“Your question,” Hatsy interrupted.
“How about Urquit Snodgrass?” the fan asked me. “What made him tick?”
Ah, yes. I agreed that good old Urquit, from My South Pacific Paramour, was one of my more complex characters. Indeed, not only was Urquit the pirate of Diamond Island, but he was also the supposed monster of Ebony Island. I spouted off some nonsense about Urquit’s dual identity, and without giving away too many details, hinted at how Delta Touchette and Skylar Staggs had finally thwarted his insidious plans to terrorize the entire South Pacific.
Perhaps since Urquit was a pirate, greed became the next topic of discussion. Each author in turn was asked to name his or her greediest villain, but lively debates erupted among our fans also.
When my turn came around again, several fans argued that Urquit Snodgrass the pirate had been Adelé Nightingale’s greediest character ever. But I had to agree with Hatsy Glee, who positively loathed Agnes Blyss of An Everlasting Encounter.
“Oh, how I loved to hate her!” Hatsy said. “Remember how she tried to cheat Sarina out of her golden necklace?” Hatsy asked. “That necklace was the Blyss family’s most cherished heirloom!”
Okay, so several fans conceded that Agnes took the prize as the greediest of the greedy, and I thanked everyone for their interest. “I haven’t thought about the altogether evil Agnes for a long time,” I said.
I’m quite certain Hatsy likely would have preferred to end the Bad Guys session on that note, but it wasn’t quite five o’clock. And when Batsy called for one more question, Roger Hollingsworth raised his hand.
I braced myself for who knows what, and even from the opposite end of the table, I heard Faith gasp. I also noticed Wilson click off his cell phone as Hatsy handed Roger a microphone.
“Speaking of wicked women,” he spoke right up. “What do you think will happen to Tori Fister?” Roger pointed up and down the panel. “I want to hear from each of you, please.”
“Well!” Hatsy grabbed the microphone away. “I’m sure we were all hoping to put that unpleasantness behind us. Nevertheless, I suppose Mr. Hollingsworth deserves an answer.”
“He deserves nothing,” Gavin whispered to me.
“Let’s start at your end of the table, Adelé.” Hatsy was staring at me.
I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.
***
If I hoped to receive some sort of telepathic communication from Wilson about how exactly I should answer, I was destined to be disappointed. However, I did seem to start channeling Jo Keegan. I picked up the mike from the table in front of me and assured the Happily Ever After audience the truth would be crystal clear in due time.
“And until then—” I swear I actually said this “—business as usual!”
Gavin looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. But darn if he didn’t mimic exactly what I said when he took the microphone.
Proving herself clever and shrewd once again, Zelda Bell skirted the question completely. “Perhaps you misunderstood me, Mr. Hollingsworth. I said I brought my witch’s hat with me, not my crystal ball.”
She handed the mike to Faith. “Crystal clear, crystal ball?” Faith chuckled all nonchalant-like. “I’m with Adelé. Let’s just try to go about business as usual.”
Several other hands shot up, but Roger grabbed the microphone back from Hatsy. “Come now.” He spoke directly to his wife. “Surely you have an opinion about your own close business associate. Is Tori Fister a common criminal or is she not?” He bowed to our panel and handed the mike back to Hatsy.
“Common criminal,” Faith said loud and clear just as Roger sat back down. She spoke so loudly in fact, that it seemed as if the sound of her voice threw her husband into his seat.
“As I already stated earlier,” she said, “I’ve had the misfortune of knowing a few common criminals.” She again emphasized those last two words and looked pointedly at dear Roger. “I’m not a judge and jury. Therefore, I can’t predict what will happen to Tori.” She hesitated for effect. “Even though I’ve had the distinct displeasure to know a common criminal.”
She looked up and caught Patsy’s eye. “Next question, please.”
Chapter 30
A fan after my own heart stood up and tapped her watch. “Five o’clock!” she announced. “Time for Happily Ever After happy hour. Who’s with me?”
Everyone, apparently.
