“From that conversation it sounds as if Anabel had a secret as well, and Marlene knew it. Was she in that book too?” I asked.
Desiree shrugged. “It’s possible. Like I said, Marlene was very adept at getting people to talk to her. Spill their guts.”
Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder where Anabel was at the time of the murder?”
“It’s easy enough to check out,” said Desiree. “I can just call her.”
I handed Desiree my phone, and she punched in a number. A few seconds later she mouthed, “Voice mail.” Then she said, “Hey, Anabel, it’s Des. Can you call me back. It’s kinda important, thanks.” She disconnected and then punched in another number. “Hey, Becky. Hi, it’s Desiree. Very well, thanks. I’m in California. Thought I’d do some R&R before the new book comes out. No, I haven’t heard a word about a tour . . . really? I just called her and it went to voice mail . . . great. Do you know where I can get hold of her? No, huh? Well, when she calls you, tell her to call this number.” She repeated my cell number and then hung up. Her gaze was troubled as she looked at us. “I called her admin, Becky Blount. Becky said that Anabel left a week ago to come out here to California to set up a book tour for me.”
“Is that a usual procedure?” Peter asked as Desiree hesitated.
Desiree shook her head. “No, it isn’t. This tour was different. Our publisher usually arranged our tours, but when Marlene said she wasn’t going to do publicity for the new book, our publisher canceled their plans. That’s when Anabel stepped in and took over.” Desiree brushed her hand through her neatly coiffed hair. “What is unusual was the fact she flew here to do it in person. Such things are normally handled via the phone or email. Which might mean . . .”
“She had another reason for wanting to come to California,” I finished. I thought of the mysterious Anne Onymous. Was it possible she could be Anabel Leedson? “Did Becky happen to mention where Anabel was staying?”
“She didn’t have her book a hotel like she usually does. Told her that her accommodations were taken care of, and she’d be in touch. She didn’t give her a hotel name or number.” Desiree chewed at her bottom lip.
Maybe not so odd, I thought, not if you were renting a house and wanted to keep your identity a secret. Maybe the nosy neighbor in the stucco house wasn’t just a random neighbor after all. I needed to get out there and get some answers.
And I knew just the person who could help me.
Fourteen
I was in the middle of the breakfast rush the next morning when Jenks ambled in the front door. He took his place in line behind Henry and Lauretta Trimble, a retired couple who came in every morning for bear claws and coffee before starting their customary three-mile walk. Lately, though, they’d been skipping the walk and sitting at one of the front tables to watch the morning news, like most of my other customers. Right now the story of the hour was Marlene’s murder, and everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen. I gave Henry and Lauretta their donuts and coffee and greeted Jenks with a smile as he approached the counter.
“I see you got my message,” I said. “Your voice mail wasn’t on, so I had to leave it at the switchboard.”
“Technical troubles.” He chuckled, brushing an errant strand of hair out of his eyes with the flick of a finger. “I’ve never been one to turn away a free breakfast. Or, as you put it, ‘the scoop of the century.’ What exactly did you mean by that?”
I leaned across the counter so my nose was level with his, and I whispered, “How’d you like to possibly catch Marlene McCambridge’s killer?”
His eyes widened slightly and then he coughed. “Well, it would certainly put me back in Marker’s good graces. He wasn’t happy that we had to share the news of her murder with every other newspaper and TV station in the vicinity, especially since I’d had prior knowledge. I’m lucky he didn’t demote me to reporting on local news, like that pet show over in Castillo.” He let out a small groan. “I hate pet shows. I had to practically grovel for him to let me stay on features. That detective really owes me for keeping quiet like he asked.”
I was relatively certain Samms wouldn’t care in the least about Jenks’s career problems, but I refrained from making any comment. I set some eggs frying on the griddle before I turned back to him. “So you’re in, then?”
“Heck, yeah.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know who killed her?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
His eyes widened. “You do?”
“Well, it’s nothing definite. It’s a gut feeling. But as gut feelings go, it’s a good one.”
He seemed to relax a bit. “Oh.”
I transferred the fried eggs to a fluffy roll, topped them with a thick slice of cheddar cheese, some crumbled bacon bits, and a slice of tomato, filled a mug with steaming coffee and placed it on a tray in front of Jenks. “Here you go, one Jimmy Fallon Special. Now, do you recall the house across from the one where Marlene was killed?”
He shook his head. “Not really, no.”
“It’s a brown stucco one. I saw the curtains move on several different occasions. At first I thought it might be a nosy neighbor, you know, like Rear Window? But certain things have come to light that make me think the person in that house might have had a more vested interest in recent events.”
He added cream and sugar to the coffee. “So you think whoever’s in that house is the killer?”
“Either that, or they might have seen who did do it.” I glanced around to make sure no one was listening and then continued, “I’ve gone out there a couple of times and tried to get in by conventional means, but either they weren’t home or they didn’t want visitors.”
“And now you want to use unconventional means? To try and confront a person who may or may not be a murderer?” He bit down on his lower lip. “Have you thought about what might happen if this person you want to confront is the murderer?”
