Sandie James Mysteries Box Set

by Tessa Kelly

  I chewed my lip. Working for Money Tycoon wasn’t what I imagined when I pictured my dream job, but it was the first interview invitation I’d had in months.

  I dialed the phone number provided at the bottom of the email.

  A peppy woman’s voice answered, “Money Tycoon, Megan speaking. How can I help you?”

  I told her my name and the reason I was calling.

  “Oh, yes,” the voice trilled. “I see you’re one of the people we sent the email to. Can you come in this Wednesday at nine sharp?”

  I faltered, a little blindsided. “Well, uh. Yes, yes of course. Where are you located?”

  Her voice edged with irritation. “The address is at the bottom of the email you were sent.”

  I silently slapped my forehead. Great first impression, Sandie. She thinks you’re a moron.

  “Thank you, I’ll be there at nine,” I said in a voice that strove to preserve my dignity.

  The secretary hung up before I could say goodbye, and I looked at the email again. Money Tycoon was on Pearl, just off of Wall Street. I stared at the address with a strange sinking feeling in my stomach, then reminded myself that a job interview was a job interview. Even if it was on Wall Street.

  It was a chance I’d been waiting for, to break out on my own and start on a career path. I checked my messages again. There was a text from Dad, not surprisingly asking for a rain check on dinner.

  I sent Kathy a quick text to let her know I’d be late for work on Wednesday, then opened Will’s email. It contained the information I’d asked for about Sonny’s communications with the book collector from Boston. I marveled at my brother. Even with everything that had happened today and last night, he still remembered to send it to me.

  I looked through the file, frowning. The police didn’t think there was a connection between Mr. Edwards hiring Sonny to bid on the Raymond Chandler books and the murder, but something about the situation that kept nagging at me. Making up my mind, I dialed John Edwards’ number.

  He answered on the third ring. “John Edwards.” The man had a pleasant voice, though not very young. I thought he might be in his late fifties.

  “Hi,” I said. “My name is Sandra James. You don’t know me, but I’m helping out with a murder investigation of Sonny Klein.”

  “Mr. Klein is dead?” he sounded taken aback.

  "Yes. I understand you recently commissioned him to bid on two first editions of Raymond Chandler for you, The Long Goodbye and The Big Sleep.”

  John Edwards cleared his throat. “Miss James, your information is only partially correct. I did commission Mr. Klein to bid on The Long Goodbye for me, but not on The Big Sleep.”

  I blinked as my mind morphed into a supersized question mark. “But he said—”

  “The fact is,” John Edwards interrupted, “I already own a signed first edition of The Big Sleep. I’m not in the market for collecting every existing copy of that book, so why would I need to commission another one?”

  “I’m sorry.” I paused, knowing I risked angering him if I persisted. But this had to be straightened out if I was going to get any clear picture of what actually happened.

  “Mr. Klein told us so himself the day he died,” I said. “Your secretary had emailed him with that commission.”

  There was a moment of silence on the other end. Apparently, it was Mr. Edwards’ turn to pause. “Miss James,” he said finally. “I don’t know why Mr. Klein would tell you that. Ronda, my secretary, is away on an extended vacation this month. She’s in Hawaii, getting married. This information can be easily verified, of course. Until Ronda gets back, I’m having to manage things on my own around here. So, you see, while it’s technically possible for Ronda to have sent that email to Mr. Klein, I think you’ll agree it’s not very probable she did. I certainly didn’t give her any such instructions.”

  Was he lying? I could see no reason why he would. But if John Edwards didn't send the email with the commission, then who did? I paced the floor, my heart pounding.

  “I have to confess,” I said. “I’m not an official investigator in Mr. Klein’s death.”

  “Oh?” Mr. Edwards’ voice turned noticeably colder. “Perhaps, it wouldn’t trouble you terribly to tell me why you are calling me under false pretenses?

  “It’s my father, Nicolas James,” I hurried to explain, “He is a suspect in the case, but I know he didn’t kill anyone. The entire case against him hinges on losing that first edition to Sonny.”

