Part 23 (1/2)
”I know you. George and I talked about you and your friend-and your lies. You shouldn't be here,” Valentino Gates told Maggie as he grabbed her by one shoulder and whirled her around to face him.
”Oh, yeah, right, I'm scared,” Maggie said, shrugging out of the man's grip. She'd really had a long week, and she wasn't in the mood for dramatics unless they were her own. ”You send dead rats and lousy poetry to people, trying to frighten them. But that doesn't exactly make you and Bryon frightening. It makes you pathetic.”
”You ruined Jonathan West's life,” Gates shot back at her, although he didn't try to touch her again.
”Wrong, buster. Jonathan ruined Jonathan's life. He wrote a couple of pretty great books, and then he went wacko with his own importance. The plot, the premise, the gang of contributing authors-everything about that stupid book was his idea. The characters were his idea. He wouldn't let anyone else edit anything. He rewrote all of our chapters until we didn't even recognize them anymore. That was Jonathan's book-our names were just on it with him. He dug his own hole, Valentino, with his own inflated ego.”
Then she stopped, ran the lines of what she'd said past her mental eyesight one more time. ”Wow, that was almost profound, wasn't it?” She shook her head. ”Look, Valentino, I'm sorry, but if Jonathan lost his edge-whatever-after the book tanked, it wasn't because of anything the rest of us did. n.o.body likes to blame themselves, so Jonathan blamed us. Hey, and don't look now, but none of us exactly got a big career boost from that bomb. I had to change my name and start over from scratch. But that's the thing, Valentino-I started over. Jonathan quit.”
”He published more books. But the critics were against him.”
”Wrong again, Valentino. He dusted off two old ma.n.u.scripts that should have stayed in the drawer and made Toland Books publish them. It was the only way they could get him to fulfill his contract and hope to get back any of the advance money they'd poured all over him. They shouldn't have done it, but they did-well, Kirk did, Bernie tried to talk him out of it. But no matter what, Valentino, Jonathan West never wrote another word after No Secret Anymore. Not until he-never mind.”
”Having a pleasant coze with Mr. Gates, my dear?”
Maggie turned to smile at Alex, who was urging Bryon ahead of him at the point of his sword cane. ”Put that thing away. Remember, Alex, you promised to use your powers only for good. Hey, Lord Bryon, you lost one of your magic slippers.”
”I want you people to leave. Coming in here uninvited, accosting me in my place of business,” Bryon said, dusting off his costume. ”I'm going to go call the police.”
”Saving us the trouble, thank you,” Alex said, sheathing his sword stick. ”Or would you rather simply tell us why you sent dead rats and atrocious rhyme to Miss Dooley here and others?”
”It was his idea.”
Unfortunately, both Gates and Bryon uttered the same accusation at the same time, and it was some moments before Alex could physically separate the two men.
”It's never pretty when thieves fall out,” Alex said once everyone was seated on four of the folding chairs in the room. ”Now, gentlemen, decide between you which of you is going to tell us what we want to know.”
It was Bryon who spoke, recounting his and Valentino's admiration for Jonathan West. When West happened into Bryon's Book Nook one fine day, they'd all three of them formed a friends.h.i.+p that had, over the ensuing years, gone all the way to the point where Jonathan was mentoring Valentino, inviting the two of them to his apartment for drinks and conversation-all that good stuff meant to have the two fans all but wors.h.i.+pping at West's shrine.
As Jonathan fell deeper into the bottle, many of his conversations with the men had to do with Toland Books and, most especially, the ungrateful authors who had ruined his career.
”We begged him to forget all of that and write another book,” Valentino told Maggie. ”He didn't want to do it, but then, about a year ago, he outlined a plot idea to us. Just last month he even read us bits and pieces of what he'd written-didn't he, George? And it was brilliant! We were so honored!”
”He talked about a plot with you? He read you something?” Maggie grinned at Alex in triumph and not a little relief. It would be tricky to maneuver the timeline, but at least now there was a way to prove what she and Alex believed, without landing Alex in the slammer for absconding with evidence-Steve would go along with them; he always did. ”So, if you were asked, you'd be able to say that Jonathan West read you a portion of his new novel? You'd recognize those portions if someone read them to you again. Do I have that right?”
Both men nodded furiously.
”But he said he'd never publish it. He'd never open himself up to such vitriolic criticism and humiliation again. We begged, and we begged, but he wouldn't do it. And we knew why,” Valentino said. ”It was because of you-you and the others who ruined him. A bright light, gone from the literary world because of hacks, no-talents.”
”Literary world? Oh, come on. He wrote mystery novels. I write mystery novels. See? That was Jonathan's problem. He wanted to be the critics' darling. I hate when a writer becomes ashamed of what he or she does well, just because it isn't literary.”
Bryon's upper lip curled rather effectively. ”We decided that Jonathan would never agree to be published again until the greedy vermin that had eaten away at his literary soul were punished, were given a good scare, even.” He subsided against the back of his chair. ”So we sent you all the rats. We thought that would make Jonathan feel better, maybe even make him want to publish again.”
