Devil's Food Cake (4 page)

However, despite being a little bit starstruck herself—Thom had been her accountant at one time after all—Sadie had quickly concluded the book wasn’t quite her style. The basic plotline involved demonic possession of inanimate objects, like the gargoyle, which then caused havoc for the poor humans in the book. Sadie remembered much wailing and gnashing of teeth and finally closed the cover when she determined the Old Testament had enough of that to suit her just fine. The fact that it wasn’t quite her genre, however, did not dispel how proud she was of Thom. Sadie had survived heartache and managed to go on to enjoy her life, and she always wished that same thing for people who, like her, had faced tragedy. Not that losing her husband, Neil, to a heart attack was much of a comparison to what Thom had gone through, but still.

She brought her thoughts back to the present and looked at the book in her hands. Did the book belong to Thom? What about notes for his talk? He was presenting to two hundred people and didn’t bring anything but a book with him?

She looked around the area but didn’t see anything other than the discarded wireless equipment in a plastic crate by the door. She turned the book over to look at Thom’s picture on the back. He was sitting in a leather wingback chair, dressed in a suit, but not wearing a tie, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone. His hair was grown out but fashionable, and he wore one of those serious, somewhat intellectual expressions. Just once she’d like to see a dust jacket showing an author on a Harley Davidson or fishing or something.

Thom had looked older in person tonight—and tired. Of course, this photo was several years old now, and Thom had been distraught when she’d seen him on stage. Still, the man she’d seen tonight—the man who had slipped out the back door of the ballroom—didn’t seem to have much in common with the man on the back of the book.

She turned the book over again in her hands. Why did Thom have a copy of his own book backstage? Was he going to do a reading? Or maybe his notes were tucked inside? Sadie flipped open the book to have a look and lifted her eyebrows in surprise at the words written in black marker across the inside front cover.

I’m sorry.

Chapter 4

Sadie stared at the words, furrowing her eyebrows. “I’m sorry?” she repeated in a whisper. Sorry for what? And why was it written inside the book?

“Mrs. Hoffmiller?”

Sadie whipped around, acutely aware of the book in her hands as she faced a police officer—one she’d met before. “Officer Malloy,” she said, trying to smile through her guilt before realizing a smile didn’t quite fit the circumstances. Sadie had first met Officer Malloy after Anne’s murder. They didn’t have the best history; in fact, Sadie had the impression that Malloy viewed her as a bit of a busybody. Sadie wasn’t used to being disliked, so it made her uncomfortable every time she encountered him.

His eyes traveled to the book in her hands, and Sadie realized she needed to offer an explanation. “Um, I, uh, found this.” She held the book out to him quickly. “I was about to take it to Pete, uh, Detective Cunningham. There’s something written in the front cover,” Sadie said, unable to hold back the information even though she was pretty sure it would be better for everyone if Malloy discovered it for himself.

Malloy turned the book over in his hands, flipping it open. His eyebrows pulled together.

“I know,” Sadie said knowingly. “Weird, right? What do you think it means? Who do you think wrote it?”

“Where did you find this?” Malloy asked, looking between the book and Sadie’s face with a decidedly displeased expression.

“On the chair,” Sadie said, pointing to the middle of the three chairs.

“And what possessed you to come backstage and pick it up in the first place?”

“Uh, well . . .” Sadie wasn’t sure how to answer, wanting to portray herself in the best light possible. “I saw it from over there,” she said, pointing toward Gayle and Pete. “I thought it was a . . . briefcase or something.” She could tell by Malloy’s expression that she was not helping herself.

Malloy glared at her and opened his mouth to say something just as a flash went off behind him. Sadie looked to the source of the bright light, and Malloy turned as well. A dark-haired young man in a tuxedo was snapping photographs. He saw Sadie and Malloy looking at him and held up his camera—a nice one. “Crime scene,” he said, pushing his wire-framed glasses up on his nose. “The, uh, lead detective said I ought to take some preliminary photos.” He angled his camera again and took another shot.

Was he at the dinner?
Sadie wondered, looking again at the tuxedo the photographer was wearing.

Malloy nodded once before turning back to Sadie. “You need to vacate the stage.”

Sadie nodded. She actually agreed with him about that. Even though she’d gone backstage hoping to find something—and she had—she was anxious about the message in the book and what it meant. She headed down the stairs, unsure of what to do next, when she saw Pete stand up from where he’d been talking to Gayle. He saw Sadie and moved down the stairs on his side to meet her, smiling slightly, which she appreciated very much.

“You okay?” he asked sweetly when he reached her. It was quite affirming to know that, amid everything else going on, he was worried about her specifically.

Sadie nodded and found herself wanting to
seem
as though she needed comforting, even though she felt she was handling things quite well. “I suppose,” she answered carefully, looking up into Pete’s dark eyes and wondering if he would pull her close or touch her face if she looked more like a damsel in distress. He didn’t and wanting him to made Sadie feel silly. After waiting another moment, she asked about Gayle. Becoming a whimpering female wasn’t her thing. She’d have to leave that role for women less interested in details.

