“Do you remember what time Chuck arrived at the Arts Center?” she asked Jude.
He tapped his pencil a few times before replying, “I’d say right around one thirty. It was just a little after the authors started arriving.”
Bentley nodded and marked the timeline intervals between one thirty and four o’clock. “So we know the murder occurred within this time frame.”
“What are we doing?” Jude asked. “This feels like a scene out of one of those television detective shows.”
“Yeah,” Zach piped up, the tone of his voice exciting Olive. She let out an excited woo-woo sound, her tail thumping against the floor. “I’m reading a screenplay now for a police drama. The cops are always in the case room, laying out the crime facts on a big whiteboard, just like this.”
Vicky’s normally serious expression turned to delight. “We’re going to participate in solving the case,” she deduced. “A brilliant idea, Ms. Duke. And the sooner we crack the case, the sooner our clients will be exonerated.”
Bentley nodded her approval. “My thoughts exactly, Vicky.”
A couple of chairs down, Franklin cleared his throat. “This seems a little unconventional, doesn’t it?”
“I’d say!” Flora glanced nervously around the table. “And it sounds dangerous. I don’t like this idea one bit.”
Jude held up his hands. “Hold on, everyone. Let’s give Bentley an opportunity to explain.” He looked to where she was standing, marker still in hand. “Because certainly you’re not asking us to interfere with police business.”
“Or do something that would put us in harm’s way,” Flora added.
“Not at all,” Bentley assured us. “All I’m asking is that we pool our brain power. Keep our eyes and ears open. Besides, it’s obvious that this killer is a reader, and who knows readers better than us?”
The room fell silent. I wondered if everyone else was as perplexed by that statement as I was.
“I’m not following you,” Jude finally said.
She briefly explained the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the body, concluding with, “So, whoever did this used pieces of both Jodi and Lynn’s plots in order to frame them for the crime. That means they read the books. They’re readers.”
My heart started thumping. “But Lynn’s book hasn’t been published. There’s only a handful of people who could have read it.” And except for the editor and a few select people at the publishing house, they are all in this room. Once again, the room fell silent as nervous eyes darted around the table. Was it my imagination, or was everyone looking at me? Then I remembered Bentley’s little joke the other day at the James Joyce Pub. “The murder victim in her mystery was found facedown in a wedding cake,” she’d said about Lynn’s book. That was how the killer knew. He or she was at that meeting. That had to be it! I explained my revelation to the group.
“Good!” Bentley exclaimed as soon as I finished. “That’s what I’m talking about, people. Brain power.” She turned back to the board and made a few notations.
“But there were at least a dozen authors there,” Flora said.
Zach nodded. “And all of us.”
“And don’t forget the waitstaff and restaurant workers,” Franklin said, reluctantly getting into the spirit of things. “Any one of them could have overheard that tidbit of information.”
“Including Ms. Lambert,” Bentley interjected. We all knew there was no love lost between Trudy Lambert, the liaison from Southern Belles Bridal, and Bentley. They’d been butting heads all week. I was sure Bentley would just love to see Ms. Lambert go to jail, and the sooner, the better.
“It sounds like we have more suspects now than when we started,” Vicky observed. “And how do we know for sure that Jodi or Lynn didn’t have something to do with the murder?”
“Certainly not Jodi! I’ve known her for years. It’s just not possible.” Flora’s tone rose sharply, eliciting a series of high-pitched yaps from Olive.
“Shh, shh,” Bentley cooed, bending down to calm the dog with a few strokes on the back.