Murder Ink

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  MURDER INK

  Betty Hechtman

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2020

  in Great Britain and 2021 in the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2021 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  This eBook edition first published in 2021 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited.

  Copyright © 2020 by Betty Hechtman.

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. The right of Betty Hechtman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-9017-7 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78029-744-6 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0472-1 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  In memory of my parents Helen and Jacob Jacobson, my brother David Jacobson and my dear friend Roberta Martia

  You would have enjoyed this

  ONE

  As I pulled open the door, my smart watch vibrated reminding me it was time for the first of my two appointments. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the low light of the restaurant. It had an old-fashioned, lounge feel with the leatherette booths and white tablecloth and was the kind of place where people had martinis with lunch. No martinis for me. I was working.

  Two guys were hanging around the host stand, eying everyone who came in. One was a hipster dressed in a T-shirt and a suit that looked like it came from the boys’ department. He glanced at me with an open smile. The other one wore a slightly crooked bow tie and was wringing his hands. One guess which was there for me.

  My name is Veronica Blackstone and I’m a writer for hire, my pen ever ready – though these days I suppose I should really say keyboard ever ready. The guy I was meeting had contacted me about writing some love letters for him. Not really for him, more like as him.

  That’s what I do. I write what anyone needs written. I’ve done love letters (a challenge, but my favorite, even though ironically my own love life is at zero), biographies, résumés, copy for business brochures, wedding vows, and tributes I call ‘celebrations of life’, which are mostly for funerals. I’ll write just about anything – from a letter quitting someone’s gym membership to ending an office lease – as long as it’s legal. No ransom notes or letters threatening bodily harm. If this was an email or text, I’d probably add an LOL after the last comment to show I wasn’t serious. It wasn’t as if anybody had ever approached me to write either of those things anyway.

  What qualifies me? you ask. I wrote the national bestseller The Girl with the Golden Throat about a singer who could hit a high note that shattered glass. Was it an accident or intentional when her voice shattered a glass ceiling and crushed the music critic beneath it? It was up to Detective Derek Streeter to find out. The trouble was, when it came to writing a sequel, I froze. The ten chapters I’d completed had been sitting on a shelf for months. I guess you could say I had no problem writing for others, just for myself.

  I have to say it made for an interesting life, though. It put me right in middle of people’s lives and privy to lots of secrets. Sometimes more than I wanted to know.

  ‘Evan?’ I said, addressing both men, though I was sure which one would nod. It was a very nervous nod at that, and when he reached out to shake my hand, he missed it and got my wrist instead.

  ‘Then you’re Veronica, right,’ he said as he glanced around furtively. ‘I’m glad you’re here. She’ll be here any minute.’

  The she was Sally Rogers, his intended. There was no way I could write love letters as him or to her without having some idea who both people were. He’d given me some of the 4-1-1 on the phone, but it was not the same as seeing them in person. Evan got the host’s attention and said we were ready for our table.

  ‘Let’s get our stories straight,’ he said as he slid into the booth.

  ‘You’re going to tell her that I’m your neighbor who you ran into and that you invited me to join you. Then you’re going to act like you got a phone call and excuse yourself, giving me time to get to know her.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said glancing toward the front. I fought the urge to lean over and straighten the bow tie as I went over what I knew about him. His name was Evan Wilkerson and he was the head IT guy for the Bellingham Hotel. It was a luxury hotel located down the street on Michigan Avenue. They served high tea in the lobby and still required proper attire, and I don’t just mean no tank tops or flip-flops. All I knew about his intended was her name and that he thought she was some kind of wonderful.

  Evan had said that he found out about my services by word of mouth, which these days really meant social media. I had a website and a Facebook page, though I had to be discreet – no samples of my work, or testimonials from satisfied customers, since a lot of my work was really ghosting as someone else.

  ‘Since we have a few minutes, why don’t you fill me in on a little more. You were a little vague on the phone about where your relationship is. How long have you been dating?’

  ‘Uh, we’re not exactly dating. That’s what I need you for,’ he stammered. ‘I tend to get nervous and I don’t know what to say.’ For the moment he seemed uncertain what to do with himself. As he fumbled around with his napkin, he managed to knock
over a glass of water, across the white tablecloth. Thankfully, it soaked up the liquid before it drenched me.

  ‘You do know her, though?’ I said and he nodded.

