“How’s Bentley handling all of this?” I asked.
Franklin gave an embarrassed cough and said, “She seems rather preoccupied with an offer Jude received yesterday from some Hollywood studio.”
“Which Jude or I should be handling.” Zach sulked. “Carson is Jude’s client, and I’m not called Mr. Hollywood for nothing.”
I sipped my coffee and wondered if Bentley was really working on a deal or was deliberately seeking seclusion in her office while she grappled with the loss of her agent. Or worse, was she hiding because she was somehow involved in these crimes? “What’s the title of Carson’s book?” I asked, hoping to introduce a different topic. “I guess I should know it since it’s going to be all over the place next year.”
“The Alexandria Society,” Jude answered, perking up at once. “Carson is going to be bigger than Dan Brown or Stieg Larsson.”
As he proceeded to give me succinct summary of the plot, I was still reacting to the title. My coffee went down the wrong pipe, and I gagged and coughed, struggling to breathe.
“Are you okay, dear?” Flora inquired.
I nodded and bit into my scone, fearing that if I spoke now I’d blurt out the truth. The idea for Carson Knight’s thriller belonged to Marlette! As I chewed mechanically, I realized that Carson was a prime suspect for Marlette’s murder. Sending Jude a quick glance, I swallowed the bite of pastry and said, “I’d love to read it. Do you have a copy?”
“I have one on my computer and the original manuscript locked away in my file cabinet,” he replied. “You can look at that version, but you can’t take it out of the office. That manuscript is worth more than all of our salaries combined.”
It took a Herculean effort to muster a grateful smile. “I’ll stop by later, thanks. I have so much work to catch up on before then.” I looked around at the rest of the agents. “Are the police done with us, do you think?”
“You seem to have an in with Officer Griffiths,” Zach stated sourly. “Why don’t you tell us?”
I folded the rest of the scone in a napkin and stood up. “I don’t know any more than the rest of you. I only got involved because no one else seemed to care that an innocent man dropped dead in this office!” The anger had come out of nowhere, surprising both my coworkers and me with its vehemence.
“But—” Flora spluttered.
“No, Lila’s right,” Franklin said solemnly. “If we hadn’t turned our backs on that poor man, he might be alive today. Maybe Luella, too. I don’t know if there’s a connection between the two of them, and I pray the police will sort this mess out, but at least Lila had enough gumption and enough heart to take action on Marlette’s behalf.” He touched my arm. “I, for one, am ashamed of my callousness.”
It wasn’t for me to offer forgiveness as, one by one, each of the agents voiced regret. I could only listen and sympathize, and eventually there was nothing else to say, so we dispersed and headed for our individual offices.
At my desk, I eyed the overwhelming stacks of queries, knowing that when I turned on my computer, there’d be an endless stream of emails to tackle as well. I knew I must put aside the emotions and thoughts that were swirling around in my head like a whirlpool and focus on the work I needed to do.
But first I had to call Sean to tell him about Carson’s book. Getting that off my mind, and giving the police that valuable information, would clear the way for concentrating on my job.
I reached for the phone. It rang just as I was about to pick it up to dial, and as a result, my hello was somewhat breathless.
“Good morning, Lila,” Sean said with a glint of humor in his voice. “You sound as if you’ve been running.”
“Me? Run? Only when the oven timer beeps,” I quipped back. “I was about to call you, actually.” The idea that Sean and I had both thought of each other at the same time made me smile.
“Oh, what about?”
“I think Marlette’s story was stolen, and while I still have to follow up on a few things, I’m fairly certain it’s the key to his murder. I believe I might even know who’s responsible.” The names of my three suspects flashed across my mind. Jude. Bentley. Carson.
“Hold on there, Lila. Don’t start making accusations until you have all the facts. Yesterday you thought Iris was a murderer, and your suspicions were completely unfounded. She has an airtight alibi. While Trey was at the grocery store, Iris was visiting an elderly, wheelchair-bound aunt.”
“Oh.” Feeling properly chastised for suggesting that Iris was a murderer, I toned down my fervor. “Then I’ll hold off on sharing my theories for now. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“I wanted to tell you that I’ve sent Marlette’s query to forensics to see if there are fingerprints on it. If so, we’ll find out if they match any of the prints we took from Ms. Ardor’s house.”