Death by Vanilla Latte Read online

  “I . . .” Then it dawned on me. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” And then a whispered, “Stop it!”

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

  “You didn’t.” I could tell by the sound of her voice, I had. And while she might not come out and say she minded, she definitely had better things to do than talk to me.

  “I’ll go,” I said. “Tell Mason I said hi.”

  There was a moment of silence before she whispered, “You can tell?”

  “I can.” And honestly, despite my embarrassment, I was glad for her. Vicki deserved to be happy. Her love life was apparently firing on all cylinders, and I counted that as a good thing.

  Of course, it did make me realize how mediocre my own was. Sure, I’d just gone to dinner with Will and his parents, but instead of retiring to his room or sitting on the back deck watching the stars, I’d ended up having to pick up Rita at the police station. Instead of a romantic ending to my evening, I was sitting on my couch, with my cat, interrupting my best friend and her boyfriend.

  “Hi, Krissy,” Mason called from somewhere in the room.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “It’s okay if you want to talk now,” Vicki said. “Especially if something is wrong.”

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “I was just bored.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  We hung up after a quick good-bye, which included a few more giggles and a yelp from Mason.

  “Well, crap.” I sighed and opened my laptop. At this point, I’d much rather look into the suspects, just to get my mind off Vicki and Mason.

  My purse was on the floor next to me. I bent over and snagged the strap, pulling it up far enough so I could grab the page I’d taken from Rick’s room, before dropping it back to the floor. I spread the page out next to me so I could use it as a checklist. Misfit eyed it, and I knew he was considering whether or not it would be worth the effort to get up, move a foot, and then lie down on it. I didn’t give him the chance, choosing instead to move the page to my other side. He huffed and closed his eyes, the matter settled.

  I already knew a few of the names on the list, but Googled them, anyway. There was nothing on Albert Elmore or Vivian Flowers. Neither even had a Facebook page—at least, none that I could find. There was one newsletter item from the Cherry Valley library Web site, saying their writing group was holding meetings there, but otherwise, there wasn’t anything on either of them on the Internet.

  I skipped over Rita’s name, figuring I’d end up finding a gossip blog or something similar. While it might be interesting to see if she said anything about me, I was worried there’d be something on there about my dad, something I wouldn’t want to read. Knowing she had a cardboard cutout of him in her bedroom was enough information for me.

  That left the names of people I wasn’t so familiar with. Any one of them could be the killer.

  I started with Joel Osborne and found he maintained a Bobby Drake fan page, dedicated to my dad’s most popular recurring detective—the source of the smudged fedora. I skimmed the page, looking for some insights to the man behind it, but the site was almost entirely about Bobby Drake, with very little about Joel anywhere. Checking the message boards, I found there to be only a handful of posts, mostly arguing about the various story lines and hidden meanings behind each scene of the books.

  While the names were all just screen names, I wondered if Harland Pennywinkle was one of the posters. Some of the threads were pretty nasty and sounded a lot like the argument Joel and Harland had at the meeting. Then again, Rita had said he didn’t have a computer. Unless he posted from his phone, or went somewhere else to rant online, it was unlikely he was one of the posters. Since I couldn’t tell for sure, I decided Harland should be next on my list, despite the fact his novel wasn’t with the ones I’d discovered under Rick’s bed.

  Unfortunately, all I found was an infrequently updated Facebook page, telling me he got online somehow every now and again. I’d hoped to find some indication of what his screen name might be, if he in fact was posting on Joel’s site, but there was nothing anywhere. Not many people posted using their real names, which made sorting through them that much harder.

  “This could be going better,” I muttered to Misfit. So far, I’d found a whole lot of nothing, and I feared it would continue that way.

  I moved on to the Drummands. They were a little more connected than the last couple of people I’d checked. Both Theresa and Barrett had Twitter and Facebook accounts, as well as a joint Web site where they blogged about their fledgling writing careers. Neither had been published anywhere, but judging by Theresa’s posts, she thought her husband was very close.

  I skimmed through all their posts, but found nothing that would implicate them in Rick’s death. Theresa seemed to be the most active online, though she was just as timid on the Web as she was in person. More often than not, she downplayed her own skill, while talking up Barrett’s. Something in the way she wrote, however, told me their relationship wasn’t in the best place it could be. She didn’t come out and say it outright, but the undertones were there.

  I sat back and sighed. As interesting as all of it was, it brought me no closer to finding out who would have wanted Rick dead. I feared I was barking up the wrong tree, because why would the authors want to hurt what could very well be their only chance at their big break? You didn’t kill the man who could help you achieve your dream. He might have been a jerk, and might have said he wouldn’t look at the manuscripts, but he had caved and brought them into his room. Who knew what the next step would have been?

  With little hope I’d find anything, I typed in the one name I didn’t know: Tony A. Marshall. A few names popped up, but none of them seemed right. Everyone I found was from well outside of town, not someone who would have traveled to Pine Hills to meet with Rick. Maybe it really was a manuscript he’d brought with him, and not one he’d gotten while here.

