"What did your husband think of this?" Mel asked.
"He stayed out of it, saying Denny was an adult and had to make his own decisions. And it just became worse."
"In what way?"
"He came home for a Thanksgiving dinner and told us he'd decided he wanted to find his 'real' parents.
'Real'
is the word he used.
We
were his real parents. We'd raised him from the day he was only two days old. I felt as if he'd stuck a knife in my chest."
"Did your husband agree?" Mel asked.
"No. He said the same stupid thing. Denny was entitled to do so, if it meant so much to him."
"Did Denny succeed in finding out anything?"
"I have no idea," she said. "And I don't want to know. If this is all you need to ask us, we need to get on with arranging the funeral. We have three plots in a cemetery here in Chicago we bought while we lived here. One for me, one for Harry, and one for Denny. Someday we'll be there with him again. And we need to know where his things are. His clothes, his books, his checkbook so we can cancel the account."
"They're in boxes. They'll be delivered to your hotel as soon as you want."
"Today," she said firmly, standing up and heading for the door. She stopped briefly, and said, "You
will
tell us who killed him when you get around to finding out, won't you?"
She didn't even wait for an answer — just slammed the door on her way out.
Mel was simply glad she was gone. During Mrs. Roth's rant, he'd had an insight that might prove worthwhile. He knew exactly which pile of paperwork it was in. The one that he thought he'd never need again. He went looking for it.
Twenty-two
When Jane
and
Shelley left the needlepoint
shop, Shelley suggested they stop somewhere for lunch.
"We're on our last caterer tonight for the dress rehearsal and have to feed quite a lot of extra people. The whole cast and crew. Props people, lighting people, even the scene painters and their teacher will be there."
"Do you think you have caterers for tonight who can cope well?" Jane asked.
"Only if we do it in the lobby, which the college has approved. In fact, most caterers like to feed a real meal to a couple of hundred people rather than the snack suppers they've done so far. That's the real test of their skills."
"We haven't tried Chinese catering, so for lunch, let's go to that Chinese restaurant we always like," Jane suggested. "They have the best jasmine tea I've ever tasted."
When they'd placed their orders, Shelley said,"I went to that Internet site that you told me about. The Annie Silverstone one. She seems to be an attractive, interesting person with a good background in publishing. But there weren't the details I wanted to see."
"Like what?" Jane asked.
"Like who are the writers she represents? We know Felicity is one, but you'd think she'd mention others."
"I think most of her authors wouldn't want to be mentioned," Jane said. "It would invite people with crappy manuscripts to send them, claiming that someone like Felicity had recommended the agent. Even if Felicity had never heard of the person."
"Hmm. I hadn't thought of that," Shelley said. "I suppose it could even happen to you if you were to be listed on the site. You haven't heard from Ms. Silverstone yet, have you?"
"Not yet."
"I'm sure you'll hear from her soon."
"Things in publishing sometimes go very slowly, I think. Especially in August and December. And there are still two other agents who are the heads of their agencies and specialize in selling mysteries."
"Are you interested in seeing the whole dress rehearsal tonight?" Shelley asked.
"Not especially. But if you want to, I'll stick it out. I'd like to see how the costumes and sets
look, if nothing else. You drive this time. I'm starving for spring rolls and you'll get us there sooner."
"But you already ordered them for lunch." "So? What's your point?" Jane asked.
Mel's request to search pawnshops for old golf drivers paid off all too well. They had come in in droves. Eight of them at least. Three were clearly new. A waste of time. He took note of which officers had turned them in. The other five needed to be examined more closely. The more there were, the longer it was going to take. He looked them over and only sent three along to the experts.
If positive results didn't come in, there were two more he'd have to submit. All of them as per his instructions had been bagged and the searchers had tried to find out, as best they could, who had pawned them and where they'd found them.
Jane had eaten two whole appetizers — spring rolls and crab Rangoon, her favorites — and spicy orange-flavored Mongolian beef. Half of which she'd brought home. She'd also gone through four cups of jasmine tea. She stuffed the box with the leftovers in the fridge and nearly ran to the downstairs half-bath the moment she,reached home. As she came out, the phone started ringing.
She glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was a New York City number.
"Is this Jane Jeffry?"
"Yes, this is she," Jane said breathlessly.
"I'm Annie Silverstone. Did I catch you at a bad time?"
Jane got a grip on herself and said, "Not at all. I've been hoping to hear from you."
"I love this book, Ms. Jeffry."
"Thank you. Please call me Jane, if you like."
"Okay, Jane. And you'll call me Annie. I'd like to represent you. But I wanted to tell you how I work before we go any further. I don't expect my authors to sign a contract. I don't work with people I don't think I can trust. I've spoken to Felicity and she says you're honorable."
"That's good of her to say that."
Annie continued. "Most agents used to charge ten percent of what the author earned. In recent years, most have gone to fifteen percent. I stuck with going halfway between — I charge twelve and a half percent. But I also charge for a few other things, like FedExing advance reading copies to reviewers that the publisher doesn't send to. And I write contracts that save the foreign sales for us, when I can. I often send copies of books to overseas publishers as well."
"That sounds fair to me. I'm so new at this that I didn't know what to ask," Jane admitted.
"You'll learn fast. Now — you are writing another historical mystery, aren't you?"
"I am. It's not about Priscilla, though."
"That's good. It's hard with historical mysteries to keep one heroine perpetually involved in murder. When is this one set?"
"Edwardian. I'm still researching. I have a vague outline and the first few chapters — at least I think right now that they're the first chapters."
Jane was surprised at how calm she felt. Annie was leading her through this important discussion with skill and tact.
