Murder Between the Pages, page 7
Surnames, Nina guessed. Laying aside the alphabet book, she pulled out her phone and keyed in the names. She’d barely finished and stuffed away the phone when footsteps sounded and a door slammed. She snatched up the alphabet book and ran to the window.
“He’s finally gone.”
Nina took a moment to draw in a deep breath before turning to see her hostess enter the library. The sight of Elizabeth’s wrinkled brow set Nina’s heart hammering. Had she seen her snooping?
Hugging her waist, Elizabeth crossed the room. “I hate being interrogated.”
Realizing Pete Russell caused the woman’s distress, Nina exhaled a relieved breath. “Being questioned is a strain.” She closed the book and gave Elizabeth her full attention.
“Especially since our party is involved. Murder. Just hearing the word makes me sick.” Elizabeth’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Murder happens somewhere else, not here. Can you remember anyone ever being murdered in Richmond?”
Nina tilted her head. “I can’t.”
“Crime is spreading to the suburbs. Soon, we won’t feel safe in our own homes.”
“I certainly share your concern.” Nina went to the shelves and, in case the collection had an organization of which she wasn’t aware, replaced the alphabet book exactly where she found it. “Did you know Wildeen well?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I’ve bought many books from her, but we never discussed anything personal.” She gestured toward the door. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I feel in need of one.”
“I’d go for some tea, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Come along to the kitchen.”
The night of the party, Nina hadn’t seen the Bottses’ kitchen. The room had ample counter space, oak cabinets, and a butcher’s block in the center.
Elizabeth touched one of the cabinets, and the door sprang open. She took out two floral patterned cups and saucers, a matching cream and sugar bowl, and a straw basket of tea bags. She handed the basket to Nina. “Help yourself.”
Nina sorted through the envelopes and selected Apple Spice.
Elizabeth filled a copper teakettle with water. “I wish I’d never been involved in Zelma Duke’s autograph party. What a mistake.”
“How did you get involved?” Glad to have her visit extended, Nina tore open the envelope, pulled out the bag, and dangled it in the closest cup.
Elizabeth set the teakettle on the stove and then turned on the burner under a pot of previously brewed coffee. “I don’t even know Zelma, really. Oh, I’ve heard of her. Who in Richmond hasn’t? Whenever she publishes a book, she places a huge ad in The Review and puts a flyer on every public bulletin board.”
“She is good at publicity.” Nina wanted to say something positive about Zelma.
“Anyway, Sondra Wagner contacted me about having the party. Her mother and my sister are good friends. Sondra explained the book is an especially important one for Zelma.”
“My Restless Heart is her break-out book.”
“Whatever.” Elizabeth waved a hand. “Anyway, Burgess and I like to give parties and share Bottswood with our friends, so I agreed. And the party was fun. Didn’t you think so?” Elizabeth’s expression brightened.
“The party was lovely.” Nina hoped her words registered her sincerity.
“But now, how distressing to learn a murder was arranged in our very own woods, and Zelma is the prime suspect.” Elizabeth shivered and hugged her arms.
She’s the second person who made that claim. Nina frowned. “How did you know Zelma is the prime suspect?”
“Burgess told me.”
“How did he find out?”
“Josh Loring told him.” Elizabeth went to the refrigerator and retrieved a carton of half-and-half.
Nina widened her eyes, wishing she could take notes. “Oh, really? And who told Josh?”
“Zelma.” Elizabeth filled the creamer with the half-and-half. “She told him she met Wildeen at the bookstore late that night, but Wildeen was alive when she left. She also told Josh she was terrified at first to be a suspect, but now she feels better because you’ll discover the real murderer.”
Nina bit back a groan, hardly believing what she heard. But then, why should she be surprised? Zelma often demonstrated a lack of discretion. One particular instance occurred when they were in college and Nina had a crush on a popular student leader. Zelma told him of Nina’s interest and suggested he ask her out. The young man politely declined. Nina was mortified and spent the rest of the year dodging him whenever their paths crossed.
The teakettle whistled and a few minutes later, she and Elizabeth were seated with their drinks at a round table in a sunlit corner.
