“I know Burke is going to think I’m crazy,” he said, “and she’s probably seconds away from calling me back to the car, but I have the strangest feeling that there’s something here. You must be rubbing off on me.”
I felt a rush of gratitude toward him. “Thanks for helping me. I knew it was a long shot but—”
Suddenly, I noticed a deeper shadow in a V where one of the thickest branches sprouted from the trunk. It seemed the perfect place for a nest or a concealed niche, and standing on tiptoe, I reached my tired arm over my head and blindly felt around the space with my fingertips. Two of my fingers sunk lower into the wood and brushed against material that felt oddly like wrinkled plastic.
My exhaustion was usurped by excitement. Pinching the object tightly, I eased it from the crevice and drew it down to eye level. It was a sheet of white paper folded into a square and swaddled in plastic wrap. I gave it a brief glance in the fading light and recognized Marlette’s angular scrawl. There was also a large chunk of plastic and paper missing from one corner, and I groaned, picturing a squirrel nibbling at the edges.
I paused in the hazy blue twilight for only a moment and then handed it to Sean, who’d drawn on a pair of gloves the instant he saw me retrieve the prize from the niche. I knew that I’d just passed him a potentially significant piece of evidence, but I had a right to see what it was.
“Can you open it? Please?” My voice was soft and plaintive. “I won’t touch it, but I need to know what’s inside.”
Two people had been murdered, and I needed to know why. This was no passing curiosity; my intentions had grown well beyond a concerned citizen seeking justice. I had a powerful new motive for inserting myself into the investigation. Self-preservation. It was only a matter of time before the killer became aware of my involvement. I wouldn’t stand idly by while my mother or Trey became targets, and there was no way in hell I was going to give someone a chance to smother me with my own pillow!
“It’s too dark,” Sean argued.
Pulling a penlight from my purse, I turned it on and waited. Sean grinned. “I should have known you’d have come prepared.”
Gently, he unfolded the piece of paper and held it out in front of his chest so we could both see it clearly.
My heart leapt in my chest as soon as I began to read. Without a doubt, I had found Marlette’s query letter. I didn’t need to be a seasoned literary agent to know that his idea was extremely marketable.
Marlette had created a character by the name of Knox Singleton. A tenured classics professor at Princeton University, Singleton was a renowned scholar and lecturer. He was also a member of a secret society formed to protect obscure and possibly dangerous texts rescued from the flames that burned the Ancient Library of Alexandria to the ground. In just a few lines, Singleton and the members of the illustrious Alexandria League leapt from the page, their passions and eccentricities immediately captivating my interest. Despite my surroundings, I was whisked off to covert meetings in wood-paneled reading rooms across the globe, eavesdropping in fascination as these intellectuals in bow ties and polished loafers formed a reckless plan to recapture a Babylonian scroll providing a magical formula for a substance that, recreated using modern chemicals, could be used as a weapon of mass destruction.
When I reached the final paragraph, I knew that this imaginative idea and well-written letter was a viable query and could indicate a very successful manuscript. Cursing whatever small creature had chewed off the section in which the thriller’s title had been written, I reread the query in its entirety.
“What fool would turn this down?” I demanded, looking at Sean but not really expecting him to answer. The sound of my voice was muffled by the dense canopy and the impeding darkness. But I knew. It was time to let Sean get on with his work. Touching his arm, I thanked him for sharing the letter’s contents with me. He nodded, his eyes distant, and carefully refolded the letter. He then walked me to my scooter, assured me that he’d be in touch, and hurried off to where Officer Burke waited behind the steering wheel of the police cruiser.
I zoomed away, my mind filled with images from Marlette’s query letter. I barely remember driving to my mother’s house. I found her in the kitchen when I dragged myself inside.
“There you are,” she said with an affectionate smile. “No need to fret about makin’ your son dinner. I told him you’d had a hell of a day and gave him a rain check for another night. Everythin’ you need is waiting in your bathroom.”
I was about to argue that what I needed most was a glass of wine, when she shooed me up the stairs using the damp end of a dish towel.