Phillip Margolin - Sleeping Beauty

“That’s true, Miles, but does it make your fingerprints appear in odd places, like the first draft of Joshua Maxfield’s book?” Miles froze. “The draft that Maxfield read to his writing seminar was a heavily rewritten version of a previous draft. Until recently, everyone thought that he wrote the draft, but once I figured out that you might have written it Delilah Wallace had the crime lab test each page for fingerprints.” Ashley gestured toward the audience. “Would you like to explain to these people how your prints could have ended up on several pages of the manuscript?”

All eyes turned toward Miles, but Miles just stared at Ashley.

“The FBI got a search warrant for your house after they found the prints,” she continued. “They found the critique Joshua wrote in the desk in your study. He was very discouraging. He wanted you to give up on the book so he could steal the idea without worrying that you would try to publish.”

Miles turned quickly and took a step toward the backroom of the store but two men wearing blue windbreakers with “FBI” stenciled on the back were standing in the hall blocking his way.

“Freeze, Mr. Van Meter,” Claire Rolvag said. The escort was standing inches from her author. “I’m an FBI agent and you are under arrest.”

As Claire spoke, several members of the audience who had asked questions following the reading moved toward the front of the room and surrounded Maxfield. He gaped at them, then glared at Ashley.

“This is a setup. You set me up,” Miles said incredulously as he was handcuffed.

Ashley walked up to Van Meter and glared at him. “Yes I did, you bastard.”

Miles stared back. There was nothing behind his eyes. “I’m completely innocent, Ashley,” he said in a flat, emotionless voice that was more threatening than a scream. “When I’m cleared, you and I will have to have a long, private talk about your error.”

“You think you can scare me, don’t you?”

Miles made the mistake of smirking. Ashley took a step back and drove her foot into his crotch. Miles doubled over and retched and Ashley smashed her hardcover copy of Sleeping Beauty into his jaw. Claire pulled her away.

The audience gasped, then began talking excitedly.

“Not smart,” Claire told Ashley as Miles was hustled toward the back of the store.

“Maybe not,” Ashley answered, “but I’d do it again if I had the chance.”

Jill Lane ’s mouth was open and her hand was on her heart.

“Oh, my God,” she said finally. “I don’t believe this.”

“Sorry, but we couldn’t tell you,” Claire said. “We needed Miles to believe that this was just another speaking engagement so we could trap him into admitting that he hadn’t learned about the ‘See you later’ statement from Ashley. Except for Barbara Bridger, no one knew what was going on.”

“Don’t apologize,” Jill said. “This is the most excitement we’ve had around here since our grand opening. And our store will be on national television. We’re going to be famous.”

An FBI agent drove Ashley from Murder for Fun to Sea-Tac airport, and an FBI jet flew her home. Delilah Wallace and Larry Birch had a car waiting at Portland International. When they were on the road, Delilah told Ashley that Randy Coleman had been picked up for questioning in connection with the attack at Sunny Rest. Ashley had trouble concentrating on the details of the arrest and only heard half of what the prosecutor said. She felt drained after her confrontation with Miles Van Meter, emotionally spent and physically exhausted. Ashley wished that she could curl up next to Jerry in their big comfortable bed and sleep the night away, but there was still one thing she had to do first.

A little before midnight, Larry Birch parked his unmarked car in front of the Van Meter mansion. Lights came on after the second ring. Moments later, a sleepy-eyed maid dressed in a nightgown and bathrobe opened the front door. Birch flashed his badge. The maid looked confused.

“We need to speak to Ms. Van Meter,” Birch said.

“She’s sleeping.”

“Who is it, Angela?” Casey called from the top of the stairs. She was wearing a blue silk robe over her nightgown. Delilah pushed past the maid and stood next to one of the suits of armor at the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s me, Delilah Wallace. Ashley is here, too.”

“What’s going on?” Casey asked. “It’s midnight.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to bother you, but something terrible has happened to Miles and we wanted to tell you in person. Is there someplace we can sit down and talk?”

“Please tell me what happened,” Casey said when they were seated in the library, where Delilah had met with Miles and Henry Van Meter many years earlier. Casey had taken the sofa, and Ashley sat beside her. Delilah and Larry Birch were opposite the couch in their own deep armchairs.

“Let me, Delilah,” Ashley said. “I should be the one to tell her. I’m her daughter. Miles is my uncle.”

“Tell me what?” Casey said, as she looked back and forth between Ashley and Delilah. Ashley turned sideways so she was facing Casey. They were inches apart.

“Miles has been arrested,” Ashley said. “Joshua Maxfield didn’t kill my father or Tanya Jones. It was Miles.”

Casey shook her head in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I know this will be hard for you to believe,” Delilah said, “but your brother is a serial killer.”

Casey laughed. “I don’t know who told you that but…it’s insane. Miles isn’t a killer.”

“His vanity tripped him up,” Ashley said. “Remember the book that Joshua Maxfield wrote?”

Casey nodded.

“There was a draft in Maxfield’s cabin. It turns out that it was Miles who wrote it, not Joshua. If he could get it published, he could brag about his crimes without getting arrested, so he sent it to Maxfield for editing. But Joshua had writer’s block and he was desperate for a story idea. He rewrote Miles’s book. He plagiarized the draft.”

Casey was rigid, her hands clasped in her lap, her back straight. “I don’t believe any of this.”

Ashley leaned forward and laid a hand on Casey’s knee. “It’s true. They found Miles’s fingerprints all over the draft. They searched Miles’s house. There was a letter in the den from Joshua trying to discourage Miles from looking for a publisher.”

Ashley looked down. “They also found souvenirs that Miles took from his victims. They…Tanya Jones’s panties were…”

Ashley’s breath caught and she couldn’t go on. Casey’s mouth gaped open. She shook her head again.

“How could it be possible? I would have known.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about this, Casey,” Delilah said. “Miles had us all fooled.”

“But he’s my brother.” Casey breathed deeply as she fought to control her emotions.

“We do have one problem, though,” Larry Birch said. “We were hoping you could help clear it up.”

Casey turned toward the detective.

“We know that Joshua Maxfield didn’t kill Ashley’s father and Tanya Jones,” Delilah said. “And the only reason he would have had to kill Terri Spencer was to keep her from telling the police about his book, but he didn’t write the book, so he didn’t have a motive to kill Mrs. Spencer.”

“We also know that Miles was three thousand miles away when you and Terri were attacked in the boathouse,” Birch said. “We talked with the two attorneys from Brucher, Platt who were with him in New York. We are absolutely certain Miles could not have been in Oregon when Mrs. Spencer was killed.”