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On our walk to the car, we take the long route through the heart of downtown so we can continue to talk.
“What prompted you to tell me that earlier? About talking about... her?” Connor asks after we’ve strolled by the shops in Market Square.
I held off discussing my concerns during dinner to avoid an awkward conversation, but now the topic is fair game. Getting this off my chest is vital for our relationship. I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable even mentioning Allegra, and that doesn’t sit well.
“Since we’ve gotten together, you seem apprehensive of talking about her, like other than details about the case, I mean. I feel like my investigation is halted in a way. I know you’re uncomfortable, and I can see it, but don’t you still want to figure out what happened to her?”
Connor stumbles. He looks torn about what to say and what to withhold. “I guess, well... none of it feels real, in a way. I don’t really know how to explain it to you.”
“Try,” I beg, feeling pushed away.
“Now’s not the time, Mad. Do you have any new information? Is there something you need to talk about?” Connor’s clearly reading between the lines about where I’m steering the conversation.
“Now that you mention it, yeah, there is. I have a few questions about information that wouldn’t have been on the police report. I feel like it’s going to upset you, though. So I need to know, are you still on board with the investigation or not?” I stop in front of a rustic new boutique that’s now closed, then Connor follows suit. Suddenly, I wonder if he’ll ever be comfortable discussing Allegra.
Connor angles his head to the side as his eyes grow wide. “Of course I am. You know that.”
“I just don’t know how to separate us and the investigation, I guess. That’s what I’m having trouble with. What’s off limits, and what isn’t?” I shrug.
Connor pulls me forward, and we start walking again. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s all blurred together. There is no end, and there’s no beginning. So there are no rules. Anytime is fair game for discussing Allegra and the case as long as it doesn’t make you feel weird.”
So he thought talking about her was making me uncomfortable? I feel like there’s more to the story, something he’s not telling me.
“All right. What was found with Allegra that night? As far as clothes and belongings, is there anything you could have forgotten to mention?” I wince, hoping this question won’t upset him. I know what it’s like to recall the clothes that you last saw the love of your life wearing. It haunts you forever. Into my mind pop images of Clayton’s khaki shorts and his kelly-green T-shirt that read Hard Knox Life.
Connor clears his throat and takes a long, hard breath. “She had her suitcase and her purse, which had her laptop in it. As far as clothes, she was wearing black leggings, her pink Gucci sweatshirt, and a plain white tee underneath that. Oh, she was also wearing her wedding rings, her diamond stud earrings, and her Nike tennis shoes.” He looks away and clears his throat like he’s about to be emotional. “Is that all you needed to know?”
My heart skips a beat. He didn’t say anything about the books or papers. Perhaps the police didn’t find them on her body. Maybe that’s what was taken. “Are you sure that’s everything? Did she have any paperwork with her or any copies of her books or anything like that?”
“No, everything she needed like that would’ve been on her laptop, I assumed. Why do you ask?”
“I’m just trying to get a better grasp on her trip that day. What was going through her head, who was she meeting, what were they going to discuss. Things like that.” I don’t want to get his hopes up in case my new information ends up hitting a dead end.
“Would it help if I gave you her editor’s information?” Connor offers and holds my hand once again.
I smile. “Yes, that’d be great, actually, because Fran is refusing my calls, and I need to move on to Sarah even though Fran says she’s out of the country for a few weeks.”
Connor scrolls through his phone and texts me Sarah’s contact info.
“Done. Feel free to ask her anything. She’s really cool, and she adored Allegra.”
“One more thing while we’re on the subject. Do you remember a reporter named Marcus Roach ever coming around the house in a green Jeep? Did he ever come by and ask Allegra any questions?”
Connor scratches his head. “Not that I remember, but I’m not sure it would stick out. People often contacted her for interviews.”
“Right. I kind of figured that.”
“Why do you ask?” He slows down.
I sigh at his loaded question. “Friend of mine was working on a big story... and ended up dead because of it, even though I can’t prove it.”
“Wait. Do you think the same person who killed Allegra killed him too?” Connor stops walking.
I take another deep breath and wish I had the right answer. “I don’t know what to think. All I know is they’re connected somehow.”