“I’m guessing your role as amateur sleuth is the real reason you wanted to stay and talk.” Elizabeth plucked two napkins from a wire holder, handed one to Nina, and spread the other on her lap.
Nina took a moment to sip her tea. The Apple Spice had a pleasant aroma and a tangy taste. “I was hoping to discuss the case. I’m sure you’ve already told Detective Russell all you know, but perhaps you’ll share your comments. Did you hear or see anything on the trail walk that might help the investigation?”
Elizabeth shook her head hard enough to loosen a couple locks of hair from her coil. “I did not. Burgess and I spent the time watching the hummingbirds feed.”
“But Burgess left you for a while.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “He didn’t.”
“He did, Elizabeth. I remember you came out of the woods first, and you were upset because Burgess hadn’t yet returned.” Why was Elizabeth intent on convincing her otherwise?
“Your recollection is different from mine.” Elizabeth sat back and folded her arms.
Nina tilted her head. “I wonder if Burgess could have overheard Wildeen and Zelma.”
“I just told you he was with me.” She frowned and unfolded her arms. “How dare you come here and insinuate my husband was involved in a murder!” Two red spots bloomed on Elizabeth’s cheeks.
Nina spread her hands. “Please, Elizabeth, I’m not insinuating anything. I thought Burgess might have seen or overheard something, too, like I did.”
“I suppose you told Mr. Russell Burgess and I were separated on the walk? I mean, that you thought we were.”
“No, when I gave my statement, I didn’t think of you two. Besides, I can’t prove you weren’t together the entire time.” Elizabeth certainly was adamant about her and Burgess being together.
“Then what’s the point of this discussion? Take my advice and let the police handle the matter.”
“I promised Zelma I’d help her.” Nina sighed and shook her head. “I wish she hadn’t told Josh, but, since she did, my involvement is in the open. So, do you know anyone who might want to harm Wildeen?”
“I certainly do not.” Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I told you, I barely knew her. I wish I’d never said yes to Sondra Wagner.”
Elizabeth’s emphatic tone left no doubt about her position. So much for questioning her. Perhaps this interview was a waste of time, after all.
Elizabeth drank her coffee, tilting the cup high and then setting it on the saucer with a clack. “Are you finished with your tea?”
Nina checked her cup. “I am.” Too bad, because she could’ve used a few more minutes to question Elizabeth.
“Let’s take a walk outside. Walking always calms me.”
“A walk would be nice.” Elizabeth’s invitation surprised Nina. Perhaps she was sincere. Then again, maybe she wanted only to hurry Nina along and away from Bottswood.
Once they were outside, Elizabeth turned to Nina. “Let me show you our prize-winning rose.”
She led Nina to the rose garden bordering the woods. Blossoms of various colors—yellow, red, purple, pink—filled the garden. “That rose is our prize-winner.” Elizabeth pointed to bushes with amber blossoms. “Burgess created the flower and named it ‘Elizabeth Rae,’ after me. The rose took first prize in Richmond’s Garden Club Show last summer.”
Pride rang in Elizabeth’s voice, and she held her head high.
“The color is lovely.” Nina leaned over the blossoms and inhaled the sweet scent. “Mmmm, they smell good.” As she straightened, her gaze fell on a slip of paper folded in accordion pleats, half-hidden by the roses. Brushing aside the leaves, she picked up the paper, careful to touch only the edges, in case it proved to have fingerprints of interest to Detective Russell. Unfolding it revealed one of Zelma’s bookmarks for My Restless Heart.
Elizabeth peered over Nina’s shoulder. “Ugh, that bookmark reminds me of that awful night. I don’t want it.” She wrinkled her nose and flapped a hand.
“I’ll dispose of it for you.” Nina slipped the paper into her jacket pocket.
They strolled across the lawn to the bluff. Nina gazed past the madrona trees to the water, glistening under a bright sun. “Your estate is so peaceful.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I love Bottswood. Burgess and I came to Richmond because we wanted to escape everything we hate about city life—the noise, the pollution, the crime, the congestion.” She hugged her arms. “But, now, I don’t feel safe here anymore.”