"I'm sure we're going to work together well. Do you ever visit New York City?"
"I haven't for a long time. But I could."
"I'd like to meet you in person soon. And I'll need a bit about your background, anything you think would interest the marketing people or readers. Could you e-mail me something within the next week? Two hundred words or so."
Jane smiled to herself. This was going to be easy, and it would probably surprise Annie to learn that Jane had grown up all over the world with her diplomat father and her mother and sister. She'd save the story about the French teacher who taught a bunch of twelve-year-olds to pick locks. That would be a good story to tell Annie when they met in person.
"Would the middle of next month be a goodtime to meet?" Jane asked. "I'll have all my children back in school by then."
"Perfect. We're going to make a great team. I'm so pleased at how professional you already seem to be. I especially liked that you answered the phone saying 'This is she.' Shows that you know your grammar. Let me know so I can schedule a lunch at a very expensive restaurant and a meeting with my staff."
Mel felt obligated to attend Dennis Roth's funeral. Aside from Denny's parents and an elderly aunt and uncle, he was the only other mourner present. It was a short service and a short drive to the old cemetery. Mrs. Roth was stoic throughout both the funeral service and the burial. It fell to Mr. Roth to introduce Mel to the aunt and uncle.
As they all headed toward their cars, Mrs. Roth said, "Detective VanDyne, your people missed something."
"What do you mean?" he asked politely.
She handed him a small blue cardboard envelope with a snap on it. He knew right away what it was. A safety-deposit box key.
"Where was this?" he asked.
"In a pocket you failed to notice in his billfold. We want to know what bank it's in, but you have better resources and staff to find that out. Frankly, we don't want to spend days calling banks."
Mel tried to hide his fury. This was, indeed, a huge mistake. He'd find out who had gone through Denny's belongings and packed them up — and tear a strip off whoever it was. "Let me write down the box number on the key. I'll get back to you as fast as I can. I'm making this my first priority. I'll know what bank it's at and let you know before the day is out."
Back at his office, he assigned four people to divvy up the names of every bank in the city, gave them the safety-deposit box number, and told them to personally call on every bank on their list and report back when they found the right one, which better be today.
Then he went about finding out which officer had inventoried and boxed up Denny's belongings. He noticed that the billfold was listed. Ten dollars and twenty-seven cents in it. Two credit cards. Two call tags from a tailor, one coupon for a fast-food restaurant and another for fifty cents off on a local dry cleaner. A California driver's license, a picture of his parents with him as a teenager.
A checkbook was also mentioned. Mel went down to where the four officers he'd assigned the chore of finding the bank were convening. He told them to continue but not to start out until he determined where the,checkbook was from.
He called the officer who'd boxed Denny'sthings and told him to come directly to his office immediately.
The officer who'd signed the inventory was there in minutes, looking terrified. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes, I do. You missed something very important in boxing up Dennis Roth's belongings. Who else was observing you doing this?"
"Another officer, Robert Wilson, who wrote down everything, and the manager of the apartment. Both signed the inventory. What did we miss, if you don't mind telling me, sir?"
"A blue cardboard envelope in a pocket of his billfold. A safety-deposit box key was in it, and there was also a checkbook. You didn't write down what bank the checkbook was from."
"But I remember, sir. I'm sorry I messed up. The bank was the one closest to the college." He gave Mel the name of the bank.
Mel indicated that the officer stay where he was seated, and went down to the workroom where the four officers were still sorting through banks by zip code for efficiency's sake. "One of you start with the bank closest to the college, would you? It might save a lot of hunting."
He went back to his office, where the officer who'd botched the inventory was pacing nervously. "You'll stay here until we know if the safety-deposit box is in the same bank. And you'll do a much better, more thorough job the next
time, won't you? You did search all the pockets of his clothing, I see. If it's the wrong bank, you'll join the other four officers still sorting banks by zip code in room 4B."
Twenty-three
Jane called Mel
at his office to tell him about choosing an agent.
He cut her off. "Janey, I'm waiting for an important call on this line. May I get back to you when I'm free?"
"Sure." Jane wasn't offended. She knew when he was this curt, something crucial was happening. Instead she called Shelley to tell her about the conversation with Annie Silverstone.
"You didn't ask what other authors she worked with?" Shelley asked.
"I'll find out eventually. I really liked how she explained her policies. I have Felicity's e-mail address. I'll tell her about this later. Annie wanted two hundred words about my background and interests to send along with the manuscript for Melody to show the marketing people. I need to write it up today."
"Your background is going to surprise them, I'll bet."
"There's another thing I forgot to tell you. Annie wants me to come to New York soon to meet her staff. Want to come with me? We could do some really good shopping and eating."
"That sounds wonderful." Shelley said. "We better set a date and I'll make the plane reservations. Paul has thousands of frequent-flier miles we can use to fly first-class both ways. Have you told Mel about this yet?"
"I tried, but he hung up on me. Something important is going on."
"Did he give you a hint?"
"No. And I didn't dare ask. Are your caterers ready for dealing with a mob? Is it a snack-supper-type thing?" Jane asked.
"No. More like cocktail party snacks. It's later than usual and the students will have time to feed themselves. Not that they aren't welcome to eat. I've ordered extra things that you and I like. Re-heatable, so we can bring any extras home."
"Do we need to dress up? I've been wearing jeans or jean skirts so far."
"I intend to be a little more dressy this evening," Shelley replied. "Just because of Evelyn Chance's extra guests who contributed to the college to fund this. Some of them might be businesspeople who know Paul."
Jane interpreted this to mean, at the least, trousers with a good blouse, and a jacket or a light sweater and even a bit of jewelry.