  “I see.” He sounded thoughtful. “Would you mind telling me more?”

  I explained to him what happened at the wedding.

  “I’m sorry, Miss James,” Mr. Edwards said when I finished. “I really am. But I’ve told you everything I know. If I had any information that could shed the light on this mystery, I would tell you.”

  He sounded sincere. I thanked him.

  “Actually, you’ve already helped a lot, Mr. Edwards.” After another short pause, I added, “I hope I won’t offend you when I say this, but I’ve never understood why people collect first editions. Whether it’s the first edition or the fiftieth, a great book will always be great. Right? Philip Marlowe doesn’t get any less interesting in later editions, so what’s the difference? Some people seem to become...obsessed with collecting.”

  Mr. Edwards laughed. “If you wanted to discuss human psychology, you called the wrong person, Miss James. The obvious answer would be that one day, these books will probably be worth a fair bit more than they are now. Did you know that there are only five thousand copies of the first edition of The Big Sleep in existence?”

  I didn’t.

  “Obviously, this makes The Big Sleep one of the most valuable books in the collection. Its value will eventually rise a great deal, but that’s in the future. It won’t happen in my lifetime. For me, collecting first editions is about creating a link to the past. I look at my collection, and it makes me feel connected to the authors who wrote those books as if I’ve got a sort of privileged bond with them, shared only by the very few. You might think what I'm saying is vanity. Maybe it is. Maybe it also makes me feel a little more timeless. It’s hard for young people like you to understand this. You think you’re all immortal. Funny how quickly that particular illusion dissipates. It might be the same for your father, but I think you should probably ask him about it instead of me. Don’t you think?”

  I smiled. “For someone claiming no knowledge of psychology, you’re very perceptive, Mr. Edwards.”

  I thanked him for talking to me, and we hung up. I pressed the phone to my forehead, squeezing it hard with my fingers, and took a deep breath.

  My hunch hadn’t steered me wrong. Whether Mr. Edwards was telling the truth, or not, the fact was someone did email Sonny to order the first edition of The Big Sleep. Someone who knew about Dad’s obsession with the book.

  The investigation had just gained a new lead.

  Chapter 12

  “Are you ready for your big interview tomorrow?” Felisha asked as she put away the cake decorating supplies.

  My stomach flipped and I paused in the middle of scrubbing a large blob of pink frosting from the table. “Uh. I guess.”

  It was the end of the workday at the bakery, and Kathy had left to make deliveries. Jeff was doing last minute bookkeeping in the basement before heading out to the city. The rest of us were finishing cleaning up the back room.

  My lack of enthusiasm drew Felisha’s attention. She scrunched up her eyebrows at me. “What’s the matter? Are you nervous? You shouldn’t be. You know you’ll ace it.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that. Well... not just that.”

  The truth was, after the initial surprise the night before, I was starting to have second thoughts about the interview. With everything we were dealing with, was it a good idea to start a new job right now?

  “It’s the timing of it,” I said. “It feels all wrong.”

  “Sandie!” Felisha rolled her eyes. “You can’t put your whole li
fe on hold because of the murder. You’ve been waiting for months to get an interview. What if it takes you that long to get another one?"

  I sniffed. "Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  "You know what I mean!" She insisted. "If you don’t go for it, you’ll be kicking yourself later.”

  Was she right? Would I regret this opportunity if I turned it away? Probably.

  I sighed. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

  Felisha gave an emphatic nod. “Yep!”

  “Okay.” I grinned. “You're right. I promise I won’t let myself have any more doubts.”

  There were stomping footsteps on the basement stairs, and Jeff emerged carrying several plastic bags with the boxes for deliveries inside. I went back to scrubbing the frosting from the table to avoid making eye contact with him.

  Since his blowout with Kathy the other night, Jeff’s mood got progressively worse. Being questioned by the police about his whereabouts for the time of Dora’s murder only added fuel to the fire. On learning I was the last person to talk to her and had also been questioned, he’d stormed out of the room and slammed the door. He never said a word about it, but from his behavior, it was evident he held me personally responsible for his troubles.

