Chapter 12

As soon as we walked out of the room, I asked Lex if we could go to Scarlett’s Café, one of my favorite places in Stonedale. I desperately needed a break from this conference. He happened to have a lull in his schedule and whisked me off-site immediately. One jangle of the door chimes and two steps into the warmth of the fragrant, cozy restaurant, and I knew we’d made the right decision.

The large sugar-free caramel latte delivered much-needed caffeine to my very core.

The muffin that followed further enhanced my emotional state.

The ibuprofen that tamped down the pounding headache made it a trifecta.

I sighed happily.

“Better?” Lex studied me from across the booth, one arm slung along the top of the red vinyl bench, the other holding a mug of steaming coffee.

“You have no idea.”

He set the mug down and reached his hand out for mine. “How are your knees? That was a pretty hard fall.”

“They’re fine.”

“And how’s your—” He gestured toward my forehead.

“Head wound?” The mirror in his car had confirmed a red circle, but it wasn’t as bright as I’d imagined.

“Also fine, and thank you for your concern.”

“Always.”

“You know I’m tough, though.”

“If you say so.” He squeezed my fingers once before letting go and picking up his coffee again.

“What do you mean, Lex? I’m tough.”

“You are. Just not...” A smile played over his lips. “Cop tough.”

“Fair enough. But definitely...professor tough.”

“Absolutely.”

“And now that I’m fortified by caffeine and my synapses are crackling again, let’s talk about our interview.”

His eyebrows went up.

“You know, the interview? With Candace and Richmond?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Isn’t that what you call it?”

“Sure. Go ahead. What did you think?”

“They seemed fond of Ellis. They didn’t know who else might have had it in for him.”

“Agreed.” Lex toyed with the spoon in front of him, thinking. “There doesn’t seem to be any conflicts among the three editors. And we’ve looked all over social media too—”

“I was going to suggest that. If we weren’t at this conference where every second of every day was accounted for, I’d have done it already.”

He smiled. “We’ve completed a sweep. There’s nothing to indicate any discord there. No trolling, no complaining, no arguments—on his pages or those of his colleagues. We’ve spoken to people at the university and to his family as well.”

Through the window, I watched a blackbird hopping across the sidewalk outside. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to where it went.

Kind of like this investigation.

“Could this have been a random act of violence? Someone who happened to be walking through that room the same time as Ellis and took a swing at him?”

Lex rubbed his eyes. “It’s possible. Could have been a spur-of-the-moment assault. You never know what will set someone off.”

“Where did the metal bar come from?”

“Chair leg. The hotel manager said one of the staff was mid-repair and was called away to help out with a spill in another location. By the time he returned, the leg had been used as a weapon.”

“Wow. Was anyone else seen in the room beforehand?”

“No one was scheduled to be in there at that time. Doesn’t mean they weren’t. Just means they weren’t required to be.”

I drank the last of my latte. “So no one was observed going into or out of the room.”

He shook his head. “But no one was watching, either.”

I shot up in my seat. “What about cameras in the hotel? Don’t they have those for security?”

“In the lobby, near doors, and at check in. They don’t cover the whole floor.”

I slumped down. Then I perked up again. “We still have the book.”

Lex scratched his forehead. “What are you proposing?”

“Perhaps there’s an aspect of his editorial work that made someone angry.”

“Maybe someone didn’t like his tone in an email, you’re saying?” He appeared dubious.

“Could be. Or they didn’t like how their chapter was edited.”

“Would that make someone murderous?”

“You’d be surprised at how strongly people feel about editing suggestions,” I said gravely.

“So there’s that...”

“Or,” I snapped my fingers at a dawning realization, “maybe it’s not about who is in the book at all.”

He looked confused.

“Maybe it’s who’s not in it.”

I pulled out my phone and wrote an email to Richmond and Candace, asking if they would be willing to provide a list of the people who had submitted to the Flynn McMaster project.

When I looked up, Lex waved his coffee mug. “Fill me in?”

“When someone wants to put together a collection of critical essays, they usually send out a call for papers. Scholars submit whatever is required—usually an abstract or short summary of the argument, sometimes the chapter itself. Then the essays that work best together are selected by the editor or, in this case, editors.”

