Kiss and Tell (10 page)

Janine scrambled up from her seat and ran out of the room to summon aid. Nancy and Sam jumped up and went to help Giancarlo, but there was nothing they could do. There was some slight movement behind Esme's closed eyes, but otherwise the writer remained unconscious.

When Esme had fainted, the room fell silent. Now, slowly, audience members began whispering among themselves. Nancy saw Pia in her seat in the back straining to see over the crowd. When Nancy spotted Brenda heading quietly toward the door, she knew immediately that this attack would be in Saturday's paper.

Meanwhile, Sam had positioned himself beside the small table where Esme had put her cup of tea. He leaned close for a whiff of the beverage. Instantly, Nancy understood what he suspected.

“Poison?” she whispered, moving to stand beside him.

“Very possibly,” said Sam. “That was an awfully sudden fainting spell.”

The paramedics had arrived and were gingerly lifting Esme onto a stretcher. Janine answered questions from two police officers who had arrived with the paramedic crew.

Bess came over to Nancy and Sam. “I'm going to the hospital with Esme,” she said. Looking over her shoulder at the emergency workers, she wrung her hands at the sight of Esme, laid out flat on a stretcher, being wheeled from the room. “Unless you need me here?”

“Go ahead,” said Nancy. “When Esme comes around, I'm sure she'll want to see a few familiar faces. I'll meet you there later.”

Bess took off after the paramedics, and the two police officers came over to question Sam and Nancy. Sam identified himself, then explained his suspicions about Esme's tea.

“We'll get the evidence team down here,” said one officer.

“We need to find out who made the tea,” said Nancy. “If it was Esme or Janine. The tea bags are probably in her room, so we should make sure to get that evidence, too.”

“Good,” said Sam. “If she was poisoned, the
hospital should be able to give us a toxicology report from blood tests. Call them and be sure they know to look for poison.”

“Will do,” the second officer said, nodding her head.

“Let's check out Esme's room,” said Sam. “These guys can take care of things downstairs.”

Nancy and Sam were crossing the lobby when Nancy spotted Kim heading for the main brass and glass doors. “That's strange,” she said out loud. “I thought for sure Kim would have gone with Esme.”

Sam frowned at the sight of Kim standing in front of the Barrington. “Unless she doesn't care what happens to Esme,” he said.

Nancy watched as Kim got into an old-style cab with a distinctive yellow-and-black checkerboard pattern on its door. “Maybe she's going to the hospital now.”

“Or maybe not. Maybe where she's going has something to do with that manuscript you saw her holding. Come on,” Sam urged. “I've got my car parked out front.”

Nancy raced across the driveway to the street to Sam's compact. Nancy kept her eye on the cab Kim had taken, and gave directions to Sam as he pulled out into the afternoon traffic.

“There they are,” she said, pointing to the cab, half a dozen cars in front of them. “I can tell you right now they're not headed in the direction of the hospital. We're traveling north. River Heights Memorial is south of here.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Sam said, giving Nancy a wide grin.

Nancy tried to ignore the warm feeling his smile sent through her. “Do you think Kim is Esme's harasser?” she asked.

“The circumstantial evidence is there,” Sam agreed. He weaved the car in and out of traffic, and Nancy had to hold on to the dashboard to prevent herself from sliding across the seat—and into his lap. “Is she our trench-coated culprit?” he asked rhetorically. “She's tall enough. The guy in the trench coat could actually be a woman.”

“Where'd you learn to drive?” Nancy asked as Sam cut off yet another driver and got an earful of horn in response.

“Noo Yawk,” Sam said, thickening his accent. He cut around a corner, still in pursuit of the cab. By now, they were only two cars behind it. Since the side street they were cruising on was quiet, Sam hung back a bit. At the end of the block, the cab driver stopped in front of a copy shop and Kim went in. Sam parked his car several hundred feet back. Ten minutes later Kim emerged from the shop and got back into her cab.