Hatsy yelled out a reminder about that evening’s book signing event, but I doubt most people heard her since they were too busy rushing the doors. I was rather hoping to be swept along as the Happily Ever After hoards surged forth, but my ever-diligent bodyguard caught up with me. He managed a firm grip on my elbow and brought me to a halt in the middle of the lobby.
Mykal had not forgotten his role as a bodyguard, either. He and my mother emerged from the pink cavalcade to join us, and Gavin wasn’t far behind.
“We need tear gas to control this mob,” Wilson told the team.
“They do seem a tad wound up,” Mother agreed.
“More than a tad.” Bless his heart, Mykal hovered over her, protecting her from the stampede.
“Incoming,” Gavin yelped, and sure enough Geez Louise Urko freed herself from the pink cloud to land in front of Wilson.
She saluted. “Reporting for duty, Captain!”
Wilson asked her to keep her voice down, but it really didn’t matter. The hyperactive crowd was paying us no attention whatsoever.
Louise turned to Gavin and me. “Let’s hope this energy lasts until the book signing tonight! Can you imagine the fantastical sales? Your latest releases should sell like hotcakes!”
“And just think of the ticket sales!” Batsy said as the Glee Club, for whatever reason, decided to join us. Batsy brandished a roll of pink raffle tickets under Wilson’s nose and reminded him the evening’s book signing would be everyone’s last opportunity to purchase their tickets. “We’ll want the Paramour for a Day prize front and center—smack dab in the middle of the room.”
“He’s tall enough.” Patsy was assessing Wilson’s person. “But we still need a way to display him more prominently. Let’s find something to use as a platform, decorate it in pink—”
“No!” Believe it or not, Wilson spoke in unison with Hatsy Glee, but the sisters ignored him and concentrated on Hatsy.
“You know how ticket sales slumped yesterday,” Patsy said.
“We need to step it up tonight,” Batsy added.
“I’m not standing on any pink platfor—”
“I realize we experienced a decline in sales yesterday,” Hatsy said. “But we simply can’t have any more disorder and disruption. This evening’s book signing event must be a peaceful affair.” She finally acknowledged Wilson. “I want you to stay close to your wife. No shenanigans.” She shook a finger at him. “Don’t argue!”
I had to chuckle at the idea of my husband’s supposed proclivity toward shenanigans, but evidently the Glee sisters were hoping for just that.
Batsy reached out and yanked Wilson’s right arm. “Who died and put you in charge?” she asked her cousin. “We want enthusiasm.”
“Enthusiasm?” Hatsy yanked on his free arm and waved her free hand at the Happily Ever After crowd still streaming past us. “These people are out of control! They need no more enthusiasm.”
“No more enthusiasm?” That was Geez Louise. “Of course we need more enthusiasm. We love enthusiasm! The more enthusiasm, the more fantastical! More raffle sales, more book sales, more profit—”
“No more!” Hatsy stomped her foot. “If these people get any more riled up, we’ll need tear gas to control them.” She turned to Wilson. “Stay near your wife and try to blend in tonight.”
“Stay in the center and try to stand out.” Patsy gave him a tug, and that time I stepped forward to join the fray.
“I think my husband should stand wherever he chooses,” I said.
“I think your husband can speak for himself.” Wilson yanked himself free of all f
emale hands, but the Glee Club had already lost interest.
Batsy spied a group of fans on the younger side of forty, who, she let us know, found the concept of a middle-aged paramour entirely intriguing. She ran off to make a few sales, and Hatsy recollected her precious schedule.
“Dinner starts promptly at six,” she said. “Leaving us plenty of time for the book signing event at eight.” She addressed Gavin and me. “I want my authors there no later than seven thirty. Everything must be just so when the doors open.” And thus, muttering something about the dearth of decorations the last time she peeked in, Hatsy Glee rushed off in the direction of the book sale room.
Patsy promised Wilson she’d find him a footstool and get it “all gussied up” before the book signing and hurried after Hatsy.
Wilson whimpered slightly, but Mykal told him to look on the bright side. “At least they aren’t thinking of decorating you.”
