A Date to Die For
By
Kathryn Long
Published by Kathryn Long at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Kathryn Long
For an audio version of this story, please visit:
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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This short novella is based on the characters and novel, Whips, Cuffs, and Little Brown Boxes – A Lilly M. Mystery.
For more entertaining reading fun with Lilly and company, please visit Smashwords to download this mystery, the first in the Lilly M. mystery series.
I love book signings. They give me a chance to socialize after a very long stint in hermit-like existence. And like most writers I enjoy being able to create and control my make believe world. What I don't love is when my real world gets messy. There's no control in that. Like murder, for instance. That's real messy. So, it's understandable that the book event in Atlanta changed my opinion about book signings. About a lot of things, actually. Murder does that to a person.
Actually, I came to Atlanta for three reasons. I love shopping, eating out, and Sylvester Stone, the bestselling author. But I didn't come for the heat. That explains why I ran out of deodorant the first day and my hair looked like it belonged on a chia pet. Still, I was excited to meet the greatest mystery writer of the century, promote my latest novel, Charmed but Dangerous, and shop at the Cumberland Mall.
"I don't think you should sit near the end. Try for the middle, or maybe here near the ice cream kiosk. People love ice cream when they shop."
I listened to Kate, my agent, blather on and wondered why I invited her along. She was pushy, intrusive, and often insensitive. But she was a gem of an agent. When negotiating my contracts she had the tenacity of a bulldog and the teeth to match. That's why I wanted her in my corner.
"Why don't you go check out that cute little shop with the cool pottery? I think I saw a sign saying everything was half off today." I crossed my fingers behind my back and held my breath.
"Well, if you really think you'll be okay without me …" Kate looked behind her for a second and then back to me. "Half off, you say?"
"Um hmm. And I'll be just fine. Oh, look! There's Sylvester Stone by the water fountain. And an empty seat next to him!" No longer thinking of Kate or pottery sales, I grabbed my bag and knocked over a chair or two as I hurried to claim that empty seat.
"Hello there!" I greeted my idol, though the sound came out small like an empty puff of air. When Sylvester looked rather puzzled or maybe annoyed, I scrambled to add, "My name's Lilly Millenovanovich. I write mysteries."
"Yes, well, that's nice." He sent me a tepid smile, and then turned to write in one of his books.
I ignored his ignoring me and studied his display. "Oh! Your latest book is out! How wonderful! I'd been reading about it in the Times, but I figured a September release at the earliest. How lucky for you." Suddenly, the chattering sounds of Kate popped into my head and I clamped my mouth shut.
"Yes, very fortunate," Sylvester said, his demeanor warming to the topic—him. He leaned in to whisper, "You see, I've been negotiating with a local movie company. Southern Discomfort is going to the big screen."
"Oh, the movies!" I have to admit I didn't whisper. I didn't even speak in a normal tone. This was more like shouting at the top of my lungs. Sylvester scowled and looked as if he wanted to strangle me with those clenched fists. I lowered my voice. "Sorry, but it is exciting, isn't it?"
Sylvester's smile was back in place as he sat down. "Very exciting. In fact, my agent and I are to meet with Atlanta Movies Inc. tomorrow morning to go over the final details. If there are no hitches, I will be signing to hand over my baby for a comfy eight figures. Yes, indeed. Very, very exciting, Miss, ah … what did you say your name was?"
This time he looked genuinely interested. "Lilly. Lilly Millenovanovich." I held out a hand to shake and he grabbed it with both of his and squeezed.
"Yes, of course. Lilly. So, then, what is it that you write?" He leaned over to peek at my display.
I blushed. "Well, I write mysteries. Nothing great, you know. Just light and humorous. My latest is Charmed but Dangerous."
He nodded and began to fuss with the cuff links of his shirt.
"I guess you will be staying in Atlanta, then, for awhile longer?"
"Hmm?" He looked up as if he'd forgotten anyone was around. "Oh! You mean about the movie. Yes. Yes I will be sticking around to make sure everything gets going smoothly. But then I have to go back to New York by the end of October. The holiday season book tour, you know."
I nodded as if I did, but I didn't. "Well, again, congratulations. I guess I should head over to the registration table. My agent and I just got here a bit ago and … well, talk to you later." My voice trailed off as I watched the great Stone carry on with a couple of fans, completely forgetting we were in the middle of a conversation. I shrugged and left the table.
I decided to register first, and then cruise the mall to map out my shopping tour. I made a mental list of at least a dozen stores to visit later, including a jewelry store with a nice, but pricey tennis bracelet. I calculated how many books I'd need to sell to buy it as I crossed over to the pottery store—there really was a half-off sale. Maybe I wasn't paying attention, but in the next second a man bumped into me, knocking my bag to the floor. Keys, wallet, and make up scattered everywhere.
"Oh, sorry," he said, and then scrambled to gather up my personal effects and stuff them back in the bag. He shrugged his shoulders as he held on to the strap.
"No harm done." I took the bag from his hand. He looked at me in silence while he chewed on a nail. It gave me the creeps. I noticed the tattered jacket and unkempt hair and thought he should travel over to Macys and get one of those free makeovers. In another second, though, he turned and walked away. I shook my head and started for the event area. It was nearly show time.
"We seem to be drawing a crowd." Sylvester said. He restacked several towers of books, then stepped back to look. "I hope I have enough."
My eyes took mental inventory of the display in front of me. I sighed and forced a smile. "Yep. Good crowd." I straightened my three tiny stacks.