“What's she doing?” Sam asked, gripping the steering wheel and staring ahead intently. “Are we just following her while she runs her errands?”

“You're impatient, aren't you?” Nancy asked. “You of all people should realize how time-consuming detective work can be.”

“I do,” said Sam. “But it doesn't stop me from
being impatient. That's why we make a good team. You're cool as a cucumber, while I'm Mr. Antsy.” They were at a stoplight and Sam glanced over at Nancy. “Am I right, or am I right?” he asked, the gaze from his chocolate brown eyes intense.

Behind them, a car honked. “The light's green,” Nancy said, trying to ignore the effect he had on her.

Kim's next stop was the post office. By now even Nancy was getting frustrated, but she persuaded Sam that following her was still worthwhile. Kim was their only solid suspect. Finally, their perseverance paid off. On her last stop, Kim got out of the cab in front of an office building. This time, she paid the cab driver, who took off with a squeal of tires.

“See?” said Sam. “Even that guy was losing patience with all these errands!”

Nancy waited for Kim to enter the building. “I'll be right back, Sam,” she said, getting out of his car. Then she followed, a short distance behind Kim. Inside, what Nancy discovered surprised her. Among the lawyers and accountants, the building also had a literary agent among its tenants. Nancy went back outside to report the information to Sam.

“You don't think she's trying to sell a copy of
Telling All,
do you?”

“I don't know,” said Nancy. “But I say we confront her when she comes out.”

For half an hour Nancy and Sam waited. They
chatted, and Nancy laughed at the stories of Sam's boyhood growing up in New York City in a section called Little Italy. It became easier and easier for her to talk to Sam—about detective work, about what it was like to be in dangerous situations, about traveling and how much they both liked that part of the job. Nancy kept having a nagging thought, though—I shouldn't be having this much fun with another guy. What about Ned? The next day was Valentine's Day. Should she call Ned, or would he call her? Would she tell him about Sam? There wasn't anything to tell, she insisted to herself, even as she enjoyed looking at Sam's brown eyes, his strong hands, his broad shoulders.

“Earth to Nancy!” Sam was saying, his hand cupping his mouth. “Suspect in sight. Will Detective Drew please come back to this planet?”

Nancy looked out the window to see Kim emerging from the office building. The manuscript was still in her hands, and there was a dejected expression on her face.

“Let's do it!” Sam cried.

Kim was more than a little surprised to see Sam and Nancy coming toward her. “Hey,” she said, “what brings you two down here?”

“Actually, we followed you,” Nancy said.

Kim's mouth set in a straight line as she pushed her dark hair back from her face. “Oh, really?” she asked. She clutched the envelope she carried and held it to her chest defensively. “Why is that?”

“We have reason to suspect you've got Esme's manuscript there,” Sam said, “and that you were trying to sell it to an agent just now.”

Kim's eyes went wide. “You've got to be kidding!” She stared at Sam and then at Nancy. “You think I'm the person harassing Esme, don't you.”

“You are a suspect, yes,” Nancy confirmed.

Kim ripped open the envelope and shoved the manuscript at Nancy, who read the title aloud:
“Love and Folly,
a novel, by Kim Scott.”

Nancy handed the sheaf of papers to Sam. “This is your own manuscript,” she said to Kim.

“Disappointed?” Kim said, her hand on her hip. “You bet that's my novel. I was trying to sell an agent on it just now, but he wouldn't bite. What makes you think I could actually pass off
Telling All
as my own book anyway? Even in this town, every agent would recognize that as Esme's life story, not mine. I may not be crazy about Esme Moore and we may have our differences, but I would never harass her or anyone else for that matter. That's not a denial, that's the truth!”

Kim yanked her manuscript from Sam's hands and, pushing past the two of them, took off down the street at a fast clip.

“Phew!” said Sam, reeling a bit from Kim's outburst.