  ‘Yes, of course. She works at the hotel too. She’s an assistant manager in charge of making arrangements for special events.’

  Evan’s head suddenly shot up and he tensed. I followed his gaze and saw that a woman had just walked up to the host stand. Evan stood up almost taking the tablecloth with him and waved at her, and all I could think was, boy, do I have my work cut out for me.

  I know you’re not supposed to judge people by outer appearances, but when I saw the beaming smile and the bright yellow suit, it was like sunshine had just walked in. Even her name, Sally, sounded sunny. I glanced back at Evan with slicked-down brown hair and the tense expression. She was so out of his league.

  Just before she reached the table, he whispered, ‘I probably should have mentioned that I want to marry her.’

  If she hadn’t been in earshot, I would have said what I was thinking. Was he serious? I wrote love letters, but I wasn’t a magician.

  She greeted Evan and glanced at me. Evan mumbled that I was his neighbor and she just flashed a smile my way. ‘Sally Rogers,’ she said holding out her hand. I shook it and gave her my name.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Veronica,’ she said then turned to Evan. ‘I just don’t know how to thank you,’ she said as she slid in the booth. She pulled a slim computer out of her elegant tote bag and set it on the table. ‘It is so nice of you to give up your lunch hour to help me with my computer issue.’

  She turned to me and explained some problem she was having with a personal email account. ‘Evan is so good with computers.’ He smiled sheepishly and seemed lost in the moment of praise. Then he remembered the plan.

  He pulled out his cell phone as he got up. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’ He glanced at Sally. ‘I’m always on-call when there’s computer trouble. Like an ER doctor,’ he said. He gave me a nod before he walked off and almost as an afterthought put his cell phone to his ear.

  ‘Evan is really something,’ I said, deliberately leaving it hanging, hoping she’d say how she really felt about him. It wasn’t my job to judge who belonged with who, but they seemed like such an unlikely couple. I had to believe there was some hope or I wouldn’t take the job.

  ‘He’s kind of sweet,’ she said, and I let out my breath in relief. At least she didn’t see him as just a computer nerd. Even so I was still going to try to get him to lower his expectations and start with getting one date before he started looking at wedding venues.

  Now my task was to find out who she really was. What she wanted out of life and what I could say as Evan to make her fall in love with him, or at least go on one date. And do it before he came back from his fake phone call.

  I skipped right to the point and said I heard she had a stressful job at the hotel. I didn’t really know it for a fact, but then who didn’t think their job was stressful. She let out a sigh as if she was relieved that I understood.

  Before she could launch into exactly what was so stressful about it, I made up some gibberish about reading a magazine article that detailed different things that executives did to get away from their work. I was about to ask her if she had any hobbies when she leaned in close.

  ‘I bet they didn’t list what I do.’ The way she was whispering I got worried that she was going to say something weird, but what she said next caught me totally off guard. ‘I have a real weakness for romantic comedies,’ she said. ‘I know they’re just silly fluff, but all I have to do is pop in a DVD and let the movie take me away.’ She started naming some of her favorite movies and I was about to comment on something – or really someone – they all had in common, but just then Evan rejoined us. He looked at me expectantly and I didn’t know quite what to do. Finally, I gave him a nod that I hoped made it look like I’d been successful.

  The server showed up and began handing out menus. I looked at my watch. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’ I handed the menu back to the server as I got up. ‘I have places to go and people to see,’ I said airily.

  ‘I’ll talk to you later, then,’ Evan said, as he stood next to the booth. ‘That is, we’ll talk when we pass each other in the hallway of our building.’ He glanced toward Sally with a nervous expression. ‘Since we’re neighbors and we see each other in the hall all the time. When we get our mail or take trash down to the dumpster.’

  I wanted to poke him. He was giving too many details, a sure sign that he was lying if anyone thought about it. Not that Sally seemed to be paying attention anyway. She was already looking down at her computer and was typing something while she glanced at the menu.

  I ducked into the ladies’ room to scribble down some notes about Evan and Sally before heading outside. No typing the words into a smartphone either. I always use a pen and soft-sided notebook. The cell phone might have been more efficient, but it wasn’t the same as putting something on real paper. I’d once read that you used a different part of your brain when you hand wrote. And that part of my brain was much better with words.

  What I’d said was actually true. I did have a place to go and people to see even though I dreaded it. ‘You have to take the bitter with the sweet,’ I muttered to myself as I went out the door.

