Although I was so shaken by this confession that I had to shove my hands into my pockets to hide their trembling, I managed to promise Ellen that I would help her keep an eye on Gavin, particularly around Ophelia, before I fled her house.
After a night of restless sleep, I wandered into the kitchen bleary-eyed on Wednesday morning to help Alicia serve breakfast to our remaining guests. All three came down and actually sat at a table in the dining room, so Alicia whipped up some omelets to order, with me serving as her sous chef.
Thinking about the plan I’d made with Ellen, I reminded my guests about the tea party on Friday afternoon as well as the cocktail party Friday evening.
“I’m certainly willing to attend,” Amanda said. “I have to stay in town anyway, so why not?”
Harper dabbed at her lips with her napkin before responding. “I’ll be there. And Molly told me she’d come if you went ahead with those events.”
“Good.” I offered them my brightest hostess smile. “Sorry not to include you in the tea party, Tony, but this was just for Amanda and her fans. Of course you’re invited to the farewell cocktail party on Friday night.”
“No problem.” Tony’s fork clattered as he dropped it onto his plate. “I’ll take the cocktails over the tea any day. Besides, I have business matters to deal with.”
“Of course you do,” Amanda said, under her breath.
I collected their plates and utensils before I left the dining room. After helping Alicia clean up, I told her that I planned to walk over to the police station. “There’s some information I think I should share in person.”
Alicia jerked her head to the right, directing my gaze to the side counter, where Tony loitered, coffee mug in hand.
“Just want to grab another cup,” he said, as he fiddled with the spout on the percolator. “Hope that’s okay. Didn’t want to bother you with fetching it for me.”
“It’s fine,” I said, shooting a questioning glance at Alicia, who’d made a zipper motion in front of her lips.
“He’s still one of the suspects, isn’t he?” she asked after Tony left the room. “I just thought maybe it was best if he didn’t know all your plans for the day.”
“Oh, right.” I eyed her speculatively. “Smart thinking.”
“I have my moments,” Alicia said, as she grabbed a roll of paper towels and some disinfecting cleaner. “Anyway, we’re all done here once I wipe down these counters, so if you want to run along …”
“Trying to get rid of me?” I asked, but flashed her a smile.
“Nope. I just remember you talking about needing to do some work in the garden and I expect you’d better do that early. Unless you want to pass out from a heat stroke or something.”
“Ah, right. I should get out there before it gets too hot.” I lingered for a moment, watching Alicia’s vigorous cleaning of the counters. “Thanks for reminding me. And … thanks for all your hard work this week. I know it hasn’t been the easiest time for anyone.”
Alicia looked up from the countertop with a little twist of her lips that almost looked like a smile. “It’s my job.”
“But you go above and beyond,” I said. “I don’t think I’ve always been good about telling you how much I appreciate that.”
Eyeing me speculatively, Alicia balled a damp paper towel in her fist. “I haven’t always given you credit for handling things well, either. Let’s say we’re even and move on from there.”
“Sounds like a great idea.” I lifted my hand in a little salute before leaving the kitchen. I was happy that Alicia and I were slowly developing a less contentious relationship. Perhaps in time we can even become friends, I thought, as I headed to my office to complete some reservation and invoice paperwork, before doing a little weeding in the garden.
A few hours later, I walked to the police station, where I met with Detective Johnson to share the latest information on my guests. I mentioned the ghostwriting issue, although I did add the request that this not be made public knowledge unless it was absolutely necessary, and Lisette’s treatment of Tony during their breakup.
“It does mean that both Amanda Nobel and Tony Lott could have reasons to want Lisette Bradford out of the way,” I said, “but if it ends up having no bearing on the case, I don’t want to expose the ghostwriting information to Amanda’s fans. I mean, both Amanda and Tony, as well as the publisher, want to keep it a secret, which isn’t illegal. Not to everyone’s taste, maybe, but …”
“Not against the law,” Detective Johnson replied. “And not uncommon, from what I’ve heard.”
“Apparently not. Anyway, that’s the latest information I have,” I said, my thoughts circling around Ellen’s concerns for Ophelia Sandburg. But that wasn’t something I could share with the police.