  His shadow fell over me as I worked, and I glanced up to see him scowling at the pink stain. He jabbed his chin at it without meeting my eyes. “You should’ve cleaned it before the food coloring could set into the grain. Now you'll never get it to come off.”

  I kept my expression neutral as I dipped the cloth I was using into the soapy solution and went back to scrubbing. “I’ll do my best, Jeff.”

  Still avoiding eye contact, he pulled down the corners of his mouth. “It’ll make a permanent stain.”

  I opened my mouth to point out that, with all the other stains the table had accumulated over the years, one more spot wouldn't make much of a difference. Then I reined myself in. If Jeff was looking to pick a fight, talking back would only fan the fire.

  After a moment, he sniffed and stalked off toward the front, picking up several more bags of delivery packages.

  Felisha edged over to me and nudged me in the side. “No offense, but I’m always glad when he leaves for the day. How does Kathy put up with him?”

  I frowned at her. It was a fair bet many people felt about Jeff the way Felisha did. Still, he was my brother-in-law, and it wasn’t okay to gossip about Kathy’s marriage.

  Felisha put a conciliatory hand on my arm. “Sorry, I get it. I’ll try not to talk about him like that anymore.”

  I smiled. “Thanks.”

  “But do you think Jeff could’ve done it?” she whispered.

  I sighed. “I hope not. I hate to even consider the possibility.”

  As Alex had pointed out, Jeff had the motive, the means, and the opportunity. He knew of Dad’s desire to complete his collection. And he had a flimsy alibi for the night of Dora’s murder, supposedly having gone out to a sports bar in the city. It was packed that night, and when questioned, none of the bartenders remembered seeing him there.

  Jeff, with his bad temper and the money fixation. Now that I thought about it, his over-inflated ego must’ve suffered from not having the ownership title to Kathy’s Bakery. How far would he have gone to get what he wanted? Was he capable of revenge?

  I pictured my sister’s husband raising a gun at Sonny’s chest and pulling the trigger. It didn’t seem impossible. After the way Kathy had reacted to Will’s questions the other day, I hated to think what Jeff’s arrest might do to our family.

  I swallowed, then shook my head. This was getting ridiculous, letting my fears run away with me again when I needed to stay calm. Just because Jeff might be capable of murder didn’t mean he was guilty of it.

  The stain was refusing to come off, relenting only a tiny bit around the edges where it now looked paler. I left it be and finished cleaning the other tables, then helped Felisha organize the walk-in fridge for the next day, while Tyrone mopped the bakery floor. After that, he and Felisha headed into the café.

  I popped into the small bathroom to let out my ponytail and throw on my scarf. By the time I came out, the café was empty except for Josh who was putting up the chairs on top of the tables.

  “Where are the others?” I glanced in the back room, in case I’d missed them.

  “They’re gone,” Josh said. “Tyrone’s friends came by in a car, they were going to some club opening. Felisha went with them.”

  “Nice of her to wait long enough to let me know I was being ditched.”

  “Cut her some slack. They just started going out, her head is in the clouds.”

  “That's what worries me,” I said.

  Felisha and Tyrone were sure spending a lot more time together, and she was even changing her plans for him now. Getting attached too quickly had been Felisha’s problem in the past. I hoped she wasn’t about to repeat her pattern and get burned again.

  “She’s an adult,” Josh reminded me as he put up the last chair. “She can take care of herself, right?”

  “Adults make bad decisions too sometimes,” I said. “You’re right, though. I should stay out of it. She needs to do what she feels is best for her.”

  “No, it’s nice that you worry about her. Makes you a good friend.” Josh suddenly turned to me, looking hesitant. “Your Dad asked me to work at the book shop tonight. If you’re going home now, I could walk with you.”

  Josh, offering to walk with me? Making me comfort food? I hoped I didn’t look as surprised as I felt.

