Page 4

FOUR

The next morning, I headed to the station to see if Kieran was there. Sheila was at the front desk and on the phone. I adored her. She spoke her mind, but was as kind as they came. Her red hair was piled on top of her head. At least, this week it was red. She changed it often, and didn’t seem to care what people might think about it. Her attitude only made me like her more.

I waited while she finished the call.

“Mornin’, Mercy. How can I help you?”

“Is Kieran in?”

“He’s at the church dealing with the crowds,” she said.

I pulled the schedule for the festival from my pocket. There was nothing at the church this morning.

“Crowds? I don’t see anything going on there.”

“Aye, some of that author’s fans wanted to do some prayer vigil or something. They organized it overnight, but the crowds are staggering. No one suspected so many people could get here that fast. The priest called and asked for help managing the crowds trying to get into the church. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I was just curious about something to do with James’s death and had some questions for Kieran. Do you mind if I leave him a message?”

The phone rang again.

She picked it up but motioned me to head back toward the offices.

I smiled and waved.

As I’d hoped, boxes of evidence were stored around his office. The fourth one I opened had the manuscript on top. The paper was old and weathered, as if it had been around for at least twenty years or so. Not that I was an expert. I pulled out the gloves I’d stored in my pocket.

But before I began perusing, I stepped back into the hall to make sure Sheila was still on the phone.

She was, so I took out my cell. I photographed several pages of the novel without really looking at them. It was all about speed when I had to snoop like this.

Kieran may have given me access to the manuscript. Then again, maybe not. I skipped to the back to see if there was an acknowledgment page to give me some clue to the author.

There wasn’t.

The End .

That was it.

I put the manuscript back and slipped off my gloves. Then, to cover my tracks, I scribbled a quick note to the detective inspector and left it on his desk. I asked him if they’d run a toxicology test and if there had been any poison in James’s system. If there was, it might help us to understand why he would have pulled that bookshelf down on himself.

I wanted to get to the prayer vigil before it started, to take a look at who might be in attendance.

I did my best to ensure I replaced everything exactly where I’d found it. He wouldn’t be happy if he discovered I’d been snooping. There wasn’t time to go through the other boxes. I’d already been in his office too long.

Giving Sheila a quick wave as I went out the front door, I decided to head to the church at the top of the hill on Main Street to see what was happening.

Up the hill, Kieran and one of his men were waving people through a queue outside the church. Many of them were people from the festival who carried heavy bags full of books as they trudged inside.

I made my way around the queue to Kieran.

“Mornin’,” he said. “Are you going to the service?”

I shook my head.

“I just left your office,” I said. “I was hoping to get your opinion about something, but it can wait. Have you seen his agent, Sebrena?”

“She’s inside preparing to speak. Why?”

I shrugged. “I was just hoping to talk to her.”

He gave me the you-better-not-be-snooping eye. “About what? It better not be about my case?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course not,” I lied. I cleared my throat. “She mentioned something about all the books we had at the shop that were James’s and she threatened Lizzie if she tried to return any of them. Threatened to have my sister blacklisted.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows rose.

I nodded. “Yes. So, I wanted to ask her a question.”

“And what’s that?”

“Just if she had signed bookplates from James, we could put them in the novels.” I made that up on the spot. I was kind of proud of myself.

“What’s a bookplate?” He appeared confused.

“It’s a sticker signed by the author that can go in the front of the books. If she had some, I thought it might help move some of the inventory at our store.” I held up a hand. “And yes, I know how materialistic that sounds. I’m just trying to find a way to help Lizzie. She has hundreds of books to move.”

“I see.” But the look in his eyes was suspicious. He stared at me a few uncomfortable seconds but I wouldn’t allow myself to squirm under this policeman’s gaze.

Then he smirked. “Go around the side entrance and tell Danny I said to let you in. Last time I saw her, the agent was in one of those rooms off the side of the church. But I would not count on her hearing you out. She’s in a mood.”

“Thanks. I’ll take my chances.”

Well, that was easier than expected .

I did as he said, and Danny let me in. The inside of the church was cool and smelled of incense. I’d been in here for a few social events the town held, and it had a calming effect. Almost the same sort of feeling that I had when I first walked through the doors of Notre Dame in Paris.

I wasn’t terribly religious, but I found old churches comforting in a way that I couldn’t articulate. Lizzie joked that I’d probably been a nun in a past life, which made us laugh for hours afterward. I had nothing against nuns, I just had never had the faith necessary for that particular job.

After checking the first few rooms down the corridor, which were set up like classrooms, I found Sebrena in the restroom at the end of the long hall.

She slid some red lipstick on and then turned on me. Her hair was in a messy bun piled high on top of her head, and she wore a black suit with a red blouse. She reminded me of a Barbie with too much makeup.

“You’re Mercy McCarthy,” she said.

“Yes, we met yesterday at my sister’s bookstore.”

She frowned. “Did we? I don’t remember. Everything is a blur from yesterday. I’m not sure I had my wits about me. Are you happy with your current agent? I’m certain I could get you better deals.”

I blinked with surprise. Wow . She was all business. So much for feeling sorry for her dead client.

“I’m quite fond of Miranda, my agent. I came to talk about something else.”

She frowned. “What’s that?”

