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PROLOGUE
Whoever said life was a mystery to be lived and not a problem to be solved was only half right. Life should always be lived to the fullest but unsolved murders were most definitely both mysteries and problems to be solved.
CHAPTER 1
LORI
Chicago, Illinois
The Mystery Writers’ Murder Club was meeting in her small loft apartment in the middle of Chicago. At first Lori had wondered what she was doing being included amongst these women. Jessica Murdoch was a multi-million-dollar bestselling author. Christie Crofton was the mystery writers’ version of J. K. Rowling. Fiona Fowler had once been a bestselling author who topped the charts, but had her life and career all but destroyed by her ex. And her? Lori was just starting her fifth novel. The first one had done fairly well, and each subsequent novel had done better. She often felt as though she was out of their league, but she cherished their friendships.
Once everyone had arrived and found something to snack on, Lori passed out the briefing folders, which contained everything in the police report and anything else she’d been able to find.
“So, I found an unsolved murder from a long time ago. A romance author who was known as Pandora Pritchard. That was her real name, and apparently she was fairly successful, especially for the time,” said Lori by way of introduction. “She was incredibly popular and helped found and push forward what people think of as the ‘modern romance novel.’”
Christie nodded. “I thought I recognized the name. Now that I think of it, I knew she had died, but I don’t know that I knew she was murdered.”
“I think I’ve had a couple of her novels in the store,” said Fiona, opening her brief. “I remember wondering why she had written so few books.”
“Exactly. They found poor Pandora slumped over her typewriter, the window next to her desk open. It seemed she had typed ‘The End’ on her last novel. A friend discovered her when she went to Pandora’s house. Apparently, they met each week to discuss books, Pandora’s writings and the like. When the friend found her, she alerted the neighbors, who in turn called the police.”
“Then what?” asked Jessica.
“Therein lies the mystery. The investigation just kind of fizzled out,” answered Lori.
Christie shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why wasn’t this solved?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. I think the cops weren’t equipped to deal with, much less solve, a murder. Small town in Maine, and it was before the MCU was founded. It doesn’t even look like they classified it as a murder,” said Lori.
Christie nodded. “I think Lori is right. I’m looking at the evidence log, and there’s a record of a bloodstained paperweight being found on the scene. But no mention of any forensics being done—not even fingerprints.”
“Forensics were really in their infancy at that time, and they were nothing compared to what we have now,” added Jessica, looking through the portfolio Lori had put together. “But there’s nothing. I mean nothing.”
“Why didn’t any of her family push them to investigate more thoroughly?” Fiona pushed her hair out of her face as she squinted at the page.
Lori handed Fiona the reading glasses that were perched on her head. “From what I can tell, there wasn’t really anyone to hold the cops accountable. I thought at first Pandora Pritchard might be a pen name—it certainly sounds like it—but it appears it wasn’t. There’s no record of the cops even following up on anything that might have been beyond her public persona.”
“This is interesting,” said Jessica. “Look at the crime scene photos. A spilled coffee mug beside her with what looks to be a coffee stain on the floor.”
“Does it say that they looked at any of that?” asked Christie.
“I can’t see that they did,” answered Fiona. “This is just sloppy work. It’s the kind of thing that makes Slade go nuts.”
“Yeah, but this is an old case,” said Jessica. “As Lori pointed out, this happened before the advent of MCU.”
Fiona nodded. “That would explain a lot. Even though it’s really no excuse.”
“When I look through these crime photos, I have to wonder what they were taking photographs of—there’s nothing to see, other than the spilled coffee. No footprints, no evidence of the place being swept for fingerprints… it’s immaculate. It’s like they wanted to document that. Weird.”
“How would you know from these pictures that it wasn’t dusted for fingerprints?” asked Lori.
Christie chuckled. “Obviously, you’ve never dealt with fingerprint dust; it gets everywhere.”
“There is mention of a witness—one Carole Lee Brewster,” said Jessica. “I wonder if she’s still alive?”
“She might be, what’s her date of birth?” asked Fiona. “I’ll look her up in the state records.”
Christie gave her the information. “Yep, here she is. And she’s still alive.”
