*
I OVERSLEPT TUESDAY morning, the blast from Mama’s horn jolting me—and my poor neighbors—as I ran through the house, shrugging into my coat and gathering last-minute items needed for the day. The air outside felt like a cold slap in the face, which I welcomed in a way. It was better than the warm grogginess that kept me in bed for too long. At least now I felt awake enough to take on another day. I shuffle-stepped down the walk, careful not to slip. Everywhere I looked, the world looked pristine and fresh, making me think that snow must be Mother Nature’s favorite way to clean house.
“Tired, sugar?” Mama asked, as soon as I clambered into her truck.
I threw my satchel between us on the bench seat and adjusted the vent so that the heat was blasting my way. “A little. It was a long day yesterday.” The other agents and I had succeeded in rearranging the displays in the culinary wing, putting a folding screen toward the end to mask off the glaring yellow crime scene tape. Thankfully, the rest of the day’s events went off without a hitch, most of the attendees delightfully oblivious to the fact that a murder had even occurred. Or at least they would be until they read about it in the Dunston Herald today. I thought back to when I’d worked at the Herald, writing about church bazaars and Girl Scout cookie sales for the Features section of the paper. The news of a local murder would have certainly sent our staff into a frenzied race to scoop the story and put out a blazing headline.
“I still can’t stop thinkin’ of that poor man,” Mama continued. “And killed in such a nasty way. Sorry you had to see it, hon. It worries me that you keep comin’ so close to death. But I trust Sean’s going to work to get this cleared up and bring the murderer to justice. So you won’t be gettin’ involved, right?”
I glanced across the seat, noticing that the lines around her eyes seemed deeper than usual. She’d been worrying again. I hated it that I caused her so much stress. But maybe stress was just an inevitable part of motherhood. Heaven knows, Trey had caused me enough stress to last a lifetime. Enough joy, too, I thought with a bittersweet twinge. I’d tried to call his dorm room last night, but he never answered. Probably off doing whatever it was college kids did late at night. I really didn’t want to know. “Two of our authors are suspects,” I finally replied, skirting her question. I knew I couldn’t promise her that I wouldn’t get involved. I’d just stayed up half the night trying to put together pieces of the puzzle, hoping that the image they formed had nothing to do with Lynn or Jodi. Actually, the picture that kept popping to mind was that of Oscar Belmonte. Now, there was a man that couldn’t be trusted.
“Not Pam,” she said, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. I assumed that sitting next to Pam at her author’s booth yesterday had made Mama fond of the woman.
“No, not Pam,” I assured her. “My client, Lynn, and another author named Jodi.” I went on to explain everything I knew about the case.
“Do you think one of them did it?”
“No,” I answered right away. I’d asked myself the same question all night and finally decided that it couldn’t have been either author. And not just because I thought they were too nice, or because they were part of the Novel Idea family, as Bentley put it, but because the method of murder was just too coincidental. “If one of them was the killer, I don’t think they would have used the same method as in their book,” I explained. “It had to be someone else. Someone who had access to the kitchen area.” Someone like Oscar Belmonte, I thought.
I suddenly had a great idea for lunch. “What’s on your agenda for today, Mama? Besides being the Amazing Althea, Babylonian Fortune-Teller?”
She chuckled. “Thought maybe a little later we could grab a bite at that new place, Machiavelli’s.”
I did a double take. “Did you just read my mind?”
“Huh?”
“I was just going to ask if you’d go with me to lunch there.” I shook my head. “Amazing.”
Mama smiled.
We’d just tuned into the lot behind Novel Idea. She pulled up close to the stairs leading to the back door. “Lila, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about a few things.”
“Sure,” I said, one hand on the door handle, the other reaching for my satchel. “We’ll talk at lunch, okay? I’ve got to run. Love you, Mama.”
“Love you, too, sugar.”
I hopped out and headed straight for Espresso Yourself. I still needed to fill in Makayla on everything that had happened at the expo the day before.
*