The afternoon seemed to pass without any bumps or potholes to disrupt it. Stone had been receiving a steady line of customers. Some of them even glanced at my book and smiled. Stone's mood seemed to grow more cheerful with each book he sold. When there was a brief lull, he turned to me.
"Say! I have a wonderful idea. Why don't you have dinner with me this evening? Do you like Chinese? We can celebrate my new adventure in cinema. What do you say?" He nudged my arm and added, "I could even share my advice on a successful writing career."
"Hmm." I nodded, speechless.
"Then let's meet at the hotel. You are staying at the Marriott? I noticed a good many authors checking in there this morning. You could come to my room. I'm on the third floor, room 338. Say around eight?"
Another nod from me.
"I'm sorry if I seemed somewhat distant earlier. It's just that bittersweet taste of success. You understand, don’t you?"
I really didn't catch his question, preoccupied as I was, thinking how I should be flattered by his invitation. Sylvester took my silence a different way.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course you don't. I sometimes forget at how grand things have gotten for me. I'm out of touch with those who haven't quite reached my level of success."
I sighed and clenched my teeth. I started to say what I thought of his level of success and what he could do with that Chinese food when a loud voice interrupted.
"So, if it isn't the high and mighty Sylvester Stone." A familiar face sneered at Stone while his hands gripped the next available copy of Southern Discomfort.
My mouth dropped open. This was the same creepy individual who bumped into me a while ago. Who knew he could say anything beyond "sorry" or show emotion besides chewing his nails?
"Why thank you. Would you like a signed copy?" Sylvester asked. His hands, inch by inch, slid back until they disappeared under the table.
Just like the rest of him wanted to do, I imagined and watched while the testy fan continued to glare at Sylvester.
"I might. Then maybe I'll take it home and burn it," he shouted. "In fact, if I could get my hands on enough of them, I'd throw 'em all in a pile and burn the lot of 'em." His hands came down hard to slam the table. All the neat stacks of books, mine included, trembled until the books tumbled over.
"Now, look here," Sylvester started, but didn't get to finish. Mr. Cranky really showed his displeasure as he pulled back a closed fist and swung through with all he had. "Ouch! My God, man, what the hell is wrong with you!" Blood spurted out of Stone's nose. He tipped his face up toward the ceiling while pinching his nose shut.
"I'll tell you what's wrong with me. Your insults about the south. Filling that book with all those lies … well, let me tell you a thing or two. Southerners have more class, more respect, more decency than you could ever hope to have, Mr. Almighty Stone."
By now the man's face painted in crimson looked ready to pop. He must have been in a big hurry to get closer to Sylvester, I thought, because he brought one leg up to climb over the table and scramble to the other side. I watched as Sylvester, legs wobbling and eyes closed, braced himself for the attack. It was at this point I pushed back my chair. I turned to grab hold of its metal arms, lifted, and swung back, then forward, putting my whole body into it. Thithwop! My weapon hit its target who then went flying backward and landed with a thud on the floor.
"Well, I see you've been keeping yourself entertained." Kate approached and stopped in front of my display, arms crossed. "Maybe you should focus on book sales and butter up the customers instead of knocking them out."
"Hah, hah. For your information, that man is not a customer. And he was about to attack Mr. Stone when I stepped in to help." I gave Kate a smug look. "Besides, I've sold books. Maybe not as many as Mr. Bestseller, here. But not so shabby for a day's work."
Kate peered around me at Sylvester who could only manage a nod. "Well, I guess you did the right thing. But we'll have to work twice as hard tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning?"
"Yes. Tomorrow morning. The charity benefit? Oh good grief. Did I forget to tell you about that?"
I stared at Kate, my eyes narrowed to slits. "Yes, I guess you did. And what time's this benefit?" I detected some movement from Stone's fan. A quick glance, then, at Sylvester showed him shoving all his remaining books into a box. He took one look at his attacker and then gave a signal to his agent. Together they hurried away.
"Tonight at eight, Ms. Millenovanovich," Stone shouted without turning.
I watched him disappear around the corner. "How about that? He remembered my name." I directed my comments at Kate while the guy on the floor got to his feet, scowled at me, and then ran off in the opposite direction of Stone.
"What's this about tonight?" Kate began counting the copies of Charmed but Dangerous.
"I have a dinner date with Mister Wonderful." I had to admit the excitement had worn off, especially when I thought about how much of the evening's conversation would be reserved for the life and times of Sylvester Stone. On the upside, I'd get free advice on how to sell my books. Lucky me.
"Well, just remember. The charity event is tomorrow morning. We need to be at the park by nine." Kate finished gathering up the books.
I helped her fill the boxes. Everyone else was vacating their tables. I'd sold thirty copies. That compared to Stone's three hundred. Poop on his level of success, I decided, and followed Kate toward the exit door.
I'd spent the rest of the afternoon freshening up. Okay, so freshening up had new meaning. In addition to showering, styling my hair, doing my makeup and throwing on a nice outfit—nerves maybe had something to do with this because pompous or not, he was still Sylvester Stone, bestselling author—I went back to the closet as an afterthought, or several afterthoughts. My entire wardrobe spread out on my bed, along with several necklaces, earrings, and an assortment of high-heeled shoes. I came close to dialing Stone's room to cancel. Twice.
Still, there I was, a body of frazzled nerves and fifteen minutes early, my fisted hand pausing an inch from his door. What was the big deal, I argued. I was an author, he was an author. Just because he sold more books, thousands, maybe millions more … Of course, I could turn and leave, slink away. He would never know I'd made it this far. The coward side of me spoke, a faint whisper. That's what cowardly voices do. My braver, audacious voice scolded and called me names like weenie and chickenshit. In fact, its tirade got so loud that I had to cover my ears.
