“Lila!” Sean yelled, reaching the area with Brian on his heels. He immediately kicked the shears out of the way and bent to feel for Damian’s pulse.
Flora’s hand flew to her cheek. “Oh my goodness! I didn’t kill him, did I?”
“Unfortunately, no,” Sean mumbled. “What happened?”
I quickly explained, “It was Damian who killed Fannie. I figured out some of the pieces and Damian went crazy, tried to kill me with those shears. Flora knocked him out.” Flora offered a little gasp at her own part in the scenario.
Sean was already pulling out his cell and calling for backup.
“You did the right thing,” I assured Flora. “But how did you know?”
Her voice wobbled as she attempted to explain. “I got to talking with Paul about things and, you know, we went to the same school in Dunston. He was several years younger than me, of course, so I didn’t know him back then. But then Paul mentioned that Damian was his classmate and told me his name used to be Cartwright. That’s when it clicked. That girl in the photo. The one who seemed familiar. It was Rachel Cartwright. She was closer to my age. Thinking about it now, I recall there was some discussion when she disappeared. But everyone assumed she’d just taken off. She was eighteen, an adult in the eyes of the law, so I don’t think much effort was put into finding her.” Flora paused for a second, then rambled on in a shrill voice, “So, I thought to myself, What if Rachel was really Damian’s sister? If so, I wanted to ask if he knew where she was and how she was doing. I decided to get the picture from my car and show it to him. Only, when I got to the lot, I saw Damian manhandling you and got worried. I called Brian on his cell and told him to come help.”
“That’s right,” Brian interjected, placing a calming hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I was just getting ready to eat some pecan pie when the call came. Sean and I got here as fast as we could.”
I rubbed at my chin. I was going to have a heck of a bruise on it tomorrow. “Damian believed his sister was the girl found in my garden, placed in foster care with the Cobbs who used to own my home. Damian blamed Fannie for placing her in an abusive household and confronted her. Then when I put it all together … If it weren’t for you, Flora, I’d be dead, too.”
Her eyes fluttered. “I swear, I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never hit a soul in my entire life. It’s just that I followed you two and hid over there.” She hitched her thumb toward one of the catering vans, its cargo door wide open. “When I saw him throw you into the side of the shed, I just grabbed the quickest thing I could find and came after him.”
“What’s going on here?” came a stern voice from behind. “Damian!” It was Bentley, stomping toward us on her platform shoes, fists clenched as if she was ready for round one. “What’s happened to Damian?” She made a move toward the crumpled figure on the ground.
Sean stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “Stay back, ma’am. He’s all right, just out cold. He’ll come to in a few minutes.”
“Well, I would hope so. He’s due to announce the van Gogh winner at any moment.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be happening,” Sean informed her. “As soon as he comes around, I’m arresting him for murder and attempted murder.”
Bentley stumbled backward, her mouth agape and her face turning ashen.
I stepped forward. “It was Damian who murdered Fannie Walker.” And almost killed my son, I thought. “He was trying to kill me, when Flora came to my rescue.”
Bentley squinted at me, then at Flora, then back to Damian, who let out a little moan and was starting to writhe on the ground. The distant sound of sirens cut through the air as we all awaited Bentley’s reaction to my news. For a second, I thought I noticed a crack in her usual ironclad façade as all the hopes and expectations she’d placed on Damian’s rising stardom—and perhaps a few personal hopes of her own—were shattered. Then again, when they coined the phrase, “you can’t keep a good woman down” they most undoubtedly had Bentley in mind. Because, after just a couple of slow blinks, she threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Detective Griffiths, search that man, right now.”
Sean’s eyes popped. “What?”
“You heard me. Search him. I need the sealed envelope that contains the name of this year’s van Gogh winner and I need it now.” Then, looking at Flora and me, she said, “We’ll need to improvise a bit. Gather the rest of the agents and meet me behind the stage in fifteen minutes.”
“Whoa!” Sean protested. “Flora and Lila will need to answer a few questions before they leave.”
