A sense of unease began to make her skin feel too tight. There was no reason for the phone to go unanswered at the store or for Cassie to leave her personal phone unattended unless something was very, very wrong. If the killer really was looking for revenge for being left out of the book, wouldn’t the publisher of the book be next on their list of victims?
Mel wondered how Stan was doing cross-checking names of residents of the Palms against people who hadn’t been mentioned in the book. Given that he had to match the nickname Elise used to the person’s real name and then discover who didn’t have a nickname, it could take ages. While it had seemed that everyone in the Palms had made a cameo in the book at least, Mel was certain there had to be some people left out. She thought back to the book signing and then she felt her stomach drop into her feet.
Janie Fulton. The petite woman with the big glasses who had lived a few houses down from Elise, whom Elise had clearly not remembered and whose name Elise had even spelled wrong at the signing. That was the sort of person who might be looking for revenge. Was it Janie—who had seemed so nice, even forgiving the misspelling—who had killed everyone she felt slighted by?
Mel was out of her chair and holding her car keys before she’d fully decided to run over to the bookstore and check on things.
Oz glanced up when she entered the kitchen. The look on her face must have registered her worry because he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Probably nothing,” she said. “But I’m going to stop by Cassie’s shop, A Likely Story, just to be sure.”
“Why?”
“No one’s answering the phone over there.”
“Could be with a customer.”
“Probably, but I can’t shake feeling that something isn’t right,” she said. “Be a champ and call Uncle Stan for me?”
“Aw, what?” Oz protested.
“Ask him to check on the whereabouts of Janie Fulton, a Palms resident,” Mel said. “And tell him where I’m going, please.”
“I know what you’re doing,” he said. “You don’t want to call him and get yelled at, so you want me to do it for you. Listen, give me a second and I’ll go with you.”
Mel looked at the oven. The industrial batch of cupcakes he had baking wouldn’t be done for another fifteen minutes. She didn’t think she could wait that long. Not to mention the fact that she would never, ever put Oz in a situation where he could be harmed.
“No, you finish up here. I’m sure this is nothing, and I’m just being paranoid,” she said. “But call Stan anyway, and look at it this way: I’ll owe you one.”
“Boss—” he began to protest, but Mel slipped through the back door, cutting him off.
Mel hurried across the alley to the parking lot where she parked her car. She slid into the driver’s seat. A Likely Story was on the other side of Old Town, which was mercifully only a few blocks away. But on the chance there was something wrong and she needed to hustle Cassie to an emergency room or something, Mel wanted to have her car. Unfortunately, she had to navigate three traffic lights, a stream of tourist pedestrians, and then find a parking spot before she could get to the bookstore.
She thought about the night of Elise’s stabbing. Had she seen Janie after the signing? Had the woman been lingering in the resort, waiting to get Elise alone? She couldn’t remember. She vaguely remembered an unhelpful staff person in the bar when they’d been looking for Elise, but the woman hadn’t looked like Janie and her name tag had read Laura.
On impulse, she called Christine’s salon while she waited at a red light.
“Christine’s, how may I help you?”
“Hi, this is Melanie Cooper. Is Christine available?”
“No,” the voice said.
Mel sighed. She loved what Christine could do with hair, really she did, but the impenetrable line of defense she had going with her staff was exhausting.
“Samantha, then. Is she there?”
“This is Samantha.”
“It is? Great, listen, you just did my makeup for a wedding,” Mel said.
“Yes, I remember,” Samantha said. “You’re the one with the skimpy eyelashes.”
“Um . . . yeah, that’s me,” Mel said. “Do you remember that we were talking about Elise Penworthy’s murder?”
“Of course I do,” she said. “What bride talks about murder on her wedding day? So weird.”
“Yes, we established that,” Mel said. She tried to keep her impatience out of her voice. “I was wondering if Christine or you remembered the name of the person Elise said was stalking her.”
“Nope.”
“Okay, well, does the name Laura mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“All right, how about Janie?”
“No.”
“Could you ask Christine?”
Samantha made a put-upon sigh. “Hold on.”
The light turned green and Mel hit the gas, cruising towards the bookstore as fast as she dared.
“She said it could have been Janie maybe,” Samantha said. “But it’s a definite no on Laura.”
“Okay, thanks. You’ve been a big help.” Mel ended the call as she found a spot at the corner and parked.
Nestled between a café and an upscale interior designer, the bookstore was well situated for foot traffic. Mel didn’t hesitate but went right to the door, finding it locked. She stepped back. The sign on the door clearly stated that they should be open. Mel tugged the overly large handle again, as if it might open if she pulled on it differently. It didn’t.
She cupped her hands against the glare and pressed her face against the glass. The lights were on in the store, but she didn’t see anyone standing at the register or moving around.
She decided to check the back. Maybe whoever was on duty had just popped outside to take a break. She jogged past the interior designer and slipped down the narrow alley that separated this group of shops