About that time, when I realized the words weren't in my head and there was more to it than name-calling, my hands lowered and I listened. You're a weenie, chickenshit author, Stone. Dishonest and greedy. I swear you're headed to Hell. Hell's fire will burn you just like you deserve.
I shook my head and then leaned an ear against the door. By then, only silence came from the other side. Of course, that didn't mean much in my world because of a little known fact—one that embarrasses me, so only a few, like Kline, know about it—I hear things. I have this ESP or psychic weirdness that lets me hear whatever people might be thinking. But not too often. And when I do, it's not so great. That's because what they're thinking is not always what I'm hearing. It's confusing and annoying.
Like now, when I can't decide if what I heard was inside or outside of somebody. In any case, I kept listening, maybe for a full five minutes. I decided if I heard any other suspicious conversation, I was leaving. When I got nothing, I pulled my ear away and knocked on the door, which really wasn't necessary since the door swung open. I stretched my neck forward to peek inside. My head swiveled back and forth like a turtle's to catch any movement, but found nothing.
"Great," I muttered and stepped inside the doorway. I hated the idea of snooping in someone's room, especially when the "someone" was Sylvester Stone. And especially when I'm supposed to be on a date. It makes me look desperate. But the voice message made me curious.
"Sylvester. Sylvester Stone?" I kept my voice low. I'm not sure why. I was now in the bedroom, having exhausted the mere two hundred square feet of the living room slash kitchen area. Up to now things looked so neat and orderly that I found it difficult to believe anyone stayed here. Until I found myself in the bathroom.
"Oh! Ah … ugh." I drew back and scrunched up my face. Spread out, looking like the tub was his coffin, lay Sylvester Stone, the once great author, with a sword projecting from the center of his chest. Directly above him hung the confederate flag in all its glorious colors, draped over the curtain rack. My eyes, mind and body took it all in. I suddenly thought how fortunate the toilet was situated right next to me because I figured I was about to upchuck.
The pointless idea to check for a pulse popped into my head about the same time I realized freshening up had been a waste. And I was thinking about that when I sensed another somebody in the room. Besides Sylvester and me. It's funny. I could have sworn I heard someone say, "Shoot the squirrel". Right about the same time I felt the bump to my head and the bathroom lights turned off.
"Is she alive? She's got a charity event to attend this morning, you know."
I thought I recognized Kate's voice, but between my confusion and that continuous ringing in my ears I couldn't be sure. I opened one eye—I somehow couldn't manage the other—and found Kate standing behind a guy in a white coat.
"Good. You're conscious. Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"
I laughed even though it hurt to do so. "One finger. And do you always use that one? I'll bet that pisses off the patients."
He didn't seem to find me funny and continued to poke and prod. "Does this hurt?"
I felt a sharp jab in my side and pulled away. "Ouch! I think that would hurt anybody. Lighten up, okay?" My hand came up to touch the closed eye and its shape felt like a Romano tomato, one that had gone all squishy.
"Forget my side, what's wrong with my eye?" I squeaked.
"Yes, you have noticeable Ecchymosis which has caused the swelling and obvious discomfort."
I stared at him with my one good eye. "Echy what?"
"You have a shiner, Miss Millenovanovich."
I had to give him points for saying my name correctly, but his tub side manner stunk. Thinking of the tub made me gasp and I tried to raise my head so I could take a peek over the edge.
"No, no. Just lie still until I finish my examination. And yes, the body is still there. I will be checking that one next."
I raised an eyebrow at the thought of being included in the list of "body" exams. I was still very much alive, even with a shiner and a really sore spot at the back of my head. Once Doctor Friendly stood up I felt it safe to do the same. I wobbled a bit, but he reached out to grab my arm before I fell and damaged some other part of me.
"In my opinion, it seems someone hit you here."
His touch was not so gentle and I pulled away. "And?"
"And you fell, hitting your eye against the tub before passing out."
Yeah, as if I couldn't have figured that one out. I had done enough of my own "research" for my books to know a thing or two. It's not that I couldn't get most of the information off the internet or by asking a few experts in the field, but that's not how my life happens. I just seem to fall right into a gooey mess and remain stuck until I solve the crime. Or at least find a way to escape. And there are times someone else helps me. Like Jake Kline.
"Maybe you should call that boyfriend of yours. What's his name? The detective?" Kate suggested as she stared at the contents of the tub.
"No, we are not going to call Kline. And stop staring at the body. Jeez." I shook my wounded head and winced.
"If you say so, but there are three missed calls from him on your phone. Oh, and two more from your mother."
I gave her one of my why-do-you-mess-with-my-life looks and then turned to the doctor who was bent over the tub, doing his poking and prodding thing on Sylvester Stone.
"So, pretty obvious, heh?" I started. "I mean that sword seems to tell it all. Of course, I once investigated a murder where it appeared the victim had died of a knife wound. But then it came out he was poisoned. Imagine that, will you."
"You're an investigator?"
A red warm glow spread throughout my body. "Well, no. Not officially."
"Um hmm." The doctor turned back to face the tub. "And my name is Doctor Twinkle."
I heard a faint sound from Kate's corner of the room and turned to see her hand covering her mouth. "So, are you the one who found me?" I asked.
"No. No, that would be the maid service. She called the front desk. They called the police who in turn called the coroner." She gestured with her finger to point at Doctor Twinkle.
"Great. I get an exam from a guy who works on dead people."
"I heard that. And I do have other patients. Live ones."
"And this dead one? Anything to report?" I persisted.
"Yes, but I will have to save that information for the police."