Bentley narrowed her gaze, giving Sean a glaring once-over. “I’m sure, Detective, that your questions can wait; they certainly aren’t going anywhere. And I have hundreds of guests anticipating the announcement of the van Gogh award as well as Damian’s speech. Now that I’m forced to come up with a different speaker, I need all my agents on hand. And the envelope.” She held out her hand, palm up.
Sean grimaced, but didn’t offer any objections. Instead, he bent down and searched inside the pockets of Damian’s blazer, coming up with a small white envelope. Bentley snatched it from him and motioned for us to follow her. “Come with me, ladies.”
I sent Sean a searching look, which he answered with a smirk and a shrug. “The boss has spoken. Go on, I’ll come find you in a little while.”
I scurried along, catching up to Bentley and Flora as they reached the stage. Bentley tapped the envelope against her hand. “All right. I’m going to get up there and attempt to sugarcoat this entire ordeal. What I need for you two to do is rally the other agents. See if any of them can come up with something to fill tonight’s entertainment void. Anything.”
With a quick adjustment of her blazer and a curt nod, she took to the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she started, adjusting her glasses on the end of her nose. A hush fell over her crowd. “In my hand”—she flourished the card for all to see—“I have the winner of this year’s coveted van Gogh award. Unfortunately, Damian York is … um … temporarily indisposed.” Her words were punctuated by the sharp wails of sirens as the police arrived to take Damian away. An excited murmur started through the crowd. “Please pay no attention to the sirens, ladies and gentlemen. I’m afraid there’s been a minor emergency, but everything is under control. Now if I can have your attention.” As she waved the envelope, bringing the crowd back to silent anticipation, Flora and I took off in search of the other agents. We hadn’t made it far when I heard Bentley’s voice bellow out from the speakers, “This year’s van Gogh winner is … Ms. Vicky Crump!”
Chapter 20
“I just can’t believe this,” Franklin lamented after I recounted the lowdown on Damian’s crimes. Flora and I had found the entire gang, including Jay and Makayla, back at our table polishing off their pieces of pie. “And I’m all to blame,” Franklin continued. “I told him all about your sleuthing endeavors.” He buried his hands in his face. “If anything had happened to you or that dear boy of yours …”
I placed my hand on my friend’s back. “Please don’t blame yourself, Franklin. No one knew.”
“We all should have expected it, though,” Zach blurted. “Lila here attracts murderers like flies to honey.”
“That’s bees to honey, Zach,” Makayla corrected him. “And now’s not the time to bring that up.” She started tapping her fingers on the table. “What we need to do is put our heads together and come up with a plan. The show must go on.”
Not so easily appeased, Franklin continued, “But what about all the money our agency has riding on his success? I’m responsible for signing him.” He shook his head. “Oh my … I can’t believe I signed a murderer for a client.”
I sucked in my breath. Bentley was going to take a hit on this one. She’d invested a lot of money into Damian in hopes that his future dividends would pay out. Once word got out that he was responsible for murder, sales were sure to plummet. Or maybe not. I recalled Bentley saying there was no such thing as bad publicity.
I was teetering between optimism and pessimism when Jude stepped forward and threw his arm around me. “I think the important thing is that Lila’s okay. If it weren’t for Flora, things could have turned out much differently. There’ll be time later to rehash the business ramifications of tonight’s events. Let’s focus on the positive now and figure out how to move forward.”
I eased out from under Jude’s arm. “Jude’s right. The guests were expecting Damian to give a speech tonight about his rise to success. We have a void to fill.”
“The solution’s right in front of our eyes,” Jude said, pointing at Jay. “We have a future bestselling author right here.”
Jay shrank back into his chair as all eyes settled on him. “Of course!” I agreed. “Jay, would you mind taking the mic and reading an excerpt from the next installment of The Alexandria Society? The crowd would love it.”
Makayla squeezed his arm. “Do it! You’d be wonderful.”
