Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

“Go on,” Darla urged, not bothering to correct the other woman’s choice of pronouns when referring to Mavis. Not that she expected anything to come of this; after all, she and Jake had already determined much the same thing from Callie’s photos the other day.

Deciding that she’d caught Darla’s attention, the woman lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “I probably wouldn’t have noticed her doing that, except that I made up my mind to keep an eye on her. There was something kind of off about her, if you want my opinion.”

So even Lizzie had realized Mavis wasn’t quite what she—or he—seemed to be. Darla frowned. “Go on.”

“Anyhow, all night long when she thought no one was watching, Mavis had been giving Val the strangest looks. Not exactly mean, but—”

“But like she wanted to kill her?” Darla blurted, unable to help herself.

She heard Lizzie click her tongue in mild reproof.

“Really, Darla, don’t you think that’s a bit overdramatic of you? It wasn’t anything like that at all. It was more a look like she was daring Val to do something.”

“That’s all?” This revelation was no revelation at all. Why had Lizzie bothered with her dramatic buildup when the payoff was about as compelling as a glass of tap water?

Lizzie, however, was not finished.

“See, that’s why I couldn’t tell Detective Reese, because I knew he’d say that exact thing,” she declared. “You had to see that look on her face to understand what I mean. But Val had the exact same expression the whole time she was signing, except Val wasn’t looking at Mavis. She kept staring over at the nice agent lady—what was her name?—Hillary Gables.”

TWENTY-FIVE

“SOUNDS PRETTY DARN WEAK TO ME, KID,” JAKE SAID THE next morning after Darla had told her about last night’s weepy call from Lizzie.

They were eating breakfast back in the little courtyard—the store wouldn’t officially open for another two hours—and Darla had been peppering their bagels and coffee with a recap of Lizzie’s contention that Mavis had some involvement in matters. She hadn’t yet mentioned her own renewed suspicions regarding the author’s brother.

“Besides,” Jake added, “you know how Reese feels about funny looks.”

“Yeah, well the last one panned out, didn’t it?” Darla countered, recalling how Hamlet’s funny look at one of Valerie’s fans had led to their discovering the identity of the Lone Protester. Even as she wondered why she was taking Lizzie’s side, she went on, “I like the guy, but I have to agree that Morris has been on my suspect list ever since the memorial service.”

“Well, so far as I know, he’s not on Reese’s list, so the smart thing would be to drop it before you get slapped with a harassment suit. The Vicksons have pretty deep pockets, even without Valerie’s book-writing money.”

At Jake’s words, a thought so outrageous occurred to Darla that she almost dropped her coffee cup.

“Jake,” she slowly began, “before we drop it, here’s another theory. You know how Lizzie claimed that Valerie Baylor stole her manuscript back in college and got it published before Lizzie could?”

“That’s what Lizzie claims,” Jake replied with a shrug. “All we have is her word against Valerie’s, except that Valerie isn’t here to defend herself. Besides, didn’t you once tell me that you can’t copyright an idea?”

“That’s right, but Lizzie is talking plagiarism, which is a whole different thing.”

“Fine, but what does that have to do with Mavis, er, Morris?”

“Remember when I introduced Callie to Morris, how he began asking what she thought about the previous Haunted High book?”

“Yeah, so what? After all, his sister wrote it.”

“But it wasn’t just nice little chitchat. His questions were specific, the kind of questions that the book’s author might ask.”

Jake was staring at her now, a quizzical look on her face. Darla hesitated, certain she finally was on the right track but not sure how crazy her theory would sound out loud.

She took a deep breath and forged on. “Okay, here’s the motive. What if Valerie really did steal Lizzie’s story . . . and then, later on down the road, what if she did the same thing to her brother?”

“Are you trying to say that Morris wrote the Haunted High books but Valerie took the credit?” Jake’s curious look briefly morphed into one of incredulity before she frowned and nodded. “You know, kid, you could be on to something. If Valerie had been taking credit for his work the entire time, maybe he finally got tired of getting the short end.”

“Wait.” Darla held up a hand, for already she’d seen a few holes in her brilliant theory. “Why would he allow her to keep stealing his work?” she mused. “One book, I could see, but three?”

“Maybe he’d already written all three before she stole the first one? You hear about that all the time, unpublished authors with three or four manuscripts stuck in a drawer somewhere. Maybe she ran off with his entire body of work.”

Before Darla could answer, they both heard through the open shop door the now-familiar thud of a large volume hitting the floor.

Hamlet! While they’d been talking, he had apparently wandered off to do a bit of mischief. Darla gave an exasperated sigh and headed into the shop, and in the direction of what seemed to be the source of the sound—the reference books.

“You need to figure out some way to break him of that habit,” Jake called after her.

Darla spied the wayward book, which Hamlet had dragged from the shelf devoted to books on writing and editing. She bent and picked up the book in question; then, frowning a little, she returned with it to the courtyard.

“Maybe not,” she replied and turned the book so that Jake could see its cover. “I think Hamlet is saying he has his own theory.”

Jake raised a dark brow as she read the title aloud, “How to Work as a Ghostwriter . ”

The ex-cop folded her arms and pursed her lips in thought while Darla flipped through the book’s table of contents. “When do you need a ghostwriter ? ” “How to collaborate successfully . ” “Who gets the royalties?” Reading the chapter headings, Darla decided that perhaps her new theory wasn’t a veritable sieve after all. Maybe it simply needed a bit of tweaking.

“Do you think it’s possible—”

“I wonder if maybe—”

They’d started speaking at once and now broke off to stare at each other. When Jake nodded for her to go ahead, Darla tried again.

“Suppose we go with the idea that Morris has something to do with the Haunted High books. But maybe Valerie didn’t steal the manuscripts—what if they had worked out a deal? Maybe Morris helped write the books, she submitted them to the publisher under her name—”

“And they each took a cut of the cash,” Jake finished, her expression of satisfaction matching Darla’s. “That’s a nice little bit of synchronicity, a ghostwriter writing ghost stories. But I think that would be pretty hard, doing all that work and not getting any of the credit.”

“It happens in publishing all the time,” Darla told her. “But what about Valerie’s death? That’s the real issue.”

Jake shrugged. “Maybe it really was an accident. If it was a joint project, then he’d have no reason to want her out of the picture.” She paused and frowned. “You know, I think we need to take another look at the video we watched the other night.”

“I agree. Give me a second.”

So saying, Darla went back into the shop, with Jake trailing behind, and walked over to the computer. She pulled up a browser window and after a bit of searching, she located the clip in question. While Jake watched intently beside her, she fast-forwarded it to the spot where the two black-caped figures made their appearances. They ran that portion of the video several times, pausing and winding back during each play as they tried to pinpoint any feature that would clearly identify the pair and clarify their interaction. By about the fifth or six playing, however, Jake gave a disgusted snort.