“Not yet. I spoke with Ms. Plume’s husband at length. He has a different surname—Delaney. Logan Delaney. His sister is taking care of Silas. Mr. Delaney is coming down on the next flight.”
I visualized the shell-shocked husband walking through an airport terminal with the blank and expressionless eyes of a zombie. I had to blink back more tears. “That poor man. What did he say about the Winnie the Pooh bear in the photo?”
“That Silas carries the thing with him everywhere. He still has it, as a matter of fact, so the one in the photograph was a decoy.”
Rage surged through my blood. “The murderer tricked Melissa?”
“Silas’s bear has a blue bandanna tied around his neck, and the killer must have known that. The bear in the photo looks fairly new, but I doubt Melissa studied it too hard, and it’s also wearing a blue bandanna.” Sean sounded sorrowful. “Her protective instincts probably overruled all other emotions. She saw that picture and ran.”
I nodded, even though Sean couldn’t see me. “I’d have done the same thing. I would have been totally blinded by fear for my son.” I glanced across the living room at a framed drawing Trey had made for me on Valentine’s Day over twelve years ago. Yes, I would most certainly have reacted exactly as Melissa had. “Did Mr. Delaney mention Melissa having trouble with overly aggressive writers before?”
“Nothing beyond a few nasty phone calls or emails. He’d never heard the name Kirk Mason, but that doesn’t surprise me since Mr. Mason doesn’t officially exist.”
My mouth had gone dry again. “I feel responsible for this, Sean. We invited a killer to Inspiration Valley. My agency accepted this man’s registration information at face value. He breezed into our event under a false name and with malice in his heart.”
“It’s a book festival, Lila. No one expected you or anyone else from Novel Idea to run the attendees’ IDs through a federal database,” Sean argued. “This happened because an individual gave in to a darkness inside himself. End of story. You couldn’t have stopped this. If the killer was Kirk Mason, then I was in the same room with the guy and I didn’t stop him.” He sighed heavily. “Now we need to look ahead. I have to find Mason, and you know how crucial these first few hours are. I can’t talk to you anymore, Lila, until I have some answers. However, there’s something I may ask you to do.”
“Anything,” I quickly replied.
“If I can’t track down a photo of this guy, I’d like you to come to the station and meet with our sketch artist.”
“Of course. I doubt I’ll ever forget what he looks like.”
Sean said good-bye, and after wishing him luck, I hung up and sank deeper into the couch cushions. There had to be something I could do to help bring Melissa’s murderer to justice. Once again, I recalled her description of writers whose blind passion for their work had caused them to cross a line. Perhaps Kirk Mason had done just that with other agents or editors. If he’d queried several agencies or publishing houses using the same pen name, perhaps they had a more complete record of him. Perhaps they even knew his true identity. I resolved to reach out to my fellows in the publishing world as soon as possible. Unfortunately, most of them wouldn’t read or respond to my email until Monday.
By then, the Dunston Police might have Kirk Mason in custody. I wanted to believe that, because the alternative was too frightening. The idea of Kirk sneaking around the festival tomorrow filled me with dread. True, he could no longer disguise himself as Edgar Allan Poe, but it was possible that he didn’t care and was willing to risk his freedom for the sake of his work. Perhaps he believed that by becoming famous as a cold-blooded killer he would finally land a book deal.
Curling my hands into fists, I grabbed the steel letter opener from my little desk in the corner of the room and held the blade up to the firelight. I watched for a moment as the yellow and orange flames licked the metal until it seemed to glow in my hands. I then stuffed the letter opener in my purse.
If Kirk Mason planned to hurt another person at a book festival set in my town and sponsored by my agency, he was going to have to get by me first.
EVEN THOUGH SUNDAY’S workshops had nothing to do with the agency, we felt it was important for Novel Idea to maintain a presence at the festival. With that in mind, some of us had registered for classes. I’d signed up for a demonstration on paper and book making, Franklin was attending one on book repair, and Flora, a seminar on illustration. Jude and Zach, who had no interest in the workshops, would be taking turns at the agency booth, and Vicky would continue manning the registration and information desk. I offered to relieve her for the afternoon, knowing that things would be winding down and it would be a quiet job where I might have the chance to read through some manuscripts.