I laughed. “Scary, you mean. Don’t worry, I’ve given him plenty of hints about the type of ring I’d like.” Lots and lots of hints. “So, what time do you want to meet this afternoon?”
Another customer came in, so we quickly finalized our plans and said good-bye. Outside, I was surprised to run into Sean on the steps leading up to Novel Idea. He’d worn a heavy overcoat over his suit and a brimmed hat, bringing to mind a pleasant image of the blond, well-built, and ever-so-broody Sam Spade, Dashiell Hammett’s famous detective character in the book The Maltese Falcon.
I leaned in for a quick kiss but hit nothing but air. I stepped back and steeled myself. He must have found out about Jodi and was ticked at me for not saying something before she lawyered up.
“Got a call yesterday from an attorney representing another one of your agency’s authors. Jodi Lee?” His features remained neutral, but I could tell he was angry. Over the last couple of years, I’d picked up on his tells, the little physical things that betrayed his emotions. Like the twitch in his jaw, or the way his neck muscles tensed when he was angry. Both those things were happening now.
For a second, I contemplated lying to him. After all, he didn’t need to know that I even knew about Jodi’s book. She was Flora’s client. I could just feign ignorance. But I knew that lies had a way of driving wedges between people. I didn’t want that for Sean and me. “She’s Flora’s client,” I said. “I’d never read her book, but Flora told me about it yesterday. I was going to tell you, but Bentley asked me to wait until she could make sure Jodi had an attorney.”
I waited, but all he did was nod.
“Are you angry with me?” I finally asked.
He sighed, his muscles noticeably relaxing. “Actually, no. I probably would have done the same thing in your position. Can’t really blame Bentley, either. Getting Jodi a lawyer was smart.”
I lowered my gaze. Maybe I should have been smarter when it came to Lynn. “So, you must be here about the case.” I said, coming back to my original question.
“I am.”
A feeling of dread settled over me. “Were any prints found on the nail gun?”
“No. It appears to have been wiped clean. Or the perp was wearing gloves.”
Which currently described everyone in town, I thought, staring down at Sean’s own hands. I’d given him a nice pair of leather gloves for Christmas after he complained that his police-issued pair had worn thin. “That means there’s no real evidence against Jodi or Lynn.”
“Not yet.” A resolved look settled over his face as he turned to make his way up the steps. I followed, my eyes riveted to the backs of his boots as they clunked against the metal edging on the staircase steps. His walk was determined, meaning he had something serious on his mind, reminding me again of the pertinacious Sam Spade. Come to think of it, Sean was a lot like Hammett’s main character, not just in physical appearance but also in demeanor. Especially his single-minded determination and notable detachment from everything and everyone when he was working on a case. I sighed. I might as well forget about coming up with a wedding date or a ring anytime in the near future. Sean’s mind would be on nothing but this case until it was solved.
“Detective Griffiths,” Vicky said, immediately standing and coming out from behind her desk, picking a few stray orange hairs from her skirt. Eliot remained curled up on his usual chair in our waiting area, acknowledging our sudden presence with a little flick of his tail. “Can I offer you some coffee?” Vicky was saying.
“No thank you,” he said, pausing to take note of her sweater. “That color becomes you, Ms. Crump.”
Oh brother. He must need something important from her.
Vicky’s hand flew to her chest, her gaze moving downward over her teal green sweater with white angora trim along the mock turtleneck and sleeve edges. It certainly did set off her silky white hair and was a bit brighter than the usual conservative apparel of our office manager, but I could see through his ploy. Another of Sean’s tells. Vicky’s cheeks flushed with pleasure. “That’s so kind of you to say, Detective.”
Sean dipped his chin. “Is Ms. Duke in?”
“No, I’m expecting her at any moment. She called earlier to say that she was going to call a DA . . . an emergency meeting,” she corrected. “Would you like to wait?” She motioned to the chair adjacent to Eliot’s perch.
“No, I’m sure you can help me. I need a copy of Ms. Werner’s book.”
Vicky faltered, her eyes darting my way. “Oh, I’m not sure if that’s possible.”
“Sure it is,” Sean cajoled. “One of you must have access to it.” He looked my way. “Lila?”