Dying to Get Published (19 page)

Well, well. Jennifer wasn't the only one with impure thoughts. She suddenly felt an unexpected rapport with Monique.

"You've told us this much. You might as well give us the whole story," Jennifer coaxed.

"After my novel was bought, I put together two detailed synopses, twenty or so pages each. Penney kept them for three months before tossing them back at me. She said another client had written a book so similar to one of my ideas that there was no way she or anybody else could sell it."

Until that moment, Jennifer had only suspected the true depths of Penney Richmond's despicable nature.

"You think she stole it," Jennifer concluded.

The rocking stopped, and an infusion of blood reddened Monique's face. "Of course she stole it. When the book came out, the alternate universe I had created was right there in print, only with a well-known author's name across the book cover. We had words. Richmond told me she was dropping me as a client. She needed someone with more
original
thoughts."

"Why didn't you sue?" April asked.

"Are you kidding? Do you know how hard it is to prove someone stole an idea? I might have had a chance if I'd completed the manuscript and if someone had actually read it. All I had was a synopsis, a synopsis that only two people had seen: myself and Penney Richmond. For all I know, the author who wrote the book never even saw my work. Penney could have fed it to him in a brainstorming session."

"Bummer," Teri observed.

A true career S.O.B. At least Jennifer had been right about Penney Richmond. Monique's once promising career had simply dried up and blown away. When her book came out, it did only modest sales and then faded into oblivion. Monique had suffered off and on from writer's block ever since, and only now did Jennifer understand why.

"But this mess isn't about me," Monique reminded the group. "It's about Jennifer. What are we going to do to help?"

"I've got a day's leave I need to take," Leigh Ann volunteered. "Teri and I could go to Atlanta and check out Richmond's agency."

"We'll find out who her associates are, and who's on her staff," Teri agreed.

"If possible, see if you can find out when or if Kyle Browning ever sent Penney Richmond a complete manuscript," Jennifer said. "She would probably have gotten it sometime during a six-month period
ending about four months ago."

"We'll do our best," Leigh Ann promised.

"I'll get on the phone with some of Richmond's clients and see if I can get the word on what she's been up to," Monique offered. "And I'll put out the word on the Internet. See if I can scare up any of her more recent stunts."

"Anything you come up with will be hard to prove if she was as clever as she seems," Jennifer pointed out.

"True," Teri replied. "But we're not out to prove anything, only muddy the waters a little, come up with some
names to throw at the police."

"And I can help Dee Dee cook, so you'll have more time to investigate," April suggested, sucking on yet another grape. April was a fabulous cook. She'd be a great help to Dee Dee—if she didn't sample too many of the wares.

Jennifer could feel her throat start to constrict and her eyes well with tears. God love 'em. These were her spiritual sisters. An attack against one was an attack against them all. They were closing ranks, and whether they produced something that would help exonerate her or nothing at all, they were solidly behind her and exactly what she needed.

Chapter 29

Atlanta was a long way to go for lunch, especially on a Tuesday morning, but Mrs. Walker had been adamant over the phone. She had to see Jennifer and Sam right away, in person. She refused to explain, citing all the latest surveillance equipment that, she assured Jennifer, could allow almost anyone to drop in on their conversation. Mrs. Walker sounded suspiciously like a CIA operative.

Wagner's
Ride of the Valkyrie
was playing loudly as Mrs. Walker opened the door and ushered Sam and Jennifer into the dining room. Two well-dressed, white-haired, grandmother types sat waiting for them.

"Won't you have a seat?" Mrs. Walker suggested, gesturing to two side chairs. A lunch of finger sandwiches and various salads was spread on the table.

Tiger was nowhere to be found, but between cymbal clashes Jennifer thought she could detect faint yips coming from the direction of the bedroom. The sounds were either yips or the vibrations of her eardrums.

"I don't suppose you could turn down the music just a bit?" Jennifer asked.

"I want you to hear this piece in all its glory," Mrs. Walker shouted enthusiastically over the din. The orchestra reached a crescendo only Wagner could score. Mrs. Walker leaned down between the pair and whispered, "They can't hear us with the music, you see."

They? Jennifer took a deep breath and asked, "Who might
they
be?"

"Police. The murderer. Who knows? Your life is at stake, dear, and we'll take no chances."

Sam was unsuccessfully suppressing a grin.

Jennifer let out the breath she'd been holding. At least Mrs. Walker's paranoid fantasies weren't specific. She'd half expected the woman to tell her about the little gray men, the ones that came for her in the night.

"I want you two to meet the girls, Mae Belle and Jessie."

Mae Belle was a little woman with a toothy grin and shiny black eyes. Jessie was larger, well rounded, with bright blue eyes.

"Don't worry. They can be trusted," Mrs. Walker assured them. They probably worked for the same clandestine agency that had recruited Mrs. Walker.

Jessie lingered a little longer than was necessary over Sam's offered hand, her head cocked coquettishly. At least Sam had the grace to blush. In her youth, Jessie must have been a true Southern belle.

Mrs. Walker started the sandwiches around the table. Jennifer took one and passed the plate on. "Hand that back to Jennifer," Mrs. Walker ordered Sam. "She needs to eat more than that, especially now."

"I can't eat," Jennifer declared in a stage whisper. "I want to know what you found out."

Mrs. Walker shook her head stubbornly. "I refuse to begin until you have a decent meal in your stomach."

Jennifer glared defiantly but took two more sandwiches, stuffing a whole one into her mouth. Her father used to make her wait to open her packages until after breakfast on Christmas morning. She hadn't liked that, either.