  “Huh,” I said, sitting back, frustrated. Maybe I should ask Cameron about him. Since he worked with Rick, he might know where the manuscript had come from.

  “What you doing, Buttercup?”

  I slammed the laptop closed and just about tossed it from my lap. “Nothing!” I sounded as guilty as a teenage boy caught by his mom trying to browse the Internet for porn. Misfit glared at me, annoyed by my frantic movements, and jumped from the couch, going into the kitchen to check to see if I’d bothered to feed him yet.

  Dad smiled and made his way over to where I sat. “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  “I thought you went to bed,” I said, tucking the page with all the names on it under my leg.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” He paused and gave me a concerned look. “Is everything okay?”

  It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “Yeah,” I said. “Rita got herself into a little trouble poking around. They let her go. I had to drive her home.”

  Dad didn’t comment. Instead, he nodded toward my laptop. “What were you working on? Did it have anything to do with what she found?”

  I considered lying and saying I was updating my mostly neglected Facebook page, but decided that would only make me feel worse than if I told the truth. I hated lying to my dad, and it wasn’t like what I was doing was illegal. If I found something, I could simply call Paul in the morning and tell him about it. Just because I was looking didn’t mean I had to actually do anything about it myself.

  “I was looking up some names,” I admitted, picking up the manuscript page and handing it to him. “They all had novels waiting to be read in Rick’s room. I thought maybe I’d find something on one of them that might help me figure out who could have killed him.” I shrugged. “It was something to do.”

  Dad scanned the page and then handed it back to me. “Come up with anything?”

  I shook my head and sighed. “Not really. I can’t find anything on this guy.” I pointed to Tony’s name. “And I
know almost all of the others personally. None of them have a motive as far as I can tell.”

  “Rejection can be hard,” Dad said. “Maybe one of them snapped when he told them he wasn’t interested. It’s easy to take something like that personally.”

  “Maybe.” I could see Harland getting angry enough to resort to violence if he didn’t get his way. He’d looked like he’d wanted to bash Joel’s face in when they’d argued about their favorite Drake book.

  “Who do you think would have had motive, then?” Dad asked. “I did, obviously, having fought with him that night.” He didn’t sound proud of the fact. “But since I didn’t do it, someone else has to have had a reason, right?”

  “I’m not sure.” I thought about it, and then opened my laptop. “What was Cameron’s last name again?” I asked, bringing up the browser.

  “Little,” Dad supplied.

  And there it was, the very first link. I read it out loud, not quite sure I believed it. “Cameron Little Literary Agency.” I glanced at Dad, who was frowning. “Seems awfully suspicious for him to have a Web site up already.”

  “It does.”

  I opened the link and was surprised to see how professional his site looked. You didn’t throw something like this together overnight, maybe not even in a day or two.

  “Does Cameron do Web design?” I asked, skimming the page. It was the only thing I could think of that would explain why he had such a professional-looking page up so quickly. Then again, when would he have found time to do it, considering he was supposed to be reviewing the local authors’ manuscripts?

  “I don’t think so,” Dad said. “I’m pretty sure Rick always hired out of the office, so he didn’t do the Wiseman Lit site. I suppose Cameron could have done it in his spare time, a sort of pet project or hobby.”

  I clicked the “About Me” tab on the site and read through it. The photo was definitely professionally done, not something he could have had taken while in Pine Hills. He must have had it done before, though I’d have to check Rick’s agency site to see if maybe he’d lifted it from there.

  “What’s a Brony?” I asked, spotting the odd term in the middle of the bio. Apparently, Cameron was a proud one, whatever it was.

  “Isn’t that adult male My Little Pony fans?”

  I shrugged. “Is it? Huh.” Who would have figured?

  I continued on down the page and noticed that Cameron mentioned working with a literary agent, but didn’t call him by name. I pointed it out to Dad.

  “Do you think he’s trying to separate himself from Rick?” I asked.

  “It’s likely,” Dad said. “Rick wasn’t very popular among his peers.”

  Or anyone else for that matter.

  I glanced at Dad, mind whirring. Was Cameron distancing himself from Rick because his former boss wasn’t a very nice man, or could it be because he’d had a hand in his untimely demise?

  “Cameron does have the most to gain by Rick’s death,” I said, thinking out loud. “He is hoping to take on his former clients, as well as pick up new ones here, all of which wouldn’t be possible if Rick was still around.”

  “But why kill him?” Dad asked. “He could have simply walked away and started his own agency. That sort of thing happens all the time. No one has to die for it.”

  I thought about it. Killing someone for their job did seem a bit drastic, but not completely unheard of. It was unlikely Dad would have left Rick for Cameron; at least, he wouldn’t have before their argument that night. Maybe Cameron had killed Rick, not realizing he had a golden opportunity sitting right there in front of him. A day more, and it would have all worked out, and Rick would still be alive.

  “Maybe Rick had something against him,” I said, still trying to think it through. There were so many reasons why Cameron could have wanted Rick dead, it was almost funny. He wasn’t just the best suspect, he was practically the only one with a rock-solid motive—outside my dad, of course.

  “Like what?” Dad asked, eyeing the screen.

