooper character with all his idiosyncrasies so they could protect the work until it was ready to be received.”

  He frowned. “Wait a minute…are you saying that the books themselves are some kind of vehicle for secret messages?”

  She lifted her hands. “Why not? What better way to get a message to an agent in a remote part of the world than for them to go into a bookstore and buy a book off the shelf? It’s brilliant.”

  He looked unconvinced. “That would mean that remote parts of the world would have access to Gaylord Cooper books.”

  Tallie nodded, feeling more and more excited. “Actually, that’s practically the case. Gaylord’s books are printed in nearly every language. His books have more foreign sales than any author on our list. Early on, Ron arranged for the foreign editions to be printed simultaneously with the North American edition. That’s almost unheard of. It was earmarked as a global marketing strategy, but it would be an ideal setup if the books are a communication vehicle to far-flung government agents.”

  Keith looked less impressed, pulling his hand over his mouth. “This sounds pretty weird to me, Tallie. I think your imagination is in overdrive.”

  She gave a frustrated sigh, then lifted her finger as a memory came to her. “Felicia told me that she saw Ron once in Albany, having dinner with a distinguished older man who looked like he might be in the military. She said that Ron almost freaked out when she said hello, that it was clear he didn’t want anyone to recognize him. She said he didn’t introduce the man he was with and that he called her the next day and asked that she not mention to anyone that she’d seen him there.”

  He shrugged. “Sounds like a secret affair.”

  “That’s what Felicia thought because the other guy was wearing a wedding ring. But what if it was someone in the FBI or CIA, someone that Ron reports to?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Tallie.”

  “Isn’t there an FBI office in Albany?”

  “Sure. There’s an FBI office in every state capital.”

  “And in every major city in the world?”

  “Usually through the American embassies.”

  Norah knocked on the door and Tallie waved her in. Her assistant wheeled in a little bookshelf cart. “Here you go—thirteen in all.”

  “Thank you, Norah.”

  When the door closed, Tallie picked up the first book and turned to the dedication page. “ ‘To B.A. in D.C.’ ” She handed it to him, then picked up the second one. “ ‘To M.E. in Berlin.’ ” And down the line. “ ‘To A.K. in Atlanta. To E.K. in Tel Aviv.’ ” Every book bore a similar dedication.

  “Don’t you see?” she asked. “It’s a code. The initials are probably for an agent who’s based in that city. What do you think?”

  He handed the last book back to her and stood, shaking his head. “Tallie, you accused me once of trying to connect dots that weren’t related. I think you’re so eager to explain away what happened to your boss that you’re grasping at straws. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and I can understand why you’re upset about losing this manuscript, but I just can’t see the FBI or the CIA or any government agency using the New York Times list as a way to distribute a message to one individual.” He put on his hat. “I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work.”

  He stopped at the door and flashed her an apologetic smile, then walked out.

  Tallie dropped into her desk chair, feeling spent. Either she was on to something, or she was an idiot. Maybe Keith was right…maybe she wanted so much for Ron not to be crazy or underhanded or murderous that she was grasping at straws. But her mind persisted in trying to tie pieces together.

  Her gaze landed on the cloisonné pen that Ron had given her for Christmas, and she smiled sadly. She picked it up, remembering how flattered she’d been because Ron had never given her anything before, had never given a gift to anyone in the office that she knew of, not even to Lil.

  Never. Until a few weeks before he disappeared.

  His rental car was found in Hoboken, where the phantom PO box was located.

  Tense excitement flowered in her chest as she stared at the pen. She looked all around, then back to the pen, prickling with embarrassment at what she wanted to do. Then she shrugged—what the hell…were there really degrees of idiocy?

  She held the pen about six inches from her mouth. “Ron, if you’re listening, this is Tallie. Please call my cell phone at 555-2543. I desperately need to talk to you.”

  A chill rose on her arms in the ensuing silence. She stared at her cell phone sitting on the corner of her desk. The drone of her computer sounded like an industrial fan. She could scarcely breathe, and her heart flapped in her chest. A minute ticked by, then two, then three…

  She sighed. “Keith was right,” she said aloud. “I’m losing my freaking mind.”

  And then the cell phone rang.

  Chapter 33

  Felicia shouldn’t have been nervous waiting in the sitting room of the house she grew up in, but she was. And when her mother walked in, her vital signs increased despite the smile on Julia’s face.

  “This is a nice surprise,” her mother said, planting a kiss on Felicia’s cheek.

  “I thought it was time I came and explained my behavior—the whole mess with Jerry. I’m sorry you had to read about it in this morning’s paper.”

  Her mother spread her hands. “So am I. When you canceled dinner, you might have mentioned t
hat you had been questioned for murder.”

  Felicia exhaled and held up a box. “I brought a cake—can we have some coffee?”

  “Well, you know I’m not much on sweets, but I’ll have some coffee with you.”

  Felicia followed her mother into the kitchen, fighting a feeling of being hemmed in by the heavy draperies and ornately framed landscapes. She set the cake on the counter and opened the box, folding it down on the sides so that if they didn’t eat the cake, they could at least look at it.

  “Hm, pretty,” her mother said as she poured coffee in dainty cups. “And it smells wonderful—coconut?”

  Felicia nodded. “Three layers.”

  “My bridge club would probably like it…where did you buy it?”

  Felicia wet her lips. “I didn’t buy it…I made it.”

  Her mother’s laugh tinkled. “Oh, go on. Where did you buy it? Franco’s?”

  “No, Mother, I made it. I…bake quite a bit, actually. It’s a hobby of mine.”

  Julia’s mouth opened, then she recovered. “Well, apparently, there’s a lot I don’t know about my daughter. Let’s sit.”

  Felicia took a chair adjacent to her mother’s at the café table in the breakfast nook. “Mother, I’m not going to try to justify my behavior, because there’s no excuse for it. I’m very sorry if it has caused you any embarrassment among your peers.”

  “Well, I’m still sore you didn’t call me before you talked to the police,” Julia said. “But I’m just so relieved that they have that woman in custody—what’s her name?”

  “Jané Glass. She interned with me and Tallie at Parkbench when we first started.” Despite Jané’s arrest, Felicia still had unanswered questions, such as the knife missing from her kitchen. And who had sent these photographs.

  Julia shook her head. “It’s sad what a man will drive you to do…things you wouldn’t think yourself capable of.”