Devil's Food Cake (31 page)

She flipped the file open. The first paper was a purple flier of some type. It was for a writer’s conference in Denver that focused on novel writing—and was almost twelve years old. Had Diane wanted to write a book too? The theme of the conference had been “Dream Building” and Sadie’s eyes quickly focused on the name of the keynote speaker: Mark Ogreski of Anderson Literary Agency. Diane had known Mr. Ogreski before Damon or Thom ever did. Behind the flier were pages of notes in Diane’s handwriting. From the conference, Sadie assumed.

Sadie skimmed over words like
query
and
synopsis
before turning to the next paper in the file. It was a letter typed and addressed to Mr. Ogreski himself with the word “copy” written in the upper right-hand corner. There were little handwritten marks and arrows in the body of the text, lighter gray than the type, which made sense if Diane had saved the copy instead of the original.

“What is it?” Shawn asked. “You look excited.”

“It’s a letter to Mr. Ogreski,” she said. “I think Damon wrote it.”

“Serious?” Shawn said.

She cleared her throat and read the letter. “‘
Demon Fire
is an urban thriller set in San Francisco at a time when the gates of hell have been flung open, allowing demons to come to Earth. Unable to possess humans, the demons are forced to take refuge in inanimate objects, literally giving life to things that have never lived. What then happens is terror and turmoil beyond comprehension as the demons seek to obliterate the human population so they can have the world all to themselves.’”

Sadie made a face, reminded again of why she’d disliked the book, but there was no doubt the story described was, in fact,
Devilish Details.
“The title’s wrong,” Sadie said aloud, confused. “It’s not called
Demon Fire.
”

“Probably the working title,” Jane summed up. “Publishers change the titles most of the time.”

“Oh,” Sadie said, looking further down the page. “Diane wrote something at the bottom: ‘Good start. Figure out a hook and include the word count.’”

“So she was helping him write the query letter,” Jane said, looking thoughtful.

Sadie flipped to the next page in the stack—the copy of the revised query, with a few more edits from Diane, though not as many. Damon’s name and address was in the upper right-hand corner of this one, removing any doubt that he was the owner and author of the query. At the bottom Diane had written, “I think you’re ready to send this off, Damon. I’m so proud of you! Let me know how it goes.”

Sadie scanned up to the date: the October before Damon’s death. The same time Damon would have been in Diane’s class.

Sadie turned to the next paper in the file and read the first few lines. Like the other letters, it was marked “copy” in the top corner. “Is this the letter you found?” she asked Jane, handing her the page.

“She kept a copy?” Jane said. “That’s weird.”

Sadie took it back. “I keep copies all the time of letters I send. You never know when it might be important.” She shook the paper for emphasis before putting it back in the folder and moving to the next letter in the stack. This one captured every ounce of her attention and she read through the opening paragraph before looking up at Shawn and Jane who were watching her intently.

“The reporter at the
Post
isn’t the only person she wrote to,” Sadie said, hearing her voice speed up as she spoke. “She wrote a letter to Mr. Ogreski too.” She cleared her throat and read out loud, “‘I will be visiting with my sister in Chula Vista from the eighth to the thirteenth and would like to meet with you and Mr. Mortenson during my trip to discuss
“Thom’s”
book. Please call me as soon as possible to schedule a time we can meet. I can only promise discretion for a little while longer.’”

“When did she write the letter to the
Post?
” Jane asked.

Sadie quickly turned back to the letter Diane had sent to the newspaper. “The day before she left on her trip. Maybe to make sure someone else knew about it.”

“And maybe to make sure she followed through. Knowing the reporter would be calling her about the letter would make sure she didn’t chicken out,” Shawn offered.

Sadie thought that was definitely a possibility. Both letters made it clear that Diane was not taking this situation lightly.

“So she just happened to die in a car accident during the trip where she planned to meet with Thom and Mr. Ogreski?” Sadie said out loud.

Silence reigned once again. Sadie looked at Jane. “Didn’t the accident report say she’d had too much wine and that, combined with unfamiliar roads, is what caused the accident?”

Jane nodded. “She’d been at a restaurant located up a canyon. It was raining, too, which certainly didn’t help anything.”

“Who was she at the restaurant with?” Shawn asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration as he took in the facts he was hearing for the first time.

“It was her last night in California and she’d treated her sister’s family to dinner,” Jane said. “They were in separate cars, though, and finished up around 7:30—long before it got dark. Diane’s sister reported that Diane had said she was going to use the restroom before heading back to her hotel. The police determined that Diane stayed in the bar—maybe waiting for the rain to stop?—and had a few more drinks before deciding to leave. By then it was dark and the roads were really wet.”

“Did she pay for those drinks herself?” Sadie asked. “Do the police have proof of that or is it just conjecture?”

Jane furrowed her brow, obviously uncomfortable not having the answer. “You know, I’m not sure,” she said.

Sadie stared at the letter. It looked like she’d reached the end of the file, but she turned over the letter to Mr. Ogreski just in case. There was a pink message slip dated October 1—almost a week after the date on the letter—stuck to the back. The message slip was very similar to the slips used by the school Sadie had taught at for so many years and the note was written in Diane’s handwriting.

Meet Mr. O at Rancho Hills at 8:00 on 10⁄12.
Call his office to make any changes.

“What day did Diane Veeter die?” Sadie asked Jane.

“October thirteenth,” Jane said. “Or at least that’s when they found her car off the road.”