  “Uh, sure.” I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “That sounds good.”

  Out on the sidewalk, Josh slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and helped me pull down the grate. As we walked to the corner, he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet. Light summer breeze ruffled his dark curls.

  I caught myself biting my thumbnail. Josh and I had never been alone together. What would we talk about? After a few minutes of awkward silence, he scratched his ear and cleared his throat.

  “How’s the job hunt going? Are you still looking for work in the city?”

  “You know about that?” I failed to hide my astonishment, but I was sure I had never told him about my job search.

  His cheeks turned slightly pink. “Felisha said something. Or maybe Katherine, I can't remember.”

  I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Actually, there’s been a breakthrough on that front.”

  I told him about my interview with Money Tycoon.

  He cut his eyes at me, and the setting sun caught the gold flecks in his irises. “Do you want to work for Money Tycoon? I thought you were interested in working for a literary magazine?”

  Again, I was surprised he knew or cared. “Of course I do. Working for a literary magazine or a publishing house would be my dream job. But competition for those spots is fierce. Besides, I haven’t been pursuing that lately at all.”

  “Because of the murder?”

  I nodded.

  “I heard you’ve been looking into it,” he said, a tiny smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Got any ideas who might’ve done it?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he mocking me? But his eyes had a serious expression for once. Relieved, I shrugged. “I really think it’s all connected to that first edition business. The murderer posed as the buyer and commissioned Sonny to bid on the book, knowing Dad would be outraged. But I feel like we’ve been circling around the solution without seeing it. Like maybe the answer is there in plain sight, but we’re overlooking something important.”

  Josh ran his hand through his thick hair. “Whoever he is, I hope he’s found soon. I hate that Nicolas is a suspect.”

  “Thanks,” I said, instantly warming up to him.

  “I mean it. Your dad is great. Sometimes I stay at the store after we've closed up and we just hang out and talk. Not to sound selfish, but I'd really miss it if he had to go away.”

  I stared at Josh, seeing him through a
new filter. Dad was picky about his friends and didn't spend his time with just anybody. If he was taking a special interest in someone, there was usually a good reason. But why hadn't he ever mentioned his friendship with Josh to me?

  “So... What do you talk about?” I asked.

  “You know, stuff. Books, art. I showed him slides of my paintings. He said he liked them, even gave me some ideas on a series I’m doing for an art show.” His expression suddenly turned bitter. “I wish my dad was more like yours. Mine still doesn't get why I wanted to come to New York. He thinks pursuing art is just a hobby, even after all my years at Art school.”

  I started to reach over to give his arm a comforting touch, but then stopped myself. We hardly knew each other, and touching would lead to all kinds of awkwardness.

  “I’m sorry,” I said instead. “That must be rough.”

  But my mind was buzzing. Why was Josh suddenly opening up to me? Was it because he was worried about Dad?

  Whatever the reason, I couldn’t deny it felt nice.

  Josh gave me an earnest look. “I'm not complaining. I just wish they’d clear your dad of the suspicion already. We’ve been talking about it a lot lately, he’s been filling me in on what’s been going on with the investigation.”

  I frowned. Not that I thought Josh was untrustworthy, but Dad shouldn’t have been discussing the details of the murder with other people.

  After a pause, Josh added, “I don't get how the killer shot Sonny in the cellar and then went back upstairs without anyone seeing him. He should’ve at least crossed paths with you or your dad.”

  “That’s the puzzling thing,” I agreed. “There was nowhere for the killer to hide down there, so someone should’ve seen him coming up, but no one did.”

  “Suppose he put on a ring of power and vanished into thin air.”

  “What, like Bilbo Baggins?”

  “Or Gollum in his case.”

  I snorted with laughter. “I had no idea you were a nerd.”

  His eyes crinkled. “A closeted one, yeah.” He added in a quieter voice, “If you ask me, it’s got to be David or Alex. They hated having Sonny for a partner, but they were stuck with him anyway. They had the most to gain from his death.”