THE STUDY OF SECRETS Read online

  “I don’t think so. It’s in manuscript form, and I’ve never come across a book with that title in my research. But I haven’t had a chance to clarify anything with Bibi yet, so I can’t be certain.” I sighed. “Now I’m almost afraid to bring it up again. Look how she responded at the mere mention of it.”

  “Too bad I’m retired,” Gillian said, smiling ruefully. “And now I’m moving to the beach and planning to exist primarily on fruit slices and drinks with umbrellas in them. What perfectly awful timing that was.”

  I opened the drawer and handed her the box of Bibi’s peppermint tea.

  “I wonder if she has the rights for the first three,” Gillian mused, as she removed a teabag and submerged it. “The one we read for today was fabulous, and I’m not just saying that because she’s one of my oldest and most beloved friends. What are the others like?”

  “They’re wonderful.”

  “Maybe she should republish them all.”

  “My whole purpose in life has been to make that happen,” I said. I told her about the scholarly editions that I’d already pitched to several university presses, hoping that they’d be able to secure the appropriate permissions from a representative for the previous publisher to reprint the mysteries. The idea had not, so far, gained any traction—primarily because no one knew who Isabella Dare was. My colleagues had advised me to focus instead on publishing the study of her work that I needed for my tenure bid, which would bring her to the attention of other literary critics, then return to my efforts to help the Isabella Dare mysteries themselves find a new audience.

  Of course that was before I met the author in person. Now everything had changed. Although I’d been talking to Bibi about the idea, she’d been extremely reluctant. She wasn’t convinced that anyone would want to read them in the first place—even though a real-life-Isabella-Dare-fan was sitting right in front of her.

  “We should chat after the holidays,” Gillian said, tapping her chin. “Between the two of us, we may be able to nudge her with a plan.”

  A flicker of excitement surged up. Perhaps Gillian could convince Bibi to republish the series and launch the newly discovered fourth book.

  Though I had to wonder if Bibi’s reaction meant she had no intention of publishing it.

  Or of anyone seeing it, ever.

  After Gillian left with the tea, I arranged some cookies on a plate and tidied up the kitchen, then returned to the parlor. Winston and Brody, who had been drinking scotch in the library—their activity of choice on book club nights, I’d been told—were now mingling with the other attendees. The women also had drinks in hand and the volume of conversation was increasing; it was as though the book club discussion had spontaneously transformed into a cocktail party.

  I made my way through the group to Bibi, who was sitting upright on the sofa, sipping her tea. I set the cookies on the table. She picked one up and nibbled it.

  “I’m so sorry, Bibi.”

  “It’s fine, dear. I’m sorry that my reaction was slightly over the top.” She waved the cookie around in a circle. “I’d completely forgotten about the book. Just saying the title out loud brought back a lot of memories that I’d left behind.”

  “I feel terrible.”

  “Oh, please don’t. Not for an instant.” Bibi took another small bite. “There was already a lot going on at that moment. I’d admitted to my friends that I’d never told them about my mysteries, which was surprisingly emotional. Cathartic, in a way, but nothing like I imagined it would be.” She winced. “But now I do have a beast of a headache. Could you bring things to a close for me? The men came in to determine the cause of the hubbub, and well, you can see for yourself that it seems unlikely we’ll be able to press on with our book club discussion. I would prefer some quiet if at all possible.”

  “Of course.” I looked around, determining that Margot was the logical choice to put in charge of shutting things down. She had a way about her that was commanding but gracious.

  Since she was on the far side of the parlor, near the hallway, I decided to double back and cut through the kitchen. There were fewer people to push through, as people were coming and going, replenishing their drinks.

  As I moved through the kitchen, I heard a terrified shriek. I ran down the long main hallway toward the sound and turned the corner to see Penelope in the doorway of the study, trembling. One hand was clasped over her mouth; the other was pointing at something on the floor.

  There was a motionless Gillian, her bright scarf twisted unforgivingly around her throat as she stared upwards, unblinking.

  Chapter 3

  I wished I were the kind of person who had never been on the scene of a crime, but I’ve had the misfortune to be around more than my share. So after I checked Gillian’s pulse to confirm what I knew to be true—I was never sure if that counted as contaminating the scene, but it had to be done—I told Penelope to call 911 and not let anyone into the room. Then I ran to the parlor, where I told Bibi what had happened as quietly as I could, stressing that contrary to what we’d already discussed about wrapping things up, no one should leave the premises.

  She leapt to her feet and raised her voice, explaining that a serious incident had taken place, prompting startled reactions. Then she cast me a look that I interpreted as her wanting me to take over from there.

  “Please stay where you are, everyone. The police are on their way. It’s extremely important that no one move.” Although I meant don’t leave, not don’t move, everyone stood perfectly still, glancing around uneasily, perhaps also doing the math to determine who was not in the room. The wail of sirens cut into the silence, growing louder the longer that we all stared at each other. Bibi went to the front door and opened it. Several cars, gumballs flashing, were racing up the drive, their tires crunching against the snow.

