Page 20 of Killer on the First Page
“Before I forget,” said Ned. “Don’t fill up on food at the bookstore tonight, okay? I brought salmon over earlier. Isn’t that right, Bea? We’ll have a late supper after the hobnobbing is complete. So go easy on the cheese cubes!”
How to tell him? Miranda thought. How to tellher? There would be no boxed wine and cheese cubes at I Only Read Murder tonight.The magnificent spread that Geri and Gerry were preparing was a feast in everything but name. It would be a challenge to leave any room for salmon.
“I’ll swing by tonight,” Ned said to Bea, “pick you up. We can run the cobbler in.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be going,” said Bea. “I’ll send it with Miranda.”
“You’re not coming?” said Ned.
The hurt was evident in Bea’s eyes. “I’m just so busy with everything.”
She had no guests checked in. She wasn’t busy. She just wanted to avoid G&G from BB&B. Not a single author had been placed at her B&B. How could she face the town, knowing that?
“Do come,” said Miranda. “It will be fun! I promise.”
But the former Pastor Fran failed on both fronts. Bea stayed home and the reception was not fun—it was murderous.
* * *
DRIVING THEJEEPback up that evening—in heels, no less!—Miranda wore a flowing satin evening gown with a tasteful V-neck under her fall coat. (She had to hike up the gown to reach the clutch.) Andrew, meanwhile, had caught a ride to the bookstore with Ned Buckley, who admonished him, “Don’t touch the siren this time, okay?” The last time Ned had let Andrew sit up front in the patrol car, he’d regretted it. “What doesthatbutton do?”Whoop-whoop!
Ned pulled in behind the Jeep as Miranda was parking, and they entered the bookstore through the back door, where they were greeted by a “Hiya!” from Geri so loud Miranda thought for a moment a karate chop was coming.
“Hello, dear,” said Miranda.
Even more than before, the kitchen was a welter of activity. Geri was whisking something manically as Gerry ran trays of food out,along with even grander floral arrangements—or were those appetizers? The artistry of the food trays and the florals were equally striking, and Miranda wouldn’t have put it past the hospitality juggernaut of G&G to have come up with edible bouquets.
“You can drive,” said Ned, voice flat, the accusation evident.
“Of course I can drive,” said Miranda, leading them down the hall to the main room, which had been transformed into a reception area. “I drove all the time on my TV show. I even drove a tank at one point.”
Edgar was sulking to one side like a spectator at his own party, muttering darkly about his store being taken over.
“Ourstore,” Miranda corrected.
“We had to move more of the books to one side,” said Gerry as he put another tray down. Stage whisper: “They were sorta in the way, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, it is a bookstore,” Edgar grumbled.
Emmy had been locked upstairs to avoid having her wolf anything down when no one was looking, and Edgar could hear the occasional pitiful whine, which didn’t add to his mood. Grumble, mutter, moan. Such a lump, thought Miranda. We’ll have to address staff morale at our next meeting, she decided.
“You know how to drive a car,” said Ned, not letting it go.
“Yes, yes. We’ve gone over that already. Edgar, dear, maybe straighten out the aperitifs a tad before Geri comes back. Perfect!”
“Can’t help but wonder, then, why you keep getting me to run you places,” said Ned. “In my police vehicle.”
“Not a mystery, Ned. I can drive—but I do not have a license to do so. It lapsed long ago. Edgar, darling, maybe move the flowers just a touch to the left... The other left. Stage left. Thank you!”
“You drove the Jeep without a license?” said Ned.
“Poor Andrew was having such trouble with the stick shift, I thought it best.”
“That’s against the law, Miranda.”
“Law! Which law?”
“The law that says you have to have a license.”