“I'd say Kim has had a hard time being in Esme's shadow,” said Nancy. “Still, she's right about never being able to pass off Esme's manuscript
as her own. I guess we should have thought of that.”

Sam rubbed his stomach. “I'm getting too hungry to think straight. How about dinner?”

“Sure,” Nancy said brightly.

“I know just the place,” said Sam.

Ten minutes later Sam was pulling up to a small restaurant in one of the quieter parts of town. Inside red- and white-checkered tablecloths and red candles cast a warm glow and atmosphere. Garlic, bread, and tomato sauce filled the air with their pungent aromas. Nancy's stomach growled and she suddenly realized just how hungry she was.

They were seated at a corner table with a view of the street, and after ordering they slathered butter onto thick slices of warm, yeasty bread.

As they ate they discussed the case. Sam still thought that Kim was a viable suspect, but Nancy disagreed. “I know she has the motive and the opportunity,” Nancy said. “But somehow I get the feeling that Kim really wouldn't harm Esme. Where would it get her?”

“Revenge,” said Sam, digging into his spaghetti. “Many cases of harassment come down to that, anyway.”

“What's going on with your computer program, by the way?” Nancy asked. She cut off a bite of lasagna and blew on it. “You haven't mentioned it lately.”

“That's because the thing stinks,” Sam said. He sipped at his iced tea and smiled at Nancy
over the rim of his glass. “If you could come up with one that worked, you'd make a mint, but this program isn't worth the paper it was requisitioned on.”

“No luck?” Nancy asked.

“It keeps telling me I've got a semiretired woman between the ages of fifty and fifty-five. I keep telling it to try again.”

“Maybe we should believe it,” Nancy suggested.

Sam shook his head. “Nope. It doesn't make sense. My guess is we're looking at Kim or Todd. Not some part-time librarian!”

“What about Janine?” Nancy offered. She explained to Sam her suspicions that Janine might be giving Brenda information, and that the publicist didn't mind the negative press coming from all the harassment. Plus, she had had access to the press room.

Sam considered Nancy's suggestion. He leaned back in his chair and tossed his napkin onto the table. “It's an idea,” he agreed. “You really do have a good mind for this, Nan. Ever consider a full-time career as a detective?”

Hearing Sam call her by her nickname sent another flutter through Nancy's stomach. “Maybe,” she said, smiling.

Over Nancy's protests, Sam paid the check, then drove them both back to the Barrington so that Nancy could pick up her car. “This was fun,” he said when they were parked. “We'll have to do it again sometime.”

“Sure,” said Nancy. She didn't want to sound too excited, or else Sam might get the wrong idea. And what might that be, Drew? a voice in her head asked as the valet drove up with Nancy's car. That you're interested?

On the way home Nancy remembered she had to meet Bess at the hospital. It was already eight o'clock, and visiting hours were probably ending, but Nancy thought it was worth it to swing by to see if Bess was still there and needed a ride home.

When Nancy got to Esme's room, the door was open. She went inside. A dim light was on, and the room was empty except for Esme. Just as Nancy entered, the phone rang on a nightstand beside Esme. The romance writer turned in her sleep, but didn't wake up enough to answer it. Nancy reached for the receiver, picked it up, and said, “Hello.”

“Hello, this is Helen Klein. Who's this?” When Nancy identified herself, Helen asked to speak with Esme. Nancy told her the woman was asleep.

“I see,” Helen said, pausing. “When she wakes up, could you have her call me? It's rather urgent.”

“Is there a message I can pass along?” Nancy asked politely.

“No—that is—well, yes. Tell her I have some bad news,” Helen said finally. “I hate to do this to her, but Bob has decided she's too controversial right now.”

“I'm sorry?” Nancy asked. “Maybe you'd better explain.”

“After everything that's happened, and now the poisoning . . .” Helen broke off, but finally blurted out, “Just tell her we can't go through with the movie project. The deal's off.”