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“Of course,” Peter said cheerfully, shaking hands energetically. “I guess my reputation precedes me.”
“Not at all. I recognize you from your book-jacket photo.”
“Oh-ho!” Weber’s smile was sly. “Butyouhaven’t read my book!”
Rory cleared his throat.
I said, “But I’ve read all your blog posts and seen all your interviews about Deirdre.” I turned to Rory. “This is my friend Rory.”
Rory half rose, shook hands, sat back down.
Weber beamed. “Good to meet you, Rory. Are you a true-crime fan or a Professor Brennan fan?”
“Both.” Rory’s smile was brief and businesslike.
Weber said, “I’m also a fan.” He turned his attention to me. “What do you think so far?”
“Uh…about what?”
“Everything. Us. The entire setup.”
The question was all-encompassing, theusconfusing, and I wasn’t sure how to answer. “It’s really beautiful. The trees. The mountains. I don’t get a lot of that where I live.”
“Los Angeles.”
“Yes.” Santa Barbara, actually, but life on the internet had taught me to be cautious with the details I share.
Weber lowered his voice. “If you like your privacy, this is the place. Remote. Isolated. They don’t trust outsiders. They don’tlikeoutsiders.”
“In fairness, we’re not here to go skiing.”
Weber ignored that, smiled. “Are you coming to my reading this afternoon?”
“I didn’t know you were having a reading.”
“Yes! I’m going to be at the Woodlark Free Public Library on School House Lane. The reading starts at two, so we’ll be done in plenty of time to attend the candlelight vigil.”
“That sounds…like a plan.” Not a plan I necessarily wanted to follow, but a plan.
“Come early so you can get a seat. It’s always standing-room only. Maybe we can grab a drink afterward.” He gave me another of those beaming smiles, patted my arm, and left us, threading his way back to his table—a slow process as he was stopped every foot or so by someone saying hello or asking him to sign a napkin.
The fan boys at his table continued to watch Rory and me and whisper.
I sat back down in the booth and gave Rory an inquiring look.
“No question who the main act is,” Rory said.
“Nope.”
“Are you going to his reading?”
“Maybe? Probably.”
Our waitress arrived then, and we ordered breakfast. Chicken fried steak, scrambled eggs, and biscuits and gravy for me. A veggie omelet and fruit cup for Rory.
When the waitress had departed with our orders, Rory asked, “What else did you have planned for today?”
Was that professional interest? I couldn’t deny I was enjoying Rory’s company, so if he was at a loose end… Were FBI agents ever at a loose end?
