Murder at the Book Fair Page 12

  "I don't know. Maybe Who's On First?"

  "Third base."

  "Huh?"

  "I don't know. Third base."

  Lou didn't want to get any blood on my new vehicle, so he refrained from lashing out at me. Instead he grinned, and promised to get me help.

  +++

  The drive back to Lori Wildwood's house was a short one, but filled with Friday evening traffic. But it was so short that we arrived at her house before 5:30, and no one was there to greet us.

  "Well, Lou, do we wait?"

  "Might as well. I definitely think it's too soon to eat another sundae."

  "I think it's also time that they pay authors enough for the books they write so they can be home to answer our questions when we stop by."

  "I guess it takes more than two books to write full time."

  "Depends on who it is. Margaret Mitchell and Harper Lee wrote only one each."

  "Any idea how much money they made?"

  "I'd say enough."

  "But Jake Cartwright said that he and Cyril Portwood didn't make enough to live on, and they both wrote a lot more than Mitchell and Lee."

  "I guess it takes a Rhett Butler or Scout to sell a lot of books. but I still think both of those guys make more than people might think. Do you have any idea how many e-books are sold today?"

  "None to me. I don't even have a Kindle, yet."

  "How about a Cy Dekker and a Lou Murdock? What if we wrote about ourselves? How many books do you think we could sell?"

  "I doubt if we'd be able to give them away."

  The two of us laughed. And then I jumped as someone rapped at my chamber door. It reminded me of a knock a teenager's father might do if a boy brought his daughter home late, and then sat in the car kissing her. I turned and faced the next-door neighbor I'd seen earlier.

  She wasn't sticking a gun in my face so I rolled down the window.

  "I've already called the police, so I know you're not with them."

  "Actually, we're part of the thought police, and I thought I told you we were here to see Lori Wildwood. I know you're not her. And I don't think you're paid security, so we'll just wait here until she comes home, if you don't mind. That is, unless you're inviting us in to dinner."

  The woman didn't answer because a car pulled into the driveway as I finished speaking. I said, "Excuse me," and pushed the woman away from my new van.

  She turned away and walked over to the author.

  "Lori, let me know if these guys are bothering you. I see they don't even have a license plate on this thing, and I've called the police about them already."

  Lori Wildwood smiled when she recognized us.

  "Why, Jeanne, these are two of my new fans. They bought my book at the book fair. Now go on home. I'll be okay."

  The neighbor huffed away as the author invited us inside. Lou and I followed her into the house, and there was no dog there to maul us.

  "What can I do for you? Don't tell me you came to give me some ideas for my next book."

  "Okay, I won't tell you."

  "You mean that's why you're here? People are always trying to give me an idea for a book. I always tell them to write the book themselves. You never know what you can do unless you try."

  The author motioned for us to take a seat.

  "So, what can I do for you? Sorry, I wasn't here when you got here. I still have to work. I haven't sold enough books yet to become famous and self-supporting. And by the way, my neighbor means well. She always worries about me when my husband is out of town."

  "Let me get to why we're here. I'm Lt. Dekker and he's Sgt. Murdock. We have some questions about the Kentucky Book Fair."

  "Why would the police be here about that? They're a top-notch organization. Besides, nothing went on there that I'd want to put in one of my murder mysteries."

  "Well, it might have. Maybe you don't know about it."

  "I'm pretty observant."

  "Then tell me whatever you can about the two authors you shared a table with."

  "Well, I can't tell you much. I just met both of them at the book fair. Jonnetta Jarvis said it was her first time there. We met the night before at the reception. I didn't meet Cyril Portwood until I got to the table. But evidently a lot of other people had met him. There sure were a lot of them that showed up to buy his books."

  "What about your books? How did you do?"

  "Pretty good for someone who's just getting started writing. It might have helped that I paid someone to promote my books."

  "Was that someone by any chance Dan Grimes?"

  "So, you know him, too. Yeah, it was Dan. How do you know him or know about him?"

  "When you weren't home the first time we were by I went and talked to Jonnetta Jarvis. She said she paid him to promote her books, too."

  "And he promoted Cyril Portwood's books, too. That's why I agreed to give him a try, because I'd heard that Portwood sells a lot of books."

  "How much did you pay Grimes, and how did he promote your books?"

  "I paid him $100. I had a guarantee in writing that if I didn't sell at least enough books to pay his fee then he would give me my money back. I sold enough and then some, so I'm pleased."

  "Do you have any idea how much Portwood paid him?"

  "Yeah, Grimes told me. $500. Dan Grimes told me that he charges each author according to what he can deliver."

  "So, he promotes other authors, too?"

  "I know he has authors in other states, but I'm not sure if he has any others here. He said that the three of us were the only ones he promotes who were at the book fair this year."

  "And did you see Grimes there?"

  "No. I don't think he made it. At least if he did I didn't see him. I think he said he was going to be out of town."

  "And you're sure he charged Portwood $500, not $50,000?"

  She laughed.

  "Who would pay someone $50,000 to promote some books. Portwood sold a lot of books there, but nowhere near $50,000 worth. I'd say he might have sold one hundred books or so."

