Can't Judge a Book by Its Murder Read online

  Another vague gesture toward a dark corner of the room. “His carrier is over there. I feed him, then back away. I stay out of his way and he stays out of mine.” He ruefully looked at his wound. “Mostly.”

  He pulled a document up on the screen. “Here,” Sam said.

  “What exactly is that?” she asked.

  “That is a receipt from the store where Wally bought two pairs of diamond earrings.”

  “Six carats? Those earrings Inna had on weren’t six carats.” Was it getting hot in there? Maybe she needed to make sure Sam had an extra window unit to combat the Mississippi heat.

  “Jewelers categorize the earrings by total weight. So six-carat earrings would be—”

  “Three each,” she said along with him. And four earrings were twelve carats. Wow. “Wait,” she said, the significance of his find dawning on her. “Where did you get this?”

  “The jewelry store,” he said with a quirk of one brow.

  How had she forgotten he was a private investigator? And this piece of evidence just proved that he was still on the case. But working for who?

  “He bought two pairs,” she mused with a smile. “One for his wife and one for his mistress.”

  “Assistant,” Sam corrected.

  “Whatever. Everyone in America knows he was sleeping with Inna.” Even though Daisy was beautiful and sexy and quite a catch. Some men just weren’t satisfied with what they had and always wanted more. “This proves it,” she said, pulling her thoughts back on track. “This proves that Daisy had earrings like the one found at the crime scene and the earring I found at Chloe’s belongs to her.”

  “No. This proves that Wally bought two pairs of identical earrings just before Christmas last year.”

  “One for Inna and one—”

  “Additional pair that could have been for anybody. Including Chloe.”

  “But—” she protested. She didn’t want him to be right, but he was. They couldn’t prove that Wally hadn’t given the earrings to Chloe, even though Arlo knew she would have told her if he had. That was just the kind of friends they were. Chloe wouldn’t have kept them from her.

  “He could have just as easily given those earrings to Chloe as Daisy. Or the other way around,” Arlo mused.

  “He could have just as easily given those earrings to Inna.”

  “Fingerprints.” She snapped her fingers.

  Sam shook his head. “There’s not a chance of lifting a viable print from those earrings.”

  “If there’s nothing that can be done with this discovery, why are you telling me?”

  Sam shrugged. “I just thought you should know.”

  * * *

  He thought she should know.

  The words knocked around inside Arlo’s head for the rest of the day. Through all the book club’s chatter about mushrooms and poisons, affairs and new books, it was all she could think about.

  He wanted her to know. Why? And, even better, why hadn’t she asked Sam again who had hired him? And someone had him on the payroll. Why else would he be digging around in an active police murder investigation?

  Because he wouldn’t tell her who. He might share a piece of evidence with her, but he wasn’t outing his client. Not that she could blame him; she hadn’t told him about her discovery. But his sort of knocked hers out of the water. Travis may have had access to the third floor of the building and he may have been up there with Wally. But someone else had been there too. Someone who dropped a very expensive diamond earring.

  Aside from hacking into the computer at Tiffany’s, he could have gotten it from Wally’s accountant. Taxes and expenses were one thing that Inna did not take care of. The accountant would have the information. Inna could have it too, she supposed. Or maybe Daisy. She was his wife after all, even though Wally seemed to forget that from time to time.

  Or maybe he really did get it from the jewelry store.

  Arlo eased behind the coffee bar to the small fridge Chloe kept there and retrieved a bottle of water. She had given up coffee for the day. The caffeine and her whirling thoughts were making her jitterier that normal.

  The book club still sat in the reading nook. Camille had put her knitting away and was taking notes. Arlo wasn’t sure what she was writing, having tuned out their chatter long ago, but no one held a copy of either Missing Girl or To Kill a Mockingbird. Some book club.

  “Aren’t y’all supposed to be reading?” she asked them.

  Helen answered. “We called Wally’s publisher.”

  Arlo whirled to face her godmother. “Helen! What were you thinking?”

  “We wanted to know if he had any more books coming out.”

  “And?”

  Helen shook her head. “He hasn’t turned in his next book yet.” Hadn’t turned it in? “He’s a couple of months late and won’t even let them see sample chapters.”

  “His editor told you this?” Arlo asked. That was valuable and perhaps damaging information.

  “One of the secretaries.” Helen smiled innocently.

  “You can’t trust that she told you the truth,” Arlo said.

  “I guess that’s kind of a moot point now,” Camille chimed in.

  “You would think,” Helen said.

  Something about the tone of her voice sounded suspicious. “What did you do?”

  Fern sauntered up with a smile. “We called his agent.”

  Arlo pinched the bridge of her nose and moved around the two of them to collapse onto one of the reading nook couches. This was either going to be really good or really bad. “What did he say?”

  “She.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Arlo asked.

  “Wally’s agent is a she. Veronica Tisdale.”