”You forgot Kimberly Lowell D'Amico,” Maggie told him.
”No, Valentino couldn't find an address on her,” Bryon explained. ”He sent half, I sent half, but he couldn't find her address.”
”Let me take a wild stab at something here, just for my own satisfaction,” Maggie interrupted. ”One of you gift-wrapped your share of the dead rats, yes?”
”Valentino did, for some ridiculous reason, yes. But it was all for naught, because when we told Jonathan what we'd done-sure he'd be pleased to have had some revenge-he told us we were incompetents, idiots, and banned us from his apartment. He even threatened to call the police to tell them what we'd done.” He then angrily whirled on Valentino Gates. ”But that was no reason for you to kill him, you fool!”
”Me?” Valentino looked, as Maggie might write in one of her Saint Just mysteries, suddenly pale to the marrow. ”I didn't kill him. You killed him. Didn't you?”
Alex got to his feet, holding out a hand to Maggie. ”I think we're done here, sweetings. Neither of them killed Jonathan West or, as would naturally follow, Francis Oakes. To question them further would only muddy the waters for Left-tenant Wendell, who most certainly will be interviewing them shortly.”
”Agreed. Just one more question, Alex.” Maggie looked at Bryon who, ridiculously, seemed the more intelligent of the two men. ”Why did you send Jonathan a dead rat?”
Gates and Bryon exchanged looks, and then answered in unison, ”We didn't send Jonathan a rat.”
”No, I thought not. Thank you, gentlemen,” Alex said as he tucked his cane under his arm. ”And remember, gentlemen, when the constable arrives, that the truth shall set you free. Or some such drivel. Maggie? Shall we be on our way?”
Maggie was still feeling pretty darn good when she and Alex got back to her condo. In fact, she was almost giddy-right up until the moment she walked in to see all the suitcases piled in the living room.
At that point, her mood rose to the nearly euphoric.
”Going somewhere, Faith?” she asked as she saw-mercy of mercies-Brock's small traveling cage.
Faith laid her full-length pink faux fur coat over the control panel of the treadmill. ”Oh, Maggie, you're back. Good. Yes, I'm going somewhere. Noreen invited me to hide out with her at her lodge up in Stowe until the murderer is caught. I think she said Stowe. Somewhere up there, anyway. Oh, and she wants to interview you for her show. You know, the murder mystery author turned potential victim? You need to do it, Maggie, it would be great PR.”
”Not happening, Faith, thanks anyway,” Maggie said, grabbing the container of M&M's and frowning at how few of the colorful candies remained, none of them blue. ”Is that what you talked about in today's interview, Faith? The fact that you're also a potential victim? You cried, didn't you. You always cry.”
”Noreen's hoping for a daytime Emmy,” Faith said, ignoring the insult, probably because she thought it was a compliment. ”I hope so-for her sake. She's a lovely woman.”
”So you two struck up a friends.h.i.+p this afternoon? You and Noreen.”
”Oh, yes, definitely. You can't know how overcome I was by her show of friends.h.i.+p-offering to harbor me in my hour of need. She even escorted me back to my apartment. She was absolutely mad about the decor-we'll be taping a video tour for her audience, to air before Christmas, naturally. I picked up a few more things, my boots, my ski togs, and she'll be sending a car for me in-oh, twenty minutes. I just have time to redo my makeup. Excuse me.”
Maggie, tongue literally stuck in cheek, watched as Felicity toddled back down the hallway on her four-inch heels. ”You're welcome, Faith, I was happy to have you,” she muttered, then gave in to impulse and tried on the faux fur. She had to admit it really did feel good, even if she was pretty sure she looked like cotton candy on a stick.
”It's not your color, my dear,” Alex said, walking in unannounced, as usual. ”And not nearly elegant enough for you.”
”Saved by the belated sucking up,” Maggie told him as she slipped out of the fur and draped it back over the treadmill. ”Faith's flying the coop, she got a better offer.”
Alex smiled. ”You are having an enjoyable day, aren't you?”
”It's definitely better now than it was when it started out this morning, I'll say that. What time is it?”
”Mr. McCrae should be arriving in approximately ninety minutes, if that's what you mean.”
”It is. That gives us time to eat something, and I want to shower and change. There are still leftover lunch meats and salad from last night. Do you think Sterling wants some?”
”Sterling, as a matter of fact, is out celebrating with George and Vernon and two new friends, having spent an enjoyable afternoon of their own performing good deeds.”
”Oh. So the Santas for Silver thing is going all right for him? I told you I checked it out on the Internet. And you were worried. Sometimes, Alex, you're like a mother hen with one chick when it comes to Sterling. Not that I don't think it's sweet.”
”Well, actually-ah, Felicity. I hear you're leaving us. Maggie and I are, of course, devastated.”
”Yeah, right. I may cry myself to sleep tonight,” Maggie grumbled.
”You think you're being sarcastic, Maggie, but you really do love me,” Felicity said, kissing Maggie's cheek. ”I know what you did, honey, opening your home to me out of your concern for me, and I mean it when I say thank you. Friends forever, remember? We made that vow.”