“We’re not going to accuse her of anything outright. I just need to ask her a few questions.”
One shaggy eyebrow rocketed skyward. “The murderer is a woman?”
I splayed both my palms on the counter. “Were you listening when I used the words possibly and might? And do I look like I’m the type to stand in front of a possible killer and accuse her outright of murder?” I took my hands off the counter and turned back to the griddle. “If you don’t want to help, I’ll do it on my own. I just thought . . .”
He held up his hand. “Hey, no need to get so touchy. I was just pointing out a few flaws in your plan.”
“You do know what they say about plans, right?”
“Say no more. I’m in. Just tell me the time and place.”
I did a quick calculation in my mind. Scarlett’s book signing was at four, and I wanted to approach her before it started. Chantal had already agreed to close for me, so twenty minutes to drive there and back, maybe a half hour with Scarlett at the most . . . “Can you meet me out there at five?”
He picked up his tray. “You got it.”
Jenks ambled off to a table in the back and I poured myself a cup of coffee. Nick rose from his favorite spot by the refrigerator, walked over to me, rubbed against my ankles, and then looked up at me with his unblinking golden stare.
“Sorry, bud. You’re not coming with me.”
Nick made grumbly noises in his throat.
I opened the glass case, took out a slice of ham, put it on a paper plate and set it on the floor in front of Nick. “Peace offering,” I said.
He walked over to the plate, sniffed at the ham, and then began to eat it. Midway through his feast, he raised his head and fixed me with a baleful glare. “Merrrow,” he warbled.
Apparently my peace offering was not enough.
“Too bad,” I told him. “I’ve got a lot of ground to cover in a short period of time. I don’t want to have to worry about you while I’m doing it.”
“Er-ewl.” His look plainly said, You? Worry about me? Who’s saved whose life mo
re than once, hmm?
I bent down to pat him but he ducked his head. “It’s not that I’m not grateful. You know I am. But I can’t afford to take any chances. If Ollie, or Samms, or Daniel knew what I was planning, why, they’d all skin me alive.”
“Who’s skinning who?”
I glanced up sharply. Daniel, looking particularly handsome in his usual navy blue suit, white shirt and maroon tie, smiled at me across the counter.
I flushed guiltily. “I was—ah—just having a little conversation with Nick. Disciplining him, actually.”
“Really?” Daniel looked across the counter at the cat, who had lofted up to the counter and sat, back straight, his eyes fixed on me. “He does look a little angry.”
I turned and shook my finger at Nick. “Bad cat. I told you not to jump on the counter during work hours.”
Nick blinked twice, then calmly raised his left front paw and began to lick it.
Daniel eyed him. “You can’t discipline a cat, Nora. They have minds of their own.”
“Tell me about it. Still, every now and then I have to lay down the law. After all, I am the human.” I walked over and gave Nick a swift pat on his bottom.
“Merow,” he said, and then jumped down, ambled over to the ham, and began to slurp it down.
Daniel laughed. “The two of you are more alike than you realize.” He sobered, stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Can we talk?”
“Sure. Do you want anything? Coffee, an egg sandwich—”
“Actually, I need a little information.” He nodded toward my back room. “Can we talk privately?”
I waited as Daniel walked around my wide front counter into the kitchen area. I motioned for him to follow me into my storeroom; I figured I could spare a few minutes, since no one was waiting on line. Once I’d closed the door, he said, “I understand you and Ollie found an intruder at the Porter house yesterday.”
I shifted from one foot to the other. “Good news travels fast, I see. You’ve spoken to Samms.”
“What were you doing out there, Nora?”
In two seconds flat Daniel had made the transition from hunky male customer to cool, detached FBI agent. When he had that steely look on his face, I knew I’d better not try to duck any of his questions. “I wanted to question the person who’s renting the house across from the Porter house—her name is Anne Onymous. I kid you not,” I added as I caught the steely glint in his eyes. “Ask Joannie Adams if you don’t believe me. Ollie and I both figure it’s an alias.”
“Why did you want to question her?”
“When I was out there and found Marlene’s body, I saw the curtain move twice. But no one answered the door. Samms said he’d gotten an anonymous tip there was a prowler. I thought maybe whoever it was in that house might have seen something.”
He was silent a minute then asked, “How did you end up back at the Porter house?”
“When no one answered, we thought we’d just check it out.”
“You wanted to hunt for that missing manuscript.”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
“And that’s when you ran into the intruder?”
“Yes. He said his name was Simon Gladstone and that he was Marlene’s nephew. Ollie realized that he couldn’t be Marlene’s nephew, and he realized we were onto him, that’s when he slammed the door in our faces. I chased him around the side but he was too fast. He got away through the woods.”
“Did you see him take anything from the house?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure. I saw a flash of something white in his hand, but it didn’t look big enough to be a book manuscript. I think he ripped some pages out of Marlene’s appointment book.”
“Yes, Lee told me about that.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Did he tell you there must be two books? Because the one he’s got in evidence is not the same one I saw.”
“Lee mentioned your opinion on the subject.”