“And...”

“They only chose five essays for the guide, and we know there were many more than that. This was, by all accounts, a prestigious and visible project and, well, you’ve seen firsthand how people love Flynn. There must have been numerous scholars dying to get in.”

He gave me a pointed look.

“No pun intended,” I said. “Oh, that’s horrible. Sorry.”

“Go on. How does this help us?”

“All the people who were rejected may be harboring some resentment. So if we can find any names on the list of submitters who are also attendees of this conference, we could have a proper suspect.”

“Got it.” He nodded approvingly. “Well done, Professor. Anything else you can think of?”

“Two things, actually.”

Lex leaned back. “I’m listening.”

“First, I wanted to show you this.” I scrambled around in my satchel and withdrew Selene’s binder, which Richmond and Candace had asked me to return to her. I placed it in front of Lex. “At the panel, we were each supposed to read an excerpt from our books. The Raleighs are co-writing theirs, which is divided into two sections, so they each brought a binder with their half. Simone read from hers, and Selene was supposed to go next. But...” I pointed to the notebook. “Open it.”

He flipped the cover with an air of amusement. I had the feeling he was humoring me. But as he began to leaf through the blank pages, his expression turned serious.

“You can stop now. They’re all the same.”

“So,” he raised his head slowly, “she didn’t bring anything to read.”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Lex. It may be a simple mistake. Perhaps she grabbed the wrong notebook. Or”—I sat up straighter, stuck by a thought—“perhaps she brought this blank binder on purpose.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she didn’t have anything to bring.”

I expected him to gasp at my insight but it soon became clear that he didn’t understand the importance.

“What I’m saying is, she didn’t write anything for the project. At all. Ever.”

“Strange.” Lex pushed the binder back toward me.

“Please be more excited. This is a big deal.”

“Why?”

“Because it shows that she was trying to fake a presentation. She is up for an award for the book that she was supposed to read from. For which she has a publishing contract. And yet, there is no evidence that her part of the book exists. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

“Selene could have just not printed out her chapters, Lila. Maybe she didn’t have time, so she used a ream of paper from the business center to make it appear as though she was fulfilling the competition guidelines.”

He was right. The blank book didn’t prove anything, really, no matter how peculiar it was. “But she was supposed to read from it.”

“Maybe she just wanted to wing it. Some people thrive on spontaneity. Or rule-breaking.”

“Okay, Detective. You’ve made your point.”

He smiled at me. “We’re on the same team, Lila.”

What an annoying saying. It was right up there with “calm down,” or “your imagination is running wild,” or “stop acting like coffee is the answer to everything.” But we had a criminal to catch, so I’d give him a pass this time.

“Oh, wait!” I pulled out the note I’d found in Flynn’s room. “Does this seem like anything?”

He studied the writing on the paper. “How did you get this?”

I told him about Acadia sending me on the mission to retrieve Flynn from his hotel room.

“But why did you take it?”

“It could be a clue.”

Lex shook his head. “We don’t take things from people’s rooms, Lila. That’s not how it’s done.”

Oops.

“There’s a protocol.” An edge crept into his tone.

“I’m sorry about that. I thought it might be helpful if we knew who was upset with him. Maybe they pushed him to speak out.”

“Yes, that would be helpful, but we have to follow the rules.” He looked down at the square of paper again. “Having said that, any idea who wrote this? Do you think it was Selene? Didn’t you say she was in there alone with Flynn this morning?”

“Yes.” I’d caught him up to speed on the car ride over.

“Any idea what her handwriting looks like?”

“No, I’ve only seen Simone’s. And it’s not even close.”

“What do you mean?”

I turned my hand palm up so he could place the paper on it, which he did. Then I pointed to the large loops of the ink. “These are distinctive. The swirls are...carefree.”

“Carefree?”

“That’s not the right term, but you know what I mean. They’re loose. Flowing.”

“Okay, and...” He rolled his hand, urging me to continue.

“Simone’s writing is very tight and controlled. Cramped, even. I don’t know how she reads it, frankly.” I’d tried to puzzle out notes she’d left on a document once—when we were forced to work together, as co-advisors of Literature Club—and had ended up having to talk to her about it instead.

