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“Certainly.” She snapped her fingers at Jeremy.
“The conference room is ready, Ms. Livingston.”
“Let’s go, then, shall we?” She pivoted on her Jimmy Choo heels and motioned with a hand for Amanda and Trent to follow.
She saw them into a room with a meeting table and seating for eight. Enlarged prints of book covers were in frames around the room with gold-embossed plates beneath them noting the units sold. It was much like a person might expect from a music company with high-grossing albums.
“Please, sit.” Livingston’s tone was impatient, and she made a broad motion with her hand to indicate any chair was available, except for the one she lowered herself into. She drew back from the table and crossed her legs, clasping her hands on her knee.
Trent and Amanda took chairs to the agent’s right, and Trent got his tablet ready.
“If you’d like water, please help yourself.” Justine gestured toward a water pitcher and three glasses. That must have been what Jeremy meant by the room being ready.
“I’m good, but thank you,” Amanda said.
“You said this was regarding Felicity Kelley,” Justine directed at Trent, as she picked at the hem of her skirt. It was a nervous tic, telling Amanda the assured agent was more anxious than she was trying to let on.
“You might have heard the news…?” Amanda wagered the agent hadn’t just as Trent had suspected after speaking on the phone with her.
“What news?”
“Felicity Kelley was murdered Tuesday evening,” she said, laying it out factually, keeping emotions at a distance.
“No. That’s not possible.” Justine shook her head. “I just saw her. That day.”
Such a common fallback in denial of death, as if recently seeing someone made it impossible for them to die. She was guilty of the same when Fred Hudson had told her about Felicity. “We’re sorry for your loss.”
Justine’s eyes welled with tears, and her chin quivered. The self-assured literary agent was disintegrating in front of them.
“This is no doubt quite a shock,” Amanda empathized. “But we need to ask you some very important questions.”
“Yes, of course. Whatever they are.” Justine pressed her lips, nudged out her chin, and squeezed her hands tightly.
“To start, how did she seem to you on Tuesday?” Amanda regretted not thinking to ask this of Melody Schmitt and Ian Moss. “Did you see her at Garrison & Marrow’s event?”
“Yes, and she was excited. She got another payday. We drank champagne, laughed…”
“We understand she didn’t hang around long,” Amanda pointed out.
“She left a bit early, but she’s a lightweight and said she wasn’t feeling well.”
“And how did she get home?” Trent asked.
Justine smiled though the expression quickly fractured. “In a limo that I hired for her.”
It sounded like Justine took good care of her authors. “We believe her recent rise to fame might have factored into her murder,” Amanda said, pleased with the line she towed. It gave question to there being similar elements from the crime scene to The Romeo Killer while not directly stating their suspicions of a copycat.
“How so?” Justine pinched the collar of her shirt, the huge diamonds adorning her fingers twinkling under the fluorescent lights. She sought out Trent’s gaze. “How was she killed?”
“All we can say at this time was she was stabbed,” he told her.
“In the heart?” Justine countered.
“Yes,” Trent said.
“Just as in The Romeo Killer.” Justine’s face shadowed, and she stared across the room.
Amanda gave it a few beats, then said, “It’s clear that you cared for Felicity and would want her killer apprehended. Whatever you can tell us about the book may help in that endeavor.” While she was speaking, her mind was on Navarro. Were officers at his door right now, or was he already at Central?
