Twenty-One

After taking a few gulps of water, which Kate brought me as I studied the next batch of emails, my hands stopped trembling. But my heart still raced and my stomach jumbled.

“Who is this person?” I asked as I read.

“Please, please help me. You have to understand. Once the Harlow book comes out, my life will never be the same. I’ll need to go into hiding.” It was dated six weeks ago, way before Justine died.

“There’s two people,” Den said as he directed me to the next email—which I’d seen before.

“I swear if you go public with this I’ll kill you,” it said.

I nodded. “I’ve read that one. Are these two related? Did they come from the same place?”

“They’re from two different individuals. That much we can tell. The cybercrimes unit is working hard to get a lead on where they came from. Who these people are. But it looks like some emails were sent from the New York Public Library. So,” he said and shrugged, “it’s easy for people to sign it with fake names and such. It could be the same person using different aliases. I’ve got guys checking into it. But we’ve been down this road before, with other cases. It probably won’t go anywhere.”

“That tells me that whoever sent it wants to be anonymous,” Kate said. She was now standing next to me, looking over my shoulder.

“Yet asking for help.”

“And look at this email,” Den said.

“I can’t stay with you without placing your life in jeopardy. I gave you my story. If he identifies you, he will kill you. I need to leave the country. I am certain he knows I’m here. If he finds out I’ve been working with you, he’ll kill me as well.”

Stunned into silence, Kate and I looked at one another. Her eyebrows were drawn into a V. “What the hell?” she said.

“This doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the ring,” Den said after a moment. “So do you have any idea what this is about?”

Dumbfounded, I shook my head. The room silenced once again.

“Did Justine run all of her sources by you?” Kate asked.

“Usually,” I managed to say. “And I fact-checked them. It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t think this person is a source. This is something different.”

“But it says ‘Harlow book’ right there. It does have a link with the book,” Den said.

I bit my lip. The Jean Harlow tale was straightforward. Nothing new had resurfaced in recent years, unless you were counting her medical records, eventually released because the appropriate amount of time had passed. Was there a secret in her records? I’d reviewed them myself. Did I overlook something?

But even so, it still made no sense. There was nothing earth shattering, no juicy story, in the working manuscript. At all.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “I have no idea what this person is talking about. I’m sorry. I wish I could be more helpful.”

Den placed his hand on my shoulder. It heated where his hand lay. “I get the feeling this is hard on you, and I’m sorry.” He paused a few beats. “Remember how you said Justine called you to that meeting at Layla’s, saying she had something important to tell you? Could it be that she had some new scoop about Harlow’s life?”

I drew in a breath. “It’s possible. But the Harlow story is not complicated. I have no idea what this person is talking about. I’ve looked over Justine’s files. I’ve read almost everything on her computer. I haven’t seen anything leading me to conclude there was a new twist to the story.”

No Loretta Young–Clark Gable secret love child story lurked. Nor even a Mommie Dearest tale. The only whiff of scandal in Harlow’s life was the suicide of her second husband. Which, when all was said and done, did not have much to do with Jean.

“But what about Justine’s laptop?” Kate said. “You said you haven’t been able to find it.”

“Yes,” I said, “she had a laptop. It might be wherever she was staying the last few weeks of her life. I have no idea where that was. I wasn’t even aware she wasn’t living in her apartment.”

“Okay,” Den said, removing his hand from my shoulder, leaving the spot tingling with faded heat. “We can pull financials. She had to pay for wherever she was staying, right? Hotel? B and B? Food?”

He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and then, standing, walked to the other side of the room.

Kate sighed. “What the hell do you imagine Justine had gotten herself into?”

I shrugged. “I have no idea. Nothing like this has happened before. I mean we’ve had lawsuits, threats of lawsuits. But never death threats or desperate pleas for help.”

“Let’s hope the cops can locate Justine’s laptop. It might have just what you need.”

“It’s not that simple,” I said. “I’m supposed to deliver the completed manuscript to the publisher in six weeks. Usually it wouldn’t be a problem, but if the story is changing, it’s going to be a huge dilemma. But how do I know? How do I finish the book knowing there may be more to the Harlow story?”

“Can you get an extension?”

“I already did.”

“Damn,” Kate said.

We sat for a few minutes, each in our own reflections. “I can’t imagine anything about the Harlow story that could get Justine killed. If anything, the murder must have to do with the ring. It must have resurfaced. That’s all I can think.”

“If it did, where would it be?” Kate said in a low voice. “I mean, if Justine had the ring.”

“I’ve no idea if she had a safe, or a safe deposit box or lockbox, like Chad Walters said, or a secret … place …” My eyes met Kate’s. One of her well-drawn eyebrows lifted.

The secret room.

“Okay,” Den said as he walked back into the room. “We’ll start looking into her financials. Maybe it’ll lead us to her laptop. Thanks. That might be a great lead.”

“I’ll need the laptop when you find it,” I said.

“You can certainly have it when we’re done with it.”

“I have a book to finish.”

“But first we have a killer to catch.”

Den’s voice was full of confidence and authority. And who was I to argue? As if I could, with the molten heat forming in my lower regions.

One thing at a time.