WHEN I GOT to the office the next morning, I was surprised to find Sean seated on the leather sofa in the reception area. His presence unsettled me for a moment because the sofa always reminded me of Marlette’s death. However, Sean didn’t seem to be bothered by the couch’s tainted past. With one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, he was engrossed in a pictorial on the best hiking spots in America. Upon seeing me, he jumped to his feet.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile and handed me a takeout cup from Espresso Yourself. “Might I interest you in a caramel latte?”
“You may, thank you.” I returned the smile, absurdly delighted to see him. In Sean’s presence I had the sensation that everything would be okay, that he and a dozen colleagues were working tirelessly on elements of the case I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. I considered all the facts and interviews he had to sort through, the evidence that he and his team had had to gather and process, and how careful he needed to be before accusing someone of murder.
“Any luck with the fingerprints?” I asked him quietly.
Ignoring the question, he pointed down the hall. “Can we go to your office?”
Once inside, he closed the door and we both sat down.
“We found prints from every literary agent in Ms. Ardor’s house, which is no surprise considering she hosted a garden party a few weeks ago that all your coworkers attended. However, there was another set of prints we’ve been unable to match with anyone registered in the national database.”
“I have an idea who those prints belong to.” I told Sean about the missing manuscript and my theory that Luella and Carson had worked together to steal Marlette’s novel and make a fortune from its publication. I realized that I probably should have shared this information with Sean last night, but it had been my hope that I’d be able to present him with some solid facts and all I had was more conjecture. I could tell from his expression that he wasn’t exactly dazzled by my investigative work.
“There’s only one problem with your hypothesis,” Sean said. “Mr. Knight has a solid alibi for the afternoon on which Ms. Ardor was killed.”
I put my coffee cup down on my desk, no longer trusting myself to hold it steady. “That leaves only Bentley.”
“Ms. Burlington-Duke was here with Ms. Ardor’s client. A Miss, uh, Calliope Sinclair gave us a very precise statement. Apparently, she was rather put out because she had to wait here so long.”
The implication of Calliope’s corroboration swept over me. I couldn’t help but release a heavy breath of relief. “My boss didn’t kill Luella.”
“No,” Sean replied with finality. “She was at the other end of the agency engaged in a conference call when Marlette was given the injection of bee venom.”
“So that’s been confirmed?” I asked. “Marlette died because of that injection?”
“Yes. After finding the syringe bearing Ms. Ardor’s prints as well as a receipt for the venom in Ms. Ardor’s house, we escalated the priority on Marlette’s autopsy and requested a complete toxicology report from the medical examiner’s office.” He showed me a color printout of the flowers Marlette had carried into the agency on the day of his death. “This is white milkweed. I’d never heard of this plant, but apparently bees love it. Does it look familiar?”
I reached for the paper. “Marlette was holding onto those clusters of white petals on my first day of work. I remember thinking how beautiful they were, despite the fact that they were being carried by a man who looked like he hadn’t had a bath in a very long time.” With a shake of my head, I thought of my initial impression of Marlette. “I’m still ashamed of how uncomfortable I was in his presence. He was harmless. Maybe if I’d given him a few minutes of my time, I could have made it impossible for Luella to act. To think that a woman who doused herself in perfume and made men go weak in the knees was walking around with a syringe in her pocket, preparing to commit murder…It makes me feel sick.”
Sean reached out and touched the back of my hand. His warm fingertips gave me an instant feeling of calm. “Ms. Ardor knew that Marlette always brought wildflowers to Novel Idea. She also knew it was plausible for a bee to be concealed in one of his bouquets,” Sean continued. “By injecting her victim and causing him to go into anaphylactic shock and then dropping the dead bee on the floor, Ms. Ardor wanted us to assume that Marlette had a serious allergic reaction to the bee sting. She was smart, but not smart enough to realize that she ran the risk of becoming a victim herself.”
“And everyone has an alibi for Luella’s murder.” I sighed. “What happens now?”
“If these two murders occurred because of plagiarism, then I need to find at least a portion of Marlette’s original manuscript. I’ve got to have something to compare to Mr. Knight’s book.”
“Carson will just say that he only had the one handwritten copy and he gave it to Jude. And now it’s gone. Stolen.” My lips formed a tight line of anger. “How convenient for Carson.”