Before agreeing, Jay stared for a second into Makayla’s eyes. “But I don’t have a copy here.”
“Zach to the rescue!” Zach chimed in. “The office is only five minutes from here. I’ll go get a copy and be back in a flash.” With that, he took off jogging, disappearing down the torch-lit path, headed toward the parking lot.
“I’ll go inform Bentley of the plan,” Jude declared, taking off in the opposite direction.
The rest of us stayed behind, rehashing the plan and preparing an anxious Jay for his first reading. To my right, I spied the Dirty Dozen, seated together in a cluster of three round tables. Vicky was seated there, amongst her fellow gardeners, basking in the limelight of her recent victory. Of course, the ever-nervy Alice Peabody was also there, all traces of her former superior attitude gone as she stared, sullen-faced, at Vicky. I wondered if once the other club members found out about Alice’s attempt to steal Fannie’s prize rose, she might find her presidency … what was the word she’d used that day at lunch? Relinquished. Anyway, I considered it poetic justice that Vicky won the coveted van Gough award, despite Alice’s attempts to thwart her. Perhaps with the prestige of the award as a boon, Vicky would even take Alice’s position as president of the Dirty Dozen. I hoped so. Vicky, with both her talent for organizing and her love of gardening, would be the perfect club president.
I turned my attention back to my own table and tried to focus on the conversation. However, after a few moments, I excused myself to search out Sean. There were a few things I needed to tell him.
I finally located him by the catering tent. “Damian’s on his way to be booked,” he told me. “After he came to, he started confessing. We don’t have the full story yet, but in addition to killing Fannie, it seems he was the one behind Trey’s accident and your threat letter.”
“There’s something else,” I started. “Right before he attacked me, he admitted to being the one who tried to break into my house.” I relayed seeing the injury to Damian’s leg. “Mama will be glad to hear she got a piece of him, that’s for sure.” I sighed. She’d be relieved about something else as well. To think she’d been doubting her abilities all this time, and, truth was, my mother was more on top of her game than ever.
“If it were just Fannie, I’d almost feel sorry for the guy,” I continued. “He’d just found out about his sister’s death and cracked, killing Fannie in the heat of the moment. But sabotaging the car and almost killing Trey?” I shook my head. Then a thought hit me. “Oh, I’m not sure, but I think I know what happened to the missing file from the social services office.” I told him how Fannie showed it to Damian right before he killed her. “When Damian called, it prompted her to get the file from the agency. She might have snuck in and pulled the file herself, or gotten a friend to do it, I don’t know. It’s likely that Damian destroyed it after he killed her, in an effort to hide their connection.”
Sean nodded. “I’ll check into it.” He moved closer. “I’m so grateful Flora acted the way she did.”
I cracked a smile. “Who knew she had it in her?” I sobered. “Poor Peggy Cobb, though. When she finds out what happened to her foster child …”
Sean shook his head. “First of all, we’ll need to run some DNA testing to verify that it is Rachel. And if it is, I don’t think she needs to be told. While I was waiting for you, Flora told me how much better she felt after facing her past, giving me her statement for the record. She mentioned that she’s anxious to go back to Mrs. Cobb’s group home and talk to her now, get to know her. I think letting the old woman have a chance to reconnect to a still-living child all grown up might be nice for Mrs. Cobb. She doesn’t need to know about the one who didn’t make it.”
He wrapped his arms around me. I nodded, then recalled, “Oh, there’s a man at the group home named Cartwright. I think he might be Damian’s father. Someone should break the news to him about … Rachel.” I’d almost said “Helen,” the name I’d used to make this girl real to me, but part of me felt relieved to finally have a name to give the poor young woman. Now maybe she could receive a proper burial in a real cemetery and some closure for her life.
“Shh … it’s okay, Lila.” He tightened his hold, pulling me back into his body, nestling me, spoonlike. “It’s all over now.”