  I slipped down the hallway, to where Penelope was leaning against the wall, crying. “Who could have done this to her? Gillian is the best.”

  I patted her on the shoulder and gave my own brimming eyes a swipe. “I’m so sorry.”

  Penelope straightened up and tugged her shirt down, though it didn’t address any of the wrinkles. Tears streamed down her face.

  “How did you happen to find her?” I asked.

  She sniffed a few times. “Once we got Bibi squared away on the couch and you were in the kitchen, we were talking about the manuscript you’d mentioned. Then Bibi started saying that you had done marvels with her study, so when it became clear that she was fine, I went to have a quick peek.” Penelope wiped her eyes. “Do you think I can leave now? I’d like to be with my husband.”

  “I think you’d better wait here—the police are going to want to talk to you, and they have pulled up out front. But I can find Brody and ask him to come back here, if you like.”

  She nodded dejectedly.

  I was starting to feel like a ping pong ball, bouncing back and forth between rooms, but Penelope deserved support, so off I went, racing down the hallway and into the parlor, where I explained to her husband that he needed to come with me. His eyebrows shot up and he moved immediately forward. I led him to the study, aiming for the clump of police officers surrounding Penelope. We waited for a few minutes as they spoke with her, then she caught sight of Brody, and her face lit up.

  A tall man in a blue suit said something to the officer standing next to him, who went into the study. I froze. From the back, the man bore a strong resemblance to Detective Lexington Archer, whom I had dated for several years. Same powerful build, same purposeful energy, same spiky dark hair. Once he turned around, the impression faded. He was attractive, but he wasn’t Lex.

  “And you are?” he asked, as he walked toward me with a solemn expression.

  “Lila Maclean.”

  “Oh, good. I was going to come looking for you next. I’m Detective Ortiz.” He glanced down at a pad in his hand. “Dr. Salton said you were the only other person who saw the victim in the study. Can you walk me through it, please?”

  I gave him my statement and filled out the necessary paperwork. He thanked me and said they’d be in touch if they had any additional questions. His manner was intense and mostly inscrutable with a hint of suspicion. It was nothing like dealing with Stonedale police, who not only knew me through Lex but also from having been involved in several previous cases. They accepted me on a professional level, more or less.

  Then again, when I’d first met Lex, he was taking my statement at the scene of a crime, and his demeanor back then had also made me feel guilty even though I was innocent, so perhaps that was just how it was supposed to be.

  I shook my head to clear the memories. I didn’t want to make any more comparisons to Lex because I didn’t want to think about him at all. My heart was still too tender for that. We’d dated on and off for years, then his wife, from whom he’d been separated when he met me, came back into the picture.

  I hadn’t even known about Helena until she showed up last spring and went after him. She was gorgeous, persuasive, and relentless. After a while, she had convinced him that they deserved to give things a second chance. Helena had made sure to let me know, in the most gloating manner possible. She’d staged—I was convinced—a “chance” encounter at the supermarket in order to let it drop that they were moving to Seattle together. Lex had called and come by at least ten times after Helena’s bombshell, but I’d refused to talk to him. Later, I’d received a letter postmarked Seattle and returned it, unopened.

  That was that. I hadn’t seen it coming, and I wasn’t over it yet.

  Not that he was a bad guy.

  Quite the opposite.

  If he hadn’t had a wife, he’d have been darn close to perfect.

  When I came in to breakfast the next morning, Bibi was in the dining room staring out the window, a cup of tea in hand. A piece of untouched dry wheat toast sat on a plate nearby.

  I slid into a nearby chair, setting down my satchel and coffee gently so as not to jolt her or interrupt her thoughts. She looked exhausted. I hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, either. I’d tossed and turned, mulling things over in my mind, but I couldn’t make any sense of what had happened to Gillian.

  “I would say good morning, but it’s not a very good one at all, is it?” Her eyes remained fixed on the frozen surface of Silver Rush Lake. It was a thin layer, barely a crust, but it looked deceptively solid in the wintry landscape. The bridge over the far end was covered with snow as well. It was a picturesque scene, far more beautiful than seemed possible given what had happened here last night.

  “I’m so sorry, again, for your loss.” We’d talked briefly before retiring for bed, and I’d expressed my deepest condolences, but she had been in shock, I was sure. For all I knew, she was still in shock. “Can I get you something? Refresh your tea, perhaps?”

  “No, thank you.” Her voice was quieter than usual. She lifted the tea without breaking her gaze, took a sip, then set it back into the saucer. “Though I would be grateful if you could help me figure out who killed Gillian.”

  I choked on my coffee. “The police are working on it...”

  “I know. But I can’t sit around waiting.” She finally shifted her eyes to meet mine. “Forgive me if this is a bit too Agatha-Christie-esque, me sipping tea and inviting you to sleuth on my behalf. But I know you’ve been involved in several cases, and, after all, I saw you in action at Tattered Star Ranch.”

  “I would very much like to help you, Bibi. But the other times, I was already immersed in the various situations because of circumstances, and it was more natural to—”

  “Investigate? Exactly. So how is this any different? You were involved in the situation then; you’re involved in the situation now. You found a body then; you found a body now.”

