Chapter 21

21

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

" I see you've met Mr. Darcy." Adrienne Sinclair laughs and her crow's feet give away her age and maybe add ten years because of it. Her red locks are pulled back into a stylish chignon and she looks cozy in a red and white checkered shirt with jeans. "He's quite the charmer, isn't he?" she says, gesturing toward the cat, who by now has decided to grace us with his presence by weaving between our legs. And thankfully, Buddy doesn't bother to protest.

"Seems as if he's the real owner here," I tease, bending down to give Mr. Darcy a gentle scratch behind the ears. He purrs in approval and it's clear he's accustomed to the attention.

"Oh, that he is." Adrienne titters. "Not only does he own it, I think he makes the place a little more homier." Her voice carries a note of pride as she waves an arm around the place.

The bookstore is indeed a haven, with shelves lined with books of every genre. The walls are adorned with what looks to be local art, and there's a small fireplace in the back where a few patrons are engrossed in their novels.

"So what brings you here?" She offers a tight smile. "Any news on Lydia yet?" She cringes a little. "I'm guessing not, since Damien left so quickly after bumping into you."

"No, not yet," Jack offers. "We spoke with him briefly, and we spoke with his neighbor Owen Marcus. But we'll circle back to Damien, along with another woman who lived close to the Coles."

"Oh?" Her brows meet in the middle. "Who's that, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A woman by the name of Nora Archer," I tell her. "Apparently, she was good friends with Lydia."

She thinks about it for a moment. "Oh, yes. You know, I think I've met her. Older brunette, really perky. Lydia came in with her once last summer." She looks out the window as if reliving a memory, and judging by the scowl that's taken over, it's not a good one. "Yes, they seemed like good friends."

"That's what we're counting on," Jack says, stuffing his hands into his pockets as much as Buddy's leash will allow. "Damien mentioned the signing. I can only imagine how busy you must be. Would you happen to have a minute?"

"For the two of you?" A silent laugh pulsates through her. "I've got all afternoon. What do you want to know?"

"Your thoughts," I say, point-blank. "Let's start with the books. You're the expert. Can you walk us through what the Becks and the Coles specialize in?"

"Oh yes." She gives a frenetic nod as if she were relieved by the topic. "Cornwall wrote political thrillers—very intense, very detail-oriented. His books have a decent following, especially among those who like a bit of international espionage in their reading." She grimaces. "Cynthia, his wife, ventured into psychological thrillers. They weren't as popular as Cornwall's, but they were critically acclaimed for their clever twists."

"How about Damien?" I ask. "What's his work like?"

According to Jewel, this woman is familiar with his work in the bedroom.

"Damien"—she clears her throat—"he writes great crime fiction. It's gritty, and raw, and quite popular." She perks up when she says it. "He has a knack for creating characters that feel real—flawed, broken, but incredibly human. His books sell the best out of the four, probably because they strike a chord with a wider audience."

"And Lydia?" Jack asks softly, but Adrienne's face hardens regardless.

She hesitates for a moment. "Lydia's work is different. She writes historical mysteries. Her readership is pretty dedicated, but it's not as large as Damien's. There's a quiet elegance to her writing. That's very rare." She sniffs hard while looking at the floor. "It's a tragedy what's happened. We're a pretty close-knit group here at the lake. I'd venture to say we're a lot like family."

"I have no doubt," I tell her.

A very dysfunctional family at that.

"What else do you know about the Coles and the Becks?" Jack asks. "Outside of their occupations."

Her lips twist for a moment.

"Come here," she says, leading us toward a cozy corner lined with velvet armchairs that look out over the lake, and Buddy sits between us on the floor. The woman's expression turns somber as she takes a moment to stare the two of us down. "It's been shocking for all of us. Damien and Lydia, Cornwall and Cynthia—they were more than just acquaintances from the book signings and festivals. They were friends." Her fingers trace over Buddy's ear absentmindedly before she gives him a quick scratch.

"We heard there might have been some complications," I say it low, trying to tread lightly. "Between Damien and Lydia. We've heard rumors of an affair."

Her eyes widen before drifting to the lake. "Yes, I've heard them, too." She shakes her head. "It's a shame. But then, he's a handsome man. Marriages fall apart. I should know. Happened to mine." She gives a nervous laugh. "But Damien and Lydia are still together, so whoever that woman was, she couldn't have meant that much to him." She slices another glance out the window, sharper this time, like a warning shot.

"Do you have any idea who this woman might be?" Jack asks just above a whisper as if not wanting to break the spell.

"Nope," Adrienne answers far too quickly as she tosses up her hands. "But I guess that neighbor might," she says that last bit under her breath. "And, well, knowing the way a cheater's mind works, it wouldn't surprise me at all if there were more women involved than one. Or if it were all fodder for the rumor mill. I certainly wouldn't go believing everything you hear. It's basically nothing but gossip around these parts anyway." She swallows hard just before a bell goes off. "That's the register, and I'm running the shop on my own today. Will I see you at the book signing? We've got over fifty authors coming down for the convention. I just know you're going to find something great there to read. The best part of these events is always discovering a brand new author."

"We'll be there," I say as she scurries off with a wave. "Let's go," I say to Jack as we rise out of our seats.

"Don't you want to stock up on some of those naughty books you had your eye on?" He lifts his brows and I glower at him.

"I prefer to read on my phone these days. It reduces the carbon footprint."

He nods. "And it's easier to hide the porn. I get it."

I make a face. "I'm sure you do."

We get outside and our phones go off simultaneously. It's a group text from Nikki.

"Look as if our trip to forensics is out," I say.

The message says that the phone found at the crime scene won't be released to us until at least tomorrow.

Jack sighs at his screen. "And she's got a hot date with Owen. How worried should we be about this development?"

"On a scale of mild concern to serial killer?" A groan works its way up my throat. "Very."

We take Buddy to the lake and watch the mist ripple over the water in waves.

It very much feels like I'm on a hot date myself.

And I don't like it one bit.