I gripped the phone receiver tightly. “A match for the killer’s fingerprints?”
“No jumping to conclusions until we have all the facts, remember? I’ll talk to you later, Lila.”
I reluctantly said good-bye, thankful that at least he thought there would be a “later” for us.
Hanging up the phone, I pulled a stack of queries toward me and opened the first envelope. The letter carried the faintest whiff of a woody scent, reminding me of Marlette. I closed my eyes for a moment and willed him to disappear so I could focus on the task at hand. Mind cleared, I began to read.
By the end of the letter, the author had drawn me into Valetta’s world in much the same way that I’d been pulled into Marlette’s Alexandria League. Pondering how a writer was able to accomplish this, I thought about Carson’s novel. Surely it was more than a coincidence that the title and the plot were nearly identical to the novel in Marlette’s query. And Carson, not Marlette, would be raking in the big bucks for an idea that wasn’t his own. Had Carson stolen Marlette’s novel? Had the two men known each other? Or was Carson in collusion with Jude or Bentley? Had one of my coworkers stolen from a gentle, befuddled recluse for profit?
The answer popped into my mind like a thought bubble in a comic. It had to be Jude! Since he was Carson’s agent, he would also make a ton of money from The Alexandria Society. And he’d had regular opportunities to come in contact with Marlette, to read his query and, later, his entire manuscript.
Then again, Bentley was also profiting from Marlette’s novel. Was she a part of it, too, or just an innocent bystander? And how had Luella become involved? Had she murdered Marlette? Or had the bee venom evidence been planted in her house and computer? If so, who was her murderer?
As each question raised another, I felt more on edge. I was so close to figuring the puzzle out, but I just didn’t have enough information. I needed to see Carson’s manuscript.
I worked through the rest of the day, but part of me was merely waiting for time to pass and for the rest of the agents to head home. Finally, at half past five, I stepped out of my office and glanced down the hall. It appeared as though all of my coworkers had left for the day. The agency was ominously silent, and except for the break room, all the doors were closed. Checking each one to be sure, I found everyone’s door locked, and nobody called out to me when I knocked. Confident that I was the only one at Novel Idea, I felt an uncanny déjà vu from yesterday, when, alone at the agency, I’d searched Luella’s office. I felt chilled, as though the air conditioner had been set ten degrees lower.
In the break room, I took down the coffee can that hid the master keys and pulled out the one to Jude’s office. Looking up and down the hall once more, I crept to his door and let myself in.
Once inside, it struck me how cold and austere Jude’s office was. Compared to the other agents’ homey spaces, Jude had chosen a desk and accoutrements that appeared to have come straight out of Office Depot. His unadorned, impersonal office could easily reflect the personality of a cold-blooded killer.
Is that what Jude was? I didn’t want it to be true. Jude was such a charming man, so filled with laughter and playfulness. I’d been attracted to him the moment we met. I touched my lips as I remembered our impulsive kiss in this very room.
The first drawer of the file cabinet was locked, as were the others. I ran my fingers through my hair in frustration. Perhaps the keys were in his desk.
Perching myself on the ergonomically designed chair, I opened the first and second desk drawer, but neither of them contained the keys. As I opened the bottom drawer, a plethora of sweet scents was released, and my stomach grumbled. Guiltily I took a Twix bar, ripped it open, and bit into it while I considered where Jude might keep the file cabinet key.
The starkness of the furnishings did not offer many options for hiding places. To one side of the desk was a sitting area, the only part of the office that gave any semblance of comfort and relaxation. I sat on the edge of one of the two leather wing chairs as I finished the candy bar and scanned the bookshelves directly across from where I was sitting. The spines of the books were dark and shadowy, their titles containing words like “death,” “murder,” “killer,” “spy.” A sense of foreboding filled the room, and I suddenly wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.
As I stood up, I noticed a small wooden box on the top shelf, sitting between a tennis trophy and an oddly shaped rock. My fingers tingled. Would the key be in there? Could I now unlock the file cabinet, and in so doing, unlock the most significant clue in this investigation?
I reached up on my toes to take it down.