***
Wilson cleared his throat and got serious. “The raffle,” he said. He turned to Louise. “I’m not doing the paramour stunt.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course you are.”
“Of course, I’m not. I’m not leaving Jessie alone while I go off to flirt with some stranger.”
Far be it for me to disagree with that sentiment. Nevertheless, I did. I told Wilson he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities.
“Got news for you, Darlin’. You’re my responsibility.”
“I do not need a babysitter.”
“But you do need to stay safe, Jessie.” My mother—what else is new—took Wilson’s side.
But Louise took mine. “Think about Adelé Nightingale’s reputation!” she told Wilson. “If you shirk your responsibilities, your wife’s career will suffer dire consequences.”
Wilson told my agent she had a weird definition of dire. “Jessie’s in danger—that’s what’s dire. The ticking clock isn’t helping any. Everyone and his brother vacates the premises tomorrow. I need to be here.”
Mother mentioned her midafternoon flight. “I could stay longer. Should we change my flight?”
“We can change ours, too,” Gavin pointed back and forth between himself and Mykal. “As it stands, we leave before Tessie.”
I insisted there was no need. “Why should you guys stick around if the killer himself—or herself—also leaves tomorrow?”
“I have a better question.” Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Why let the killer get away? We need to solve this thing now, people.”
Mother nodded. “We need to put on our thinking caps.”
“Tonight!” Louise agreed. “We need to sleuth like there’s no tomorrow!”
“Because we don’t have tomorrow,” Mykal added.
“Half of us will be flying away,” Louise said. “Wilson will be off on his paramour date, and Jessica and I will be busy, busy, busy!”
I recollected my Monday obligations and said I’d just as soon forget about my business meeting.
Louise shook her head at me. “Don’t be ridiculous! You know and I know Roberto’s expectations.”
“Or you will tomorrow,” Gavin said. “But hey, if I survived, you will, too.”
I curled my lip. “Fantastical.”
“That’s the spirit!” Louise promised me our meeting would take hours. “Hours and hours and hours!” she clarified, and I wondered if I wouldn’t rather face off against a cold-blooded killer.
Chapter 31
“Again, I’m wondering if I wouldn’t be happier facing off against the killer,” I told Wilson as we retraced our steps to the clubhouse restaurant. “Call me petty, but I don’t particularly feel like breaking bread with Jo Keegan.”
Wilson informed me Jo wasn’t crazy about seeing me again, either. “She said she’s too busy, but I convinced her to stop by for dessert.”
“You bribed her with chocolate?”
“She mentioned she’s on a diet, so I knew it would work. Women on diets love to cheat.”
I might have scolded him for such a sexist statement, but he certainly had enough anecdotal evidence on his side. Penelope Shay, Jo Keegan, and even our cat Bernice were all perfect examples of females willing, or even eager, to cheat on their supposed diets.
I sighed dramatically. “So we’re having dessert with Jo Keegan, and meanwhile I keep deserting my mother. You made the effort to get her here, and she made the effort to be here so she could spend time with us. And what’s she doing?” I tilted my head toward the hotel. “Having dinner with Louise and the guys, the same as she did at lunch.”
Wilson pointed out that the walk to the clubhouse was a little long for Tessie, and my Porsche wasn’t built for three people. “And anyway,” he said. “She actually likes Geez Louise.”
I reminded him he did also, and he reminded me Tessie was enjoying the company of Gavin and Mykal. “She likes being involved in your life, Jessie.”
“And Lord knows she loves being on your sleuthing team.”
“Lord knows how much I hate that phrase.”
“So you bribed Jo with chocolate,” I said as we left the oak-tree-lined lane and cut across the parking lot. “But how did you bribe Russell? You were on the phone with him through most of the Bad Guys panel discussion, correct?”
Wilson admitted he had been, and I thought about the long-suffering Lieutenant Densmore.
“The poor guy takes orders from you day in and day out,” I said. “Trust me, it’s no fun being bossed around by Wilson Rye.”