Detective Johnson thanked me for stopping by. “By the way, I’m going to increase patrols in your area,” she said, as she followed me to the door. “I don’t think any of your guests, whether guilty of killing Lisette Bradford or not, would harm you or Ms. Simpson, but just in case …”
I paused on the concrete steps to shake her hand. “Thanks. It will be good to know that officers are nearby, if anything were to happen.”
Popping on my sunglasses, I walked off at a brisk pace, following Pollock Street toward the waterfront for a block before turning right on Ann Street. Admiring the older homes that lined the street, I reached the corner of Ann and Craven before I heard footsteps close behind me. I spun around, almost bumping into Tony Lott.
“Charlotte, what luck,” he said, as he pulled his straw fedora down low on his forehead. “I’ve been hoping for a chance to talk to you privately.”
“Is that why you followed me today?” I asked, recalling his presence in the kitchen when I’d discussed my plans with Alicia.
Tony pulled a silk handkerchief from the breast pocket of his white cotton shirt and wiped his glistening brow. “Followed you? Really, I think you’re imagining things, which isn’t surprising, considering the heat.” He flapped the handkerchief in the direction of the black iron-work fence that enclosed an area next to a church. “Why don’t we step inside the cemetery. I bet it’s a lot cooler under the trees. We can chat while we walk.”
I pointed to the tall pole that held a historical marker. “It’s called the Old Burying Ground. We can go inside, but just be aware that it’s very old, so the paths are rough in places. Tree roots and rocks and that sort of thing. You have to pay attention to where you’re walking, so too much chatting might not be the best idea.”
“Don’t worry; I won’t allow you to stumble,” Tony said, holding out his arm with his elbow bent, as if offering to escort me.
“I can manage,” I strode ahead of him, passing through the open iron gate to step into the cemetery. “There are brochures there, in the holder, if you want more information on the graves.”
“Nice, but not today,” Tony said, as he moved close to my side. “I just want a quiet, and somewhat cool, place to talk.
I lengthened my stride, forcing him to increase his pace to keep up with me. It was cooler under the spreading limbs of the weathered trees, many of which were draped in thick wisteria vines. I paused in front of a pair of graves. “There’s the headstone for poor little Vienna Dill, who was only two when she died of yellow fever, and near it is the memorial for Pierre Henry and his wife Annie Henry, African Americans who were the leaders of a school for emancipated slaves and their children.”
“I’m not really interested in a history lesson.” Tony’s fingers clamped down on my bare forearm. “I just want to talk.”
“About what, exactly?” I twisted my arm to break his grip and glanced around the area. Seeing no other visitors nearby, I slipped my hand into my pocket to clasp my cell phone.
“You playing amateur detective.”
“What makes you think I’m doing that?” I slid out my phone, pressing it into the folds of my loose cotton tunic top to hide it from Tony’s view.
Tony yanked off his hat and used it to fan his flushed face. “Come on, I know you’ve been talking to Amanda, and probably others, like that Harper chick.”
The quiet of the cemetery was almost eerie. I gazed into the thick tangle of trees and shrubs that filled the spaces between the rough paths. “I was merely making conversation with my guests. It’s what a good host is supposed to do.”
“Right. And that’s why Amanda once again accused me of having something to do with Lisette Bradford’s death. Just this morning, after talking to you yesterday. Which she admitted doing, by the way.”
“And did you?” I asked, focusing my gaze back on him.
“Of course not.” Tony’s tone was full of bluster. “Why would I? She was nothing to me. I certainly had no reason to want her dead.” His sparse eyebrows drew together. “I think it’s much more likely that you’re just looking to pin the murder on me to draw suspicion away from your friend, Roger Warren.”
I tightened my grip on my phone as I forced myself to maintain a calm demeanor. “He isn’t my friend. I just met the man the other day.”
“Alright, the friend of your friend, Scott Kepler, then.” Tony slapped his hat back on his head. “But whatever your motives, you whispering false ideas in Amanda’s ear has to stop.”
“I didn’t have to do that. She already had those thoughts. In fact, she was the one who sought me out and told me she was afraid you were involved in Lisette’s murder.”
