Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
“Both of you. How nice.”
Roz couldn’t mistake Craig’s sarcastic tone as he greeted Roz and Alden in Bean Me Up.
He sat at the long, tall table in front of the windows that let guests watch the street as they sipped.
Or worked, as Craig was apparently doing, given the laptop open in front of him.
Alden had left his computer in his car, but Roz had hers, just in case.
Craig had shed his bow tie but still wore his wire-rimmed spectacles, and the afternoon light shone gently off his mostly bald head.
“Thanks for seeing us,” Alden said cheerfully. Roz hid her smile. Alden was so great at swaggering into a situation no matter how hostile it was. “We’ll order a coffee, and then we’ll be right with you.”
“Not a problem.” Craig turned back to his keyboard as if they weren’t there, so Alden and Roz ordered their regular brews from Lily. They went back to the table to wait, taking seats on the stools opposite Craig, spoiling his view of Main Street.
“Working on anything interesting?” Roz asked, pulling a pen and notebook from her bag.
“Research for Enolia’s next novel,” Craig said.
“Ooo, what about?” Alden was keen and friendly.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Craig closed the computer to emphasize it was none of their business. Not that Roz had X-ray eyes like the guy in that movie Blake mentioned. “And no, I would never put that phrase in a book. It’s too much of a cliché.”
“Do you write?” Alden asked. “I mean, besides research?”
Craig’s nose twitched. “I do. Fiction. Screenplays.”
The next question was obvious. “Were you working with Wayne Vandershell, too?” Roz asked.
Craig sipped his half-finished coffee. It looked foamy. Latte, maybe? “He asked to see my work, but I felt it was a conflict of interest since I work for Enolia. My job is to ensure her work is perfect.”
Now that was an interesting statement. Wasn’t making the work perfect the superstar writer’s job? But maybe this was how Craig made himself feel important.
“Do you edit Enolia’s books?” Roz asked.
“I—no. Her agent and editors at her publisher do that. I have early input on her work.”
“Research,” Alden said, repeating what Craig had told them.
“Yes, research,” Craig replied, though his mouth twitched as if he wanted to say more.
Then Alden looked up and smiled at Lily, their cute blond barista, who appeared at that moment to deliver his black coffee and Roz’s mocha.
“Thanks, Lily.” Roz took the warm paper cup and set it down as she waited for it to cool to non-lava levels.
“No problem.” Lily took in their coffee klatch with a curious gaze, but she headed back to the counter.
“How did Enolia find you?” Roz asked Craig.
“I worked at the library near her home in Upstate New York.”
“So you trained as a librarian?” Alden asked.
“Trained, yes, once I decided computer science wasn’t for me. I didn’t have the full library sciences degree. But she found me at the research desk nine years ago. I loved her books, and I helped her so much, I turned out to be indispensable.” Craig smiled. This guy loved his job.
“What book did she first have you do research on?” Alden asked.
Craig looked out the window for a few seconds. “Was it The Wentletrap or—” He turned back to Alden. “No, it was The Calico Killer.”
“Like the Calico Cat?” Roz asked.
Craig gave her a disdainful look. “Like a calico scallop shell. There are shells in all her titles. At least all the beach thrillers.”
“Oh.” So The Murex Murder was named for a murex shell. She should’ve known. “Clever.”
Craig adjusted his glasses, and his pleasant mien returned. “She hired me full-time after that. I didn’t have any ties that were important to me there, so I traveled with her and became her assistant in all things.”
All things covered a lot of ground. But that meant he should know a lot about Enolia and her dealings with Wayne Vandershell.
“So you saw a lot of Wayne?” Alden asked, obviously thinking along the same lines.
Craig cocked his head. “Why are you asking?”
“We’re interested in his connection to Enolia. I’m writing a feature about her,” Alden said, “but we’re also writing about Wayne Vandershell’s unfortunate death.”
Craig snorted softly and replied to Alden, “Yes, I saw a lot of Wayne. More than enough. She was quite taken with him.”
“And you didn’t approve?” Roz guessed.
Craig turned to her and sidestepped the question. “She is welcome to play with whomever she likes, and she liked him a lot. After all, he was going to adapt her book, maybe books, for the screen.”
Roz and Alden exchanged a glance, then Roz took a sweet sip of her mocha as Alden said, “We think Wayne might have exaggerated his credentials. Did you think he was sincere when it came to Enolia?”
Craig gave him a cool, steady look through those round glasses. “I don’t think ‘sincerity’ was something he specialized in.”
Ouch! Roz thought.
“But Enolia didn’t really care,” Craig continued. “As I said, she enjoyed his company. And she was excited about seeing her work in a movie or TV, however it played out.”
“How far along did they get in turning the books into movies?” Alden asked.
“I’m not sure,” Craig admitted. “Wayne said he had interest from Netflix for a movie or series, and he also had a few screenwriters he was talking to about adaptations.”
Alden’s eyebrows lifted. “He could’ve talked to you.”
“He knew I wasn’t interested. And he said he had some big names in the queue.”
“Did he ask Enolia to invest in the project?” Roz asked, taking notes.