  Of course Wally had a female agent. He was just the kind of guy who surrounded himself with beauty. Arlo took out her phone and googled the name. Veronica was African American with high cheekbones and permed hair. She was gorgeous in a Miss America sort of way and Arlo had to wonder if Ms. Tisdale was smart like Inna or a timid, girl-next-door like Daisy. Or maybe she was somewhere in between. But if the sharp light in her eyes was any indication, she had an off-the-charts IQ to go with a body that just wouldn’t quit.

  “His editor’s a woman too.”

  Fern’s voice sounded close to her shoulder.

  “What?”

  “I read an article in Publisher’s Weekly about how he insisted that he have a woman editor in order for her to get his female character and his female writing voice.”

  “Really?” She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised that he had demanded any particular editor seeing as how Missing Girl was his first book or that the book did have a female voice.

  Why had she never noticed before?

  But unlike S.E. Hinton, a woman who wrote from a strong male point of view, or J.K. Rowling, who wanted to gently disguise the fact that she was a woman writing books targeted toward a young male audience, Wally embraced his identity. His full name plus middle initial was on the front, his author photo took up the entire back of the book. Yet his female lead was strong, perhaps even stronger than the male. And the surprise twist at the end…well, a person had to be a woman in order to fully understand the perils his female protagonist faced.

  Or maybe she was reading too much into it.

  “Cheryl Flanagan.” Camille smiled. “Look her up.”

  Arlo wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to. But if she had to guess, Ms. Flanagan was redheaded, with green eyes, a killer body, and was highly intelligent.

  She missed the eyes. Cheryl Flanagan had blue eyes, but everything else was the same. Top of her class at NYU, graduated a year early, went to work for Davis and Broadstreet Publishing as a summer intern, and became an associate editor two short years later.

  It just went on from there. Arlo stopped reading.
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br />   “What do you suppose he sees in Daisy?” she mused.

  “That girl is beautiful.”

  “Not that. She just…” She didn’t know how to say the words without being unkind. Instead she went back into her browser and printed the pages for his posse of women.

  “Look here,” she said, holding up the papers. “His editor was a child prodigy. His agent is a member of Mensa.”

  “What about Inna, his assistant?” Helen asked.

  “I couldn’t find anything on her. The rest had Wikipedia pages.”

  “That’s weird,” Helen mused.

  “A lot of people in the industry have wiki pages,” Fern informed them.

  “No, it’s weird that there’s nothing on Inna.”

  Arlo shrugged. “It’s almost like she doesn’t exist. There are a few connections with her to Wally. You know, at parties and such, but nothing else.”

  “Facebook,” Fern said hopefully.

  “Nope.”

  “Good for her,” Helen said. “It’s just a time suck anyway, and smart, beautiful, intelligent women avoid such drains if at all possible.” She tossed her braid over her shoulder, obviously identifying with this group.

  Fern looked unfazed.

  “Come here.” Camille called them over to one of the store’s computers. “Look what I found.”

  On the screen was a picture of Daisy. The picture was old enough that Arlo didn’t recognize her at first. “High school?” she asked.

  “Graduation,” Camille confirmed.

  “That explains the cap and gown,” Fern drily commented.

  “Not important,” Camille said. “Look at this.” She highlighted a passage.

  “Valedictorian?” Arlo gasped. “Did she go to a small school?”

  “Well, yeah, but it was also exclusive. It seems that Mrs. James-Harrison had a scholarship to Camden Prep in Saint Louis.”

  Behind her she could hear Camille typing something into her smartphone. “A school known for its focus on academics.”

  “You’re saying she went to school that specializes in academics on a scholarship for academics, and she was the smartest one there?”

  Arlo shrugged. “Being valedictorian doesn’t always mean the smartest, but it definitely means she was dedicated to making good grades.”

  “But I thought she was…” Camille stalled, too polite to actually continue.

  “A ditz,” Helen supplied.

  “Well, yes.” She smiled apologetically.

  “We all do…did,” Arlo corrected.

  “Why?” Fern asked.

  “Because that’s how she acts,” Arlo said.

  “Because she wants us to believe that she’s an airhead,” Helen added.

  “Everybody,” Camille said. “Not just us.”

  Arlo looked back at the picture of the young Daisy James-Harrison. Why would someone so smart pretend to be something else, and why would Wally, who seemed to attract smart, beautiful women, allow her to do so? Or had he even known?

  19

  Mads came by Books & More just after Courtney took up her place behind the coffee bar. Several teenagers had gathered around. Everyone had a coffee drink and a copy of The Handmaid’s Tale. This was just what she had wanted from the shop, readers meeting and discussing books. She knew that the kids were reading Margaret Atwood as part of their senior English work, but they were reading and that was all that mattered.

  But Chloe was missing it all.

  “Frances said you wanted to see me.”

  Arlo nodded. “I thought I had something about the case for you.”

  “Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?” He leaned one arm against the coffee bar in that lazy way he had. His gaze drifted around the shop, its travels equally as languorous as his attitude, but Arlo knew how alert he really was.

  “I just may have jumped the gun a bit.” She shrugged as if it was nothing as Courtney brought a steaming to-go cup over to Mads.

  “Chief,” she said with a smile.

  “Thank you.” He reached for his wallet but she shook her head.

