“You’re right, Ma. That makes perfect sense. Someone is desperate to get their hands on this,” Mercedes said. “And I’m itching to read it!”
“I’ll make some coffee.” Carlita wandered into the kitchen. After the coffee brewed, she poured a cup for Mercedes and set it on the end table, next to the sofa.
Rambo began to whine, so he and Carlita headed out for a long walk down by the river.
Mercedes’ nose was still buried in the manuscript when they returned, so Carlita headed across the hall to check on her grandchildren and then down to the pawnshop to see if Tony and their part-time employee needed any help.
When she returned to the apartment, she found Mercedes pacing the floor. The manuscript was lying on top of the coffee table.
“It’s just as I suspected. Jon Luis, aka JL Cordele, started this book after returning to Savannah. He was working on solving the Honeycutt murder, as well as Delmario’s murder. Somehow, he linked us to Delmario and possibly to the family.”
Carlita began to feel lightheaded and reached for the back of the chair to steady herself. “Will this never end? I wonder if Jon Luis shared his suspicions with anyone else.”
“I don’t know. Unsolved Murders in Savannah: Mafia Ties, Rush Into Murder and White Lies. The Cold Case Files., is about three separate, high profile unsolved murder cases. Mafia ties is about George Delmario. White Lies is about the Madison Square / Herbert Honeycutt’s murder. According to Luis’ notes, he didn’t have all of the puzzle pieces in place. His theory was Mrs. Honeycutt lied to protect her husband’s killer.”
“And the third one?” Carlita asked.
“Rush Into Murder is about Warren Paulson. Warren and his family lived here in Savannah and Warren’s family was involved in local politics. According to the few notes Jon Luis jotted down, Warren was a bit of a wild card. He’d drifted from job to job until he landed a position as a defense contractor. Luis’ theory was that the family pulled some strings to get him the position. Not long after getting the job, rumors began circulating that Warren was selling satellite secrets to Russian spies.”
“Wow. It sounds like the makings of a movie,” Carlita said.
“Or the beginning of a great story,” Mercedes said. “It gets even better. According to Jon Luis, the feds were turning up the heat on Warren and word began to circulate that Warren was getting ready to rat out his Russian contacts. Right afterwards, Warren went missing. The investigators discovered his fishing boat was missing from the marina so the Coast Guard was sent out to search for him. They eventually found Warren Paulson’s boat, but there was no sign of Paulson.”
“The Russians took him out,” Carlita whispered. “No wonder Jon Luis is dead. He was digging into an espionage case.”
“Which was either really brave or really dumb.” Mercedes continued. “Jon Luis believed the Russians paid Warren tens of thousands of dollars.”
Carlita sipped her coffee. “Let me guess. The Coast Guard never found Warren’s body.”
“Nope.” Mercedes shivered. “He’s probably at the bottom of the ocean or ended up being fish food.”
“You still think there’s a link to your author group?” Carlita asked. “Do any of them speak Russian or have Russian ties?”
“I have no idea. Let’s just say the killer or killers, either Herbert Honeycutt’s killer or the Russian spies, found out Luis’ was workin’ on a new book, so they set into motion a plan to take out Luis and frame one of the potential suspects…me.”
“Could be ‘the family’ from up north, too,” Carlita pointed out.
“True, but here’s the reason I’m leaning towards someone that’s an author or in my author group.” Mercedes turned to the last page of the manuscript. “Check out Luis’ handwritten notes. He wrote in here he suspected someone knew about the manuscript, although he hadn’t told anyone, other than mentioning it to his agent and the book publisher.”
“So maybe you can link the killer via the publisher.” Carlita sank into the chair. “That’s gonna be tricky.”
“Tricky, but not impossible and I’m hoping Autumn can help.” Mercedes tugged on a stray strand of hair. “The group already knows that Autumn works for the newspaper and is writing a book. I could ask her if she’ll go to this week’s meeting and tell them she’s looking for a publisher and see if she gets a bite.”
“It’s a stretch, Mercedes.”
“What other choice do we have?”
“None,” Carlita said. “None other than waiting for Detective Wilson to look into Luis’ manuscript, figure out George Delmario was murdered on our property and the man who was researching the book, the man you were meeting, was found dead.”
“Like I said, someone managed to pull off the perfect setup,” Mercedes said. “But it ain’t gonna stick to Mercedes Garlucci, not if I have a say in it.”
Chapter 17
“Let’s go over this one more time,” Mercedes said. “What’s the name of your space opera book?”
“Zebulon Galaxy: The Final Frontier. Why did I have to pick such a stupid genre?” Autumn groaned.
“That’s a matter of opinion. Space Opera is very popular. You can make a lot of money writing sci-fi books.”
“They’re not gonna believe I forgot to bring my manuscript again,” Autumn said. “What author joins an author’s group and never remembers to bring their manuscript?”
“I’ve got you covered. One sec.” Mercedes held up a finger and ran to her room, returning moments later carrying a manila file folder. “I put this together earlier today. Here’s your manuscript.”
“You wrote a space opera book?” Autumn flipped the folder open.
“I started a space opera draft. It’s only a few chapters, enough so that the others won’t be suspicious. It’s what you told me