He turned and with narrowed eyes planted on me he stared, unblinking. I felt like I was in a showdown, and I just lost.
"I will say, I'd definitely rule out poison as cause of death." He winked and then went back to his examination.
I sat down on the toilet seat. What kind of murderer carries around a sword that looks like a Civil War artifact and a Confederate flag, I wondered. While Kate and Doctor Twinkle chatted about which coffee house in Atlanta served the best lattes, I thought about "shoot the squirrel" and who would want to kill Sylvester Stone. At once, I remembered the untidy, disgruntled fan at the book signing. My head started to throb from the injury or maybe from the sudden realization that I might be stepping into another gooey mess. The urge to run and hide surfaced, but instead I called Kline and my mother, Irene. Actually, she's not my mother. She's my aunt, but sort of like my substitute mom. It's a long story.
"I don't care what you say, daughter, I am coming. Just as soon as I can get a flight out of here."
Irene and I had been arguing for the past twenty minutes, which wasn't doing my injured head any good. I called to get sympathy strokes even though I'm forty and should have outgrown the need for this kind of comfort from my mother.
"Mom, it's really just a bump and a shiner. Don't you think I can take care of a bump and a shiner?"
"And that dead person? What about that, heh? Oh, Lilly, how do you manage? I've told you before, leave it to the police. That's their job. But noooooo. You just have to stick your nose in it and …"
"Mom, mom—stop! I did not stick my nose in it. It got stuck for me. Jake is flying down already. You shouldn't be spending your money and time coming here. I, will, be, fine." I took a deep breath and sat down on the bed before popping a couple more pain pills.
"Well, we'll see," Irene finished and hung up with a curt goodbye.
My body deflated from exhaustion. It was three in the afternoon. Five hours since the maid found me. Four hours since the police questioned me. I could sleep until Friday, I decided, and it was only Sunday. However, my nerves kept me awake. They zapped me, needled me with doubt and dread. Of course, why wouldn't the police question me? Me, the one found with my dead date.
After a ten minute nap, I picked up Kline at the airport. Kate offered, but there was no way I'd let her have the opportunity to sink her bulldog teeth into him. No telling what he'd confess about me under pressure.
"Gotta love those book signings," Kline said as he settled in next to me and tilted my chin to examine my Ecchymosis.
"Yeah, well. Anything to bring you here." I smiled and leaned over to kiss him.
"Next time, just call and ask."
I laughed, but my heart wasn't in it. "Looks like I'll be here for a while. You think you could stick around a few days?"
"Wouldn't think of leaving." His voice dipped to a soft tone as he nuzzled my neck.
"Save that for later, would you? I don't want to add a car wreck to my growing list of mishaps. At least not on this trip." I smiled at him, and then concentrated on the road to get us back to the Marriott.
Two men in suits met us in the lobby. I noticed Kate in the background, wringing her hands. As the men approached, they flipped out their badges to show the Atlanta PD logo. I managed a quick introduction and watched Kline's eyebrows fuse together.
"So, what do we have here?" he asked.
I began to wring my hands along with Kate who now waved and called out to me.
"Well, since boyfriend is here, I can go back to New York. Somebody has to do damage control."
I gawked at her. Who abandons the sinking ship and leaves you to sink? Who runs for cover leaving you to dodge the bullets?
"The press is going to have a field day with this, you know," Kate shouted as she stepped into the elevator. "A hell of a field day!"
"Sorry to do this, ma'am. But we have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of Sylvester Stone."
In the next few seconds my wrists were cuffed and the Atlanta detectives were leading me away to the squad car. I heard Kline say not to worry and he would be down there with bail money before they finished snapping my picture. I wasn't feeling quite so confident in my predicament. Especially when I heard a familiar voice screaming.
"Oh, no. My poor daughter. What are you doing? Why does she have those handcuffs on and just where do you think you're taking her?"
I winced, trying not to look, but I could hear the banging on the car window as we drove away. Irene ran alongside and called after me. A mix of embarrassment, agitation, and regret filled my insides. And it came to me. If I found that creepy book event agitator, I was going to kill him. Then, they could book me for murder and be right this time.
"I just want to know what you've got," Kline argued.
I could hear him on the other side of the wall. While I sat in a holding cell, Kline and the Captain had a heated discussion.
"You can't arrest her with your only defense being she was found there with the body. Hell, she was knocked out cold. Who did that?"
"I'm certainly aware of the law, detective. We have other evidence. And it's not circumstantial."
"And what would that evidence be?"
I wanted to emit an "oh, oh" because I recognized that undertone in Kline's voice. He seldom used it. Only when his anger thermometer rose above one hundred. And it wasn't pretty. I decided maybe the Captain detected it, too, because he offered up the information without anymore persuasion.
"We found a note in her handbag."
"A note."
"Yes, a note addressed to the Atlanta Historical Society stating how the matter of Sylvester Stone and his defamation of southern society would be taken care of, that he would be stopped, and soon."
"I don't understand. Why would Lilly be carrying around a note to the Atlanta Historical Society? She doesn't belong to it or any other society. Hell, she doesn't even know the history of Atlanta or any other city for that matter."
Now, I was offended. I knew some history. I knew who the first president of the United States was and that Eli somebody invented the cotton gin. I remembered that. It's just that history is, well, history. The past. And I was all about the present. Especially this present where I was in serious trouble.
"And we don't understand it either, but then again, that's our job, isn't it? To find out why your friend would be found with a murdered man, who she happens to know, and with a note that sounds quite threatening."
Well, when he put it that way, I had to admit it sounded incriminating. I puzzled more over the note. How did it get there? I certainly didn't put it there.