***
AFTER WE STROLL AROUND for thirty minutes, we find some extra room for dessert at Café 4 in Market Square. The carrot cake cupcakes are calling our names, so we devour one together as our forks battle it out over who gets more.
“We could just get two, you know.” Connor laughs after our forks intertwine for the fourth time.
“True, but this is more fun.” I accidentally drop some icing onto the table, and we laugh. Being with Connor makes me feel whole, like a missing puzzle piece is finally in place, and instead of a shiny, newly constructed piece, it’s worn like the rest of the puzzle.
***
OUTSIDE THE DOOR OF my apartment, Connor kisses me good night. “Tonight was great, Mad. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He winks toward the window and leaves like a gentleman as my mom peeks at us from behind a curtain. I watch until he reaches his car in the parking lot below, and I blow him a kiss as he beams toward me again. I don’t know how in the world I ended up with someone as wonderful as this man.
Once he’s gone and I head inside, I realize Graham’s already been in bed for over an hour, and I feel silly. Connor could’ve come in and visited with Mom and me for a while without Graham knowing. Oh well. It gives Mom and me some much-needed catch-up time.
One bowl of popcorn and a viewing of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days later, Mom has gone home, and I’m finally tucked into bed. I check my phone to make sure Mom made it okay. Home safe. Good night. Love you. Before I can respond, another text flashes across my screen.
Enjoy that view from the top while you can—a source.
A pit forms in my stomach. This person always seems to know what’s going on in my life before I do, and that doesn’t make this tip seem promising. Did I really see Lane earlier? Is he stalking me? Or is he “a source?” It feels like the end of something is approaching, as if my window of time for finding Allegra’s killer is about to close. Instead of panicking, maybe I should do just what the source suggested—enjoy what I have while I have it.
***
AS SOON AS I KISS GRAHAM goodbye at school the next day, I phone Sarah Patterson, Allegra’s editor. I’ve wracked my brain about why someone might steal Allegra’s books. Other than wanting to save the day by providing more reading material from a deceased beloved author, I can’t come up with anything. Of all people, her editor is sure to have more information on what Allegra was working on. Maybe that will shine a light in the right direction.
“Hi, Ms. Patterson. I’m Madeleine Barton. Connor Hudson hired me to investigate the death of his wife, Allegra Hudson. I’ve heard you were her editor for a number of years. Is that right?”
“Yes. We worked together on all of her books, actually, and I considered her a close friend after all we’ve been through together.”
“Out of the country” my ass.
I hadn’t considered that the agent-author and editor-author relationships would be quite so tight-knit. I guess when two people spend that much time working on someone’s innermost thoughts and feelings in the form of a book, they can’t help growing attached.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Sarah. What I’m trying to do is bring justice to the Hudson family by learning the truth about Allegra’s death, because none of us down here believe the police have found the right killer. Would you be willing to answer a few questions for me about the meeting Allegra had scheduled with you on the day she was killed?”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize anyone thought that. That really changes things, huh?” Sarah’s voice trembles like she’s taken aback at the notion of Allegra’s killer still being on the loose. “Of course I’m willing to help. Anything for Allegra. She meant the world to me.”
I ready my pen and clear my throat. “Great. Just tell me what your meeting was supposed to be about, and we’ll go from there.”
“Our meeting was primarily supposed to be about a romance-novel-turned-movie for Hallmark. She’d done romance in the past, although she excelled more at suspense and thrillers, but Hallmark wanted something very G-rated and for a great deal of money. We were going to heavily outline, create a synopsis, and make sure our overall tone matched up with what Hallmark was asking for.”
“So she wouldn’t have been bringing you books to edit, then?” I’m confused about why Allegra would ask Ivy and Mayven to beta read her new books if she wasn’t going to take them to Sarah on her trip to New York.
“She did say she’d wrapped up two more suspense novels she was excited about, but she wasn’t finished editing them quite yet. She did, however, have the rough drafts. She said she might bring them with her to show me, but she wasn’t sure yet. She still wanted to hear back from both of her beta readers.” Okay. Jackpot.
“Oh, wow. So those books are still with those beta readers?” My heart flutters as I obtain more information, hoping it leads to an epiphany.
