“Right. But we do know that Tayla and Gil are connected in some way.”
“And Charlene. I want to meet her.”
Jack gave her a sharp look. “We’re staying out of this, remember?”
“You mean you want Sara and me to stay out of it. But if this does have something to do with Gil and his son, I’m sure you’ll be there with your flaming sword out.” She caught her breath. “If Janet was being a misguided do-gooder, you don’t think Gil... I mean, he didn’t... He couldn’t have...”
“Murdered her?” Jack was looking straight out the windshield at the water coming down for the rinse. “If Quinn was threatened, yeah, I imagine Gil would do anything to protect his son. Even kill. But poison, knife and a bullet? No. That’s too violent, even for an angry father.”
Kate nodded in agreement. “Tayla called in sick this morning and we were all relieved. When she said ‘that house’ I assumed she meant the one Sylvia used to own.” Suddenly, Kate’s eyes widened.
“What?”
“Sheriff Flynn said that the listing for Janet’s house would be given to me. Not to Tayla, but to me. Maybe that was significant. Maybe I’m supposed to do something with that house.”
Blowers were drying the car.
“You think he was giving us a hint?” Jack sounded skeptical.
“Maybe. But why? I’m sure the house has been searched thoroughly.”
“And yet they didn’t find a California serial killer.” He looked at the dashboard clock. “We need to go meet Sara. Hungry?”
“Starving. Think they have any seafood?”
“It’s Florida. They can get fish from their backyard.”
Smiling, Kate looked at the scenery as they made their way to the restaurant.
* * *
“It’s good,” Kate said as she handed the pages of the police report back to Sara. They were sitting at their favorite outdoor café, close to what passed for the downtown of Lachlan.
Jack finished the last page and gave his copy to her. “Concise, not too windy. What about the photos?”
“Flynn hasn’t asked for them yet. I found this.” She pulled an 8x10 printout from a leather portfolio. It was a picture of a bookcase in Janet Beeson’s house. The second shelf had a row of bright, shiny novels with the name Amanda Martin on the spine.
“Let me guess,” Jack said, “that’s Sylvia Alden’s pen name.”
“It is.” Sara was smiling in triumph as she put the typed pages back into her case. “It took work to find her. I called editors at four publishing houses and two agents before I found someone who knew who she was. They’re romantic mysteries. The books still have respectable sales and they’ve developed a bit of a cult following. Rabid fans, that sort of thing. One agent said he’d really like to represent her estate.”
“Have you ordered them yet?” Jack asked.
“Didn’t have time, but I’ll get them this afternoon.” When she said this, Sara didn’t meet his eyes.
Kate was looking serious. “Maybe Sylvia left the royalties to Janet and someone killed her for them.”
“Sylvia had a daughter,” Sara reminded her.
“Interesting that we haven’t seen this daughter,” Jack said. “Her mother’s best friend murdered? You’d think she’d show up here.”
“And who would tell us if she did?” Kate asked. “Detective Cotilla? Or maybe the governor would call Aunt Sara.”
“I did autograph some books for his wife,” Sara said.
“Oooooh,” Kate said. “Is he as cute in real life as he is on TV?”
“Better. He—”