Homicide in Hardcover

“Hello, Ms. Wainwright,” Inspector Lee said in her oddly authoritative voice. Now I knew where that deep, sexy tone came from. Cigarettes. It seemed like cheating, somehow. “Sorry to take you away from the service, but we had some questions that couldn’t wait.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Did you get something to eat inside?” Always the hostess, that’s me, but more important, she could use some fattening up. Maybe I’d get Carmen to put together a hearty to-go pack for her.

“I had a cookie,” she allowed.

I brightened. “Did you try the Snickerdoodles? My mom makes the best-”

“Ms. Wainwright,” Jaglow interrupted, thumping the page of his notebook, then looking up. “I had another conversation with, er, Minka La Burr… La Boo…” He gave up and checked his notebook. “ La Beef.”

“Right, La Beef,” I said, and wanted to laugh, but sadly, even his mispronunciation of her stupid name didn’t cheer me up. Minka had warned me she was going to talk to the cops. I couldn’t wait to hear the lies she’d planted.

“She tells me you and Karastovsky had a big fight the night he was murdered.”

“What?”

I must’ve shouted it because they both glared at me.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. “But she’s lying. Totally and completely lying. Look, Minka LaBoeuf and I have never gotten along. We go way back. It’s not pretty. She’s a compulsive liar and she hates me. I don’t really want to get into it but-”

“Get into it,” Inspector Lee said, her lips twisting sardonically.

I blew out a breath, then gave them the abbreviated version. College. Art class. Boyfriend. Obsession. Sharp knife. Vicious cut. Blood everywhere. Paramedics.

As I spoke, Jaglow wrote furiously.

“Okay, so you’re not best friends,” Lee said. “Why would she lie about this fight?”

“There was no fight,” I insisted.

“Whatever,” Lee said. “Why would she lie?”

I clenched my fists. What part of She tried to cut off my hand did they not understand? I counted to five slowly, then said, “It’s what she does. At the very least, Minka would love to see me fired from the Covington.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because she’s always hated me. Because Abraham fired her and she knows we were close. I’m the logical target.”

“And at the very most?” Jaglow said, following up on my previous sentence.

Did he expect me to say the words? That Minka would love to see me arrested for murder? I wasn’t going there.

Inspector Lee actually rolled her eyes. “Nate, I think Ms. Wainwright is convinced this La Beef woman’s trying to implicate her in Karastovsky’s murder.”

She gave me a pointed look, suggesting I agree or deny it.

I hastily nodded in agreement. “Yes, exactly.”

Lee nodded back, then said, “Just so we’re clear, you’re saying there was no fight between you and Karastovsky that night?”

“That’s right. Absolutely right. No fight. We were talking and laughing; he was in a jovial mood and happy to see me. You can ask anyone-besides Minka.”

“And you’re saying Karastovsky fired her,” Jaglow said.

Hearing Jaglow say it aloud made me remember that Minka had her own motive for murder. Hadn’t I accused her of that when we first spoke in the basement hall the night of the murder? I rubbed my head. Days and conversations were getting blurred. The thing was, I seriously doubted Minka was capable or even competent enough to commit murder, but I was almost giddy with relief that the spotlight was off me. Now it was time to return the favor and kick Minka under the tires.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Minka had been hired by the Covington to work with Abraham on the Winslow collection. He fired her from the project within a week. Frankly, if it had been up to him, he never would’ve hired her in the first place.”

“You know this because?” Lee drawled.

“Because Abraham knew she was a hack, and he knew what she tried to do to me with that knife. He knew she brought problems with her wherever she went. Any job she works on never goes smoothly. She’s disruptive, a troublemaker, and besides her crappy attitude, she’s just not very good at the work.”

“But tell us how you really feel,” Lee murmured, and almost cracked a smile.

Jaglow nodded in amusement. “I hear that.” He looked back at me. “So you and the La Beef woman have some history and all, but what does she have to gain by lying about you?”

“For Minka, it would be for the sheer joy of watching me squirm.”

“That’s some serious stuff,” he said.

Lee was more philosophical. “Girls just want to have fun.”

I walked into the town hall alone after watching the inspectors drive off. I’d offered them both some takeaway goodies, but they declined. Too bad. Lee could use the calories.

I was gratified to see Derek still cornered by Mary Ellen Prescott. He looked utterly desperate. I knew Mary Ellen, so I felt his pain, but I flashed him a broad smile and he bared his teeth at me. I’d be sure to remind him later that karma was a bitch.

I was headed toward the kitchen when someone called my name.

“Brooklyn, my dear.”

I turned and saw Guru Bob walk toward me.

“Are you in a hurry, gracious?” he asked.

“Yes. Uh. No.” He always left me tongue-tied. What did you say to someone who’s supposed to be a highly evolved conscious being? I wasn’t even sure what that meant, but I knew he was incredibly intelligent and perceptive. He could talk anyone into doing anything. I’d grown up trying to stay under the Guru radar and I’d been fairly successful for years. Then, when I was fourteen, Abraham showed him a beautiful family Bible I’d restored. That gained his interest.

It had been Guru Bob’s suggestion that I go for the multiple degrees in library science and fine art, even though Abraham had thought it irrelevant. I’d always insisted to my parents that neither of their opinions mattered, but Guru Bob’s encouragement had helped move my parents to fully finance my college and postgrad schooling, so I was grateful for that.

“I saw you speaking with the police, dear,” he said.

Good to know someone had been aware of my situation out in the parking lot. The fact that it was Guru Bob caused my throat to go dry as sand. I reached for a water bottle from the nearby table, popped it open and took a long sip.

“You are distressed,” he said kindly.

“No, I am fine,” I said. “I am just very thirsty.”

Guru Bob never used contractions and I tended to imitate him whenever I spoke with him. Weird.

“Water is life-giving,” he said quietly as I drank.

He was a tall man with broad shoulders, but when he spoke with you, he would hunch over to appear less intimidating and more humble. He also spoke softly, believing his words would be better received than if he spoke louder. It worked. I definitely paid attention to him.

“The police upset you?” he asked.

“No, no,” I said. “They were just asking me about Abraham and some statements one of my, er, colleagues made.” Calling Minka a colleague left a bitter taste, but I didn’t want to have to explain the whole thing to Guru Bob.

“There is no need to explain,” he said, doing that creepy mind-reading thing he did sometimes.

I felt an urgent need to explain anyway. “It’s just that this woman lied to the police and I had to tell them the true story. She’s not really a colleague, Robson, she’s really a…” I sighed. I couldn’t say anything too negative to Guru Bob.

He touched my shoulder and I felt a tingle of energy.

“You are under a great deal of strain, gracious.”

Guru Bob called most people “gracious.” Mom said he liked to make them aware that they actually were full of grace. He was definitely a glass-half-full kind of guy.

“I will be fine,” I insisted.

“Of course you will.” He absently kneaded my shoulder blade and I felt a rush of something like electricity zing across my shoulders and down my spine. How did he do that?