“We’re still working on Gayle’s official statement,” Pete said, looking over his shoulder to where Gayle was talking to another officer.

Sadie nodded, scanning the room again, trying to take in all the details. She worried the hotel staff would never get the frosting out of the carpet. “I found a book backstage,” she said, realizing that the sooner they figured out what had happened, the better. She met Pete’s eyes and instantly realized he wasn’t pleased.

“What were you doing backstage?” Pete asked.

Oops.

“Oh, well, I was just—”

“Detective?”

They both turned to look at Officer Malloy who was standing on the stage a few feet above and to the side of them. “CS just arrived. They’re on their way in.”

Sadie felt very smart to know that CS was short for
crime scene
—the people who would measure and photograph the body, stage, podium, and surrounding area. Their job was really quite intricate and yet they were definitely behind the scenes. She looked back on stage where the man in the tux had been taking pictures. He wasn’t there. “Did the photographer go out to meet them?”

“What photographer?” Pete asked, looking at Sadie.

“He was just there,” Sadie said, pointing to the stage. “He must have already been at the dinner since he was wearing a tuxedo.” She paused, suddenly thinking it was kind of weird that he had his camera with him at a fund-raising dinner.

Pete turned to Malloy. “Was someone taking pictures?” he asked.

“Um,” Malloy turned to look over his shoulder as if someone would give him the answer. “He said he
was
crime scene and that the lead detective had sent him up to the stage—that’s you, right?”

“The captain hasn’t established a lead detective; he’s not even here yet,” Pete said, his tone brittle. “Did you check his ID?”

“I’m afraid I was busy with something else.” He looked directly at Sadie, and she felt her face heat up.

Pete ran a hand through his hair and barked out the names of a few officers who came running up to stand behind him. “What did the photographer look like?” Pete asked Sadie.

It was rather intimidating to look at so many tight faces at once, but she pulled herself together in order to do her best. “Well,” she said, focusing hard so she’d be able to give an accurate description. “Young—maybe mid-twenties, with glasses and dark hair—kind of long and blow-dried forward like the kids wear it these days so it kind of hung in his eyes.”

“What was he wearing?” Pete asked, seeming unimpressed with the details Sadie had remembered so far. She’d better make sure to tell him everything she knew.

“A tuxedo,” Sadie repeated. “That’s why I wondered if he was a guest at the dinner. The tux was the style that buttoned all the way up. He wasn’t wearing a bow tie, and his shoes were black leather, but not patent—they didn’t catch the light.”

“Height? Build?”

“Oh, um, probably about five-ten or so. Not as tall as you, Pete, uh, Detective Cunningham. Small build—lean, you know. Young—maybe mid-twenties? Did I say that already? And he had a nice camera with a neck strap—a Nikon I think.” She was pretty sure she’d seen the N and I printed on the strap around his neck.

Pete turned to the officers. “Find him. He’s got photos he’s not supposed to have.”

“And no good reason to have taken them,” Sadie added as the officers began spreading out across the room.

Pete turned back to her, looking a little bit annoyed. Not with her she hoped.

“Show him the book,” she said to Officer Malloy in hopes of appeasing Pete, whose mood had turned decidedly sour over the course of the last couple minutes. She’d really like to get back to the compassionate feelings he’d been showing toward her earlier. “I already told him about it, but not what it said. Was the message left by the killer, do you think? Who else would write such a thing?”

“Sadie,” Pete said suddenly. He took her arm and turned her away from Malloy, who was still standing on the stage—and not retrieving the book like she’d asked him to. “I think it would be best if you go home now,” Pete continued when they were a few feet away. He smelled like the Aspen cologne he always wore, but the expression on his face was unfamiliar and equally uncomfortable.

“Why?” Sadie asked, looking up at Pete with surprise. The last thing she wanted to do was go home. She wanted to stay here, help where she could, and be close to Pete.

Apparently Pete didn’t agree with her. “It’s not appropriate for you to be here.”

“But I helped organize this dinner, and I have been here for the whole thing. And I found the book. I can answer a lot of questions, Pete, you know I can. I won’t get in the way—I promise.” The idea of going home with all this going on was unfathomable.

Pete took a breath. “Look, I appreciate your passion for this kind of thing, but civilians tend to get in the way.”

Ouch.
“I like to think I’m not just some civilian off the street,” Sadie said, trying to sound diplomatic and hide her hurt feelings. Pete looked like he needed some convincing. “I was thinking that whoever rigged this had to have access to the wireless microphone system between my welcome and Thom’s speech. That means—”

“Sadie,” Pete said, the pressure of his hand tightening on her arm as he leaned close and lowered his voice. “Don’t do this.”

Chapter 5

It was on the tip of Sadie’s tongue to argue, but instead she looked into Pete’s face. Concerned intensity—that was what she saw in the set of his jaw—as if he were bracing himself for her reaction. She hated him looking at her that way and felt her determination begin to crumble as he continued to explain himself, “This is a very sensitive situation. Plus I think Gayle needs to go home. We’ll need to wait on getting a full statement until she’s calmed down some. Please, help your friend, and let me do my job.”