Fortunately, the wait was mercifully short. Everyone gulped their food.

"Okay," Mrs. Walker opened, leaning in, the orchestra beginning another movement. "We've run down most of the visitors to the building Friday night."

"We eliminated children, sisters, brothers, nephews, cousins, etcetera," Jessie added, "who come and go, visiting their relatives on a regular basis."

Mae Belle nodded. "It's highly unlikely one of them took time from a routine visit to commit a murder."

"Okay, so what do you have left?" Sam asked.

Mrs. Walker clucked her tongue at him. "We're getting to that."

"We also took out regular visitors, both male and female, to residents who had no association with Ms. Richmond," Mae Belle went on.

"That left the repairmen and the delivery personnel," Mrs. Walker said.

"I called all the repair services and each one checked out," Mae Belle assured them.

"And I've been working on the delivery companies," Jessie said. "Ernie didn't get the company names of everyone who came into the building that night, so it's taking a bit longer. I've gotten through all the messenger services and about half the florists in the area."

"Ernie should know better than that," Mrs. Walker complained. "He's supposed to take the address of every delivery person who walks through that door."

"Of course, he is, but I'm afraid he's become a little lax these days," Mae Belle observed.

"We also had one real estate agent and her client looking at one of the units," Jessie said. "The unit is for sale, but I have yet to get the name of the client. We should have more for you in a day or two."

Jennifer hardly knew what to say. Mrs. Walker and her friends were as good as any P.I. agency she could have devised for a novel. "Thank you," she managed. Her words seemed hardly adequate to express her gratitude. "I can't believe you've done all this for me."

"Oh, pish!" Mrs. Walker declared. "Running down a murderer beats a round of bridge any day!" Mae Belle and Jessie nodded.

Mrs. Walker rose to her feet. "I'll get us all some coffee. But remember, dear, all vital communications must be made in person. No exceptions. When I phone you next, it will be to invite you for bridge if we need some additional information, Trivial Pursuit if the police have returned to question me, bingo if we've hit on something important, and Dungeons and Dragons if things have taken a particularly dark turn."

Jennifer had never had any desire to play Dungeons and Dragons, and she certainly hoped she wouldn't be required to now.

"Have you got all that?" Mrs. Walker asked.

"We've got it," Sam assured her.

"Good."

"Mrs. Walker, the last time I saw you, you mentioned that Kyle Browning was seeing Penney Richmond."

"But, of course. I nearly forgot. I put Jessie on it right away, not more than an hour after you left."

Jessie's mouth curved into an impish grin.

"You see, Mr. Staunton has had quite a crush on Jessie for some time, nearly a year, since he first moved into the building."

"But she's never given him a tumble. He's
way
too old for her," Mae Belle added.

Jennifer wondered where this story was heading and if she were old enough to hear it. While she was sure Jessie's love life held a certain morbid fascination, she was having trouble relating it to Penney Richmond's murder.

"So I called her up and told her to go for it, and I'm afraid she did just that, sacrificed herself for justice."

Uh oh. Jennifer definitely did not want to go where this conversation was heading.

"The point being…"

"The point is that Mr. Staunton lives only three doors down from Ms. Richmond's apartment. He can confirm that Kyle Browning was a regular visitor to her apartment for a number of months, usually late on a Friday night."

"But get this," Jessie dove in. "He doesn't think they were lovers—no hand holding, no flowers, no stolen kisses in the hall, no lingering goodbyes at the door."

"Well, then. If Penney Richmond and Kyle Browning
weren't
lovers, just what were they doing all those Friday nights?" Jennifer asked.

"Indeed. Just what
were
they doing?" Mrs. Walker mused.

Chapter 30

Sam, love his heart, brought Thai peanut noodles in cute, little Chinese takeout boxes for supper. They ate curled up on the sofa, he with chopsticks, she with a fork and knife. He was obviously tired, having worked all afternoon after driving back from Atlanta.

Jennifer felt more relaxed than she had in days. If only this were last Friday night. If only… She was playing that stupid head game again. It was time to play that other game her mother had taught her. At least Sam believed she was innocent. At least Mrs. Walker and her O'Hara's Tara Irregulars were doing all they could for her. At least her critique group was a hundred percent behind—

"You in there?" Sam asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. I haven't been able to figure out how Monique's heroines slip through those little blips in time to alternate universes."

"Am I supposed to understand what you're talking about?"

"I'd be concerned about you if you did." She stood and reached for Sam's empty carton. "Let me take that."

He caught her hand in midair. "How are you holding up?"

Jennifer shrugged. Should she tell him? Tell him how frightened she really was? How she was worried that Jaimie, who was destined to be another Albert Einstein or Mother Teresa depending on that pesky gender issue, was most likely never going to be born to discover the true physical and spiritual nature of the universe? Tell him how Maxie Malone's courage never wavered and how she could put together a set of completely unrelated clues and come up with the solution to any perfect crime? And how
she
couldn't solve more than half of those one-minute mysteries her fellow mystery writers were so keen on writing?

"I'm okay," she fudged.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "That's a lie, but I'll play along if you want me to."

"I want you to." She sank back down to the couch, wishing everything would just go away. He pulled her close to him, her chin resting against his throat.

"Ouch! What the heck—"

"Sorry. Earrings." Jennifer pulled the oversized hoops from her ears, threw them on the coffee table, and settled her cheek back down into the crook of Sam's neck.