Nina nodded soberly. “I’m beginning to feel the same way.”
Chapter Seven
As soon as Nina returned home, she phoned Zelma. First came the strains of “Love Makes the World Go ’Round,” then Zelma’s melodious “Hell-o, this is Zelma Duke. Sorry I missed your call, but you are important to me, so please leave a message. Oh, by the way, My Restless Heart will be on the stands in two weeks. Look for the book in the Best Sellers’ section. ‘Bye now.” The beep sounded.
Nina gritted her teeth. “This is Nina. Call me.” She disconnected and still gripping her cell phone paced to the living room window. Across the courtyard, her neighbor, Madge, stepped out the door of her unit. Her poodle pranced at her side, ready for his afternoon walk.
Madge caught Nina’s eye, and the two waved.
Not more than a minute passed before Zelma phoned. “I was screening calls, but you hung up too fast.”
Nina sighed and turned from the window, ready to give her full attention to Zelma. “I appreciate your calling back so quickly.”
“I’m working on my new book, but I can’t focus on my characters and their problems. I have too many problems of my own. I hate reality to intrude on my fantasy world.”
“Yes, well, please focus on reality now.” Nina’s tone was dry.
“Okay. Why did you call? Have you found out who murdered Wildeen?”
“I haven’t.” Nina rolled her eyes. “Not even Sherlock Holmes could work so fast. I called to say I wish you hadn’t blabbed to Josh about meeting Wildeen at the bookstore or about my investigating.”
“Why not? My visit to the bookstore was bound to become known, anyway. And why shouldn’t I brag about my best friend’s belief in my innocence?”
“Suppose Josh is the murderer? Do you think he’ll want me poking around? Or what if Patti’s the killer? Will he want me to expose her?” Gripping the phone, Nina paced again.
“I didn’t think of all that.”
Nina waved a hand. “Besides, Josh told Burgess, who told Elizabeth. I suppose by now, even Pete Russell knows.” Her stomach knotted.
“No real harm was done. If people know you’re working on the case, maybe they’ll tell you something important.”
Okay, maybe Zelma’s indiscretion wasn’t so disastrous, after all. Nina sank into a chair and took a deep breath.
“So, come on,” Zelma coaxed. “Tell me what you’ve found out, so far. I’m dying to know. Oops, poor choice of words.” She giggled.
“Not a lot. I interviewed Patti at the athletic club…”
“Interviewed? Oh, you sound so professional, Nina.”
Nina closed her eyes then sighed. “Will you just listen, please? Patti insists she and Josh were together the night of the murder.”
“Of course, Josh would be her excuse. What else do you have?”
“Today, Pete Russell and I went to Bottswood.”
“You and that horrible man? What?” Zelma’s voice rose. “Are you investigating for him, too?”
“Hardly. He wanted me to show him where I stood when I overheard you and Wildeen.”
“And did you?”
“As best I could recall.” Nina clamped shut her jaw. Maybe giving Zelma new information would only result in more gossip. On the other hand, sharing might also help Nina to put into perspective what she’d learned. “He found Sondra’s heel. The one she said she lost?”
“I can’t see her shoes having anything to do with Wildeen.”
“Nor can I.” Nina sat straight again. “I’m just telling you what happened. Anyway, I stayed afterward and talked to Elizabeth. She is upset you and Wildeen made plans on the trail walk to meet later. She doesn’t want either herself, or Burgess, or anyone else at her party, to be even remotely involved in a murder.”
Zelma huffed. “She’s such a snob. Why else were the Literary Lights at the party? Not one of them bought my book.”
Nina pursed her lips at Zelma’s self-centeredness. “I don’t know why they came, but since this one is your break-out book, don’t you want to court readers like them?”
“You’re right, of course. Hmmm, I’ll work on the idea. Meanwhile, what’s next on your agenda?”
“I’m not sure.” Nina hedged, fearing she had already given Zelma too much information. “If I had any sense, I’d back off and leave the investigation to the police.”