“Do you think Selene’s handwriting would be similar?”

“Because they’re twins? No. That doesn’t mean their handwriting has to be the same.” I folded my napkin into a tiny square as I thought. “Which means that the note-writer could be Selene. Or anyone else in the world, I guess. We need to keep our eyes peeled for—”

“Carefree swirlers?” His lips quirked. “On the many notes for comparison we’ll be finding around the ranch in the future?”

“Never mind. You’re right.” My clue had turned out to be a dud.

“But speaking of Selene, what’s your take on her fainting spell?”

“It seemed real while it was happening. But everything changed after I found the binder. Now I don’t know.”

He sat back and stared into the distance, just over my shoulder. I could almost see the cogs moving as he processed this new information. Finally, he flicked his eyes back to me. “All right. Filing that information away for future examination. And you said there were two things. Even though it feels like we just did two things—”

“There was a detour,” I admitted.

“—so what’s the next one?””

“We haven’t discussed the fact that we know there is someone who has a big problem with the Fairlake book and told us so: Flynn McMaster. Everyone heard that.”

“That’s true. We did ask him some questions as a colleague of Ellis, but that was before the keynote. If the book is truly at the center of all this, then perhaps we need to have another talk with Mr. Action Movie.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Do I detect a note of...something?”

“Jealousy? Nah. But he’s a character, isn’t he?”

“Not a fan of the pirate vibe?”

Lex gave me a long look. “Are you?”

“Hmmm.” I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Not really. I’m more into detective couture.”

He smiled and patted the sleeve of his jacket. “Last year’s collection.”

“And worth every penny,” I said, smiling.

  

As we drove up the winding road through the arched wrought-iron Tattered Star Ranch gates, my phone pinged with a reminder.

I turned to Lex. “We’ve got the tour in an hour. You know, the one where they walk us through the property and show us all the places where famous scenes were shot?”

We’d bought tickets a month ago, as the tours often sold out.

“I’m not going to be able to make it, Lila. You brought up a good point about Flynn. I need to ask him some more questions.”

“Oh, forget the tour, then. I’d rather come with you.”

“Actually,” he gave me an apologetic look, “I’ll be taking this one myself. From what you told me about your discussion with Flynn during the elevator ride, I don’t think your presence will work with the tone I’m going to use.”

“But he was kind of opening up to me—”

“Exactly. I’m going to come in more formally than I could if you were with me. Sometimes it helps when a suspect thinks something is happening behind the scenes, officially speaking. If they get nervous, sometimes they talk more.”

“Or less.”

“It could go either way. But I have a gut feeling about this.”

“Sure.” I stared out the window at the pine trees until he parked.

“Please don’t take it personally. And you need to rendezvous with the Fairlake people anyway, right? Find out about that list?”

“Yes. Okay, I’m on the case.”

That was the end of the conversation until we were inside, on the elevator.

“Good luck to you, Professor,” he said, leaning over and giving me a quick kiss.

“And to you, Detective.” I gave him an even longer kiss back.

We spent the rest of the ride up to the tenth floor thus occupied.

The doors slid open and Lex stepped out. Flynn would be facing a challenge if he had anything to hide. The detective had his game face on.

I rode the elevator back down to the lobby. Since I didn’t know Selene’s room number, I was going to leave the notebook at the main desk for her.

As I crossed the lobby, I caught sight of the twins walking through the front door, rendering my phone call unnecessary. When they drew closer, however, I saw that they appeared to be arguing.

I ducked behind a large potted plant as they passed.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” Selene—according to her nametag—said.

“Well, you can’t put this one on me,” Simone replied.

“I can’t believe you’re saying all this. It’s very stressful, you know.”

“But what did you think would happen?”

When they were slightly farther away, their conversation appeared to intensify. They faced each other, both gesticulating angrily, then abruptly went in different directions. Selene took a sharp left down a hallway, and Simone headed back toward me. I emerged unobtrusively—I hoped—from my hiding spot and posed with my cell phone to create a posture of nonchalance.

When she saw me, her whole demeanor transformed. She might have been full of rage, but she was the picture of tranquility. I’d figured out this much in our years together: Simone Raleigh never wanted to appear out of control. She needed to be in charge of everything at all times, including herself.

