Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

“Oh. H-hello, er, nice to meet you, Commander,” she said, her eyes wide, clearly intimidated by Derek. She looked back at me. “Please say you’re free for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Okay. Sure.”

“I can meet you at the concierge desk at eight or eight thirty.”

“Can we make it nine?” I asked, desperate for all the sleep I could get.

“Yes, of course,” she said. “Thanks. I’ll meet you at the concierge desk at nine.”

She cast one last anxious look at Derek, then said good night.

Derek turned to me. “What was that all about?”

“What do you mean?”

“Commander Stone? You’ve never called me that.”

“That is your title, isn’t it? And it was kind of weird how she reacted, don’t you think?”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

He pulled me to a quiet corner so nobody could overhear us. “Don’t tell me you suspect that tiny woman is capable of bludgeoning a man of Kyle McVee’s height and weight.”

“Of course I don’t suspect Helen, but I’m no more capable of bludgeoning Kyle than she is. So why am I number one on the suspect list?”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

“I would appreciate your putting a little more enthusiasm into that.”

“I’ll talk to Angus.”

“Thank you.”

“And just to be clear, your friend Helen is not on your imaginary list of murder suspects. Correct?”

“Absolutely.” I folded my arms across my chest. “There’s no way I would suspect her of murder.”

“Honestly?”

I fudged. “Well, I guess anyone is capable of murder under the right circumstances.”

“Here we go,” he said.

“Okay, no,” I whispered. “Of course not. I would never suspect Helen of killing a fly, let alone another human being.”

“Then why’d you pull the ‘commander’ nonsense?”

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t entirely true, so I started over. “I wanted to see her reaction. I’m tired of being the first one accused of murder once again. I know I didn’t do it, but that doesn’t mean MacLeod will listen to me. So it’s in my best interests to figure out who might’ve done it before the police toss me in the dungeon and throw away the key.”

“That won’t happen,” he said firmly.

“Easy for you to say,” I muttered. “Look, Helen thought Kyle was going to marry her. What if she brought up the subject and he laughed in her face? Maybe he’d just broken up with her. Maybe she saw him with me and it pushed her to the edge of insanity and she couldn’t take it anymore, so she broke into my room and stole my tools. Or maybe she… are you listening to me?”

He was gazing upward, toward heaven, I supposed, as though praying for divine intervention.

“Fine,” I said. “I know it’s not Helen, but it’s somebody out there besides me.”

“Yes, but you’re grasping at straws, darling.”

“It’s all I have.” I was close to tears, but I refused to lose it in front of him and everyone else in the hotel lobby.

He wrapped his arms around me. “I realize you’re upset, love, but don’t start looking for murder suspects behind every potted plant. It could get you into trouble, in case you’ve forgotten what happened last time you tried it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I checked my wristwatch. “My goodness, look at the time. It’s after midnight. I’m dead on my feet.”

“You scare me to death with this dangerous game you’re playing.”

“Game?” I repeated. “If this is a game, I should be having more fun.”

He shook his head, then linked my arm firmly through his. “I’m walking you to your room.”

“Not necessary,” I demurred, though I was secretly pleased that he’d offered. “I’ll be fine.”

He tightened his grip on me. “Believe me, it’s not you I’m worried about.”

Not surprisingly, I didn’t sleep well that night. Sometime around three thirty a.m., I awoke and jumped out of bed, ready to boogie. When I realized what time it was, I groaned and walked to the window, just to make sure the alarm clock wasn’t lying. I pushed back the curtains and saw that it was indeed still dark outside, and raining, which fit my mood perfectly. The city seemed to shine in all its wet, fog-shrouded, shadowy glory. The lights from the castle reflecting off the clouds cast an eerie glow over the streets. I worried that I might not be able to enjoy the city as much as I had in the past. So far, the trip was kind of… well, to call it a bummer would be putting it mildly.

My eyes slowly focused on the space just outside my window, and I noticed with some alarm that my room was right on the path of the hotel fire escape. Iron stairs ran past my window, and a narrow platform made a perfect little perch for someone to stand on as they jimmied my window open. How damned convenient.

If I hadn’t been wide-awake before, I was now.

Shaken, I carefully checked the window locks. They seemed secure enough, but the killer had entered my room by one means or another, and I wasn’t going to take any chances. I would demand a new room when I went downstairs for breakfast.

“Now what?” I paced the room, knowing I couldn’t go back to sleep. Back at the window, I stared out at the darkness for a few minutes, then suddenly wondered if the killer might be watching me. A little moan escaped my throat and I shoved the curtains closed.

I’d had my reasons for requesting a room on a lower floor, but giving a determined killer a shorter climb wasn’t one of them.

But who had broken into my room? So far, the only person I could think of was Perry McDougall, but how would he have gained access? The windows were locked, and besides, I had a hard time picturing him crawling up a fire escape, just to get my hammer. Yes, we’d had our little altercation earlier, but was that enough to use me as a pawn in some weird game of death and revenge?

I knew it wasn’t Helen. I’d already decided she had nothing to do with it, even while I’d laid out her possible motives to Derek in the lobby earlier.

But who could’ve done it? Who hated me so much that they’d risk danger and exposure and arrest to somehow break into my room and steal my stuff in order to frame me for murder?

Minka.

An image of her sneering face caused shudders to vibrate clear down to my bones. Minka hated me enough to do almost anything to destroy me. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to have her thrown in jail, and sadly, it probably wasn’t her anyway. But I recalled with fondness how the San Francisco police had arrested her for a short time while Abraham’s murder was being investigated. In the end, though, Minka had been a dead end. Still, it was fun to imagine her living behind bars, forced to hook up with a cell mate named Big Marge.

My shoulders slumped and my eyelids drooped as exhaustion sneaked its way into my system. Just thinking about Minka had sapped every last bit of energy I had. I crawled back into bed and slept like a dead guy, no offense to Kyle.

The alarm went off four hours later, and this time I had to drag myself out of my warm bed. Stumbling around the room, I tried to figure out what to do first. Instinct led me to the compact coffee butler on the dresser, where I found packets of coffee, decaf, tea and hot chocolate. I knew the powdered coffee would be awful, but hot chocolate sounded yummy. I filled the small pot with water and plugged it in to heat.

Remembering my discovery of the night before, I stared across the room at the curtains. With some trepidation, I peeked outside, then pulled them open and winced at the glare of morning sunlight that poured in. There was frost on the windowsill, but it was no longer raining. The city looked refreshed and alive-and cold. Ordinarily, it would’ve been a perfect day to sneak out of the hotel and wander for a while, but I was hoping that the book fair committee would arrange some sort of memorial for Kyle. It was the least they could do.