“You’d better go directly to Ms. Burlington-Duke’s office. She’s asked for you several times today and is most displeased that you haven’t been available this afternoon. I tried to provide reasonable excuses on your behalf, but…” She shrugged. “I didn’t know where you were all that time.”
“I was at the police station sharing what I knew about T. J. West, remember?” I tried not to squirm under her frank scrutiny. “Thankfully, he’s innocent. But I’ll tell Bentley all of this in person. I appreciate how you covered for me.” Grabbing the envelope, I hastened down the hall.
Unable to contain my curiosity, I examined the return address on the packet and saw that Thomas Wipple had sent it. I ripped back the tab and pulled out a stack of papers. They were the first three chapters of T. J. West’s bed and breakfast cozy. Hopefully they’d been rewritten to incorporate my suggestions, because if so, I’d offer him representation. I knew I’d have no trouble finding a publisher for his engaging series, as long as he took out the reference to the teddy bear and anything else that involved a child in the murder.
At that moment, a picture of Justyn came to mind. I saw him as a small infant, sleeping beside a worn teddy bear in his laundry basket. Then I envisaged Tilly, lying dead and clutching a plush bear. That murder wasn’t fiction. And neither was Melissa’s.
I shook my head in an attempt to scatter those thoughts and shoved the pages back into the envelope. Reading them would have to wait. Having reached Bentley’s door, I took a deep breath and knocked.
“Enter.”
I stepped into her office. “You wanted to see me?” I said, approaching her large, glass-topped desk.
Bentley’s fingers clicked rapidly on her laptop, her long, cardinal red nails the exact color of the tailored suit she wore. I waited. When she finished, she peered over her diamond-studded half-moon glasses. “Lila. I’m pleased to see that you do, in fact, still work at this agency.”
“I’m sorry. I was delivering a file to the police and became involved in the investigation…” My voice trailed off and I waved the envelope in my hand. “I have been working, though. I’m close to signing a new client.”
“That’s good to hear. I know you have a vested interest in the current police investigation, but please remember that you are a literary agent, not a detective.” The hint of a smile crossed her face. “Although I do recall that you have a certain knack for detecting.” She removed her glasses, and they dangled like a pendant on a gold-jeweled chain around her neck. “Just try to spend more time at the office.”
“I will,” I said, properly chastened.
“I wanted to see you because I have a project to assign you. To you and Jude, actually.” She picked up her phone and pressed a button. “Vicky, please send Jude to my office.”
“What kind of project?” I asked when she replaced the receiver.
“Let’s wait until Jude arrives, shall we? In the meantime, why don’t you fill me in on what the police have discovered about the two murders.” She frowned. “An editor and an author. What is the world coming to? Are the killings connected?”
“It’s possible.” I sifted through all that I’d learned, trying to decide what I could and couldn’t tell my boss. Just as I opened my mouth to speak again, Jude burst into the room. His eyes twinkled when he saw me.
“Ah, two lovely ladies wanting to meet with me.”
“Take a seat, Jude.” Bentley leaned her elbows on her desk and tented her fingers. “The publisher for The Alexandria Society wants a sequel. Of course, since Marlette Robbins is no longer alive, he obviously won’t be able to write it. I need you and Lila to put your heads together to find someone suitable for the project.”
“A ghostwriter?” I asked, remembering Marlette’s unique voice and wondering if we’d be able to find someone to fill his shoes.
“Exactly. Between Jude’s stable of suspense authors and your burgeoning group of mystery writers, I’m confident you’ll be able to come up with a few names. Now, the publisher has put together an outline, so whomever you think is up for the job needs to submit a proposal based on their framework.” She handed each of us a printed sheet of paper.
Jude folded it in half. “I’m happy to be working on this with Lila,” he said, flashing me a smile. “But I’ve got a full plate at the moment. I’ve just sold a thriller to a small publisher, and I’m about to sign another author whose book is destined to become a blockbuster. However, it needs some polishing before I shop it around.”
Bentley sat back in her chair. “Your current projects take priority, but the publisher is eager to enter into discussions, so see that you get to it as soon as possible.” She set her glasses back on her nose and proceeded to type on her computer.
Thus dismissed, Jude and I exchanged curious glances and left the room.