1st to Die (Women's Murder Club 1)

“I meant the name of the author, please.”

“Jenks,” Cindy said, holding her breath. “Nicholas Jenks.”

The woman peered at her. “The mystery writer?”

Cindy shook her head, faked a smile. “The insurance salesman,” she said as calmly as she could.

The woman gave her a strange look but continued to punch in the name. “You have proof of relationship?”

Cindy handed her a piece of paper with Jenks’s Social Security number on it. “This should be on his registration.”

“That won’t do,” the woman said.

Cindy fumbled through a zipper in her knapsack. She felt the moment slipping away. “At least tell me if it’s here. I’ll come back later with whatever you want.”

“Jenks,” the woman muttered skeptically. “Looks like your brother was a bit more prolific than you thought. He’s got three manuscripts registered here.”

Cindy wanted to let out a shout. “The only one I’m looking for is called Always a Bridesmaid.”

It took what seemed like several minutes, but the stony resistance on the woman’s face finally weakened. “I don’t know why I’m doing this, but if you can verify your story, there seems to be a record of that manuscript’s being here.”

Cindy felt a surge of validation. The manuscript was the final piece they needed to crack a murder case and put away Jenks.

Now she just had to get it out.

Chapter 84

“I FOUND IT!”exclaimed Cindy, her voice breathless on the phone. “Always a Bridesmaid!”

I pounded my desk in elation. This meant we could definitely make our move. “So what does it say, Cindy?”

“I found it,” Cindy clarified. “I just don’t actually have it.”

She told me about the Writers Guild. The book was there, but it would take a little coaxing to actually get it into our hands.

It took barely two hours — starting with a frantic call to Jill. She had a judge pulled out of chambers, and we had our court order mandating the release of Jenks’s manuscript Always a Bridesmaid.

Then Jill and I ran down to meet Cindy. On the way, I made one more call. To Claire. It seemed fitting that all of us should be there.

Twenty minutes later, Jill and I met Cindy and Claire in front of a drab building on Geary where the Writers Guild maintained its offices. Together, we rode to the eighth floor.

“I’m back,” announced Cindy to a surprised woman behind the reception desk. “And I brought my documentation.”

She eyed us suspiciously. “Who are these, cousins?”

I flashed the clerk my badge and also presented the officially stamped search warrant.

“What’s going on with this book?” the woman gasped. Clearly out of her authority, she went inside and came back with a supervisor, who read over the court order.

“We usually only hold them for up to eight years,” he said with some uncertainty. Then he disappeared for what seemed a lifetime.

We all sat there in the stark reception area like pacing relatives waiting for a baby to be born. What if it had been thrown out?

Finally, the supervisor came out with a dusty bundle wrapped in brown paper. “In the back of the bins,” he announced with a self-satisfied smile.

There was a coffee shop right down the street. We took a table in back and crowded around with anticipation. I plopped the manuscript down on the table, peeled off the brown-paper wrapping.

I read the cover. Always a Bridesmaid. A novel by Nicholas Jenks.