  "What about you? Are you Portwood's discovery, and was he paying you $50,000 a year until he felt you could make it on your own?"

  "You are kidding, aren't you?"

  "No, I'm serious."

  "I didn't have any idea Cyril Portwood had that kind of money to dole out."

  "What about Jake Cartwright?"

  "What about Jake Cartwright? Do I think he has that kind of money? Do I think Portwood gave him that much money? Or how did he do at the book fair?"

  "Any of the above."

  "I met him, but I was on the other side of our table and we were so busy most of the day I didn't get to talk to him much. So I don't know enough about him to answer any of those questions except that I know he too sold a lot of books that day."

  "So, Grimes doesn't promote him?"

  "Not according to Dan Grimes. He told me that he only promotes the three of us. Actually, I didn't know he promoted Jonnetta's books until she told me."

  "Did you see Portwood's brother and sister?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Do you remember a couple stopping by when Portwood stepped away from his table and acted like they were going to do something to his lunch?"

  "I didn't even realize that Cyril ever left the table. I guess I was occupied with something else. Maybe I was signing a book for someone."

  "Then I don't guess Portwood gave you any money."

  "Why would he do that?"

  "Did he?"

  "No, he didn't give me any money. Why should he?"

  "And you don't know of anyone else he gave money to?"

  "No, we were just there to sell books. I didn't realize that he's a banker."

  "Did you realize that he's been murdered?"

  "Who? Cyril Portwood?"

  "Yes, and it might have happened at the book fair."

  "If it did, it happened after I left."

  "It might have happened before you left."

  "I'm not
lying."

  "I don't mean you're lying. I mean you might not have noticed."

  "So, somebody poisoned him?"

  "Why did you say that?"

  "Well, I do write mysteries. And I read mysteries. If you can't fix the time of death, and you say he might have been murdered at the book fair, then that tells me he was poisoned, and it wasn't a quick acting poison. Otherwise he would have fallen over quickly. So, where did his body end up?"

  "First of all, we don't know it was a slow acting poison. Well, it was, but we're not sure how long it took to work."

  "So, he wasn't found right away?"

  "Now why did you say that?"

  "Do I have to repeat myself. If he was found shortly after he died the coroner would have been able to fix the time of death, maybe even down to minutes. So, my guess is that he wasn't found until the next day. What happened? Did the maid find him in his room at the Capital Plaza, dead in his bed?"

  "You should have stopped while you were ahead. Or are you merely diverting suspicion away from yourself?"

  "Oh, yeah! I'm sure I murdered a man I just met because he sold more books than I did."

  "We have only your word that you just met him. Portwood can't talk."

  "I'm sorry! I know you have a tough job, but it's rather unnerving to find out that a man who sat two seats away from me was poisoned that day. I'm sorry it happened to him, but it could have been me. Can you tell me what the poison was put in?"

  "Portwood's body. The medical examiner got him too late to tell us anything else, other than something he ate or drank between Friday night and Saturday night was poisoned."

  "So it might not have happened at the table."

  "My guess is it didn't. There would have been so many witnesses. Well, unless they were like you and didn't see anything."

  "Hey! We were busy signing books. At least until the middle of the afternoon. Up until then, almost the entire time one of the three of us was talking to someone, and some of the time all three of us were. It was quite hectic. But fun. I'd never experienced anything like it before."

  "Anything else you can tell us?"

  "Nothing I can think of."

  "How about Dan Grimes address? Can you give us that?"

  "Yeah, I've got it somewhere. Hold on a minute and I'll be back."

  A couple of minutes later Lori Wildwood returned and handed me a piece of paper with a name and address written on it.

  "I doubt if he'll be able to help you. He wasn't even there."

  "Remember, I said it happened sometime between Friday afternoon late and Saturday night late. Maybe Grimes saw him or knows of someone who might have seen him somewhere other than the book fair itself."

  She nodded in agreement.

  28

  "What do you think, Lou?"

  "Everyone seems innocent."

  "And someone's not so innocent. Want to go see this Grimes guy? Maybe he's the one who got $50,000."

  Grimes didn't live anywhere near the two authors, so I had more time to get to know my new ride. Five songs later I found the house and hoped Grimes didn't know anything. I was starting to get hungry.

  This time we found ourselves in an older middle-class neighborhood closer to downtown. Lou and I walked up and I knocked on the door. A few seconds later, a man answered my knock.

  "Hi! Can I help you?"

  "You can if you're Dan Grimes."

  "I'm your man. But if you're Publisher's Clearinghouse I guess you left your cameras at home."

  "Actually, we're with the Criminals Clearinghouse. I'm Lt. Dekker and he's Sgt. Murdock. We'd like a few minutes of your time."

  "Sure. Come on in. What's this about?"

  "What kind of business are you in, Mr. Grimes?"

  "Right now I'm in book promotion. Authors pay me to promote their books. But that's more of a sideline. In a way. My mother had a good-size insurance policy, and a lot of stocks and bonds, and since I was her only child I got all of her money when she died. And the house was paid for and I inherited it, too. I don't have many needs, so I retired from my job, but I still do what I can to help authors sell books. Not too many, though. I only have two authors around here. And a handful out of state."