Tony’s bark of laughter reverberated through the gloomy silence of the cemetery. “And did she say why? I bet she didn’t, because I think you’re making all this up.”
Keeping the phone hidden, I pressed my free hand to my chest. “Amanda said you might want to harm Lisette because she humiliated you.”
Tony took a step back, stumbling over one of the rocks that littered the ground. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t have an affair with her, and then suggest to your company’s editorial team that she write Amanda’s latest novel?” I tipped my head and studied his face. His expression wasn’t giving anything away, but he was perspiring freely. Although that could be attributed to the heat, it might also have indicated inner turmoil. “I heard that rumor from others, as well as Amanda, in case you’re wondering.”
Tony swore, before turning aside to stare at Vienna Dill’s grave.
“Amanda said she felt incapable of writing another book in the Tides series by the publisher’s deadline, but she didn’t want to cause any trouble for her agent or publisher, so she agreed to a ghostwriting deal. Although she had no idea that Lisette had been selected to write the book and wasn’t too thrilled with that choice, which she partially attributed to your influence. I mean, the publisher wouldn’t have known about Lisette’s fan fiction if it weren’t for you putting forward her name and sharing her most popular work with them.”
“Did she now?” Tony’s tone was hollow. “How strange that she believes I could have any such influence. I handle publicity and marketing, after all. Nothing to do with editorial decisions. And as I said, I had no relationship, good or bad, with Lisette Bradford. On the other hand, Amanda’s claims are a rather clever way to cast the blame on me. Lifts the cloak of suspicion off of her shoulders, doesn’t it?”
“Why would she want to kill Lisette? Unless, as you shouted the other evening, it was jealousy. Although that seems like a weak motive to me. Why would Amanda fret over someone else writing a book for her when she approved the deal in the first place?”
Tony fixed me with a steely stare. “I don’t know what you mean about shouting, and if you’ve been told that Amanda’s thirteenth installment in her series was written by anyone other than her, you’ve been misinformed.”
“It was Amanda who told me”—I held up my hand, palm out—“which seems like a pretty solid source.”
“She’s lying.” Tony’s cool façade cracked like ice under hot water. “I don’t know why she’d say that, unless her mind is slipping, but I can assure you that all the Tides books have been, and will continue to be, written by Amanda Nobel.”
I held his intense stare without faltering, but inwardly, my resolve crumbled. I knew, from what Julie had told me, as well as Amanda’s own confession, that Tony was not telling the truth. Lisette Bradford had definitely ghostwritten Amanda’s upcoming book.
But Tony Lott was never going to admit that to me. Or anything about his failed relationship with Lisette, I thought, considering how a desire to avenge the humiliation of being used and discarded could’ve fueled a murder. And here you are, standing in a graveyard with a possible killer. I backed away. “I think it’s time I headed back to Chapters. You’re free to stay and look around if you like. The Old Burying Ground is worth a proper visit.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’d rather find a place for a proper drink,” Tony said, before pointing his forefinger at me. “And just so you know, since you seem to want to dig into everyone’s business, I know Amanda is hiding some secrets she might kill to protect. I heard that directly from …” Tony snapped his mouth shut and stared defiantly at me for a moment before speaking again. “Run along then, but just remember that I have a lot of power in certain circles. I know some travel journalists and bloggers who could trash the reputation of your bed-and-breakfast to the point where you’d be lucky to book one or two full weeks a year. So if you know what’s good for you, you’d better stop spreading any salacious stories concerning me, or Amanda’s books.”
I held up my other hand, displaying my cell phone. “And if you know what’s best, you won’t threaten me, especially when I have the police on speed dial.” I lowered my hand so he wouldn’t notice it shaking. “Good day, Mr. Lott. I hope you will enjoy the rest of your day. But may I suggest that you don’t try to talk to me privately again? I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my temper if you choose to spew any more of your misplaced anger at me.” I turned on my heel and marched out of the cemetery, not stopping until I reached the iron entrance gate.
I paused then, to cling to the bars of the open gate until my wobbly legs felt strong enough to carry me home.