I found Pierce Glassman stretching against a gate in front of a house that looked like it was big enough to accommodate three families. Maybe four. His knee was bent, his hand palming a shoe grazing his left butt cheek. He looked to be in his mid-fifties and was short, five foot seven inches or so, but decked out in Nike from head to running shoe, his svelte body made up for every single inch of it and more. Body to body, he’d never measure up to Finch, no matter how hard he tried, but he was a pint-sized sight to behold nonetheless. I beheld for a solid minute before Finch caught me. He shook his head, pulled the car over, and I put the window down.
“Are you Pierce Glassman?” I asked.
Without turning, he replied, “Who’s asking?”
“Joss Jax.”
“Very funny. Try again.”
“Turn around, Mr. Glassman.”
He turned and eyed me then Finch, unfazed. “What can I do for you, Joss?”
“Detective Murphy has been calling you all morning. You haven’t returned his call.”
“I will later, when I have time.”
“You’re finished with your run, aren’t you? Looks like you have time right now.”
“I need a shower. Then I have some paperwork to go over. Then I have a dinner date.”
“Suit yourself. If you don’t return his call, he’ll be coming over later.”
“I won’t be here.”
“Barbara Berry is dead,” I said.
“When?”
“This morning.”
“How?”
“Killed herself.”
“How?”
“Poison.”
He raised a brow. “Forgive me if I have a hard time believing she’d off herself. Are you certain?”
“She left a suicide note.”
His eyes expanded significantly, but he maintained his nonchalant, unaffected attitude. “Saying what, exactly?”
“Saying she’s responsible for the death of Alexandra Weston.”
“You’re joking, right? You must be.”
“No joke, Mr. Glassman.”
“What reason did Barb give for killing Alex?”
“She killed her to keep Alexandra’s memoir from being published.”
“What?”
Pulling his shirt up, he wiped his face with it, then approached the car. When he leaned down and stuck his head through the window, the car filled with an unsavory stench of sweat and body odor. Maybe he was trying to make me go away. I wasn’t going anywhere.
“What do you know about Alexandra Weston’s memoir?”
He shook his head. “Can’t tell you that.”
“The book has gone missing from Alexandra’s computer. The police have her laptop. The file is there, but the manuscript is gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“I mean someone either erased it, or transferred it to a flash drive and then erased it. You wouldn’t happen to have a copy or know where I can get one?”
“I don’t read her books. I just negotiate the contracts. I’m not a storage facility.”
“I didn’t ask if you read it or not,” I said.
“Then what are you asking?”
“Did she ever talk to you about the contents of the book?”
“No.”
“Did she ever express concern about anyone being upset with her over what she wrote in the book?”
His head indicated no, but his eyes said yes.
“Did someone threaten her?” I asked.
He didn’t reply.
“Someone did. Who? I already know about Paula Page. Anyone else I need to add to the list?”
“Like I said, I don’t know. You’re wasting your time and mine. I can’t help you.”
He stood up and smacked the hood of the car with his fist like he was giving us permission to drive away. Of course, we didn’t.
“It just seems odd,” I persisted. “Barbara has been Alexandra’s agent for years. To my knowledge, they’ve never quarreled, never had a falling out, and had nothing but respect for each other. And now I’m supposed to believe this crazy scenario where Barbara kills Alexandra and then herself?”
The attorney sighed. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but all I’ll say is this: Barb wouldn’t have stopped the book deal. She had no reason to. Even if the contents within the book were scathing, Barb still would have pushed to publish it. As far as Alex goes, she offended a handful of people over the years.”
“Just give me a name,” I said. “One name. I’m sure someone comes to mind. If you had to name one person who wanted Alexandra dead, who would it be?”
“I’ve said more than I wanted to already.”
“You haven’t said anything.”
“Good meeting you, Joss.” He turned and walked away, but shouted over his shoulder, “Barb didn’t kill Alex, by the way.”
“I know she didn’t,” I yelled.
I know.