I exhaled, feeling my body relax against his. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the strung lighting twinkling above, casting a warm glow over the tables below. In the background the clinking of dishes mingled with the constant din of guests’ conversations as servers refilled coffee mugs and removed dessert plates.
He started kissing the back of my neck, just as a crackling sound emitted from the mic. Bentley took to the stage again, this time introducing Jay and his sequel to The Alexandria Society. The crowd clapped politely, but I could tell the applause was somewhat reserved. I felt an instant kick of nerves for Jay. Standing in for a celebrity like Damian York wouldn’t be easy.
But as he read, something magical happened. The impatient crowd quieted, spectators quit squirming in their seats and sat silently, listening intently to Jay’s eloquent flow of words. They floated over the air like magic, captivating the crowd and drawing them into the story. When he finished, a wild applause rang through the night air.
Modestly, he took a quick bow and then held up his hand for silence. “If I may indulge you for a minute longer,” he addressed the crowd, “I’d like to read something else I’ve been working on. It’s probably the most important piece I’ve ever written, and I’d be honored to share it with all of you this evening.” He looked out to the audience. “Makayla, will you come up here, please?”
Bentley’s eyes grew wide with surprise. In fact, the whole audience seemed to be sitting a little straighter, hanging on the edge of their seats as Makayla slowly walked to the podium. Knowing what was coming, I snuggled in closer to Sean.
“What’s he up to?” Sean asked, his breath hot against my neck.
My whole insides gushed with joy. “You’ll see.”
Makayla reached the stage and stepped up to the podium, her eyes sparkling with a questioning look. Jay removed a piece of crumpled paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and held it up for the crowd to see. “Many of you know Makayla as the girl who serves your morning coffee. I’ve been lucky enough to get to know her as much more.” A few people in the audience chuckled. “This is a letter that I’ve written to her and I’d like to share it with all of you.” Silence fell over the assembly as he drew in a deep breath and began to read. “My dearest Makayla, do you know what makes me happy? The little crinkles that appear around your eyes when you laugh at my corny jokes. That it takes you almost an hour to do your hair in the morning.” A collective chortle rose from the crowd as everyone stole a glance at her close-shaven head. “It makes me happy that you own a coffee shop, but you prefer to drink organic tea. That you care so much about your customers and you give so much of yourself every day. Your laugh, your smile, your beautiful green eyes—They all make me happy. You see, Makayla, there are so many ways to b
e happy in this life, but for me, there’s only one … you. I’m happiest when you’re the first person I see in morning and the last I see at night.” We all watched in awe as he came out from behind the podium and pulled a box from his pocket. “Makayla, will you give me a chance to make you as happy as you’ve made me? Will you marry me?”
It was as if the entire world held its breath, waiting for her reply. When she nodded and said yes, everyone burst into cheers. I squirmed out of Sean’s arms and waved my hands in the air, cheering with the rest of the crowd. When the excitement finally died down, I turned to him, brushing a tear from my own cheek. “Wasn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
Sean cleared his throat. “It took nerve, that’s for sure. Asking her in front of all these people. What if she said no?”
“What do you mean? She loves him, you know that.”
“Yes, but loving someone and committing to spending the rest of your life with them are two different things.”
My jaw dropped. Where was this coming from? We’d talked through all this, hadn’t we? That we loved each other. And that, with time, with better communication, we could make it work. Right? Or was this the way he really felt? I started to ask when we were interrupted by Bentley swooping onto the scene. “Well, I’d say we covered well for Damian’s absence, don’t you think?” She waved her hand toward the stage. Apparently, she’d recovered from the shock of seeing Damian arrested for murder. “People will be talking about Jay’s proposal for years. A great publicity move on his part.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think publicity is what Jay had in mind.”
Judging from Bentley’s blink-blink reaction, she didn’t quite understand what I was getting at. I didn’t bother to try to explain, though. Her mind ran on only one track, the business track. “Still,” she continued, “from a publicity standpoint, it was a brilliant move. It got me thinking …”
Played by the Book (A Novel Idea Mystery 4) Page 24