  “It’s on the house,” she said, then turned to Arlo for verification.

  “Of course.”

  “Now this evidence,” he started after Courtney had moved away. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of how important it is.”

  Arlo sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a quick exhale. “Travis Coleman is dating Sandy Green.”

  Mads blew over the top of his coffee and waited for her to continue.

  “He had access to Sandy’s keys. And consequently the extra set of keys to the third floor.”

  She could feel his impatience. Or perhaps she was simply too in tune with him. “Phil saw Travis with Wally the morning Wally was killed.”

  “Saw him?” Mads asked. His expression gave nothing away.

  “Going up to the third floor. Letting him in anyway.”

  “Are you investigating?” Mads asked.

  “No, uh, maybe a little.” She backpedaled as he straightened. “I just sort of stumbled onto this.”

  “And you think Travis could have killed Wally.”

  “Yes.” She let out another deep breath. “He would have motive. His brother’s death. Maybe he’s been waiting all these years to get his revenge.” She nodded. “Yes?”

  Mads shook his head. “Do me a favor, Arlo. Start reading romances or self-help books—anything but mysteries—and leave the investigating to the professionals.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to check it out?”

  He started for the door. “I’ll check it out,” he said. “You sell books. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she said. Now if she could just convince the book club ladies.

  * * *

  “What are you doing?” Arlo asked later that afternoon. It was nearly closing time, and she wanted nothing more than to go home and put her feet up on the trunk she used as a coffee table and do…nothing. Do absolutely nothing. She was pretty sure she could only stand five or so minutes of it. But she wanted to try anyway.

  “We’re going on a stakeout of Daisy.”

  “No.” Arlo passed the coffee drink off to the customer and was around the counter in a heartbeat. Courtney had been showing her how to make a few of their most popular drinks. Arlo hadn’t wanted to learn, since it felt like she was admitting that Chloe might not get out of jail anytime soon, but she couldn’t push her own fears off on her coffee-loving customers. She stopped short. “How are you going to do a stakeout when Daisy’s staying at the inn?”

  Fern was right behind Camille. She tapped her temple with one finger. The gesture pushed up the edge of her cowboy hat. “We overheard Daisy talking about meeting someone at the steakhouse tonight. So we’re going over there and seeing what it’s all about.”

  “You overheard, huh?”

  Camille gave an insignificant shrug. “People talk.”

  “And in a place like the inn, sometimes people go into the bathroom and talk to other people on the phone so people around can’t hear.”

  “Go on.” There had to be more, she just knew it.

  “Old houses have large air vents.”

  “Uh-huh. And I suppose Helen is in on this with you.”

  “Of course,” Camille chirped. “She sent us in here to check the lost and found for disguises.”

  Arlo resisted the urge to tug the silly stocking cap from Camille’s snow-white head and tip the cowboy hat from Fern’s. It wasn’t a crime to wear inappropriate headwear in the Mississippi summer heat; it simply looked ridiculous. Camille and Fern were past the age of consent—way past—and neither one had been diagnosed with dementia. There wasn’t a lot Arlo could do about their planned stakeout. Except maybe try to talk them out of it. After all, she had promised Mads.

  Camill
e waggled one finger at her. “Oh no you don’t. I know that look. That’s the same look you gave Helen when she said she wanted to get a tattoo in place of her missing breast.”

  “And when she said she wanted to dye her hair,” Fern added.

  “You’re the reason she only did the ends.”

  “Which looks fantastic on her, but still,” Fern said. She propped her hands on her hips and waited for Arlo to reply.

  “That was different,” Arlo said. Those times only affected Helen. Now a possibly innocent woman would be involved as well as whoever it was she was meeting. Not to mention everyone at the restaurant, if the ladies ended up making a scene, which with their track record was inevitable.

  She couldn’t stop them from going—free country and all that—but neither could she stand by and just allow them to waltz into the stakeout dressed like cat burglars and train robbers.

  “Fine,” she said. “But no hats, and we pretend like it’s Camille’s birthday.”

  * * *

  A couple passed Arlo and the book club ladies as they sat in the lobby of the steakhouse. Both the man and the woman gave them a questioning glance but said nothing as the hostess immediately sat them.

  “If we have to wait here much longer, we’re going to miss everything that happens between Daisy and whoever she’s meeting.”

  Arlo shook her head. “You want to know what’s going on, right? Then you have to wait until you can sit close enough you can hear them. Or at the very least see them.”

  “But—” Camille protested.

  “No buts. No one has come in saying they are meeting someone, so she still has to be at her table alone.”

  “We’re at a steakhouse for a stakeout,” Fern said. “I’m going to make that my status on Facebook.”

  Arlo held her hand in front of Fern’s phone. “Absolutely not. If Mads sees that, he’ll be down here to toss us in jail before we know it. And with five people in the holding cells, he’ll have no choice but to send us all to the county jail.”

  “I don’t want to spend my birthday in jail,” Camille said.

  “It’s not really your birthday,” Arlo whispered in return. She must have said the words a little too loudly. One of the hostesses shot her a questioning look.