“I’m really not sure if she’d sent them to her betas yet. Sometimes, authors just say that to buy themselves more time to write. There’s no way to know for sure, I’m afraid, unless Connor can find those emails... assuming she sent them. Allegra was notorious for handwriting the first draft. She was very old-school like that.” Sarah grows silent, and I can almost see the grief on her face. “I’m sorry. I’m not much help. If you think of anything else you need to ask, you’ve got my number, okay?”
Fortunately, I remember to ask about the agent. “Hey, one more thing. What’s the story on Fran Marx, Allegra’s agent? I heard you all came to the funeral together even though she’d just been fired.” I probe as if I haven’t already spoken to Fran, hoping I’ll uncover something useful.
Sarah sighs as if it’s a long story. “I love Fran. I really do. She’d been Allegra’s agent from the beginning, and they adored each other. But for some reason, Fran got weird when it came to Allegra’s two new books. They had to part ways because they just couldn’t agree on the plot for one of them. I’ve not read them yet, like I said, but it all seemed so strange.”
“And why is that?” I ask.
“For an agent to refuse to bend for an established author they’ve worked with for so long is just unusual. Especially since I’d made it clear I’d be willing to work on all of her books with her. So there was really no reason for Fran to be so insistent upon it on the front end. The sale was a sure thing, you know?”
“Wow, that is strange. Was there anything going on with Fran that might make her act out of the ordinary?”
“I don’t know. But I will say she was devastated afterward. I kept asking her to reconsider, but she kept saying she couldn’t. Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was pushed into it somehow. I know it doesn’t make sense, but it seemed like it wasn’t something she wanted to do, like she was forced into it. And when Allegra died, it hit Fran hard. I don’t think she showed up for work for a whole week.”
“Hmm. So they were pretty close?”
“Just as close as she and I were. We loved each other like family.” Sarah sniffs again and apologizes. “I’m sorry. I’m getting emotional.”
“No, don’t apologize. I completely understand. Let me ask you one more thing. Was there anyone Allegra ever mentioned that she feared or was afraid of in any way? Any enemies you knew of?”
Sarah pauses as if considering the question. “I don’t think so. Most people really loved her. She was a sweetheart.”
I sigh, wishing I’d uncovered a case-breaking clue. Instead, I have more questions.
“Thanks, Sarah. I appreciate your help. If I have any more questions, I’ll give you a call back at this number, okay? And you have my number now, too, if you need anything or think of anything you forgot to mention.”
“Yes, I do. Thanks so much. I really appreciate the work you’re doing.”
I end the call and bang my head on the steering wheel.
The Hallmark deal is the only thing I have that’s new information. Maybe Allegra was hiding money from Connor or had a boyfriend. I wonder if Connor knew about this huge deal with Hallmark.
I know Ivy hasn’t yet read the books Allegra gave her, but she does have them stashed somewhere. I need to check with her and see if she’s found them. Perhaps the subject matter contains some clue that will help solve the murder. Maybe Allegra gave her main character a secret similar to her own. Or maybe the backstory holds a clue about something long-forgotten in Allegra’s past.
I’ll speak with Mayven. Allegra shared some writing with her as well, so maybe she has a copy via email or something. I’m amused that both Ivy and Mayven have the impression that they’re Allegra’s sole beta reader. And I could enlighten them, but I think I’ll let that secret die with Allegra.
I phone Ivy and leave a voicemail asking her to let me know if she’s found the books. Then I make my way downtown to record a public service announcement with the head honchos of TVA about being mindful of energy use during the bitter winter months. Afterward, I check my phone and find no messages from Ivy, much to my dismay. I head over to Mayven’s house instead.
I really should call before just popping over to Mayven’s, but I’ve learned that she tends to be home during the mornings, and since it’s only eleven o’clock, I’ll take my chances. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to walk in on her with her hair in rollers, no makeup on, and her home a complete pigsty. If there’s anyone who is always camera-ready with a pristine home, it’s Mayven Bennett. Besides, if she isn’t home, maybe Connor is.