And it was frightening how quickly she appeared to switch emotional states.

“Lila,” she said calmly. “Thank you for helping with my sister today.”

“How is she doing? What happened?”

“She fainted. The paramedics said she was a tad dehydrated. She’s fine now, though. Hydrated and resting.”

Well, that was a lie. Selene wasn’t resting at all—I just saw her stomp down a hallway. I opened my mouth to protest but thought better of it. Now wasn’t the time. If I started calling out all the lies Simone had told me over the years, we’d be here forever, and I had a tour to get to.

“Happy to hear that Selene is well. And I’m glad I ran into you, because I have her notebook.” As I pulled the binder out of my bag, I thought I saw a flash of panic cross her face.

“How kind of you to pick it up...” She seemed to want to say more but hesitated.

“My pleasure.” I handed it to her.

“See you later,” she said, taking a step away, then turning slowly back to face me. “Wait. How did you know it was my sister’s notebook?”

“It was sitting on the table in front of her chair. At the panel.”

“Of course.” She chewed her lip ever so slightly. “Did you happen to read it? I’m sure that you are very interested in what she has to say about Isabella Dare. I’d be tempted myself if I stumbled across a competing scholar’s work.”

“No, I didn’t read it,” I said truthfully.

She examined my face. “Well, that’s good because we’re rivals in this award—”

“Simone,” I said, shaking my head. “I didn’t read it because there was nothing to read.”

She froze, crumpled slightly, then rallied, forcing a laugh. “Oh, she must have brought the wrong notebook. How silly of her.” She made a show of examining it briefly. “Ah, yes. This is just the one we use to draft things.”

“You don’t write on a computer?”

“No.” She lifted her chin and stared straight into my eyes. “We decided to do it all longhand.”

I knew that was a lie as well. Many a day I’d passed Simone in her office, tapping away on her computer. She also told anyone who would listen about the trials and tribulations of writing her book. I’d known that part. Everyone did.

I just hadn’t known that her sister was writing half of it too...on the topic that I’d worked on for years.

I became aware of someone hovering beside us and turned my head.

The turquoise wrap Bibi Callahan had flung over one shoulder was lovely, if fuzzy, but I could practically feel Simone recoil—she had surely never worn anything homemade in her life.

“I loved your panel,” Bibi said. “Hope that your sister has recovered?”

“She’s fine, thank you.” Her voice was colder than usual. “Would you please excuse me? I need to attend to her.”

Bibi and I watched Simone sweep away with her head held high.

I couldn’t explain to Bibi that Simone had been engaged in strenuous performance, pretending to tell the truth, so I just said, “I’m sorry about that.”

“She must be very worried about her sister,” Bibi said thoughtfully.

Sure. That’s what it was.

“Well,” Bibi said, taking a step closer. “I was fascinated by your excerpt. Do you have a few moments to chat?”

“I would love to, but I’m supposed to go on the tour—would you like to join me? I have an extra ticket.”

“I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m heading into another panel. But I think your writing is compelling, and I simply can’t wait to read your book.”

“Thank you. That means so much to me. Have you read Isabella Dare?”

“Oh, ages ago.” She paused, when the turquoise shawl slid down her arm, tangling her up in it somehow. “Drat.”

“I haven’t met many people who have. May I?” I reached out and helped her straighten out the fabric.

She tied the ends together in the front. “There. That should hold it.” She smiled at me. “I took up knitting after I retired. Still hoping to master it someday.”

“I think you’ve managed to do so already. That’s a beautiful piece.”

“Thank you. And let’s talk later? Really, I would love to hear more of your theories on the Dare books. My friend Pat wants to speak with you too.” She twisted her head and shrugged. “Pat appears to have wandered off, but suffice it to say: she’s a fan.”

“That would be lovely.”

Such are the moments that make conferences worthwhile. I would have been happy to sit and talk with Bibi and Pat all afternoon.

But now, I had a tour to attend. By myself, as it turned out.

And Lex was up there interrogating Flynn McMaster while I had to go look at a bunch of old props.

From where I stood, it seemed like detectives got to have all the fun.