  “Like some deep dark secret no one else knew.” Of course, his proclamation on his site about being a proud Brony shot that down. I didn’t think many people would openly admit such a thing, especially on a professional Web site, unless they were completely at ease with who they were. “Maybe Cameron has a dark side and is interested in something illegal, something he wouldn’t want anyone else to know about.” That made more sense.

  “Like what?” Dad asked again.

  Like what indeed. “I’m not sure.” I closed the browser and shut my laptop lid.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  I turned on the couch so I could face Dad better. “Should we be doing this?” I asked him.

  “Doing what?”

  “Poking around. Getting involved.”

  “Isn’t that what you do?”

  “Well, yeah. But it feels wrong somehow. It’s Rick we’re talking about here. We knew him.”

  “All the more reason to make sure his killer is found.”

  It was then I could see it. It was more than just catching Rick’s killer that had my dad interested in personally solving the case; he wanted to work with me, see how I did what I did. All that time sitting alone in California, hearing about the cases I was solving, had to have been killing him. He’d never investigated anything on his own, though he’d often said if he could live life again, he might choose to become a detective instead of a writer.

  And this was his chance to see what it was like, even if only for a few days.

  How could I take that away from him?

  And more personally, could I really pass up yet another opportunity to do what I myself loved?

  “We should call it a night,” I said.

  Dad’s shoulders slumped, and he nodded. “I guess you’re right.”

  “We can talk about this some more tomorrow.” A mischievous grin spread across my face. “See what we can dig up.”

  Dad’s eyes lit up. “Tomorrow, then.”

  “I have a doctor’s appointment early, but afterward, I’ll come home and we can discuss our next move.”

  He stood, grinning ear to ear. He looked at least ten years younger. “I can’t wait.”

  I rose and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you,” I whispered in his ear.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For believing in me.”

  “Always, Buttercup. Always.”

  And with that, we both headed to our respective bedrooms to get a good night’s sleep—for tomorrow, we would be investigating.

  18

  I woke up bright and early the next morning, feeling refreshed despite my stressful evening. I showered, got dressed, and got my morning coffee started, mind sorting through what I should do next now that I’d decided to look into Rick’s murder more closely.

  There were a few options that were immediately evident. I could talk to Harland Pennywinkle and see if I had any better luck getting him to crack than Rita had. I could also pay a visit to Cameron and ask him about his agency, and why it appeared he’d been planning to start it long before Rick died.

  And then there was what very well might be the only person who could have seen something that night: Kari Collins. She was working the night of Rick’s murder, and if she was as much of a stickler for the rules as the Bunfords said she was, it was unlikely she would have let someone in without questioning them first.

  It was as good a place to start as any.

  I crept down the hall and peeked into my bedroom. Dad was still sound asleep, Misfit curled up next to him. From the sound of his snores, it didn’t appear as if he was going to get up anytime soon. I considered waiting for him, but decided that if I got a head start on the day, he couldn’t fault me for it. I’d fill him in later.

  I went back into the kitchen, grabbed my phone, and looked up a number. I dialed quickly, before I could change my mind.

  “Ted and Bettfast, this is Jo. How may I help you?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. �
��Hi, Jo. It’s Krissy Hancock. Do you remember me?”

  “I do.” She didn’t sound as thrilled by it as I was hoping. The last time I’d talked to her, she’d been practically giddy with the idea of me investigating a murder. I guess having yet another dead body affect her workplace had soured her on me like it had with everyone else at the bed-and-breakfast. Hopefully, finding whoever killed Rick would put me back into their good graces.

  “I won’t take up much of your time,” I said. “I’m calling because I’m looking for someone who works there. Her name is Kari Collins, I believe. I think she works nights most of the time.”

  “She does,” Jo said. “Is she in trouble?” The first hint of interest crept into her voice.

  “No trouble. I just want to talk to her and ask her a few questions. What time does she come in?”

  “She won’t be coming in tonight,” she said. “It’s her night off and with everything that’s happened . . .”

  “Okay, thank you.” I paused, hoping I wasn’t overreaching by asking more questions, but if I was going to talk to this woman, I wanted to know as much about her as I could ahead of time. “What can you tell me about Kari?”

  Jo was silent for a long moment before she said, “She works here. That’s all I have to say.”

  “Do you like her? Is she a good worker? Anything at all you can tell me about her would help me prepare.”

  “I really need to get back to work.”

  “Jo . . .” But she was already gone.

  I hung up and frowned at the phone. Either Jo was brushing me off, or there was something about Kari Collins that got under her skin. It could be she was annoying, a gossip who couldn’t stop talking. Or perhaps there was more to what was going on than anyone was letting on. I could wait until Kari came in to work next to find out.

  Or I could look her up and pay her a surprise visit.

  I downed my coffee and quickly scooped out the cookie and ate it as I flipped through the white pages. I had a doctor’s appointment in a few hours, but that still left me with enough time to pay Kari a visit before I had to head to the doctor’s office. There were quite a few Collinses in the book, but only one Kari. I scribbled down her address, finished off the last of the cookie, and then with a silent apology to Dad for leaving him behind, I headed out the door.