“I am his boss, Jessie.”
“Yes, but it’s Sunday. Doesn’t he deserve a break from his demanding boss on a long weekend? Especially when his boss is out of town?”
“Say what? Densmore lives for this research junk.”
I shrugged. “At least tell him we owe him dinner sometime when we’re back in Clarence.”
“I already have.” Wilson opened the door for me. “He’s game, as long as you don’t cook.”
***
“Okay, so what did the amazing, if finicky, Lieutenant Densmore have to offer?” I asked once we were settled in the dining room with a cold bottle of Korbel at our side and our dinners on order. “Any new suspects?”
“No,” Wilson said. “But we changed direction this afternoon. We looked into business.”
“The romance business?” I asked. “As in Double D and 3P?”
He topped off our glasses. “You’ll be happy to know your publisher’s doing great.”
“I could have told you that. Perpetual Pleasures Press takes in a huge percentage of romance novel sales nationwide and worldwide.”
Maybe so, but Wilson rattled off a slew of statistics that I certainly could not have recited. “Between 3P, Roberto Santiago, and Louise Urko your career is in good hands.” He skipped a beat. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I don’t need to.” I smirked. “Louise already knows how much you admire her.”
I will spare you Wilson’s response to that. But luckily our waiter arrived with dinner to interrupt the diatribe. Once he left, we got back on topic—namely Daydream Desires Publishers.
“They’re in trouble,” Wilson said. “Double D has reported falling revenues eleven out of the last twelve quarters. Shareholders are starting to grumble.”
“Why such a decline?” I asked.
“How about bad books? Other than Faith and Zelda’s stuff, Double D hasn’t turned out a best seller in over three years.”
I asked how any of this related to the murder, and he admitted he wasn’t sure it did. “But when Tessie asked about profits and money earlier, I thought it was worth investigating.”
“Mother would say Double D and 3P are another example of fizzling versus sizzling.” I sipped my champagne. “Speaking of fizzling, has Russell checked into Faith’s marriage? Things seem kind of shaky on that front.”
“No kidding.” But Wilson told me there were some things even Lieutenant Densmore wasn’t privy to.
“Alas.” I pushed my plate away to give Wilson the last o
f my grilled scallops. “No details of Hollingsworth marital spats on Google?”
“But we got our own firsthand knowledge this afternoon,” Wilson said, and I agreed the scene at the Bad Guys discussion had been pretty darn obvious.
“Faith must be very angry to be so blatant in front of all her colleagues and fans.”
Wilson asked me about Faith’s career, and as the waiter cleared our dinner plates, I told him she was a huge success.
“Double D published her first book only seven years ago, and she’s only written three since.” I shrugged. “It’s impressive she’s already in the Hall of Fame.”
“Whereas you had to wait forever.” He studied me. “You think Roaring Tori pulled some strings to get Faith in?”
I blinked twice but answered with a firm negative. “Faith’s very talented,” I said. “She absolutely deserves her place in the Hall of Fame.”
We spent a few minutes comparing Faith’s career path to mine. Faith’s four books over the course of seven years paled in comparison to Adelé Nightingale’s twenty-two over the course of twenty-five years.
“But each and every one of her books has made the best seller lists.” I scowled. “Maybe I should try my hand at sweet romances,” I suggested, and Wilson choked on the last of his champagne.
Once he recovered, he told me I had no cause to be jealous of Faith’s success. “I for one look forward to your steamy sex scenes.”
“TMI,” Jo Keegan said, and we practically jumped out of our seats. “What’s for dessert?”
***
Jo got her dessert, and in return, we got a few answers—emphasis on few.
“Your nagging worked,” she told Wilson after diving into a flourless chocolate decadence cake. “I once again questioned Tori Fister about yesterday morning.”
“And she wasn’t sleeping in?” I asked.
“No.” Jo made sure to frown at me, and then at Wilson. “She was sleeping in. I confirmed, for the umpteenth time, that she stayed in her room before the stupid preceremony ceremony. Are you happy now?”
Five Spot Page 17