  “Penelope did, actually,” I reminded her.

  “Still.” She tapped the table. “You know the town. You know my friends. You know this house. And most importantly, you know I need your help.”

  Her pleading hit a nerve. And the truth was, I could hardly say no. She’d let me stay at Callahan House for months during my sabbatical, free of charge.

  I owed her.

  “Of course I’ll help, Bibi. As much as I can. Together, perhaps our efforts will lead somewhere.”

  Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you, Lila. I can’t tell you how much better I feel already, hearing you say that.”

  She added jam to her toast while I dug around in my satchel for a pen and paper to take notes. One hazard of a teaching job was the powerful tendency to want to inscribe things on paper, so I kept them close at hand.

  I jotted down the date, then looked up at Bibi. “Ready to begin?”

  She shifted slightly in her chair. “Yes.”

  “How long have you known Gillian?”

  “First day of kindergarten. She was behind me in line, tapped my shoulder, and handed me a piece of taffy. That captures her, really. She was always sweet.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she dabbed at her face with a cloth napkin. “We were fast friends from that day forward.”

  “Did she live near you?”

  “Close enough that we could ride our bikes.” Bibi paused. “Not sure if I mentioned it, but my family lived in one of the guest cottages here. The one you’ve been staying in, actually.”

  I stared at her.

  “At Callahan House? I thought you moved in after you married Jamison.”

  “No. We were on the estate long before that. Not when we first moved to Larkston, but soon after, when my stepfather left us.” Her lips twisted. “He was an insurance man and provided for us well enough, but my mother wasn’t the type to put up with any nonsense. He was a nasty sort in general and a philanderer to boot. She found out that he had cheated on her, and from that point on, she made her displeasure known daily in all sorts of ways. Eventually, he fled. No one was sad to see him go, and in fact we never saw him again, but it meant my mother needed to find work. As luck would have it, the Callahans were looking for a live-in cook. She made a delicious meal for them as an application and got the job.”

  “And that’s when you met your husband?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes fell on their wedding picture hanging on the wall. They made a striking couple. “Though I never would have guessed that Jamie and I would later date, much less end up married. It all began one day when I went to climb a tree by the lake, where I planned to read the latest Nancy Drew book. He was there, perched in my favorite spot, reading the Hardy Boys. We started talking about mysteries and ended up trading books—and we never stopped until the day he and Hudson went off the road into the lake. Right near that bridge.”

  She inclined her head toward the window.

  “I’m so sorry, Bibi.”

  “Thank you. It’s been years, but sometimes I still expect him to come through the door, waving a new book around, wanting me to read it. He was fanatical when he fell in love with someone’s work. He’d talk about it for days on end.” Bibi considered me. “You know, Jamie would have liked you very much, Lila, and joined into our literature discussions with gusto. I’ve enjoyed it so much myself. Retirement has been too quiet. At first, it was a relief to get out of the classroom—all of those papers to be graded surging toward you like a never-ending tidal wave—but I do miss the deep conversations we had and the wonderful insights of my students. There is nothing like analyzing a story and sharing discoveries with someone who has read it as closely as you have.”

  “Confession time: I don’t want to leave.”

  She laughed. “I don’t want you to leave, either. But your students will be glad you’re back.”

  “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “I know you’re putting the final touches on your book, or I suppose I should say books, plural? We have talked about the Dare study—forgive me for referring to it in third person but sometimes it’s easier to compartmentalize—and it sounds like you’ll be submitting that soon.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  “How is your novel coming along?”

  I laughed. “The manuscript has been revised a few times. I’m not sure what to do with it next.”

  “You should have people read it now, see what they think. Gillian would have been the first to offer,” she said softly. “She was fond of you and very supportive of new mystery writers. Which brings us back to her. Sorry that I wandered away.”

  “It’s fine. Did Gillian have any enemies?”

  “She was universally loved—and she deserved that. She was the first to volunteer when someone needed help. A compassionate soul through and through.”

  “Did she and Hudson have any children?”

  “No. They wanted them—Jamie and I did too—but it never happened. Since Margot and Win had two children and Penelope and Brody had four, we were able to be doting godparents at least.”

  I nodded. “Can you tell me more about her work? Anyone she might have unintentionally crossed there?”

  “She was a literary agent for decades. She hit it big with some of her earliest clients, opened up the Shane Literary Agency in Denver and was extremely successful. I think she had about twenty agents working for her when she retired. But she always had time to give advice to new authors.”

  “Could there have been someone who wanted to work with her agency and was rejected? Or someone she may have clashed with while doing business?”

  “Of course that’s always possible, but I never heard of anyone who was angry after an interaction with Gillian.”

  I made a note to contact her agency, see if they’d speak to me.

  Tears welled up in Bibi’s eyes again. “When Jamie and Hudson died, it was harder for Gillian in some ways, I think, because Hudson was driving. She felt responsible. I told her that she wasn’t, but we do tend to cling to our beliefs once we commit to them. No one knows what happened that night. They missed the bridge somehow. There was ice, there was a lake, there was an accident.”