Free Poison Pen by Tanya Landman Page B

reluctant to produce a sequel.”
    “We have to consider two things,” said Graham slowly. “Firstly, the manuscript that appeared in her bedroom. If Max didn’t write it, who did? The same question applies to
The Vampiress of Venezia
. Who was the author of
that
if it wasn’t Esmerelda Desiree?”
    “Another ghost writer?”
    “Perhaps.”
    “OK… So Esmerelda gets hold of Max’s book. Although I don’t see how she managed it.” I shut my eyes, remembering the few sentences they’d exchanged on the town hall steps. She’d cut across him with an offer of help. Interrupted him. Why? What had he been saying? I struggled to retrieve Max’s exact words, and at last they popped into my head. I spoke them out loud.
“I heard you…”
    Graham looked at me, puzzled. “Heard me what?”
    “No … that’s what Max said to Esmerelda.”
    “What did he mean? Heard her on the radio? On TV?”
    “It was more like he was going to say ‘I heard you might be helpful’, or ‘I heard you were nice’. As if someone had told him to try asking her. She cut him off before he could say any more.”
    “So someone may have pointed him in her direction? Someone who was helping her get hold of the manuscript, maybe? That would suggest she was working with an accomplice.”
    “Who? Another author? Charlie? Could he be involved?”
    “I’ve no idea.”
    We sat in silence, racking our brains. We were pretty sure Charlie would have wanted Max out of the way, but had he wanted Esmerelda dead too? Had he been her accomplice, then turned against her?
    Unexpectedly, the television news gave us a completely different answer. The programme was just finishing with a summary of the headlines. It reported the very latest on Esmerelda’s death, and her publisher was giving a short interview. The name of his company appeared beneath him on the screen.
    Fletcher, Beaumont & Grimm.

fletcher, beaumont & grimm
    Mum was still clattering around in the kitchen, but I could tell from the familiar rattle and bang that tea was fast approaching. We didn’t have much time left to work things out.
    I’d heard the name Fletcher, Beaumont & Grimm before – not once, but twice. Charlie had told Max to contact them. Katie had given him their address. And now their name was plastered across the TV screen in big, block capitals.
    “Our association with Esmerelda goes back some years,” the man from Fletcher, Beaumont & Grimm told the reporter. “She had a holiday job here when she was still at college. I like to think that was what inspired her to take up the pen herself. She was a great talent. She’ll be sadly missed.”
    “Wow!” I said, turning to Graham the moment the news had finished. “Things are really starting to fall into place now, aren’t they? Do you reckon Fletcher, Beaumont & Grimm had one of those – what did Sue call it? – slush piles?”
    “I would have thought it was an absolute certainty.”
    “And Esmerelda worked there? So maybe
The Vampiress
wasn’t ghost-written. Maybe she nicked it.”
    “But surely its author would have objected?”
    “Not if she’d done away with them.”
    We quickly switched on the computer and trawled frantically through the web looking for something, anything that would help. It wasn’t long before Graham had tracked down a tiny snippet of information on a newspaper website. It was one of those news-in-brief bits that you find tucked into a corner of the page, but it made sense of the whole confusing puzzle. It was dated three years ago and reported that a man had collapsed on the pavement outside the London offices of Fletcher, Beaumont & Grimm. It said he’d died of natural causes.
    “I bet he didn’t,” I growled. “It’s too much of a coincidence. Maybe he’d been visiting the offices. I bet he had a manuscript too – I bet it was
The Vampiress of Venezia
. The dates would be right. Esmerelda must have stolen it, then killed him. Find out some more, Graham.”
    But Graham