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“Speaking of the realm of speculation…” I glanced at my phone. “If I’m going to catch Weber’s reading, I should probably leave now.”
“Areyou going to the reading?”
“It’s liable to look pointed if I don’t.”
“And that matters because?”
“Because I don’t actually need or want to go to war with anyone. Plus, it’s probably the closest we’ll get to a drawing room with all the suspects.”
Rory looked confused.
I prompted, “You know. Like in an old-fashioned murder mystery where at the end of the book, the detective gathers all the suspects and then explains why everyone could or couldn’t have done the crime, before he reveals who the real murderer is.”
“Right. Got it. Except Weber’s book already revealed who he thinks the murderer is.”
“Yeah. I still think it might be useful to go.” I added tentatively, “Did you want to meet afterward? Maybe grab something to eat or have a drink before the vigil?”
“Meet afterward? No.” Before I had a chance to register my disappointment, Rory said, “I’m coming with you.”
That made me way too happy. I liked Rory. I thought he was really attractive, more attractive than I’d found anyone in over a year. But there was a high probability I’d never see him again after this weekend, so I wasn’t going to let myself get more interested than I already was. Which was too interested.
I said lightly, “You’ll make Weber’s day. Maybe he’ll even sign a copy of his book for you.”
* * * * *
It was standing-room only at the Woodlark Free Public Library.
Rory and I crowded in, lining up against the back wall with the other latecomers. I spotted Hailey in deep conversation with Iliana and a few of the murder-and-makeup crowd. I recognized Blake and Tony’s toques bobbing in the front row of chairs lined a few feet from the long book-signing table where Weber was chatting with a slight, earnest-looking woman. Their mics kept feeding back as someone to the side of the room tried to figure out the sound system.
Rory’s phone buzzed. He checked it, murmured, “I’ll be right back,” and squeezed out of formation.
I shrugged out of my coat. It was already getting very warm inside the crowded room. There was some tapping of mics, more feedback, and finally the earnest-looking woman rose and introduced herself as Head Librarian Sandy Reve. This got a round of applause from the small contingent of local attendees.
Sandy smiled nervously and proceeded to read a long and effusive introduction I couldn’t help thinking Peter Weber had written himself. It left out the part where he’d been fired as an investigative journalist from theNew Hampshire Inquirerfor making up sources. As well as the part where he’d been sued successfully by the family of the subject of one of his true-crime books. The rest of it was true, though, if slightly inflated. His memoir of his deep dive into the Deirdre O’Donnell case really had spent an entire week on theNew York TimesBestseller list, and Weber really was viewed by many as the ultimate expert on Deirdre.
Weber beamed all the way through the introduction and, when it was his turn to speak, proceeded to giveanotherintroduction, this time about what had drawn him to the case, why he was uniquely qualified to investigate Deirdre’s disappearance, and why, when it came to his theories, we should accept no substitutes.
I was vaguely aware of the rustle of papers as someone brushed against the bulletin board to the side of me, and then someone whispered in my ear, “Maybe I owe you an apology.”
I jumped, because strange voices whispering in my ear does that to me, and stared.
Late forties-early fifties. Average height. Average build. Sandy hair, red, watery eyes, flushed face.
“Sorry?” I whispered.
“Last night. I think I was an asshole.”
Recognition dawned. Blue T-shirt.
“That’s okay. We all had a lot to drink.”
He nodded. “I hate know-it-alls.”
We were getting some disapproving looks from the people around us. I tried to silently communicate apology. I whispered, “Right. Thanks for apologizing.”
Blue T-Shirt addressed an older man who was glaring at us, “This is a private conversation.”
The man huffed, “Take your conversation outside.”