Mayven has two gorgeous potted blue spruces wrapped in burlap on either side of her giant front door, and I wonder how they’ve managed to survive the harsh winter. Then I remember their owner and how she seems to turn everything into gold with minimal effort. I knock three times, and before I can count to thirty, Mayven opens the front door. Once again, she’s dressed to the nines and has flawless hair and makeup. “Mad, come on inside. It’s freezing out today. What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”
“I’m good, and you?”
She motions me toward the toasty living room as I thaw out.
“I’m good too. We really need to do another story together. That was such fun.” Mayven heads toward the kitchen. “Hot tea?”
I nod, appreciating how she’s always the perfect hostess. She makes me want to be better at it myself. “That’d be awesome, actually.” Instead of having a seat, I follow her into the kitchen. “I’ll help you.”
She fills a copper kettle with water and points at a cabinet. “Top shelf on the far right.” I open the door of the cabinet, which is full of fancy-schmancy teacups and coffee mugs, and grab two that say Vols.
“Those were a gift.” Mayven eyes the mugs I chose, which clearly aren’t up to par with the rest of her designer dishes. “It’s fine, though. We’ll rough it.” She forces a high-pitched giggle. “So, what brings you here today? Have new information on the case, I hope?” Mayven leans against her marble countertop as I take a seat on a barstool on the other side of her island.
“I think you mentioned to me the first time we met that Allegra often asked you to read her writing before she sent it off to her agent and editor. Is that right?” I pull out my notepad and pen. If there’s one thing I don’t trust as of late, it’s my memory.
“Yes, she valued my opinion since I’m an avid reader. Sometimes, she would have me do a read-through before she let her agent or editor lay eyes on it,” Mayven says as she digs around in her pantry.
“The latest things she’d been working on were two suspense novels. Did she send you either of them?” I crane my neck to see her face, and while she’s found the tea, she’s still looking for something else, probably sugar.
She faces me with a sullen expression. “Yes, she did. Both of them, actually.” Then she abruptly turns and starts digging again.
“Can’t find it?” I ask with a sigh.
“No, worse. I accidentally deleted them.”
She apparently doesn’t realize I was referring to the sugar.
“And even worse, I asked her to resend them a few days before she was going to leave, and she said she wanted to see what her editor said first. So I never did get to read her final words.” As the teakettle sings, she plops onto the stool next to me with a disappointed expression.
***
THAT EVENING, I GO to Connor’s in an attempt to get to the bottom of this whole book thing. I ask to see Allegra’s computer.
“It’s on the desk in the library, but I’ll warn you, it’s toast.” His shoulders slump.
I whip my head around. This can’t be true. I was counting on this. It was all I had. “What do you mean, it’s toast?” I hope I heard him wrong or that he’s joking.
“I needed some tax information from it a few days ago, so I logged in, and everything’s been wiped. I think she must’ve gotten a virus or something.” Connor rubs his forehead. “I haven’t told anyone yet because I didn’t want to believe it was true. Everything she had was in there, everything she was working on... gone.” Connor rubs his eyes like a wounded child, obviously upset.
I should comfort him, but all I can think about is the fact that I need this to figure out a motive for Allegra’s murder. Now I’ve got nothing. “But it was fine when the police had it all that time, right?”
“Yeah, they said they dug into everything. They didn’t see anything worth noting, really.” Connor clears his throat, stands, and walks toward the kitchen. “You’re more than welcome to have a look if you want. If you can fix it, then you’re a miracle worker.”
In the library, I stand behind the desk and open the computer to find all her files are indeed wiped. The internet is wonky, and it cuts off after a few minutes. When I attempt to reboot, it gives me all kinds of error notifications. Yep, it has a virus. A big, bad, ill-timed virus. A ding on my phone makes me jump as I stare in defeat at Allegra’s ruined laptop.
CON-venient timing, huh?—a source.
A source is right. This is convenient timing for someone, and it’s no coincidence. Someone went out of their way to ruin the last works of Allegra Hudson. But I can’t seem to nail down the reason why. I slither down into the leather chair, prop my elbows on the desk, and hang my head in my hands, wondering why they alluded to a “con.” How am I ever going to solve Allegra’s murder when the killer is always three steps ahead of me?