“You threatened my sister if she returned any of James’s books to the warehouse.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Did I? I think threatened is a strong word. I’m sure you misunderstood me, Ms. McCarthy.”

“I don’t think I did,” I said. “But I have an idea for a way around it. A way that we could both benefit from.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” Since I’d turned down her offer to be my agent, her tone was as if she could barely stand the sight of me.

I pulled my shoulders back and stood taller. “Most authors have signed bookplates. I know I have to sign several thousand for each book that my publisher keeps on hand for special orders and events.

“If you have some, I thought we could use those for the books at the shop. The books would probably sell faster if they had his autograph. That way my sister could move the inventory quickly, and you’d benefit from those sales.” I was aware of how mercenary that sounded, but she looked as if she were pondering the idea.

She lifted her chin and crossed her arms. “It just so happens I have thousands of them in my office,” she said. “Like your publisher, I make him sign several hundred at a time with each new release. We use them as promotional items for his events when he is unable to attend.”

“Well, if you could spare a couple hundred, it might be easier for Lizzie to move those books you were worried about. As some of the last books that are signed by the author, they would be quite valuable to fans. That way, nothing goes back to the warehouse.”

It was cold to think that way, but also true.

She tapped a long, red nail against her chin. “I’ll text my assistant to ship them overnight. But I’ll only give them to your sister if you agree to meet with me. Let me show you what my agency can do for you.”

Wow. There were no words for the greediness of this woman. I had a feeling that poaching clients from other agencies was frowned upon in her business.

“Deal.” I was only giving up some of my time to help my sister out. I could do that, at the very least.

“One more thing, you told the detective you’d talked to James the night before his death.”

“I’m not sure how that is any business of yours,” she said coldly.

I cleared my throat. “I’m not sure if you know, but my sister and I found him yesterday. Remember? You’d sent us to the cottage to pick him up when he hadn’t shown at the bookstore?”

She frowned. “Did I? Again, I’m having trouble remembering all the details from yesterday. It’s all still such a shock.” The last sentence came off as if she’d been practicing it.

“Right. Anyway, when I was there, I noticed an older manuscript on the table. I was curious if you knew anything about it. Or why he might have it.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?” She appeared genuinely confused.

“There were two manuscripts on the table. One, was the one he’d recently completed. The other was really old. I wondered if maybe he’d dug up an old story he’d written and was perhaps revising it. I wondered if maybe he’d said something to you.”

That sounded better than suggesting he was plagiarizing someone’s work.

“How do you know what things looked like in the cottage?”

Was she purposefully being obtuse?

“Like I said. I was there and before finding him, I’d noticed it.” It didn’t seem right to say I snooped after seeing the dead man.

“Yesterday seems ages ago. But I have no idea what you’re talking about. He wouldn’t go back to something old he’d written. He wanted nothing to do with the past. Said he couldn’t stand to read his early work because he’d grown so much as a writer.”

We had that in common. I cringed when I thought about some of my earlier books, even though they had sold well.

“Did you have a chance to see him yesterday before his, uh, accident?”

“Why do you care?” she asked suspiciously.

I shrugged. “He was a fellow author, and I was just curious. In a way, I hoped that his last day had been a good one.” That too sounded plausible, though somewhat weak.

“Like I told the police officer. We spoke on the phone,” she said. “He wasn’t happy about his accommodation and wanted to find somewhere else to stay. Turns out he was on to something since that cottage killed him.”

That was dramatic. From what I’d seen, it appeared he’d pulled the bookcase away from the wall. But why would he do that on purpose? That part, at least, had to have been an accident.

“He wasn’t happy about being back here at all, but he said he had to put some of his demons to rest.”

Wait. What ?

“Back here?” And what demons?

“Didn’t you know? That’s why the literary society here hounded him to come home. He was born in Shamrock Cove, and his parents lived here for years.”

That was news to me, and it made me wonder if there were skeletons in his closet.

“I had no idea.” I followed her out of the restroom.

“That Lolly person from the festival committee talked him into coming. He said she’d been good to him when he was a boy, and he couldn’t keep telling her, no. She’d been asking him for years. Besides, he’d felt blocked the last few months and hoped coming back here might clear away some of the cobwebs from his past. Those were his exact words. And now look what happened. This town bloody killed him.”

Father Donnelly, the priest at the church, rounded the corner. “Ms. Walker, we’ll begin in five minutes.”

“I’ll be right there,” she said.

Then she turned to me. “If you don’t mind, I need some time to go over my notes for the service.”

“Of course, thanks for your help.”

“I’ll have those bookplates shipped overnight to the bookshop. But I’d like to be there when the sale is happening.”

Why? She seemed determined to make certain all of those books sold.

“I’ll let Lizzie know.”

I waited in the foyer of the church as people were being seated and then stood against the wall behind a pew toward the back. The church was packed.

The priest said a few words, and then Sebrena came out. She talked about James for twenty minutes, extolling his virtues. I was surprised she had so many good things to say about him.

From what I’d seen, he hadn’t been the best of men, but she made him sound like a saint. The police believed his death had been an accident. But he’d come home to deal with his demons. The funny thing about demons was that they didn’t always want to be sent along their way.

Maybe one of his demons had killed him.