Sadie read the message a second time. In her mind she pieced it together as best she could. Other than her letter to the
Post,
Diane had been careful about who she’d told about her suspicions. If the meeting with Mr. Ogreski was the real reason she’d gone to California, she’d disguised it by visiting her sister. After setting up the meeting with Mr. Ogreski, Diane had offered to treat her sister’s family to dinner on the same night—before her meeting. Probably to get comfortable in the environment before Mr. Ogreski arrived. Maybe she did have more wine, maybe she didn’t, but how hard would it have been for Mr. Ogreski to slip something in whatever it was she drank that night? Something that would kick in while she was negotiating turns on a wet, unfamiliar canyon road in the dark? It would look like an accident. And with the alcohol in her system, well, why would the police look any further than that?

“Oh, Diane,” she said, leaning against the couch as tears pricked her eyes. “All you wanted to do was the right thing.” How was it that Mr. Ogreski had all the luck on his side, and Diane Veeter had so little? It wasn’t fair.

The room was silent for a moment, then Sadie let out a breath. “We have to tell her family,” she said, looked at Jane, whose eyes were on fire with excitement. “Before it makes the papers.”

Jane looked away quickly. Sadie waited for the reporter to say something, but she didn’t.

“Now?” Shawn asked.

Sadie looked out the window. It was pitch-black outside. Only the snow falling closest to the glass was illuminated enough to see clearly. She didn’t know how to answer Shawn. Part of her definitely wanted to go over to the Veeters’ house right away. Not only to tell Diane’s daughter what had really happened to her mother, but also to redeem herself for snooping and stealing the files. Wait—then she’d have to admit to stealing the files, wouldn’t she? Her stomach rolled at the idea of confessing to Tina; she already thought so poorly of Sadie. But was self-preservation a worthy justification for not sharing this information immediately?

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head and putting her good hand up to her forehead. “I have no idea what to do next.”

“Well, we’re still looking for Damon Mortenson’s file, right?” Jane grabbed another file. Shawn picked up one as well.

Sadie hesitated for a moment, but then remembered Josh and Eric in the other room. It was long past midnight and there was still much to be done. With the painful realization of Diane’s death still fresh in her mind, Sadie turned back to the kitchen and saw Josh’s camera bag sitting by the doorway.

This game had stopped being fun a long time ago, and Sadie was tired of playing. She needed answers. She grabbed the camera bag and continued into the kitchen, taking a deep breath as she prepared for the next item on her agenda. She had to find out what Josh knew and why he had taken those blasted pictures.

Sadie put the camera bag on the table in front of her as she sat down across from Josh, new vigor behind her pursuit of truth. Things were coming together fast. The bag blocked her view, so she moved it to the left slightly in order to make eye contact with Josh.

“Eric,” she said, though she was still looking at Josh, who returned her stare with a boiling one of his own. It seemed the camera was the exact motivation she’d needed all along. When Eric didn’t answer, she called out, “Hey, Clyde,” giving Eric a little smile when the nickname caught his attention. He smiled back and seemed to understand they were going to be playing this out as a team. “Will you look up this camera? It’s a—” She had to break eye contact with Josh in order to wrestle the bag open and look at the camera. “A Nikon D300s DX. It says 12MP here—I think that stands for mega-pixel.”

Josh’s eyes jumped from Sadie to Eric, looking concerned, and maybe a little confused.

“I’m curious as to how much a camera like this costs,” Sadie said nonchalantly. “It looks expensive.”

“It is expensive,” Josh said quickly, leaning forward. His bindings, however, kept him from moving very far. “And it’s not a toy.”

Sadie hefted the camera with her one hand and braced her elbow on the table, holding the camera flat on her palm.

Josh looked at the camera longingly.

“So,” Sadie said slowly, maintaining control of the situation even while battling her discomfort with such blatant dominance. “You have information we need. And I have your camera. Are you willing to trade?”

Chapter 40

Josh didn’t answer her, just continued to glare. She hoped the belt Shawn had used was good and thick because Josh looked ready to pounce across the table at any moment. You’d think they hadn’t fed him any Evil Chicken at all for the anger on his face.

“It’s heavier than I’d have thought,” Sadie said, making an exaggerated act of hefting the camera in her hand.

Eric cleared his throat. “It retails for about two grand,” he said, whistling slightly. He leaned toward Sadie. “Does it have a battery grip?”

Sadie had no idea what a battery grip was, but Eric looked at the camera and nodded.

“It does,” Eric said. “Add a couple hundred more to the price—assuming that’s the stock lens and not a specialty lens he swapped it out for.”

Josh’s face paled and his voice took on a kind of forced calm when he spoke again. “Please. Just put it back in the case.”

Sadie ignored him because he wasn’t yet offering his cooperation. “How do you work this thing, anyway?” she asked, looping the strap around her neck as though she were preparing to take some photos. She turned the camera in her hands, looking at all the buttons and gauges. It seemed to her that having to adjust so many things would suck all the fun right out of taking pictures. She accidentally popped off the lens cap and noticed Josh tense.

“Don’t,” Josh said quickly, then clenched his mouth shut and took a breath. The anger was morphing into a begging kind of fear. “Please don’t touch anything.”

Eric scooted his chair closer to Sadie, looking as curious about the camera as she was. “My brother used to have a fancy camera like this,” Eric said. “See if there’s a latch or a button by the bottom of the lens. It should allow you to change out the different lenses—though, unfortunately also exposes all those sensitive innards of the camera itself.”