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That was another way in which Felicity’s murder scene differed from fiction. “He wasn’t concerned with leaving trace?”
“He wasn’t in the system.”
“Still, he left a part of himself at every murder. If he was caught for one, he’d go down for them all.” Amanda was thinking of fingerprints and DNA.
“Which is what ends up happening.”
Time to return to the playing card… “Why was the Queen of Hearts folded into eight squares?”
“The number eight is representative of several things. It can denote power, victory, and strength, but it’s also a statement of love and devotion.”
Amanda considered what that might mean in the scope of Felicity’s case. Had Luis Navarro staked his claim on Felicity Kelley by killing her? If he couldn’t have her, then no one else could. Was it also his morbid way of proving his love for her? As she’d thought before, he would be familiar with the plot of The Romeo Killer. It would be rather genius of him to copycat that killer. But Amanda also had to follow other possibilities. “We understand Felicity was working on a project up until her death, that it was due to be turned in two weeks ago. What can you tell us about that?” She wasn’t confident Justine would be any more forthcoming than the publisher, but she had to try. As Amanda’s father had drummed into her, the only stupid question was the one left unasked.
“Hum. Not much, I regret saying. I am bound by contractual confidentiality.” Justine hugged herself and rubbed her arms as if fending off a chill.
“Please tell me what you’re thinking,” Amanda prompted.
“It’s probably nothing…” The agent met Amanda’s gaze.
“Let us determine that.” She put it out there delicately.
Justine nodded, slowly. “Felicity took inspiration from real life—solved cases, which she’d apply twists to, of course. But sometimes she liked tackling cold cases, putting her own creative spin on them, and writing the ending.”
“What do you mean by tackling?” Trent asked.
“Playing armchair detective, if you will.”
The back of Amanda’s neck tightened. “Tell me that she stayed in her armchair.” Were they too fixed on Luis Navarro re-enacting a scene from the bestselling book? Had Felicity dug into a real-life murder case and cornered the killer? This doubt alone made it even more imperative to gather all the facts they could.
“I would hope so, but— Do you think her research may have gotten her killed?”
“We’re still exploring numerous angles,” Amanda replied.
A slight bob of her head, and Justine volunteered, “Felicity was devoted to her research.”
“Her best friend described her as being obsessive lately,” Amanda pointed out.
Justine smiled. “That makes sense. She was behind making her deadline with her latest book.”
“Which we heard from her editor was unusual. Why was she running behind?” Amanda asked.
Justine shook her head. “She never got into it with me, just assured me she was almost finished.”
“This latest book that Felicity was working on… Did she take her inspiration from a real-life murder case?” It was hard to let this possibility go, even with Luis Navarro at the top of her suspect list.
“I wish I could tell you. I don’t ever read her books until the first draft is finished, and she never got into the specifics of where the idea came from. Not with me.”
In that case, Luis Navarro remained their main suspect.
TWENTY
Amanda and Trent left Justine Livingston with their condolences. But before that, they asked specifically about Sheldon Lowe. Justine was very familiar with him and had her assistant look into him online some time ago. He had gathered the basics, including his home address, which Justine shared with them. His residence was conveniently located in Dumfries, and Amanda and Trent would follow this up if it became necessary. The fact Justine had felt the need to gather intel on Lowe only disclosed she viewed him as potentially dangerous.
Trent’s stomach was grumbling voraciously enough, it might as well be against a loudspeaker, and Amanda suggested they stop for a bite to eat. Despite wanting to return to Central and start questioning Navarro, she hadn’t heard if he was there yet.
They were settled in a booth at a restaurant in Washington. A sign on the window announced, “All Day Breakfast” and it had Trent sold. He had the omelet special, and she had their skillet with a Greek flare, which included thin slices of gyro meat and chunks of feta.
Her phone chimed, and she checked the message. “It’s from Malone. Navarro’s at Central, ready for us.” Like the sarge read my mind…