"Did you dust the note for prints?"
"No. We're a bit backed up down in the lab. Don't worry. We'll have prints tested on everything, note, sword, and all, by tomorrow morning."
"So, right now everything is circumstantial, Captain. Seems to me that's not enough to keep her overnight."
"Well …"
"Let's make a deal, Williams. Release her and I promise to keep an eye on her until you have your real evidence. How's that?"
"We really need to clear it with the judge, after the scheduled court date, tomorrow morning at seven. Bail can be set then."
"But that brings us right back to the overnight thing. Look, from one law enforcer to another, you can trust me. She's not going anywhere but back to her hotel room. I won't let her out of my sight for a second."
The moment of silence made me think Captain Williams might cave. I held my breath, kept my fingers crossed and my good eye closed.
"All right. But if you screw this up, you'll both go to jail. Hear me?"
Their voices grew louder as they immerged from the other side and then stood in my doorway. I did a little five-finger wave at Kline who just scowled at me.
We left the precinct after Kline signed papers, appointing him my so-called guardian. Williams wasn't about to let that one slide. Once inside the car and on the drive back to the hotel it became awkwardly quiet. I decided to speak first. I hate quiet.
"Weird about that note, heh?"
"Yeah, weird."
So much for ice-breakers. I sat back and thought about the note again. It didn't just fly into my bag by itself. Somebody put it there and that somebody wasn't me. I decided to do a mental check of all that happened yesterday from the moment Kate and I stepped off the plane. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until I got to the screaming event caused by Stone's not-so-great fan. That definitely had some potential, but through all the craziness of that moment there wasn't one instant of opportunity for him to put the note in my bag. I had tucked it away, underneath the table and inside one of my book boxes. The only time I had it out was when …
"I got it! I think I know who put the note in my bag!" I grinned and experienced the first glimmer of hope that day.
Kline looked hopeful right along with me. "That's great. Who?"
My smiling face with lips turned up at the corners and cute dimples on both cheeks began to droop. "I don't know his name."
Kline looked at me with that question-mark eyebrow. "You don't know his name."
"No, but I can describe him. And so can Kate and Sylvester … oh, wait, not Sylvester, but quite a few other people who saw him try to attack Stone right before I leveled him with my chair." I could see I'd lost him, probably after the words "describe him". So, I went into a deeper description of the book event fiasco.
"Okay, but when would the guy slip you the note?"
At this point I had to explain my earlier encounter when the guy bumped into me, said sorry, and chewed his nails. "Doesn't it seem suspicious for me to have that note and for him to have bumped into me just yesterday? Not to mention all the anger he showed toward Sylvester. He'd sure have reason and motive."
"Maybe. But that still leaves the question of why he—if indeed it's him—would put the note in your bag. And I gotta tell you, Lil. I don't like what my cop sense is telling me."
I guessed that my mystery writer sense was telling me the same thing. And it didn't exactly give me a warm and fuzzy feeling either. This book-bashing, southern supporter of gentile society was trying to frame me.
"Boy, oh, boy." Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I remembered my date with Stone. How could the book basher have known I'd say yes and show up there when I did? It was pretty strange. I couldn't have written the plot better myself. I chewed on that a while longer. "I know it's still evidence, but do you think I could get a look at my bag?"
"I could probably get them to let you take a peek. Why?"
"Well, it seems too convenient. I mean if this guy is the one who planted the note, how did he know what to do after that to set me up? Even if he tailed me to Stone's room, that doesn't explain how Stone was already dead in the tub. He'd need to plan. Right? He'd need time before my scheduled date to put Sylvester in the tub, stab him, drape the flag over the rod, and clean up."
"You interrupted the killer, remember? So, he didn't get out before you arrived."
"Yeah, but still, how did the killer know I'd be going there?"
Kline stopped at the light and turned to stare at me. The eyebrow popped up again. "Just what are you getting at, Lil?
"Maybe he planted a bug in my bag, too?"
"Hmm. Not bad. That would explain the setup. Like you said, it needed planning and he'd have to know your moves."
I nodded. "So, we need to check inside my bag. Just in case."
"Or the Atlanta police could do it," Kline suggested.
"Sure. That's a good idea, too."
"Of course, maybe there's no bug," Kline added.
"Killjoy," I mumbled as we pulled into the Marriott once more and walked into the lobby. I remained quiet with my thoughts. If the police did find a bug, they might at least start looking for other suspects. And the prints on the note might lead somewhere or to someone with a name. Evidently, I'm an optimist. More than some people I know.
"Oh, Lilly. Thank goodness you're out." Irene had been waiting at the front desk and practically mowed Kline over to get to me. She wrapped her arms around me in a viselike grip.
"It's okay, Mom. Really," I said into her sweater. "I can't breathe, Mom."
"Oh, sorry. I just feel so awful. You're going to jail for murder. What am I going to tell the family? They will be so upset and shocked. Except for your aunt Sadie. Nothing much fazes her, you know. Do they allow prisoners baked goods? I can bring you your favorites, at least once a week."
"Jeez, Mom. I'm not going to jail for murder. I didn't murder anyone."
"Well, give me some credit. I know you didn't, but do you know how many people are framed and found guilty? Trust me. I watch all those lawyer shows. And have you hired a lawyer? Maybe I should check the yellow pages for a good one. And a private detective. You can't do this all alone. Of course, your beau, Mr. Kline, could help." Irene gave Kline her most winning smile.
"He's not my beau, and don't call anyone. I've got it covered." I didn't have it covered, but I would as soon as I got up to my room and to a phone.