“It’s a lot more than my opinion,” I huffed. “It’s a fact.”
I went back into the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with my phone. I clicked it into picture mode and called up the two I’d taken of the appointment book and showed them to Daniel. “See this one?” I pointed. “The initials—DS—look smudged, like they’ve been written over something else that’s been erased. And in this one, DS is by ten a.m. In the book Samms has, they’re written clear as a bell, and next to ten thirty.”
Daniel frowned. “Where did you take these pictures?”
“Right after I found Marlene’s body. The book was lying in a half-open drawer under the laptop.”
Daniel pursed his lips and stared at the pictures. “Um-hum.”
“Listen, if I found the book, there’s no way Samms could have missed it. He’s too good of a cop, unless . . .” I paused as a sudden thought struck me.
“Unless what?” Daniel prompted as I remained silent.
I shook my head. “No, sorry. It was a crazy idea. Forget it.” I huffed a strand of hair out of my eyes as Daniel shut off my phone and handed it back. “Samms said there was a guard at the house, but we didn’t see anyone.”
“That’s because the guy was knocked unconscious and dragged onto the back porch.”
My eyes widened. “Gladstone’s work, I assume?”
“Most likely. It’s a good thing Ollie was with you, Nora. If you had been alone . . .” He let that thought hang in the air for a moment, and then asked, “Can I show you something?”
I nodded and he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph, which he laid on the counter in front of me. “Does that man look familiar?”
I stared at the man in the photo. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, and his hair was shorter and combed in a slightly different style, but there was no mistaking those blue eyes. I tapped the photo with my finger. “That’s him. That’s Simon Gladstone.”
Daniel nodded and slipped the photo back in his jacket pocket. I looked at him. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell me who that is? I already know Simon Gladstone isn’t a real name.”
He shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t. At least not at this time.”
My eyes widened. “So that man is somehow involved with the FBI? With a case you’re working on? And Samms knew this?”
Not an eyelash flickered. His expression didn’t change one iota.
I brushed at a piece of lint on my apron. “You know, sometimes you can be incredibly frustrating.”
He leaned both elbows on my counter. “How about incredibly cute?”
“You can’t blame me for being curious, Daniel. After all, what would a guy wanted by the FBI be doing pillaging a murder scene?”
He gave me a bland look. I wondered if he practiced it in front of the mirror. “Did I say he was wanted by the FBI?”
“You don’t have to. It’s obvious.”
He clucked his tongue. “Now you’re making an assumption.”
“Okay, then. He’s not wanted by the FBI.”
“Another assumption.”
I sighed. “Okay. He was hired by someone who’s wanted by the FBI.”
I saw one of his eyebrows twitch, ever so slightly.
“Oh my gosh, I guessed it. Someone wanted by the FBI hired him to do what?” I sucked in a breath. “You think Marlene’s death was a hit?”
“At this point, I’m not ruling out the possibility,” he said. “But nothing’s cast in stone.”
My brain was already whirling with possibilities. Who would have hired a hit man? Scarlett Vandevere? Dooley Franks, aka Sable St. John? Morley Carruthers? Anabel Leedson? Could any of them possibly be wanted by the FBI, and was that the secret Marlene had held over their head?
Or was it someone else entirely?
“The initials,” I suddenly cried, and my fingers dug into Daniel’s arm. “Marlene erased someone’s initials and wrote DS over it because she didn’t want anyone to know about that appointment. Marlene was meeting with someone wanted by the FBI?”
Silence greeted me.
I decided now was as good a time as any to test the theory I’d worked out in my head. “I think Samms knew all along there were two appointment books, because he planted one there. You two are working together, aren’t you? And you set a trap for . . . someone. Simon Gladstone? You were hoping he’d show up!” I gave a little cry. “Except it didn’t go the way you planned. Somehow the books got switched, and he made off with the pages from the right one.”
“That’s a very nice theory you’ve worked up,” Daniel said. “However, at this point, it’s all supposition.”
“But on a scale from one to ten,” I persisted. “How good is it?”
“Nora, Nora.” Daniel shook his head. “Why do you keep backing me into corners? You know I can’t answer you. I’ve already told you more than I should.”
Which was damn little, in my estimation. “Can’t? Or won’t?”
He studied my face for a moment, then reached out and tucked a loose tendril of hair behind one ear. “What do you think?”
I sighed. “I think you would if you could.”
“Precisely. You have to trust me, Nora. This is nothing to fool around with. Both Samms and I are trying to keep that pretty head of yours intact.”
“Samms said almost the same thing. Actually, he said he didn’t want to have to answer to you if anything should happen to me.”
“He’s right.” His thumb made circular motions on the back of my hand. “I want you to be around for a while, Nora Charles. There are lots of things I would like to do with you and we haven’t even scratched the surface.”
I looked deeply into his eyes. “There are?”
“Yes. Many, many things.”
We stood there, gazing into each other’s eyes, and the moment stretched between us, pregnant with possibility . . . and then Nick let out a loud yowl from the other side of the door, at the precise instant Daniel’s cell phone chirped.
Hiss H for Homicide Page 12