“I believe he did.” Craig’s tone set off Roz’s internal lie detector. “But she didn’t want to share the details. So that is not on the record.”
He knew a lot more than he was saying. Roz was sure of it. But he wanted to protect Enolia, his bread and butter. She understood that, too.
“Mae Middleton told me that Enolia is her aunt,” Alden said, “and had promised Mae some money for the bookstore. Do you know about that?”
Craig’s light brown eyes flashed—in anger or frustration, she couldn’t say—and then he was back to his calm assistant persona.
“That bookstore is a money pit. But Enolia loves her niece and wants her to be happy, so she will give her what she needs. That’s the kind of person she is.
And since Enolia won’t have her money tied up with Wayne now, Mae won’t have to worry.
Not that I know about any money Enolia might have given to Wayne. ”
Roz held back an eye roll. “Was her gift to the bookstore ever in question?”
“It isn’t now.” A classic non-answer.
Roz contained a sigh. Craig was in full armor now, the knight defending his queen. When Alden glanced at her, she shot him a resigned smile, and he turned back to Craig.
“We really appreciate your time.” Alden slid a business card across the table. “If you think of anything we should know, please call or email me.”
“Of course,” Craig said, though his tone said anything but. “When will the feature run on Enolia?”
“I’m not sure,” Alden said as Roz answered, “Friday.”
Alden smiled. “I’m trying to get some extra time, but my editor is tough on me.”
“Take all the time you need,” Craig said. “She wouldn’t want you to rush.”
“If only you were my editor,” Alden joked, and Roz lightly smacked his arm. A corner of Craig’s mouth lifted.
Enolia’s right-hand man watched them as they ambled to the exit, and only then did he reopen his laptop.
The reporters stepped outside with a jingle of the door.
“Walk with me,” Alden said.
“Good idea.” Roz didn’t want anyone—especially Craig—to overhear them. Or read their lips.
It was a beautiful, breezy day, and several people were out shopping and enjoying the fair weather. And it felt good just to walk. She spent too much time behind a desk.
“How much of that was true?” she asked when they’d walked past a few businesses.
“Maybe all of it, but it’s what he left out that bothers me.”
“I’m sure he knows more about the money,” she said.
“I thought that too.”
“How much do you think Wayne tried to get out of Enolia?” Roz asked.
“How much did he actually get?” Alden mused. “And was she completely clueless?”
“If Enolia thought Wayne stole from her, she might’ve wanted to do him harm.” Roz sipped her mocha. “She writes murder books for a living. Suppose she sabotaged his vape pen?”
“Or had a fight with him in the alley? We found that book that might be hers out there. And Mae said something about Enolia complaining of a spot on her dress. But of course, if Enolia was anywhere near him when the pen blew up, there would’ve been more than a little stain.”
“Yuck.”
Alden lifted one shoulder. “Sorry. It’s yucky. And I know she writes murder books, but I just can’t see it. She’s a writer, not a fighter.”
“And you’re a poet and didn’t know it.”
“Oh, I know it, baby.” Alden grinned at her.
Roz tossed him a flirty look. “I’m still waiting for my first poem from you.”
“It’ll probably come sooner than the novel,” he admitted.
She chuckled. “I found it interesting what he implied about the money Enolia planned to give to Mae.”
“That the funds Enolia might have fed to Wayne could’ve meant Mae wasn’t getting her bailout? But now that Wayne’s dead, Mae’s in the money? You know what that means.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Roz glanced across the street toward Big Bang Books. “Mae benefited significantly from Wayne’s death, because her aunt now has the money to give to her. Doesn’t Enolia Honeywood have tons of money anyway?”
“One would think,” Alden said, “but how much of it is available at any given time?”
“Wayne must’ve asked for a big chunk. And Mae might’ve needed a bunch to save the bookstore. If Wayne kept asking, he could’ve bled Enolia dry. His death stopped the gravy train and gave Mae what she needed.”
“That’s motive for murder, but nothing Craig said about the money is on the record,” he said.
“OK, I guess all we got out of that interview that we can print is that Wayne promised to get Enolia’s books on film. Which we already knew. But we need to think about Mae’s role in all this.”
“Maybe I can get more out of Craig later. And I’m going to shoot an email to someone I know at Netflix, see if there’s anything to what he said about Wayne’s claim of developing adaptations of Enolia’s books there. In the meantime, I have to talk to Blake.”
“Mind if I come along?”
“What about Nicole?” Alden stopped walking.
“Nicole and Sebastian. I want to talk to both of them.”
“Wait. I should come with you when you see Nicole. Just in case she’s a homicidal maniac.”
Roz quirked her mouth at him. “I can handle it. But it might be fun to have you along. John told me to go out and nail this story with you, so I say we do it.”
“He said I should nail you?” he teased. “We should do it?”
She smacked his arm again. “Men!”
He snickered. “Can’t live with us, can’t kill us.”
“Unless you’re Wayne Vandershell,” Roz said. “Somebody killed him, one way or another.”
“And we still don’t know who,” he said. “Let’s track down Blake.”