After I managed to bribe the hotel manager with a twenty to book Irene in her own room, on another floor, Kline and I headed to mine. When the elevator stopped on the second floor another couple got on. As the doors were sliding shut we could hear someone shout for us to wait.
I turned to say something to Kline about dinner—I was still hungry for Chinese—when from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a man running to the elevator. He must have had a glimpse of me as well because I heard him mutter "never mind" and then the doors shut.
"I heard there's a great restaurant around the corner we …" I stopped and looked back at the elevator door. "Oh, shit."
"Shit?" Kline looked at the door with me. "What's shit?"
By now the elderly couple gave us a sour look. I guess "shit" and other words like that weren't part of their vocabulary.
"I think I just saw the guy."
"You mean?"
"Yeah, the ah …" I glanced at the couple and then leaned closer to whisper in Kline's ear. "The killer."
"Well, you could've said something before the doors closed." Kline started stabbing at the third floor button.
"Yeah, but I didn't recognize him then. He was only there for a second, you know," I said in my defense. We left the elevator and found the stairs.
"Let's go down. He probably headed out of the hotel," Kline suggested.
"I got a better idea. How about you go down and I go up? That way we have it covered." I could see him shaking his head before I even finished.
"No."
"But …"
"No, Lil. I promised not to let you out of my sight. And I meant it."
I saw the stubborn set of his jaw and kept silent. Together we went down to the main floor lobby. After several minutes of running around and asking questions, we had nothing. "I bet he went up," I muttered.
Kline scowled and then grabbed my arm. "Come on. We're going out to dinner."
Chou Mein's was in the middle of the block. The black and red décor suited the cuisine. I ordered my favorite chicken dish and Kline ordered the pork. We both gobbled up the sushi appetizers and drank iced tea while we waited for our entrees.
"The thing I don't understand is why would someone want him dead?" Kline asked.
I shook my head. "The book bashing?"
"Too weak. Unless our guy is a nutcase, it doesn't make sense."
I thought about our guy. "Well … he did seem pretty out there." I made a twirling motion with my finger at the side of my head.
"Crazy, heh?"
"I thought so. But then there's the movie deal. I've been thinking about that, too."
"What movie deal?"
I reached over to wipe off the drop of soy sauce on Kline's chin. "Well, Stone is, was, quite the talker when the topic was about him. And he was bragging to me about this movie contract he and a local company were about to sign for Southern Discomfort."
"What's Southern Discomfort?"
I sighed. "It's a book title, Jake. Stone writes best-selling mysteries. And this is his latest. Couple that with a movie and we're talking mega bucks in profit."
"Mega bucks, heh?"
I nodded. "He told me the movie deal was for eight figures."
Kline whistled. "And this means what? You think someone murdered him because of a possible movie? But how would that do any good if he's dead? Then there's no more deal."
"True. Unless ..."
"Unless what?"
"Unless the contract says all profits from books and anything having to do with the books go to a specific someone if the author should pass away."
"You mean to a relative?"
"Well, most likely it goes to a family member, but that's not always the case. Sometimes it's to the agent, the one who does all the work, the one who is majorly responsible for the author's success. Besides the author himself, that is."
Kline pushed his food around on the plate. "But he probably has family."
"Yeah, but like I said, that doesn't mean he left everything to one of them." I realized this was a weak argument. And of course, I'd left out one crucial detail. Stone said he hadn't signed the movie contract … as far as I knew.
"And you're suggesting that his agent may have murdered him so he could collect on his millions?" Kline looked doubtful.
"We need to find out if that contract is already signed. And that means a trip to the Atlanta Movies studio." I shoveled in the rest of my cashew chicken and rice. "Hurry up, will you? I want to get over there before they close. Do movie studios keep scheduled hours?"
"Lil, we can't. What are we going to do when we get there? Just walk right up to them and demand to know if the contract has been signed? And then ask to see it?"
"Give me more credit than that. I have a plan."
"Now that scares me." Kline finished his dinner in silence.
Atlanta Movies Inc. sat on the outskirts of the city. The movie set consisted of some indoor studios and several buildings on the outdoor lot. Kline and I found an empty parking space in the visitor's lot.
"Okay, let's go over this one more time," I said. "I show them my press credentials and start up a dialog. Once I get them to take me on a tour of the studio, you pretend like you're ill. They'll let you stay in the office. And then when you're alone you can snoop to find the contract. Simple."
"Yeah, simple, if it goes that way."
"Why shouldn't it? We just have to be convincing. That's all." My voice quivered a bit. I really didn't like this kind of stuff, pretending to be who I wasn't. Still, if I was going to be accused of murder, I needed to forget what I didn't like. "Just gotta step up my game," I said.
"What?"
"Nothing. Let's just get this over with."
"What if there's no contract?"
"There is a contract, damn it," I snapped and got out of the car.
"Right. There's a contract. And all's well that ends well." Kline kept in step and followed me into the building.
"Hello. I called ahead to schedule an interview and tour?" I flashed my badge—the one borrowed from one of press people at the book signing in exchange for my exclusive story about the Stone murder—to the lady at the door and we were in.
"Right this way."
I could see the place didn't look too busy. In fact, I wondered if they did much business at all. On the upside, that should guarantee time for a lengthy tour, I thought. And for Kline to snoop.
"I still don't see how finding a signed contract is going to help you. It still wouldn't prove who murdered Stone," Kline whispered to the back of my head as we moved through the building.
"Just do it," I hissed.
"If you weren't in such deep shit and you weren't my girlfriend, I wouldn't, we wouldn't be here," he added, and then kept silent.