“Oh, no, you can’t.” Zelma moaned. “Please, Nina, don’t desert me.”
Zelma’s pleading tone touched Nina. They had been friends for a long time, and she would honor their friendship. “All right. But keep what I tell you to yourself, will you?”
“I will. I promise. I’ll concentrate on my new story—another historical, set during the American Revolution. My heroine is a spy. I do love intrigue, don’t you?”
“I thought I did. Now, I’m beginning to wonder.”
****
After ending the call, Nina took out her list of suspects and sat at the kitchen table. At the top of a new sheet of paper, she wrote “Patti,” and then recorded the main points of that interview. On another sheet, she wrote “Elizabeth Botts” at the top.
As she made notes on her talk with Elizabeth, she remembered the bookmark found among the roses. Retrieving the paper from her jacket pocket, she unfolded the accordion pleats with a pair of tweezers and laid it front side up on the table. Nothing indicated to whom the bookmark belonged. She flipped it over. The back listed Zelma’s previous titles. Only the most recent, though, because enumerating all twenty on a small piece of paper would be impossible. In the margin, someone had written “310 Main Street,” which was the address of Bergman Books. Had the writer planned to visit the store later that night? Nina’s pulse quickened.
Don’t jump to conclusions. The person might want to remember Bergman’s location for other reasons. Perhaps Wildeen gave the address to a prospective customer, someone whose purpose was to buy books, not to murder the store’s owner.
Still, the bookmark was related to the crime, and she must give it to Pete Russell. No way would she withhold possible evidence. She hoped he hadn’t heard about her amateur sleuthing. Or, if he had, he’d refrain from embarrassing her by mentioning it.
At the police station the next day, the officer on duty informed her the detective was out. Nina left the bookmark, enclosed in a plastic bag, and a note explaining where she found it and why it might be important.
Later, before closing time at the library, Nina made her clean-up rounds. Picking up a copy of The Richmond Review and placing it on the newspaper rack reminded her of Stephen Kraslow. She promised to call him and make an appointment to discuss her column. Should she phone him today? No, why not wait a day or so? She didn’t want to appear too eager.
****
That evening, Nina headed toward Josh Loring’s investment seminar. At exactly ten to seven, she drove her car into the parking lot at Merton Park, Josh’s office complex. Lingering sunlight glittered on the five-story building’s silver walls and windows. A wide semicircle of steps led her to the entrance, and revolving doors swept her inside. A sign in the lobby indicated the Loring Investment Seminar met in Conference Room 101.
Watercolors of Northwest scenery brightened the conference room’s beige walls, and tables arranged in a large rectangle stretched from end to end. A few people were already seated, while others milled around a refreshment cart, pouring cups of coffee or making tea.
Josh—handsome in a brown suit, crisp tan shirt, and striped tie—set up his laptop to beam on a pull-down screen.
Nina considered approaching him to say hello but decided not to interrupt his concentration. She headed for the refreshment cart and fixed herself a cup of tea instead. Cup in hand, she strolled to the tables and took a seat. Each place had a blue folder with “Loring Investments” printed on the cover. Inside were papers and brochures full of numbers, charts, and graphs. Just glancing at them fogged her mind. Even simple terms such as “yield” and “rate of return” went over her head. Why couldn’t she have inherited even a little of her mother’s talent with finances?
Nina’s mother had been a successful real estate agent who invested shrewdly. When she passed away, she left enough money for Nina to buy her condo and for Grandmother Jessica to settle into Marley Manor, plus a plentiful reserve for each.
Nina maintained her assets by staying on her mother’s investment track. At income tax time, her accountant, Belden Mannering, made sense of the statements she collected and dutifully transferred the proper numbers to the correct tax forms. Nina trusted Belden implicitly. Her mother had, and so did she.
At last, Josh finished his preparations and stood before the group. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re ready to begin.”
Looking around the table, Nina recognized a member of the Literary Lights who attended the Bottses’ party but whose name she could not recall. In her sixties, she had salon-coifed, white hair and wore a stylish, powder blue suit.