  TWO

  The interior of the restaurant had been very dim, so it was a surprise when I walked out into the bright sun of the October afternoon. As soon as I turned onto Michigan Avenue a gust of wind sent my scarf flying into my face and I had to peel it away and secure it under my jacket. October was my favorite month in Chicago. The air felt crisp, but not really cold. It was ironic that it felt like everything was coming back to life after the languid days of summer, when actually the leaves were all dying off.

  This area of Michigan Avenue was called the Magnificent Mile. The street was lined with nice shops and the sidewalks were wide with a landscaped strip cut into the cement. The trees were permanent, but the rest was seasonal. Right now there were rows of mums in yellows and rust, growing next to pumpkins and Indian corn. It continued on like that all the way almost to the river.

  Normally I would have enjoyed the walk, but my next appointment weighed heavily on my mind.

  The bridge shook as a bus rumbled past, which only added to my discomfort as I crossed the Chicago River. I glanced down at the murky water and saw that one of the architectural tour boats was just leaving. I caught a word here and there as the docent began his talk. Beyond the bridge, the wide street angled slightly to the left and sloped downward, reminding me that there was a level below. At Randolph Street, I looked longingly at the decorative hood over the stairs leading to the Metra station. I would have loved to have gone down them and just caught a train home.

  But instead I turned and skirted Millennium Park which had been created out of thin air, well, sort of anyway. It had been built over the Metra tracks where there had once been just open air. A sign announced I was in the Lakeshore East neighborhood. It was a relatively new area and consisted mostly of modern high rises that appeared to be all glass. It was hard to see it as a real neighborhood though. All that concrete and glass felt too sterile.

  It was easy to find the building. A little over a year ago, I’d made numerous trips there when Rachel Parker was preparing for her wedding. And now I was going there to discuss her funeral.

  I kept thinking of how effervescent she’d been. How she thought she was the luckiest girl in the world to be marrying Luke. Some people might have thought he was the luckiest guy in the world marrying into the Parker family. Their name was everywhere – a wing of a hospital, a downtown office building and even a park had been named after them. Their money came from the shipping industry.

  Rachel had shunned the trappings of her family’s wealth and become a teacher at an inner-city school. She’d wanted a simple wedding but of course that would never have happened. Mrs Parker had coerced her into agreeing to the kind of grand affair that w
as expected of the family. It was as much a business event as it was about a marriage.

  I came into the picture because Rachel wanted them to create their own vows, but Mrs Parker had not been happy with what the couple had come up with and would only agree to let them speak their personal vows if a professional gave them a polish. Well, it was more like a complete sanding.

  There was a lot of haggling back and forth between Mrs Parker and Rachel as I made endless trips downtown to show them what I’d come up with. The Parkers were the kind of people who expected you to come to them. Luke had stayed in the background and, after the first things he’d scribbled down, didn’t seem to care what happened to his words.

  I’d gone to the wedding and it was a little strange to hear them recite the personal-sounding words I’d written. We’d come a long way from Rachel’s original vows. She’d wanted something unconventional and had written that when they’d hooked up that first night, she’d been sure they were meant to be lifetime partners. There had been a few too many details of what exactly went on that first night and Mrs Parker had been appalled, which was probably why Rachel had done it. I didn’t have to be a psychologist to realize that they were at odds with each other and were just using the vows as a battleground.

  The final version of Rachel’s vows was sweet and completely G-rated and the wedding was beyond elegant. After that I’d lost track of Rachel. Not that that was unusual. It seemed like as soon as I’d finished whatever I’d been contracted to write, most people wanted to forget that I existed. I’d been surprised to get the call from Camille Parker and more surprised to find out why she was calling.

  After the call I’d checked around and found a small story about Rachel, which seemed odd considering how well known the family was. All it said was that she’d fallen from her balcony and died. The size of the story and lack of details made me believe there was a lot that had been purposely left out.

  I turned off of Randolph and after a half a block reached the building called Lake View. The tall structures funneled the wind, and a gust of air pushed me toward the entrance. A doorman greeted me, and I had to wait while he called upstairs. The lobby was like that of a hotel, with comfortable seating and even coffee and tea. I was considering helping myself to a hot drink when the doorman pointed me to a door, which slid smoothly open. Several people took advantage of the open door and walked in with me before hurrying on ahead.