“I don’t know why. It’s not like this is the first dead person she’s found. Let’s see, first it was the homeless man in our office, then one of the editors from—”
“We get the picture,” Bentley sneered. “The important thing is how are we going to keep this latest . . . uh . . . misfortune from affecting this week’s expo. I don’t have to remind you people of how much money the agency has invested in this event. It’s paramount that it be successful.” She turned to me. “Best scenario would be if the police could wrap this up quickly. Do they have any suspects in mind?”
I broke into an instant sweat, guilt welling inside me. Suspect? Why, yes, Lynn is their primary suspect. Mostly because I pointed the finger of accusation at her. Never mind that she’s one of our clients. That being accused of murder may ruin her career before it even gets started. Oh my, what did I do? Only, I didn’t verbalize any of that. First, Sean would kill me if he knew I leaked details of the case. Second, Bentley would kill me if she knew I’d handed over one of our clients to the cops. Either way, I’d end up dead. Dead as a doornail. I clasped my hand over my mouth.
“Lila, honey.” It was Flora. She leaned forward, looking at me with a worried expression. “You look ill.” Suddenly her chair slid back, and she stood and took me by the arm. “Excuse us, everyone. Lila and I are going to go powder our noses.”
She ushered me down the hall and straight into the ladies’ room. Ripping paper towels from the dispenser, she held them under cool water and then pressed them to the back of my neck. I could feel my resolve crumble. “Oh, Flora,” I started. “I’ve got a mess going on.”
“Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”
The words started pouring out. “The guy that was murdered. Lynn, my client . . . you know, the new author? Wed ’til Dead?” She nodded and I continued, “She knew him. It was her ex-husband. I saw them arguing earlier today. And I told Sean. He’s going to question her and it’s all my fault that he suspects her. It’s just that she wasn’t at her booth . . . and that guy, the handyman, he was killed the very same way as the victim in her book.”
“The same way? How do you mean?”
“I found him lying over the top of a wedding cake. The same as in her book. Only in her book the victim was stabbed with a cake knife. This poor guy had a nail driven through his head.”
Flora gasped and faltered a bit.
I reached out to steady her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you the details. It’s so horrible, I know.”
She pressed the paper towel against her own forehead. “No, it’s not that. I mean, yes, it is horrible, but . . .”
I realized she’d turned white as a ghost. “Flora? Are you okay?”
She nodded, leaning back against the washbasin. “It’s what you just said, about the nail in the head.” She shuddered.
“Yes?”
“It’s exactly how my client Jodi Lee killed off the victim in her book The Billionaire’s Bride.”
Chapter 6
I was shocked, to say the least. I liked to believe it was just a coincidence that Jodi’s victim was killed the same way as the handyman, but there was no way. Besides, it was such an unusual method of murder. But honestly, I had a difficult time believing Jodi could shoot a nail through someone’s skull. Of course, I’d only met her briefly, but she was just so nice. In my mind, I heard Sean’s words again. Nice people do bad things. Still . . .
“Lila! There you are.” Makayla caught up to me in the hallway just outside the ladies’ room. After our discussion, Flora and I had decided the best bet was to come clean with the facts. She was going directly to the DAC meeting to break the bad news about both authors to Bentley.
“Oh, hi, Makayla. Is it after four already?”
“Four thirty. You said to meet you here, right? We were going to look at the booths together . . .” Her voice trailed off, her emerald green eyes clouding with concern. “Is something wrong? You don’t look so good.”
“I found another dead body. There’s been another murder.”
“What!” She clasped my hands, her silver hoop earrings glimmering as she shook her head. “Oh no! Not someone we know.”
“His name was Chuck Richards,” I told her, but she didn’t recognize the name. “I probably shouldn’t say much more. And I’m afraid I can’t walk around with you like we’d planned. I’m sorry.”