"Mr. Orville will be with you any minute now. Would you like some coffee? Tea perhaps?"
Kline asked for a cola, and then winked at me as the woman left. I frowned, but didn't have time to ask because Mr. Orville walked in. His hand grabbed mine.
"How do you do, Miss Ford, Mr. Smith? I must say, it's such a great honor. We don't get many interviews. Especially from Entertainment Weekly."
I heard Kline cough, but ignored it. "Yes, well, we've been hearing some great things about your projects. Always looking for fresh ideas, you know." I laughed and nodded at Kline who was now busy chugging down his cola and burping. I rolled my eyes, and then turned back to Orville.
"Yes, indeed. And we have some really outstanding new projects, including a movie about the south."
"Oh, really?" I gave Kline another look, this time with a touch of smugness. "Can you tell me more?"
He wagged a finger at me. "That's top secret. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Of course next month, if you want to come back, I could give you an exclusive."
"Hmm. We'll see." I hid my disappointment. "Well, do we still get a tour, Mr. Orville? I'd love to take some shots of the place and include them with the article."
His chest swelled up. "Well, of course. Pictures! What a wonderful idea. We can interview while we conduct the tour, if that's all right with you?"
I nodded and then turned to Kline. "Are you coming?"
Kline stood, and as if on cue he bent over and groaned. "Oh, boy."
"Are you okay?" I asked and remembered to paste a frown of concern on my face.
"I don't feel so good. Think I drank that cola a bit too fast. Or maybe something was wrong with it." He then gave Orville a questioning look.
"Oh, my. Well, maybe you should just sit for awhile. I'll have Irene bring you some Tums or whatever you think might help."
I hid the grin behind my hand and gave Kline a thumbs-up sign as I followed Orville out the door. The tour took almost an hour. I asked a lot of questions and even wrote the answers down to make it look good. And then I made sure to take at least a dozen shots of the studios and outside lot.
"Well, thank you. That was very insightful. I'll be in touch, probably next week, to go over the, ah, proofs." At least I guessed that's what they called them. In any case Orville didn't seem to know the difference. He was too busy beaming about the interview after I told him it would be the cover story of the December issue.
"Maybe if you tell me about your surprise news, I can make sure it's included in the article. We could add it in as an update or something." I was getting a bit carried away, but didn't really care. This pretend stuff was turning out to be fun.
"Like I said. I can't really say much right now. There's been a little glitch in the process, but we're ironing out that detail. Shouldn't be too long, I'd imagine."
I could barely contain myself and wanted to burst with excitement. The glitch had to be Stone's death. Now, if I could only figure out the rest. And then prove it. Whatever "it" was.
When we returned to Orville's office I spotted the empty soda can and a bottle of Tums on the table, but no Kline. My heart skipped a couple of beats. This wasn't part of the plan.
"Oh, there you are, Miss Ford. Mr. Smith said to tell you he'd be waiting in the car. Something about taking a snooze." Irene cleared the table and left.
I smiled at Orville. "Well, then. I'll be in touch. And thank you." I hurried out of the building, anxious to see what Kline had found.
"About time," Kline mumbled, his eyes closed and his head rested against the reclined seat.
"So, what did you find?"
"A lot of contracts."
"And?"
"I told you. A lot of contracts." He still didn't open his eyes, but a smile started to form.
"You found it, didn't you? Was I right? Come on, Jake. Tell me."
"Yes. I found it, but you'll be surprised when I tell you whose name is on it."
"Well?"
"The rights to book and movie go to Orville and Atlanta Movies Inc. if anything should happen to the author, Sylvester Stone."
"You're kidding!"
"I'm not. And there's more."
"More? What else could there be?" I was still trying to digest the Orville angle and how he managed to get Stone to agree to all of it.
"The contract is dated yesterday. And there's a notary stamp on it with the same date."
"How about that? When I talked to Stone just yesterday afternoon, he said he hadn't signed anything, yet. And what about the agent? Where's he in all this?"
"Who knows? But what I do know is Orville's and Stone's signatures are on that contract. And there's a witness."
"Witness? What witness?"
"His name's Earl Honeyville. Mean anything to you?"
"Earl Honeyville. Earl, Earl … Nope, I give up."
"Well, that's all we've got." Kline sat up and stretched before grabbing hold of the steering wheel and starting the car.
We headed back to the Marriott with not a whole lot more than we started with, but I was still optimistic. We had a signed contract and a motive. Now, we just needed to ID the killer.
When we entered the hotel, I suddenly thought about Irene and guilt smothered me. I hadn't spoken to her since she'd gone to her room.
"I think I'll go check up on Irene." I handed him my key card. "Just be a few minutes."
"Yeah, right." Kline laughed and headed for the third floor elevator.
"Smart ass," I called after him, and then pressed the up button.
Irene was on the fourth floor, room 411. It was situated at the south end of the hallway. I knocked and waited. And waited some more.
"Mom? Are you going to let me in?" I said, and then put my ear to the door to listen. Seems I've been doing that lately. I puzzled over why no sounds came from the other side.
"Where the hell are you?" I muttered and walked back to the elevator. I'd left my cell phone in my bag, and of course my bag was at the police station. Who knew what her number was? She's just number two on speed dial to me. I decided to return to my room and call the front desk. They could call her room.
When I pressed the button, the doors opened. I reared back, stunned at what I found. The book basher, stood inside. His look reflected mine. Like deer in the headlights we froze. Of course the real shocker for me wasn't that. It was who stood next to him, all smiles and sweetness.
