There were not many steps from the coffee room to our respective offices, yet before any of us could get through the doors, Bentley appeared in the hall, wearing an elegantly tailored teal suit. I marveled that she’d managed to find shoes in the exact same color.
“Good morning, people,” she began in a commanding voice. “It is unfortunate that the untimely demise of Melissa Plume has tainted an otherwise successful venture for this agency; nevertheless, the book festival was a job well done. Congratulations to you all.” She cleared her throat. “Today is a new day and we must get back to business. Vicky, set up a meeting to fit everyone’s schedule in order to do a postfestival assessment. And people, bring notes, comments, and suggestions.” With that pronouncement she walked into her office.
I hurried after her, having been struck with a sudden inspiration. Bentley had many contacts in the publishing world. Perhaps she knew Ruben Felden, and may even have had dealings with him. If that were the case, Bentley might be able to help, and I could focus on finding the woman Makayla saw arguing with Melissa.
“Excuse me, Bentley,” I called after her.
She turned at the threshold to her office. “Yes, Lila?”
“I wanted to ask you about an editor.”
“Come in, then.” She placed her briefcase on the desk, casting a mirror image of the attaché on its glass surface. Sunlight from the arched window shimmered on the chrome and glass in the office, warming the crispness of her Ansel Adams–inspired décor. She waved her hand at the chair opposite the desk as she sat down.
I perched on the edge of the seat. “Do you know an editor by the name of Ruben Felden?”
“I’ve worked with his publishing house but have never dealt with him directly. Why do you ask?” Abruptly she sat forward. “Ah, that’s Melissa Plume’s publishing house. Is this related to what happened to her? Do you have some reason to believe Felden is involved?”
“I’m not sure. I believe he’s what the police call a person of interest. Apparently he bears some kind of serious grudge against Melissa. I was planning to see if he could have been in Inspiration Valley this weekend, but then I thought about the connections you have and—”
“Say no more.” Bentley stretched her palm out to me in the universal sign for stop. “I’ll reach out to my contacts and get a complete dossier on Felden. If he had anything to do with staining my agency’s reputation, he will answer for it.”
“Let’s not forget about seeking justice for Melissa Plume,” I added.
“Of course.” Bentley put her diamond-studded reading glasses on her nose and opened her laptop.
Obviously dismissed, I ventured into my own office and sank into the leather desk chair. I’d redecorated when I was promoted to agent, and this comfy seat was one of the first purchases I made. It was the perfect place to read, to type on the computer, to build up an author’s hopes or possibly shatter their dreams. At this moment, however, I wasn’t considering an author who had queried me, but rather one who had caused trouble—possibly of the fatal kind—for Melissa Plume. How could I find out more about the green-eyed, freckled woman? Had the police gotten any leads from the witnesses to the argument?
I punched in Sean’s number on my cell phone, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt about interrupting him, and a shade more for ignoring the work on my desk.
“Hi, Sean,” I jumped in as soon as he said hello. “Sorry to bother you when you’re at work, but I was wondering if you found out anything more about the angry woman writer.”
“You’re not bothering me, Lila, although I can only talk for a minute.” Sean sighed into the phone. “You’re supposed to leave the investigating to us, remember?”
“I know, but I can’t stop thinking about Melissa and her poor husband and son. I just want to help.”
His tone softened. “You have a good heart. I can tell you that the witnesses we interviewed last night gave us no more information than Makayla did about that woman. We’re currently interviewing Ms. Plume’s list of clients to see if we can identify her.”
“Is Mr. Delaney still in Inspiration Valley?” A nugget of an idea was growing in my mind. Perhaps Melissa’s husband would know who the disgruntled author might be.
“Yes, he’s still in town and is staying at the Magnolia B and B until he’s able to make arrangements to ship his wife’s…body…home.”
Sadness squeezed my heart as I considered how difficult these few days must be for the bereaved Mr. Delaney. “I’d better let you go, Sean. Thanks for sharing the information.”
After hanging up, I pondered how I could tactfully question Melissa’s husband when the grief from his loss was so raw. Then it dawned on me—food. Food provided comfort, bridged gaps, and healed hurts. I’d bring him lunch.