  "Two, Mr. Grimes."

  "Two what?"

  "Authors around here."

  "That's right. Lori Wildwood and Jonnetta Jarvis."

  "What about Cyril Portwood?"

  "You've done your homework. But not well enough. See authors only stay with me until they get on their feet enough that they can sell books without my help. I haven't promoted Portwood's books for two years."

  "But you told another author he was one of your clients."

  "You're probably talking about one of the two women I promote. I helped him get started, but now he does well enough that he doesn't need my help anymore."

  "Did it hurt when he dropped you?"

  "No, I expected it. And like I said, or maybe I didn't say, he only paid me $100 in the beginning and eventually $500 a year to promote his books, so it wasn't a big loss."

  "Have you ever been to his place."

  "No, but I think it's up in Westport. Or at least that's his mailing address."

  "It used to be his mailing address."

  "Oh, I didn't realize that he'd move. See, I haven't seen him in a while."

  "When was the last time you saw him?"

  "I don't know. I guess at last year's Kentucky Book Fair."

  "Not this year?"

  "No, I didn't get to go this year. My niece in Indiana got married that day. I went up on Friday morning and didn't get back until Sunday around noon."

  "I guess you can prove that."

  "Why should I have to? But yeah, I can. You can check Facebook and YouTube. Some of the family took pictures and videos. And then I have receipts from the motel where I stayed, and from a couple of places I ate while I was there."

  "Back to Portwood. When you promoted him, did he pay by check or cash?"

  "He always paid cash."

  "$50,000."

  "I wish. No, it only got up to $500. I just charged the two women $100 each, because they're both just getting started. I promise each author I handle that the money they take in at an event will be more than what I charge them or I will give them their money back. That's why I only handle new authors. In addition to the two women here in town I've got a couple of authors in Ohio and a couple more in Indiana, but that's all."

  "Did you know Cyril Portwood well?"

  "I don't know him all that well. I read one of his books when he first started writing and told him that I could help him sell more books. Usually we'd talk on the phone a couple of times a year and we met so he could pay me before the book fair. I believe that's the only big event he does. But like I said, two years ago was the last time I promoted him. He was on his own last year and did quite well. This year too, from what Monday's paper said. His new book made the top ten at the book fair."

  "And what about Jake Cartwright's new book?"

  "Let me see. I think he made the list too, but I think Portwood was higher."

  "And Portwood can make enough money to live on from just one event?"

  "I doubt it. I don't think he sells that many books there. But I think the guy has some money somewhere. Maybe he's like me. Maybe his mother left it to him."

  "Back to your mother. How long ago did she die?"

  "Let's see. It was almost eight years ago."

  "From natural causes?"

  "Depends on whether or not you call cancer natural causes."

  "So, she died of cancer?"

  "That's right."

  "And when did you retire from your job?"

  "When her health started failing. She didn't want to go away somewhere and die, so she asked me to help out, and she helped me out by paying for everything. You'd never know it from this house, but my mother had a lot of money. She just had no desire for a big house."

  "So what's your secret, Mr. Grimes? How do you promote you
r authors?"

  "Well, now I can't tell you that. If I did someone else might try to take my authors from me. Of course it's not a lot of money, but I make enough from my six authors to take a little vacation each year, provided I don't go far. I'm kind of partial to Gatlinburg myself."

  "Well, Portwood gave someone $50,000 each year. Any idea who it might have been?"

  "Naw. Like I said, I don't know him that well. I only saw him on business. Same with my other authors."

  "You've done well, Mr. Grimes."

  "Well, a lot of people have done a lot better than I have."

  "That's not what I mean. Whenever you spoke of Cyril Portwood you talked in the present tense."

  "I'm not sure what you're talking about. What do you mean by present tense?"

  "I mean Portwood was murdered. Only the murderer would know that he's dead."

  "You're kidding me, aren't you?"

  "I wish I was. Someone murdered him, and whoever did it did it at the book fair."

  "With all those people there?"

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "Well, I didn't do it. Like I said, I was out of town. You can check. I can give you names of my family in Indiana and the place where I stayed."

  "I would appreciate that, Mr. Grimes. It's not that I don't believe you. I'm checking on everyone else, too."

  "Okay, but you have to admit that $500 is no reason to murder someone."

  "No. But $50,000 a year, every year, is a lot more. Or being mentioned in someone's will."

  "But I didn't get $50,000 a year, every year. And I don't think I was mentioned in his will. I wasn't, was I? I can't see why he would give me anything. There had to be a lot of people he knew better than he knew me."

  "And you don't have any idea who he might have given that money to? Maybe his brother and sister?"

  "Makes sense. I didn't know he had a brother and a sister."

  "Do you know what color of car he drove?"

  "I think he had two. I think both were dark. A van and an SUV, but I can't tell you exactly what color either of them were."

  "So, you don't know which one he drove to the book fair this year."

  "Remember, I told you I wasn't there."

  "Anything else you can think of that might help us? Anyone you can think of who might have done this?"