"Hi, sweetie! I'm so relieved to see you're okay. You should let your mother know where you're going. I started to worry you might have been arrested again," Irene said to me before adding, "Oh! How rude of me. Lilly, this is Earl. We met late this afternoon in the lobby. Earl told me how I reminded him of a sweet magnolia blossom. Now, who could resist that?"
She laughed and went on, "He's been nice enough to give me a tour of the city, the historical district, you know. It's so pretty. Have you had a chance to see it? It's a shame you've been busy getting arrested and finding dates with dead men. Not the way to spend your vacation, now, is it?"
I finally found my voice. "Whaaa? Who?" I stammered. "Earl?"
Irene was nodding and adding a comment about how interesting Earl was with all his knowledge about Georgia's history when suddenly Earl unfroze, his limbs ready for use. He reached out and pushed buttons to close the elevator. My limbs weren't quite so ready, just my face, which kept working its jaw, gaping while I repeated the name Earl.
When I did move, the doors had closed and the elevator was leaving. Earl, as in Earl Honeyville—who else could it be?—was with my mother. I could barely get passed that point. Earl, the one who'd bumped into me and more than likely slipped that note into my bag, had spent the afternoon sightseeing with my mother.
I did a hard shake of the head. Now, I had to think, and think fast. My eyes followed the elevator lights. They stopped at the ground level, not the first floor lobby. I went into panic mode and ran to the next elevator. I began stabbing at buttons, any button that worked. At last, the lighted numbers began to move. Down, not up.
"Great, just great," I yelled and ran for the stairs, reached the third floor and flew down the hall to my room. I patted my pocket, looking for the key card. "Damn." My fists pounded on the door.
"Kline! Hey Kline, open the damn door!"
By the time he answered I was panting and bending over with hands on my knees.
"Lil?"
I finally grabbed his arm and pulled. "Irene. Earl."
"Irene? Earl? What the hell are you talking about?" Kline followed, not that he had much choice with my hand glued to his arm.
"Earl Honeyville is the book basher who ran into me. And Earl Honeyville is with Irene, right now, in the basement of this hotel." I took a deep breath.
"How could Irene be with this Earl?" he asked.
"Earl sweet-talked Irene into going out with him, and God knows what else he has in mind."
We reached the basement in five minutes. A quick look around showed no one in sight. I turned to Kline. "Do you have your phone?"
Kline fished it out of his pocket. "You want to call the police? Irene on a date isn't exactly a criminal offense."
I sighed. "You have Irene's number in there?" I took the phone from him and scrolled through his contacts. In the next second I was ringing her phone.
"Hello? Who's this?" Irene answered.
"Hi, Mom. Where are you?" I tried sounding calm when I was far from it.
"Oh, Lilly! Sorry about leaving so quickly. Earl forgot he wanted to show me this beautiful carving at Stone Mountain Park. It's a memorial to Civil War Confederates chiseled into the mountain. Doesn't that sound just beautiful? Anyway, I'll be back this evening. We can talk then, dear. Bye"
"Wait, Mom. Mom, don't hang up!" I tried calling again but she didn't answer. "Damn!"
"What? What did she say?"
I explained Earl's plan. "I don't like this at all. What is he up to?"
"It can't be anything good. Not if he is who you say he is," Kline said.
"And done what I think he's done." I reached a point where believing Earl to be a nutcase hit the bull's eye. And Irene? Well, I wasn't the only Millenovanovich who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, Earl had Irene, but why? What was on his mind?
"I wonder how much he's getting out of this deal." Kline asked as we hurried to his car.
"Quite a chunk of change, if Stone was right about the numbers. And where are we going?"
"Stone Mountain Park, I guess," Kline answered and hit the remote button. "And after we save Irene, I'm gonna take Earl's sorry ass in and end this."
On the way, I had time to mull over recent events. Stone had a major movie deal in the works, and then he is murdered. I find myself at the crime scene, get conked on the head, and accused of the murder. This being after an incriminating note is planted in my handbag. Somehow the movie contract has Stone's signature on it, along with Orville's, the one person who gains all profit from the deal posthumously, and Earl's. So, in my mind, that narrowed down the possible suspects to Orville and Earl. Though circumstances seemed to point more toward Earl Honeyville as the murderer, I wasn't convinced. What needled me with doubt was his capability to pull it off, solo. He just seemed too much of a flake to me.
"You know, I've been thinking. What if Earl had help."
"Help?"
"Yeah. Let's say he murdered Stone, but had help." Inside my head the wheels kept rolling.
"Like who? Orville?"
"Maybe." The wheels came to an abrupt halt. "It wasn't killer squirrels. It was kill her Earl!" I pulled up straight and grinned at Kline who by now gave me that look.
"Okay, let me start by saying at first I thought this was one of my weird, psychic vibes. Right before I passed out I heard 'killer squirrels' in my head." I shrugged when Kline gave me that look again. "Anyway, it wasn't killer squirrels. It was kill her, Earl. And it wasn't in anybody's head."
Kline sighed. "Let me get this straight. Whoever knocked you out and killed Stone spoke to you and said 'kill her, Earl."
It was my turn to sigh. "Not to me. To whoever was with him! Get it?"
"So, Earl did have an accomplice!" Now, Kline joined in my enthusiasm.
"Yes!" I felt a glow. Now, we were getting somewhere. Maybe enough to go to the police with, especially when they found their DNA evidence proved my innocence. I hoped. And that time was approaching quickly. No matter how much the search stalled our own investigating, we still needed to find Irene. And I counted on that being Earl's only agenda, to slow us down or take us off track. If crazy Earl had something else in mind … well, I just wouldn't think about that.
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